A Portrait of Desire

Orville Morrison couldn’t take his eyes off the small painting in the mayor’s parlor. In its ornate golden frame, the 5x7 inch portrait of a pretty dark-haired little girl sat on a lace covered petite table. The piece of furniture brushed its edge against the mayor’s wing-backed chair arm. Competing for space upon its surface, a potted African violet, a worn leather Bible, and pipe smoking instruments nearly hid the divine object. With a gentle clatter, the mayor set his teacup and saucer down in front of the portrait. Irritated by the man’s ignorant action, Orville wanted to move himself to a different upholstered chair. To a place where he could still drink in the sweet angel’s pre-puberty body.

“Mr. Morrison, are you listening to me?”

He jerked his head up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor. I’m quite distracted by that lovely picture. Is that an original oil painting?”

The mayor’s long, thin fingers plucked the frame off the table. “Why, yes, it is. It is of my granddaughter, Emily.” He leaned forward and handed the painting to Orville. “She’s a couple of years older now. An artist heading out west to the gold fields painted it.”

Obsession fixed his eyes on the child’s seductive innocence. Orville must have this painting.

The mayor leaned forward and extended his empty hand.

Orville drew back into his chair, then forced himself to smile. Slowly, he handed the painting back. He wondered if he could hang back when the mayor escorted him out of the room. Could he slip the portrait into his suit jacket pocket? Would it fit? Would the mayor suspect him if, upon his return to the parlor, he noticed it was missing? Of course he would. But he must have it!

Orville said, “The child looks so intelligent and thoughtful.”

“Oh, she is. You will be delighted to know she will be one of your students this year.”

Orville froze. “Wonderful. I’m going to look forward to it. Now I don’t want to take up anymore of your time.” He rose from his chair. “Thank you for the key to the schoolhouse. I’ll ride out there now and begin setting up.”

As the mayor escorted him out, Orville glanced at the portrait one last time. It is such a pity, my lovely little painting that I can’t own you. I’ll just have to settle for caressing your source. The anticipation excited him.