He went to his easel and drew for twenty minutes, then stopped. "The angle's not right. It's too much an aerial view."
"Perhaps you'd like to construct a cross and we can try it again next week."
His voice turned harsh. "Don't make fun of me."
I was quiet, felt tears in my eyes. He stared at me for a moment, then threw his chalk across the room. "Fuck it!"
He stomped over and began untying my arms, angry and frustrated. I felt as if I'd failed him. Worse yet, I felt as if I'd failed art.
Freed of the binds, I shook out my limbs as he sat dejected on the edge of his bed. I blanketed myself with his comforter, sat next to him, and reached for his hand. He tensed at my touch. I withdrew my fingers.
I said, "It's early, Christopher. Let's try it again." 56
He looked at his watch. "It's almost nine. How much time do you have?"
"As much as you need."
He ran his hand over his face. "God, I'm being a selfish pig. You're pale. You must be hungry. Let me take you out to eat."
"No, it's okay. Let's just keep going."
"Not until I get some nutrition into you." He stood and began to pace. "Put on one of my robes and I'll make you something. While you're eating, I want to look at some religious art books. That sound okay?"
"Yes, it sounds ducky."
He bent down and kissed my forehead. "You're a great sport."
"Thank you," I muttered. "You can put it on my tombstone as an epitaph."
He left without answering me. I shuddered. I was sorry I'd made the wisecrack.
After the break, Chris became very mathematical about his proportions. He measured distances and angles from my shoulder to my hand, from my hand to his headboard. He struggled with many positions until he found a couple of poses he liked. By the time he actually began drawing, it was close to eleven. At one in the morning, Chris ripped up his current work.
"I'm fading." He paused. "You looked tired, too."
I was exhausted. I never realized that modeling was such hard work. He untied me. I shook out my limbs, feeling numb and drained. He placed the comforter around my shoulders, then told me to put my clothes on.
He didn't see me when I walked into the living room. I watched him play back his answering machine messages, the last being a girl telling him to get his butt over to Tom's because he was missing a terrific party. I knew the voice. She was pretty and loose two traits that made her very popular. Short blond hair and bright blue eyes. The sex goddess of Central West Valley High.
"Cheryl Diggs," I said.
Chris turned the machine off and pivoted to face me. "You've got a better ear than I thought."
"For some things." I rubbed my eyes. "What's the story with you and her? Why is she always giving you neck rubs?"
"What are you really asking me, Terry? You want to know whether I've slept with her? Yes, I have." 57
I looked away. Chris said, "You want me to treat you like I treat her, Terry?"
"No, but..."
He waited for me to complete my sentence.
I sat on his sofa. He sat next to me. I didn't look at him. "I'm not a nun, Chris. I have sexual feelings "
"I know that "
"I also have human feelings. I get jealous."
"And that's precisely why I'm not sleeping with you. I don't want to hurt you."
And what could I say to that? "You don't mind hurting Cheryl?"
"Cheryl's been around the block. I walk away tomorrow, she couldn't care less."
"How do you know?"
"I know."
"Yeah, you're a mind reader."
"No, I'm not. I know she doesn't care because she's promiscuous. Terry, I'd rather be with you. But you're complicated. Cheryl's easy. So that's why I'm with her. Any other questions?"
I didn't answer. He blew out air. "Look, we're both real tired. How about we try this again next week?"
Finally I kicked the words out. "I don't think so. I'm a tutor, Chris, not a model. I don't feel comfortable doing this, even for immortality."
"But you're a great model."
"Thank you, but it's irrelevant "
"Let me show you some of the drawings. Maybe they'll change your mind."
He started up, but I held his arm. At least he didn't tense. I said, "It won't change my mind."
He tapped his foot. "Look, you're making fifteen an hour as a tutor, right? I'll pay you fifty an hour to model for me." He glanced at his watch. "Tonight's haul would be two hundred and fifty just like that. That's great bread by anyone's standards."
I glared at him. "You think I'm holding out for money?"
"No, of course not. I was just trying to motivate you "
"By offering me money? I'm not a nun, Christopher, but I'm not a whore, either."
The room fell quiet. Something wasn't right.
I said, "You know, Chris, you're doing okay in your work. Maybe it would be better "
"No, no, no, no, no." He smiled weakly. "I'll behave myself. 58
Forget about this whole modeling thing. I shouldn't have ... let's just go back to the way it was."
My head was reeling. "Chris, that isn't possible "
"Sure it is." He began to pace. "It's just perspective, Terry. That's all it is. I can view you this way. Or I can view you that way. You can be my girlfriend. Or you can be my tutor. Or you can be my model. It's just perspective, compartmentalizing. You know what I'm saying?"
I stood and slipped the strap of my bag over my shoulder. "No, I really don't."
"Terry, please don't leave." He grabbed my hand. "Just sit a moment, okay?"
With great reluctance, I sat back down. He sat next to me. Calmly, he said, "Just tell me what you want."
"I don't want anything, Chris. Everything's okay."
"Then if everything's okay, we'll go back to the way it was. You're my tutor, I'm your student. I'll see you on Monday then."
I kneaded my hands. "I think ..." I cleared my throat. "It really would be better if you found another tutor."
The room turned silent and cold. I started shivering. He rubbed my arms.
"Is that what you want, Teresa?"
My eyes became moist. "I don't know."
"We're both too tired to make decisions. Let's talk on Monday."
"Chris, this past week has been real intense. I need a break. How about if you call me in a week, okay?"
He stared at me for a long time.
"Please, Christopher. If it's love, it can wait a week."
His eyes never left mine. Staring me down. Finally he shrugged. "Sure, I'll call you in a week."
Suddenly, I could breathe. "You're not mad?"
"Mad at you?" His smile was wide but off. "I could never be mad at you. Sure, I'll call in a week."
We both knew he'd never call again. He dropped my hands and scratched his head. "In the meantime, I've said some things to you in confidence."
"You know I'm very trustworthy." I laughed nervously. "Besides, you have some pretty detailed drawings of me. In the leverage department, you've got a clear advantage."
He laughed out loud. "Yeah, you're right about that." 59
"Can I have the drawings, Chris?" I gave him as earnest a look as I could muster. "Please?"
But he shook his head no. "Don't worry. I'll keep them locked up. No one but me will ever see them." He crossed himself. "That much I swear."
"Why can't I have them?"
He smiled slowly. "Because they're mine."
Over the weekend I had second thoughts. By Monday, I was determined to talk to him. I spotted him before first period. He was with his friends, Cheryl Diggs on his lap, his hands traveling her body like ants on a sandhill. She was equally demonstrative. From a distance, it looked like he saw me. He paused, then brought Cheryl's face to his and devoured her mouth.
Something snapped inside as I walked away, a long-buried aching that surfaced as a ravenous need for love and affection.
I became moonstruck and boy, di
d Chris know it! For the next three months, he drew me into a horrid game of "I told you so." And the more he tortured me, the more I lapped it up. I knew I had reached rock bottom when I found myself flirting with Steve Anderson just to get close to Chris. Next thing I knew I was going to the parties.
The parties.
There was always some house available, somebody with out-of-town parents. The drugs were plentiful, the booze flowed like tapwater, and sex was open and often. Chris sprawled out on the floor, one hand up Cheryl's blouse, the other down her pants. Her hands on his crotch, teasing him to a massive erection.
I looked away.
But I always came back for more. The only thing I can say in my defense is that I never let Steve touch me in public. In private, though I guarded my virginity like a chastity belt, I had no choice but to give him something if I was to keep him. And I needed to keep him because 61
he was my link to Chris. I hated doing things with him. I wondered if he told his friends about me. I wondered if he told Chris. How I despised myself.
But I kept going back because I needed to see Chris. In fact, what I saw was an alcoholic in the making my former student packing away shots without breaking a sweat. Drinking made Chris gregarious a foreign entity to my eyes. He'd smile, he'd joke, he'd become a good ole boy with lots of fans. Lots of drinking also made him amorous. After an hour of raging, he'd disappear with Cheryl into a back room.
Always making sure I saw him go with her.
My grades started slipping. I became despondent. Lying like a lump in bed, listening to Vivaldi's Four Seasons, thinking suicidal thoughts. Out of desperation, with no one to turn to, I turned to prayer to my obligation of confession. Dense as I was, it finally hit me. It wasn't that I had posed nude for Chris. Had he loved me as he should have, I would have died for him. It was debasing myself for a boy who regarded me as dirt.
I unburdened my soul, asking Jesus for forgiveness and acceptance. For me, confession had always been a painful process even when I did it on a regular basis. But a year-long neglect of my spiritual duties made me feel even more shameful and guilty. But I forged ahead, seeking penance from God. After it was over, I felt better. But guilt continued to gnaw at my bones. Because my heart still ached for Chris.
But righteous actions first. Maybe the thoughts would come later.
I went cold turkey. I broke up with Bull Anderson. No more parties, no more torture. Then I started avoiding Chris. The hardest period was orchestra. He always had a crowd around him and was very good at catching my eye.
Then one day something drew my eye away from him. Perhaps it was Jesus guiding my soul. Or maybe it was the scent of another wounded animal just like me.
His name was Daniel Reiss. Besides being in orchestra with me, he was in my math class. He was a computer junkie, an almost nerd with glasses that often fell down his nose. He was skinny but at least he was tall. He was staring at Chris, a piece of his flute in each of his hands. His eyes weren't resentful. They were simply perplexed, saying: Why would God who made a Chris also make someone like me?
Violin in hand, I walked over to Daniel. "It won't work unless you put it together."
Slowly he turned, amazed that I was talking to him. 62
"You've got to put the pieces together." I smiled briefly. "Then you've got to blow."
I walked away.
He followed.
Daniel was wonderful in his simplicity. He was sweet, and gentle, and didn't expect a thing sexually. So anything I gave him was met with unbridled excitement. He gave me back my sense of self, and because of that, I wanted our senior prom together to be extra-special.
With my tutoring money, I could have afforded almost any dress I wanted. But store-bought wasn't good enough. I wanted something unique handmade.
Which meant made by me. Every day after school, I rummaged through fashion magazines. Once I settled on the design, I started my hunt in the fabric stores. I found a bolt of teal-blue taffeta woven with gold thread that cost a fraction of its original price.
I cut, I snipped, I sewed. I adjusted and pinned until my eyes gave out. But when I was done, I had my one of a kind a backless and strapless bodice attached to a form-fitting miniskirt that gave my body a sexy embrace.
But something was missing.
It needed trim. It needed a bow. But not just any bow. A monstersized bow that I tacked on just below the waistline. It swayed when I moved. It gave me kinetics. With the rest of the fabric, I made a matching stole. I accented the entire outfit with a black lace bag, matching lace gloves cut off at the fingers, and black garters and stockings. I kept my jewelry simple a cross around my neck and Chris's pearl earrings a nice, ironic touch.
On prom night, I felt as desirable as a courtesan. Yet inside, I was pure ... well, maybe not totally pure. But at least I came away from high school still a virgin.
Daniel was speechless. His hands shook as he pinned a corsage onto my bodice. I took his arm as we walked to his car. He had wanted to rent a limo, but I told him not to waste the money. His six-year-old Volvo would do just fine. I felt cocky as I made my entrance into the gym.
I could feel the eyes on me male and female. The girls looking at my dress, the boys eyeing what was inside. I could hear a buzz as Daniel and I walked over to the picture line. I kept my expression genteel but inside I was flying.
All these years of keeping a low profile. But not tonight. Tonight was my turn. 63
Casually, I glanced around the room.
I saw him before he saw me. He was absolutely gorgeous completely at ease in formal wear. I figured he must have attended a lot of weddings in his day. He was talking to his friends, Cheryl at his side. But there was a distance between them. No body contact.
Then she took his arm. He stiffened. She looked upset.
I felt bad.
He turned and looked in my direction.
I caught his eye.
Abruptly, his face turned into something inanimate cold and emotionless with the eyes of a dead fish. I looked away and moved closer to Daniel. When I glanced up again, he was gone.
I pretended the interchange never happened. I danced, I laughed, I flirted, I drank punch and ate cucumber sandwiches. Midway through the affair, I saw him again, moving through the crowd, heading for the side door.
Without a nod to rational thought, I excused myself from Daniel and gave chase. I found him alone under a tree, knees up against his chest same position I'd modeled for his sketches. I sat next to him, hugging myself because I was cold.
"Stuffy in there," I said.
He didn't answer.
"Like my earrings?"
He didn't move.
"Look, Chris ..." I tried again. "I'm sorry it ended so badly. I'm sorry that things got so messed up. You were a very important person in my life. I feel very deeply about you and "
"Are you wearing garters or panty hose?" he asked me.
I waited a beat. "What?"
He looked at me for the first time. His voice was calm. "I asked if you were wearing garters or panty hose."
I stared at him.
He shrugged. "If I'm gonna fantasize about fucking you, I want to be accurate."
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Without a word, I got up and went back to the gym. Daniel found me, asked me where I'd been. I didn't answer. I'd been subdued.
Another hour going through the motions.
Someone put torn Petty on the PA.
Oh my my. Oh hell yes. Honey, put on that party dress. 64
My head began to throb.
Last dance with Mary Jane, One more time to kill the pain ...
I asked Daniel to take me to the restaurant now. I knew it was early, but I had to get out of there.
He told me, anything I wanted.
We were at his Volvo, almost inside, when we heard Chris call Daniel's name. We turned around.
"Hey, Reiss," he said loudly. "Can I have just five minutes with your girl before you whisk her away?"
&n
bsp; I felt anger overflow. "Why are you asking him for permission to talk to me?"
He turned to me, his face bathed in sweat. Jumpy eyes. An emotion in him I'd never seen before. He was nervous.
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