Cosmocopia Read Online Free

awaiting the inevitable ringing of the front doorbell.
    Midnight came and went, and no Malaspina. Lazorg bolstered himself again and again with crumbs from the crimson cake, beyond all previous usage.
    She must come! She must!
    At two AM the bell sounded.
    Lazorg composed himself with some effort, then went to receive his muse.
    An autumnal blast sneaked past the visitor first, chilling Lazorg’s old bones. Then Velina Malaspina half tumbled across the threshold, caught herself with giggles, finally straightened. Her familiar vanilla-based scent bore grace notes of metabolized booze.
    The woman was bigger than Lazorg, always had been, a Juno. Masses of black curls, wide mouth, pert nose, dark eyes. Buxom, well-padded, ripe for grabbing. Tonight she spilled out of a frothy party frock and open-toed shoes, a gape-fronted abbreviated fur coat her only concession to the November chill.
    Her voice when it came from her frogmouth was hoarse from smoke and liquor, her words sloppy.
    “Well, well, well, the creature walks!”
    In her overwhelming presence at last, Lazorg strove to ignore her insult. “Yes, Velly, I walk and talk—and even paint again!”
    Malaspina dropped awkwardly into a chair, splaying her legs immodestly. Her oblate white thighs channeled Lazorg’s attention to a glimpse of her bare origin of the world.
    “Why’d you make me come here tonight, Frankie? I didn’t really want to. After the way you looked in the hospital—But your voice—It had some of the old magic and force in it.”
    Lazorg stepped closer to the chair, so that he could presume to touch her bare wrist. She allowed it. “You’re right, dear. I have my skills back, my strength. We can finish our last project together. It will be a masterpiece, I know it!”
    Puzzlement clouded Malaspina’s features. “Our last project? What was it?”
    Lazorg was hurt and stunned. “You—you really don’t remember? My Origin of the World …”
    Velina Malaspina brushed away his concern with a sloppy wave of her hand, breaking contact with Lazorg’s fingers on her wrist. “Oh, that was all so long ago! And you know I could never keep all your silly titles straight.”
    “Well, come to the studio and I’ll show you then.”
    With more giggles and some little effort, Malaspina managed to stand. Lazorg offered her his arm, but she jerked away.
    “You’re not getting back into my pants, you know. That’s all over with now!”
    “I’m sad, of course, but I understand. Even before my stroke, I sensed our relationship changing. But I’d be happy if you just consented to model again for me.”
    Malaspina began to trot in a wavery fashion on her high heels down the hall, taking the familiar path to the studio. “Let’s see this unborn masterpiece!”
    As she approached the studio, Malaspina said, “What’s that funny smell?”
    So used to the aroma of the vision scarab powder, Lazorg had to think a moment to catch her reference.
    “Oh, just a new pigment I’ve been experimenting with.”
    “Smells like burnt hair and witch hazel to me.”
    Lazorg caught up with her at the studio door. While he fumbled with the light switch, Malaspina had already crossed the room and whisked the cloth off the easel.
    Together they contemplated the embryonic painting. Lazorg hoped she would see in it all the potential he saw. But even to his eyes now, under the force of the judgmental presence of an additional witness, the barely commenced painting looked abortive. If only he dared take another flake of drug to reaffirm his vision! But he had already had too much. …
    Malaspina turned to confront Lazorg, her back to the canvas.
    “Why do you have to paint me so—so jagged and chopped up! No one will even be able to tell it’s me! You might as well be using a side of beef with a hole gouged into it for your model!”
    “No, no, that’s not true! Your essence will come across, your spirit, even though the outer you is distorted and deranged for a good