Atera, in downtown Manhattan, was probably Bertram's favorite restaurant. To call it pricey was certainly an understatement. A typical tasting menu ran about three hundred dollars a person, add a moderately priced wine from their cellar and that becomes roughly seven hundred dollars. Only the best people could afford it. The food was pretty good too, but that wasn't really the point.

Bertram didn't eat here that often, maybe two or three times a month, but today was special. Wilson had returned from North Carolina with all the information on the artist they had chosen to win their bet.

When Wilson finally arrived and sat opposite the critic, he kept silent, knowing it would be infuriating.

Finally, Bertram could take no more, "Well!?" he nearly shouted with exasperation, "Is he a drooling cretin or Nazi? Don't just sit there, tell me!"

Wilson laughed and took a long drink of his wine. "He is quite literate, well-mannered, and seems intelligent. If anything, he might be a bit too soft spoken."

"What do you mean?"

"He's a bit too normal. I took it upon myself to suggest he let me get him some tips to stand out more, to be more noticeable. He seemed receptive to the help."

Bertram smiled and reached across the table, taking Wilson's hand, "You are a smart boy and I don't know what I'd do without you. That's an excellent notion. I have some perfect tutors in mind. I suppose we'll have to dress him too?"

Wilson chuckled as he answered, "Definitely, he dresses like a Mormon. It should be fun. He'll be here in ten days, I invited him to stay at my loft."

Bertram arched his eyebrow, "I don't need to be jealous, do I?"

"God no, he's straight as an arrow. I think it's cute that you care, though. He seems to like this woman who looks a lot like Botticelli's Venus."

"Botticelli's Venus? Even I might be tempted."

"No you wouldn't Bertie," Wilson said with a broad smile.

"It's a nice thought though," Bertram chuckled, "How about the portrait?"

"He agreed to give it a try. He'll send photos when he's done. Speaking of photos..." Wilson took out his phone and held it out, "I have photos of all his pieces, they are quite good, take a look."

Bertram waved him off, "I'll look at them later. This meal costs a small fortune, let's enjoy it."

"Sounds good to me."

Adrianna was enjoying her lunch in Duke Gardens when her phone rang. She was pleased to hear Siggy's voice on the other end.

"So? How did it go?" She asked excitedly.

"Well, I officially have an agent."

"That's great news. What's next?"

"Well, I'll be heading up to New York in about ten days. Apparently I need to be taught how to be interesting."

Adrianna laughed, "Ouch. That's a bit of a burn."

"It kind of sounds like fun to me. On the other hand, I said I'd do a portrait and I'm still not sure what I'm going to do. Would you hate me if I took a rain check on our dinner till I figure this out? Let's get together next week before I head north, if that's okay."

"Of course it's okay, Siggy. I understand, you seem to forget I deal with artists all the time. Just promise me I can see this portrait when you're done with it."

"It's a deal," Siggy said, "I'll call you in a few days. It's time for some brain-storming."

"We'll get to it young man! I'll talk to you then."

Elaine was not a great fan of marriage, it generally involved two things she could not abide, children and a sense of deferred obedience to a man. She had tried matrimony once when she was in her twenties, but it only lasted three months, long enough to learn a lifelong lesson, marriage was an institution designed by, for, and to the ultimate benefit of men.

Nowadays she simply went from man to man, fully aware that her own wealth and prestige were perhaps the primary aphrodisiacs in her arsenal. Though she was still an extremely attractive and charming woman, she did not lie to herself about what her greatest appeal to the men she saw was. Elaine preferred it this way, it guaranteed that she was in control of all relationships.

She did have a few rules about the men she dated. They needed to be handsome, sexually adept, not clingy, and most importantly, not artists. The last thing she wanted was having her pillow talk centered around some starving artist pitching an exhibit in her gallery.

Because her affairs usually lasted only a month or two, she was slightly bemused that she had been seeing her latest beau for almost half a year. More disturbing still was the fact that she not only still liked him, but sincerely looked forward to spending time with him, not just time in sensual embrace, but time talking. It was bewildering to her. Where had she gone wrong?

Upon self-examination she realized her mistake. Ezra was quite different from her other conquests. For one thing he was older, nearly thirty-seven. Also, unlike most of the others, who were generally out of work actors or models, he was a talented musician, second violin for the New York Philharmonic. He was intelligent, culturally adept, and attentive without being fawning. Elaine silently cursed herself for her stupidity as she prepared for their date. The last thing she needed was an emotional entanglement. She considered ending it as she stared at herself in the mirror.
The doorbell rang.

To her relief and surprise, it was not Ezra arriving early, but a grinning Bertram who greeted her.

"My, aren't we looking seductive." He teased.

She furrowed her brow in mock disgust, "Stop being an ass and come in. I have a date if you must know, but he's not due for another half hour, plenty of time for a drink and for you to tell me why you decided to barge in here rather than simply call."

"A bit testy, but I won't turn down a drink. Scotch, rocks," he said as he walked into the living room and plopped down on the sofa.

Elaine motioned to the bar, "Do I look like a maid? Get it yourself...and one for me as well"

Bertram smiled, "Of course, your highness, what was I thinking."

"What indeed?" She said, now smiling broadly as she seated herself.

After serving the drinks, Bertram sat back down and excitedly addressed Elaine, "We found our artist, Wilson went south to meet him. His name is Siegfried Jager. He'll be coming up in the next two weeks."

"I'm excited to hear that, so now the bet truly begins. Is he a drooling moron? A hideous malformed mockery of humanity?" She asked grinning broadly.

"Sorry to disappoint, but Wilson tells me he's intelligent and hardly an inbred mutant at all."

"Good, I want to be fair, but at the least, he's probably still a hick."

"Possibly, but I think he'll be good to work with. I've already started to leak his name to a few art-moles, pretty soon they'll all be looking for his work." Art-moles were what Bertram called the speculative investors in new artists. It was a relatively new phenomenon, like cryptocurrency and NFT speculators. Basically, they tried to identify new artists on the rise and purchase works early in their careers, hoping the prices of the work would skyrocket. Bertram found the art-moles disgusting, but in this case, useful.

Elaine laughed, "I see you've taken the gloves off, good. You realize even if I lose the bet, I stand to do pretty well monetarily?"

Bertram returned the laugh, "I'm counting on it, it eliminates any need for you to cheat or play dirty."

She arched her eyebrows, "You think I'd cheat or play dirty?"

"You're a successful art dealer, of course I do."

"Point taken. I assure you I will play fair and square."

"I never doubted it for a moment, darling," Bertram was interrupted by a knock on the apartment door, "that must be your paramour. I'll leave you to your tryst."

Elaine gave Bertram a dirty look as she went to answer the door. When she opened it revealing the visitor, Bertram stepped forward and thrust out his hand in greeting.

"Ezra, it's good to see you again," he smiled slyly, "and still courting our dear Elaine. You must be excellent company." Elaine stared daggers at the critic, but Ezra seemed amused.

"Always the troublemaker. It's good to see you too," he shook Bertram's hand.

"I suppose I should be going," Bertram smiled.

"I suppose you should," Elaine agreed sharply.

Before exiting, Bertram addressed Ezra, "I was wondering what the new season of the Philharmonic is offering, I do love music."

Ezra answered, "Our first big program is Wagner, overtures and preludes....Faust, Parsifal, Siegfried, etcetera. It's sounding good."

Bertram went silent for a moment, then laughed loudly, "Outstanding, Mephistopheles, The Holy Grail, and Siegfried. It's both ironic and prescient."

Ezra looked confused, "What do you mean?"

Bertram smiled as he left the apartment, "Nothing, it's not important. Have a fun evening."

Siggy left the greenhouse with a pound of scraped bark from his chondrodendron vine. He reentered the main portion of his workshop and submerged the scrapings into a Pyrex beaker filled with water and began to slowly boil it until only a small amount of viscous yellow fluid remained, curare. He transferred the liquid into a graduated cylinder to cool and retrieved half a dozen tranquilizer darts.

When the liquid was cool, he carefully measured the necessary dosage into each dart. Curare is a paralytic, not a poison, so the dosage was critical, too little and the effect would be delayed, too much and the subject would be incapable of breathing. It was important to his process to not kill immediately. He needed time to feel guilt and remorse, it stimulated his creative process.

Siggy looked around his workshop. There were two stainless steel surgical tables with restraining straps and three chairs. One of the chairs was simply a comfortable ergonomic office chair, the second was a dentist's chair replete with levers and knobs to adjust its position, and the third, a simple steel chair bolted into the tile-covered concrete floor. The floor had an imperceptible incline from all sides leading to a drain in the center of the room. This allowed blood and other body fluids to drain neatly into a septic tank below the workshop.

There was rarely much blood. All the harvesting of fingers, toes, eyes, ears, tongues, teeth, and skin, was usually accomplished after the heart stopped beating, so there was no bleeding, just seepage. Siggy kept the room immaculate, carefully scrubbing the floor and walls with bleach and disinfectant after each harvest. He prided himself on his cleanliness.

When his work was completed and the darts loaded, Siggy sat in his chair and thought about the portrait. He had done portraits before, but never in box form. Though not a great draughtsman, he always had difficulty with hands and torsos, he was quite good with faces. An idea began to form. He would need some items. Siggy took out his phone and quickly placed an order on Amazon. Everything he needed would arrive in two days. Almost everything, now he could focus on securing his subject.