Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Golden Girls
Character/Pairing: Blanche, Sophia, Dorothy, Rose
Challenge/Prompt: tamingthemuse #557: Fresco
Word Count: 1,488
Date Written: 28 March 2017
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Rose stops so suddenly that Blanche walks into her. "Rose!" the Southern belle exclaims, pouting, as Dorothy collides with her back.
"I . . . I'm sorry, Blanche. It's just . . . " Blanche frowns in concern as she notes her friend is having trouble, her face has gone pale, and her eyes are even bigger and more rounded in her blonde head than usual. "That . . . That's me!" Rose points a shaking finger at the painting ahead of them.
Blanche peeks over her shoulder and takes in a sharp breath of indignation. Her face flushes as red as her blouse. "The face may be you, shugah, but it ain't all you!"
Dorothy walks around them and stares at the fresco illustration. The almost naked woman, swathed only in a slim piece of cloth, has her height, her almost manly shoulders, and . . . She glances down, then sharply back up, her suspicions confirmed. The painting has her hands too!
Rose glances at her friends for confirmation. "Dorothy?" she asks, noticing how Dorothy's face is flushing with anger.
"That bastard!" she exclaims. "He used us again!" She gestures at the painting. "It's got your face but my hands, shoulders, and height!"
"Like you're th' only tall woman, Dorothy. At least he used parts o' y'all that . . . that're seen by th' general public already!" She waves a hand at the painting, particularly the woman's naked breasts. "Men have went through great lengths to see that!"
"He didn't," Dorothy breathes, looking down at Blanche.
Rose's eyes grow even larger. "He copied your boobs?!" she whispers in disbelief.
Blanche shakes what God gave her as though she can deny the likeness before her. "As close as any man can copy some o' God's most divine work!"
"Oh, give it a rest, Blanche," Dorothy groans before noticing her mother stalking up to the painting made on the corner of the wall in the museum. "Ma," she asks nervously, "what are you doing?" She knows the look on Sophia's face; it's the same stubborn expression she wore when she finally chased Stan off of Dorothy's doorstep so many years ago, the same look she wore the night before the fire in her nursing home, and the same look she had the last time she defended Blanche and Dorothy's right to be together when they danced together in public. Dorothy remembers that last night fondly. It's not often that Blanche moves on her where anybody can see them, but she'd had a few too many that night, both too many upsets caused by her male admirers and too many stiff drinks poured down her luscious, pouting mouth.
"This was created by that painter fellow who tried to turn you girls against each other, right? And he got his inspiration from all three of you, right?"
Dorothy can hear something shaking now, but she still can't see the bottle her mother holds in her hand well enough to know for certain what it is. "Ma -- " she warns, warring with her own self. She knows she should snatch the bottle away from her before Sophia does something they'll all live to regret, but at the same time, she wants the bastard who created this piece off of all three of them and who knows how many other women to get his comeuppance.
"Yes, Sophia," Rose answers, having no idea of the old woman's plan, "he got it off of all three of us. See?" She points at the face. "Those are my eyes, my nose, my smile! And the hands are Dorothy's. Maybe the shoulders, too. Sophia!" she cries in shock as the old woman sprays the painting.
"Ma!" Dorothy cries from behind them.
"Sophia!" Blanche exclaims, but unlike Dorothy, who hurries forward, she looks around to make certain nobody else is watching. Seeing no one paying them any close attention, she urges in a low voice, "Get 'im! Get 'im!"
Sophia is busily doing just that. She started with the face of the woman in the painting, then moved the black spray paint across both her shoulders and is now quickly covering her breasts, which nobody had to tell her was where Blanche had inspired the painter. She sees both her daughter and their innocent friend in the illustration but had seen nothing she knew to resemble Blanche. However, she remembered the painter well and knew he'd used Blanche somewhere, leading her to quickly mar the illustration's breasts.
"Ma!" Dorothy cries, finally succeeding in snatching the can of spray paint out of Sophia's hands.
"Hey, you paint a wall, you're asking to get it covered up. I whupped your butt for less when you were a kid."
"The museum wanted him to paint the wall, Ma. He couldn't have done it without their permission."
"Did he have your permission to use your image? Or Rose's? Or Blanche's?"
"Of course not!"
"Then give me my spray paint back!"
A security guard ambles by. Blanche blows him a kiss, bringing his attention immediately to her. She bats her eyelashes as Dorothy wraps her arms around her mother in a tight hug and covers her mouth quickly with her hand. She passes the spray paint to Rose, who takes the can from her before she realizes what she's holding. She almost drops the can but looks again at the guard, who's making eyes at Blanche, and knowing the sound of the rattling can hitting the floor will make him look, hides the can behind her back instead.
Sophia continues to struggle while the other three women wait nervously for the guard to move on. Finally, there's a skirmish down at the other end of the hall way. The guard tips his black cap to Blanche, who winks at him, before moving on to see about the wailing kids.
Dorothy still doesn't release his mother as the guard moves on. Instead, picking the old woman up in her arms, she quickly heads away from the painting and toward the museum's exit. Blanche hurries after them, pausing only to call after Rose. "Rose!" she hisses. "What are you waiting for? Come on!"
Rose is eyeing the painting again, however, as the illustrated woman's unmarked eye stares defiantly at her from the cloud of black surrounding her. "Those are my eyes!" she cries again and lets the other woman have it. She uses the last of the spray paint, then drops the can and runs after Blanche. Blanche grabs her hand just as she hears the security guard shout. The two run together out of the museum and into Dorothy's waiting car just as it pulls up to the steps.
Blanche collapses into the back seat beside Rose as Dorothy peels away from the museum. "Ah'll never be able to show mah face in there again!"
"It wasn't your face that was on that painting!" Rose complains. "And to make it a nude painting! Like I would ever take my clothes off in public!"
"Oh, come on, Rose Nylund," Blanche groans next to her. "You're not such a prude, an' besides, nobody wants to see you with yoah clothes off! Ah nevah would've been able to get anythin' for free evah again for simply showin' off mah breasts once that paintin' became famous!"
"It's not going to become famous now." Sophia cackles as Dorothy weaves her car in and out of the traffic, putting as much distance between them and the museum as quickly as she can. Not daring to look at her mother, she finally allows herself to break into a wide grin.
Sophia cranes her neck so that she can look into the backseat at Rose. "Did you finish the job?" she asks.
Rose beams at the memory of feeling so brave and finishing Sophia's destruction. "I sure did!" she exclaims, practically glowing. "Nobody will ever recognize that painting again or see its resemblance to any of us!"
"You did good!" Blanche admits. "Ah thought for certain that guard was going to catch us!"
"He would have," Dorothy speaks up, "if you hadn't distracted him."
"Ah always told you mah talent with men comes in handy."
"You were right about that one."
"This calls for a celebration! Drinks and guys are on me tonight, girls!"
"The guys are always on you, Slut Puppy." Sophia cackles again, but Blanche smiles through her insult.
"You can't fool me, old woman," she teases back. "If you didn't care about all three of us, you wouldn't have done that."
"I may have done it any way. That painting was done in poor taste!"
"Come on, Ma," Dorothy urges. "You know Blanche is right."
"Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I can allow that the Slut Puppy is right for a change."
"Whuff, Sophia," Blanche says, rolling her eyes, but Sophia's the one who can't help smiling this time.
"No one messes with my girls," she vows, and all four women smile as they drive onward together.