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“Hammer, you jumped over your head with this exhibition. All sculptures are absolutely flawless!” said a man in a black-tie, coming from behind.
Armie lifted his wine glass to greet the friend. “Thank you, Fletcher. It was a prolific season, wasn’t it? Everyone around enjoys it as well.”
“Sure they do. Be ready for an enormous sum in your bank account. It is being a sold out.” Fletcher bantered, patting Armie’s shoulder. “Can you spare me a minute? I need to talk to you.”
“Yes, wait for me in the studio. I’ll be there in a second.”
The man nodded and headed there, while Armie greeted newcomers with a wide smile. Being a famous sculptor among the bohemia obliged. Everyone wanted to talk, express their unbiased opinions about his recent art, or just butter up. Armie knew all the schemes they used.
The sculptor exchanged pleasantries with a senior couple of artists. He knew that Mrs. Carpenter silently adored him, so his nobleness couldn’t deprive the lady of attention. This time they were making a hint on creating a sculpture of their adorable terrier, flattering Armie to get it.
Promising to consider it later, he handed the couple to other guests. Fletcher expected him in the studio; he couldn’t make him wait any longer, minding his hot temper. Armie sneaked through the crowd and entered the studio.
It was the biggest room in his house. Even larger than the hall he held the exhibition in. Large windows let the moonlight cast white spill on high walls and unpresented sculptures. Paper pieces with sketches rested on all surfaces altogether with tools. There were two armchairs - for a master and his guest. Fletcher rested in one of them.
“You made this place your spot, Armie. A true cradle of art.” Fletcher said.
Armie came further into the room, switching on more lamps.
“Yes, it took a lot to arrange it,” Armie said and reached the side table with drinks. “Do you want a nightcap?”
“It’d be nice of you, thanks.”
Both men were sitting, looking at the marble covered with sheets. Sophisticated legs, thin long arms appeared underneath. The epitome of ancient Greek art. Armie was in his element while creating the sculptures. Mentally, he teleported to the Mediterranean shores and grape valleys lit with bright sun. He felt the atmosphere of it to the bones.
“You wanted to talk to me. What’s up, Fletcher?” said Armie and turned his head to the friend.
“Yes. Did you meet Jeoffrey’s partner?” Armie nodded in response. “So, I heard one story about it. Jeff got a big piece of marble one day. It was from Italy, I suppose. Bohemia says he made his fiancée from this stone. And now she’s somehow alive. Can you believe it?”
Armie laughed at the top of his lungs. What a silly story!
“No, and if you do, you have to be a fool, Fletcher. The old Jeff just lost his mind finally and forgot that he had a lover before the marble arrived. That’s it.” Armie replied.
“You’re such a buzzkill, Armie. I thought about it for you. You’re terribly lonely in this big house. Why don’t you try? I can order it for you.”
Fletcher stood up in front of the sculptor.
“Come on, Fletcher, it’s so weird. Do you really believe it? With the same succes I can make a hole in a piece of marble and fuck it. Much cheaper, I must admit. What’s the point in buying a large stone? Go home, buddy. You’re tired if you buy this fairytale.”
Apparently, Fletcher didn’t want to give up, so he stepped on Armie’s way.
“Alright, let’s bet. I buy you this piece and you create a sculpture. Akin to a Greek god. If this story is bullshit, I will buy it from you for ten thousands. If it works, well, it’s up to you what to do. At least you won’t be alone anymore. Deal?”
Fletcher put out a hand. Armie chuckled and shook it.
“Deal. Extra money would be great, especially yours, silly. Should we go back?” Armie asked, patting the man's shoulder.
Fletcher hummed, and both headed back to the hall.
The exhibition slowly put out before midnight. The marble statues got full appraisal and admiration as well as the creator. Armie’s shows caused many talks around the city, lifting his authority as a sculptor. When the last car left the parking lot, he stayed alone among the lives carved in stone.
“Mr. Hammer, you can head to bed. We’ll care about everything. The hall will be clean in the morning.” said the maid, staying behind Armie’s back.
“Thank you so much, Paula. You did a great job today!”
Paula smiled at him and got back to work with other staff. Armie, however, went to his studio. Thoughts about Fletcher’s offer couldn’t leave his head. Everything seemed so weird in that story. Like a tale that elder people make up in their agony. But something seized him.
Fletcher was right on the button about his loneliness. He had no one except the staff and marble statues. Even their thriving faces couldn’t color his life. They said that geniuses were made to live in recluse, with no one by their side but visionary muses.
It sounded fascinating, yet appalling in reality. Muses were coming and going from Armie, leaving light traces of their presence on white stone. Fanatics and mentors gave him valuable feedback, but as soon as he left all the galas they did, he felt forlorn. Like a single bird caged in the walls of a modern mansion.
He entered his studio once again this night. Nothing changed while he’d been away: the same faces, the same moonlight. But he was alone this time, with no strangers. Only Armie and his creatures, his sons and daughters.
Being so connected to cold stone seemed crazy for him now and then. While carving all the curves, he talked to the future sculpture, soothed its pain from his tools. They were all alive for him. Exhibitions stood for model runaways. As the lingerie models, the sculptures demonstrated their beauty at nudity. All muscles, curves and bumps; poses transferred the mood of the exhibit.
Armie walked around his temple, going over some sheets thrown over marble bodies, and headed to the door. Lamps faded one after another; moonlight regained his reign. Only Armie’s steps ruined the steel silence in the studio. Finally, he went away, leaving the temple to its own devices.
Morning turned into a fuss as soon as he opened his eyes. The staff was running through the house, arranging a safe delivery of the marble stone from Fletcher. It didn't happen for the first time, so everyone knew what to do. But some rushing and arguments couldn’t stay aside.
Like a conductor, Armie stopped this “orchestra” with one gesture. He went into his studio, staring at the stone on the working table. It was not so big, around six feet tall. A magnificent quality of the stone would be an understatement: absolutely milky, with no flaws and spots. It had been an honor for Armie to work with such material.
“Thanks for the delivery. Give my thanks to Fletcher: it’s an amazing stone.” Armie said to the couriers, handing them generous tips.
The delivery left, as well as the staff, and Armie stayed alone. He tried to come up with an idea, an image of the future sculpture. That would be something lean, but not disgustingly. Something light and flawless. Another goddess that would fill Armie’s collection.
He came closer, brushing a cold stone with the fingertips. Smooth surface shone in the daylight. It seemed almost transparent, like skin. Some pale dark lines under it resembled veins and vessels. Armie was sure that there would be more darkness in the place of heart, making the sculpture “alive”.
“Should we start working?'' asked Armie, receiving a silence as an answer.
Armie took his tools from the table nearby, breathed out before making the first line on the ideal stone. One strong movement with a chisel after another formed an outline of the face. Sharp features looked fantastic on the milky marble.
“Here we go, buddy. Gave you some features. I hope you like it.”
Armie changed the intensity of carving, going deeper to the stone. A chiseled jawline gradually appeared in front of the man. That looked pretty. Not too masculine, but still not feminine. Something in between. Armie liked it, as he didn’t make his mind about the gender yet.
“Now I’m making your neck. It can hurt a little, I’m sorry.” Armie cooed, putting a hand on the future forehead of the sculpture.
Pieces of marble were scattered all over the floor. Armie’s hands were covered with the white dust, masking the redness of them. Carving big chunks of marble took a lot of effort and power, but was worth it. Underneath there was a hidden beauty of smooth features.
Armie looked at his watch. The hands just reached midnight. He did a great job - the sculpture had rough face features which he would smooth soon. Armie glanced all over it. Everything seemed exquisite and appropriate. For the first time in his career, Armie didn’t want to change anything. Nothing was amiss.
“You look wonderful, but I should definitely call it a day. You don’t mind it, do you? I’ll continue tomorrow.” Armie whispered.
He covered the statue with a sheet. It could wait for tomorrow. New day, new ideas, new inspiration.
The next day Armie focused on the hair. The rhythmical beat of chisels against the stone formed a nestle of untamed curls. Some locks lay on a forehead, right above eyebrows. Armie added more volume with every movement. He made the sculpture’s hair quite long that added naivety and youth to it.
“You have such great hair, buddy. Wild and messy as you are.” Armie smirked.
He slowly moved to the back of the sculpture's neck. Some dark spots were sprinkled there. It reminded Armie of a small sunkisses after a long day outdoors. They would be a wonderful addition to the porcelain, flawless skin. Armie carved a swan neck with several prominent vertebrae. Not so much, but exquisitely enough. Light movements of the chisel accentuated strong muscles, some veins and natural curves.
Now Armie had a finished upper part, looking straight at him.
The marble glistened in the daylight, called attention to the little freckles and moles on the statue’s face. Hooded eyelids added some mystery to the look of it. Armie’s sight moved lower. A small Adam apple embellished the neck as well as some more spots resembling moles.
Armie’s next point was a collarbone. He wanted to focus on it most of all. Tenderness and chastiness of this would contribute to the beauty of the statue a lot. Two thin lines of bones slowly appeared on the milky stone. Prominent muscle lines connected them with the lithe neck.
The collarbone was slowly replaced by shoulders. Androgynous outline of theirs, small knots of muscles, spots sprinkled all over them - all of this perfectly suited. It belonged to the character Armie made up in his mind. He moved further to the back of the statue’s spine. Sharp shoulder blades stretched porcelain skin, appearing at their very beauty. They were akin to small wings of an angel who was preparing for his first short flight.
Armie put the tools aside and went back. The creation standing on the platform pleased him. No flaws. No extra parts. Everything belonged to its place.
“Look at you, buddy. You look amazing. Let’s clean you a bit and call it a day, shall we?” Armie asked, not expecting the exact answer.
It took Armie three days to finish the upper body. All the curves and bumps were made precisely how he wanted; the statue got its sophisticated image. The lithe body spelled with its naivety. Like a mermaid charmed a sailor amid the ocean. Three roses embellished a fragile chest.
They were the last minute change in Armie’s mind. He wanted to contrast the sharpness of roses with the purity of the skin. How tender rose petals cherished it while thorns hurt delicate palms. The statue looked like a young lover of a French madame, awaiting in her chambers.
Considering it, Armie even gave him a name - Timothée. He could imagine how someone called the youth in the street, cheering his next visit to the madame. How tender his name would sound falling of mother’s lips.
A billowy sheet covered lean shoulders, hiding sharp shoulder blades of the statue, and a part of a firm abdomen. Only the belly button and the lower belly could be seen. Dimples of Venus shone with their beauty in the back.
Armie’s next step was the lower part of the sculpture’s body. He could start with legs, but decided to make intimate zones first. No cover there. Total exposure.
“Okay, buddy, we’re going to make you a man. I’ll be gentle.” cood Armie, taking tools from the side table.
He started with buttocks. Armie put his palm on the stone, thinking of the size of them. That would suffice. He wasn’t creating a booty queen to make this part vulgar. A chisel carved two round buns. The crack between them formed a tempting part of the statue.
“Alright, bud, you’re just a dream. A filthy dream.” Armie whispered, soothing the marble.
The desire urged Armie to strike them. He imagined how soft skin radiated warmth against his palm. How soft muscles twitched with lust. His imagination made up a picture of red skin, his palm’s trace, little bruises scattered all over the precious butt.
Without hesitation, he brought his lips to one of the cheeks. As he was soothing the pain he gave with his very palm seconds ago. Soft moans fogged his mind, although they were imaginary. Armie devoured pleas of the youth, his stark-naked body whined in his hands.
Savage nature took him over. He was thinking of spreading the cheeks and cherishing a pink hole. The youth would plead not to stop, whispering “Oui, mon cher”. His thin fingers would be tugging Armie’s locks, closer to his body. The youngster’s knees would give up while Armie would be the only support for Timothée. His porcelain body never hit the ground when Armie’s close.
Armie would hold a swooned body in his arms, bringing him to the bedroom. Silk wrapping Timothée, soft moans, clingy limbs, steady rhythm of Armie’s hips. It would feel natural despite the size difference. They should fit fine.
A strong wave of orgasm washed over Armie’s body. Intense pleasure he hadn’t felt for a while. The sculptor wiped drops of sweat off his forehead with the sleeve. He definitely lost his marbles on the way here, he couldn’t doubt.
“Okay, darling, that was intense. You’re divine.” Armie smirked.
The front part would definitely be covered. With anything it takes. Armie would not survive carving it.
The receiver made a loud sound as someone was waiting on the line. Armie wiped his hands and picked up the phone.
“Hello, Armie, it’s Fletcher. How are you?” said the man.
“Hey, man. I’m good. Would you like to come over? Take a look at your future sculpture.”
“I’d love to. I’ll be at your place in the afternoon.” Fletcher replied and hung up.
Armie looked over his creature. A young man was fully ready and already bloomed. The beauty emanated from him, smooth curves of his body spelled. Bony legs pleaded for a touch. They were the part that Armie adored most. However, he hesitated that round soles of feet should have touched the rough ground.
While putting the finishing touches, Armie heard loud footsteps near the studio’s door. That was Fletcher. The man entered the room, heading to the master. He stopped half-way with his mouth agape.
“Oh my lord, Armie! He’s so beautiful. How on earth did you do it?”
Fletcher came closer, appraising the sculpture.
“Thank you, Fletcher. I got carried away a bit, to be honest.” the sculptor humbly replied.
“I’m ready to pay you more for it. Of course, if you still don’t believe he can become real. Do you?” Fletcher wondered.
Armie didn’t give it a proper thought until now. Deep down he wished this boy would become real, his angel, but it still seemed too crazy. The harsh reality couldn’t let any wonders happen. He kept throwing all these thoughts out of his head.
“Yes, I don’t believe in it. What can happen with an ordinary stone? Really good one, I must admit. Anyway, I’d love to get more money from you.”
“You’re so greedy, Armie. Want to steal money from a poor old man.”
Armie laughed. His palm landed on his friend’s shoulder, pushing him to the door.
“I know, I know. Let’s have a drink to soothe your indignation.”
When the men left, silence settled down in the studio. It covered all the creatures placed there including a newcomer. She coddled the lithe body of his. But the silence couldn’t wipe two clear drops running down the marble cheeks.
It took Armie a week to put finishing touches on the sculpture. The beating of the hammer on chisels jumped from one wall to another. The number of coffee mugs grew exponentially every day. But it was worth it, Armie could assure anybody.
Once his staff member entered the studio and stopped in his tracks.
“Mr. Hammer, it’s a masterpiece! I understand why it took you so long.” the young man said, coming closer to the marble creature.
Armie was staring at the statue for a fair ten minutes already, elbows on his knees. Looking at the sophisticated features made his mind flow far away. His fantasy sent Armie to various spots, always with the boy he made with his own hands.
“Do you like it? Then, I appreciate your words. He’s quite beautiful.” Armie replied with a little smile.
“Are you going to sell it? I bet there’ll be thousands wanting to buy it.”
“I don’t know yet, Sam. Fletcher’s first in the row, so I’m left with no options.” Armie murmured, cracking his fingers. The knuckles were already reddish, so many thoughts consumed the sculptor.
“It would be a great decoration for the house, in my opinion. Or a good match for you, if the story is true, of course. Sorry, it’s been rude.” Sam rapidly added.
“It’s fine, man. Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. Is there anything left after the dinner, by the way?” Armie wondered.
“Yes, of course. There was no one today.”
“Great!” Armie said and clapped his hands. “Call all the staff, let’s celebrate the end of the work.”
Without further ado, Armie led Sam to the exit, telling some jokes and banters. The light went off. The wind rushed through the room. Deadly silence went down there again. Except a deep, even squealing moan from nowhere possible.
“Yes, Fletcher, it’ll be at your place in two days.” Armie replied, walking back and forth in the studio. “Yes, I already called the delivery. The sculpture will be safe and sound, I swear.”
Armie stopped near the sculpture. It hurt him selling this masterpiece. But nothing worked after a week of waiting. Now Armie was beating himself up for even believing in this tale for little kids. He got charmed, but was left with disappointment afterwards.
Putting the phone on the side table and gulping whiskey down, he looked at the sculpture once again. His palm landed on a marble cheek, moved down to a chiseled jaw, prominent neck muscles, and returned back. He felt wet trails on the marble, blaming the broken air conditioning. As well as a bit of warmth on the bony cheeks.
“I’m so sorry to sell you. It hurts, trust me. But there is no other way. You’re perfect, just remember it!” Armie whispered, trailing the lips line with his index finger. “You’ll be great at Fletcher’s. The best decoration of the whole household.” he continued, trying to print out the features of its face in his memory.
But it was time to leave. The night had already set down on the city. Armie rushed out of the studio. He hoped it would stop aching. It was like tearing off the band-aid - the faster, the better. It would be easier later, he thought, as soon as he left this sculpture behind.
Calm sleep seemed something impossible that night. Armie was tossing and turning, although drifting off once in a while. But nightmares and a storm of thoughts caught him in their tricky traps. The next time, after seeing Timothée again in his dream, he woke up because of smooth touches on his chest.
First thing he saw was a white rose. The tender petals tickled his skin, played with the chest hair. He moved his gaze upper and saw an exquisite wrist and long fingers. Armie jumped out of daze. It couldn’t be real.
There he was. His angel, staying in front of him stark naked. Only a light sheet covered his lean body. A little smirk crept on his face.
“Good morning! I’m sorry for interrupting your sweet sleep. I got a bit bored being around alone. Would you give me some company?” Timothée cooed, looking straight at Armie’s eyes.
“That can’t be real. It’s just another dream. Please, leave me alone. I beg you.” Armie pleaded.
“I’m not your dream, Armie. I’m real. Here, you can touch me.” Timothée gave him a hand. “It seemed that you didn’t mind before. Did it change eventually?”
Armie couldn’t believe his eyes. The porcelain body sat on the edge of his bed, leaned closer to his face. He could see all the moles, freckles that before had been simple spots on the marble. The flaming green eyes, as he imagined them, peered at him, searching for an answer.
Armie lifted his hand and put it on a warm neck. He felt the heat, the heartbeat of Timothée. He was real. He owed Fletcher something serious for all the accusations he did.
“Timothée…” whispered Armie before leaning to plump lips.
It felt divine. like the universe stopped swirling and settled for one place. A wave of warmth struck Armie’s body. He put his hand on a nest of untamed curls, tugging at them. A soft moan escaped from Timothée’s lips.
“Please, don’t leave me.” sighed Armie, peppering kisses on the neck.
“I don’t. I’ll be here for you, my genius.” Timothée whispered and hugged the man’s neck.