"I don't git why you'd bid on that there thing," said his business partner, Redd, as they walked to the company car to drive back to their office. "I really, really don't. Mister Cowlin's gonna lasso you by the throat and yank 'ya down when he sees it!"
"It calls to me…" Grayson replied.
"It's strange as fuck, Gray."
"Yeah, it's strange, but… so am I!"
He wouldn't argue with that. Grayson swept his sandy brown hair off his forehead. The younger coworker's unbridled love for horses was not lost on the other men and women at the club ranch, and even admitted to kissing one once. He was quite a quirky fellow. But he got the work done, didn't he? He treated all the horses with respect.
They just don't know how far his love actually went: the painting "called to him" because Grayson wished he could be the centaur in that painting. Once he locked eyes on the visage of the brown-furred, thoroughbred centaur stallion galloping carelessly through a wildflower meadow, he couldn't walk away from the auction without it. His jaw was gaping wide: art of his ideal mythical being doesn't just materialize from thin air?!? The epitome of masculine prowess, a strength and veracity he could never obtain, was under his fingertips!
But, more to the point… "Cowlin won't care."
"Say that when he 'wards you with a manure run," his older coworker huffed. "What's it "called" agin?"
"Uh… 'Growing The Herd'."
"Pff. More like 'Growing A Terd'!" Redd chuckled at his own joke. "Dear Lord, save me now, if… heck, it ain't goin' anywhere near my office!"
Grayson rolled his eyes.
"I don't want any 'a my clients getting lost in that… that horse-man while I'm try'na talk business."
"Yeah… guess it's only suitable for staff eyes only. We'll put it in the break room," Grayson agreed. It was large enough a painting that it took both hands to stuff into the trunk. "Since it's such a conversation starter. You seem to have a lot of words for it…" Grayson winked.
"The only conversation I'm 'a have with it is when we're eatin' lunch. Now get movin', I'm starved."
On the way back Grayson and Redd swung by the local dîner to pick up their lunch special: roast beef sandwich and seasoned home fries. That was the cozy thing about this Kentucky town of 4,000: quintessential americana. It wasn't big enough to have a variety of food options, but the options it did have kept people satiated - for days.
A big kind of energy was necessary for people who worked at the club ranch. While Redd ran the equestrian trade side of things, Redd's wife Betsy commandeered the maintenance of the track for competitions and events, which included visitor ticketing and concessions. In those humid summer months you could always count on extra fries, or a free soda, or a good ol' fashioned ice cream cone with Betsy around.
They got the food to-go, and promptly left before Wilma could drench them with town drama. When they got back to the club, Grayson took the painting out of the car and headed inside with it. Redd carried the food in so he could deliver some to Betsy - then he'd probably join Grayson for their daily lunch. Eating together was a tradition that started when Redd took over sales and Grayson needed a companion. This was one of those workplaces with few employees, which was why everyone went by nicknames and kept low profiles.
That being said… Redd would likely check his email before coming to the break room, so Grayson decided to get the painting hung. The ranch was quite a resourceful place, so he had no trouble finding a hammer and some nails to hang it on the wall. He centered it above the main table in the break room, across from the fridge, and backed away to examine his efforts.
"It's so cool…" Grayson thought to himself. "I don't care what Redd or Cowlin says; I'll fight to keep it arou–"
"Huh?"
While examining the portrait, he swore he saw the centaur… wink at him.
And now… was he smiling more than before? Or is that the lighting in the break room?
…
"... I'm going crazy..." Audible footsteps from around the corner shook him out of the delirium.
"Thanks for wai–"
The 40 year-old stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing his darling coworker had hung the abstract painting. Grayson turned around and nodded.
"What do you think?"
Redd didn't respond for a moment. "I don't… rightly… uh, what do [i]you[/i] think?"
"Well, it's gonna sound crazy –"
"Ah, thank God. You don't li–"
"NO, Redd! I swear, it winked at me!"
"What now?"
"The centaur!"
"... Gray," Redd started. "'Yer dehydratin'. We were out in the sun for six hours. Git some food down that gullet of 'yers."
"I'm serious! The painting *winked*."
"Let's see it wink, then…" Redd scoffed, spitting into the trash bin before he approached the painting.
Grayson folded his arms and winced. It looked normal now, of course. Meanwhile, Redd wasn't impressed: was this some dumb prank? He got real close to the painting and still didn't see anything of note.
Then, finally, he touched the area around the centaur's face, searching for a defect, or some pieces of dirt or sand he wasn't seeing. He felt nothing but a little silly, then…
…a little tingly. So he stopped.
"Prob'ly a speck 'a dust got on his eye or somethin' from the trunk."
"... It wasn't dirt. It.. it moved."
"Man, you just tryin' to git me 'a touch this thing? You feelin' especially gay today or som'thin?" Redd grumbled.
"No, I–"
"Shut it. Here's the food…"
Grayson knew he wasn't actually mad. He was cool with his sexuality as long as it didn't become a core focus around the office, so he wasn't comfortable about pushing his co-worker over a line on this; he was ready to move on and eat.
Bless Wilma's heart, but the food was middling. The roast beef was colder than the cheese, and the brioche buns were too big and dry. The fries were well seasoned, but under-cooked.
Grayson tried to use that to shift the conversation. "Man, would it kill 'er to leave the fries in the fryer an extra minute or two?"
"Mmmf."
"I swear it. When was the last time you had to send back fries 'cause they were cooked too well?"
"..."
"... Betsy can do better," Grayson added, a blatant last-ditch attempt to break through.
But Redd remained quiet, perplexed, unphased. He picked up his head, then stopped chewing and swallowed very deliberately.
"...Hello?"
"MMMF, uh-uh, yeah. Uh…"
Grayson watched his coworker shuffle around a bit in his seat, look at his watch, then rub his hand across his midsection like he was searching for something in an invisible pocket.
"Think I'll finish the rest'a this in the office… Gray, uh. Gotta get to my back… log."
"Alright… See ya later."
He picked his plate up from the table and walked off, leaning forward a little, as if he had eaten something terrible and was bearing the stomach pains. But that didn't make sense, Grayson thought; we just started eating. Food sickness doesn't go that fast, and he felt fine... Maybe it was something else?
Ah well. Redd was right as rain about one thing: the fun of the auction was over, and Grayson was swamped with real work to get done. He can check on him later.