Flesh For Fantasy

by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

  She stood in the doorway for a moment until Kevin spotted her and rushed over. “It’s Ellen, isn’t it?” He was dressed in casual gray jeans and a soft blue V-neck sweater that brought out the blue of his eyes and showed a large amount of heavy black chest hair. He had pushed the sweater’s sleeves up to reveal strong forearms covered with more thick, black hair. “You’ve changed your hair.”

  Flattered that he remembered her name, and flabbergasted that he had noticed her new look, Ellen nodded weakly. “I-I-I thought I’d try out a class and see what I can do.”

  “We’re delighted to have you. I’d introduce you around but right now everyone is doing a five-minute exercise.” He guided her to an empty easel and helped her set up a pad of textured paper. “We’re playing with line today, trying to get the essence of a shape with as few lines as possible.” He found a charcoal pencil in her box and helped her sharpen it. “Just relax and try to get with the flow of what’s going on. I’ll come back to you later.” At that moment a timer that had been ticking away in the background sounded. “Okay, everyone.” He put a book and a candle in a brass holder on the small table, cranked the timer and said, “Next. Go!”

  Ellen took her charcoal pencil and quickly sketched the items in front of her. In what seemed only seconds, the timer sounded again. “Okay,” Kevin said, as he added a bowl of fruit and a few soft brushes to the book and candle. “Here’s another. Take fifteen minutes with this one and I’ll come around and see how everyone’s doing.” He repositioned the cloth on which the items rested then said, “Okay. Go!”

  As Ellen worked she noticed that Kevin wandered from easel to easel, commenting, adjusting, suggesting, all in a gentle and supportive tone. When he arrived behind her he said, “As you finish an exercise, take a new sheet and put the previous one beside you so I can look at your work without disturbing you.”

  Ellen flipped back a page and tore off the previous exercise. Kevin held it up and studied it as Ellen looked with him. Each object was portrayed in only a few lines, but the overall effect was not only shape but solidity. “This is quite good for a rank amateur. You’ve got a good hand and a good eye. It’s quite obvious, however, that you’ve had no formal training.” He looked from her work to her. “I’m sorry. That came out sounding insulting and I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “You’re right, though. I’ve never had a lesson. I just draw what I like, and it seems to come out okay.”

  Ellen saw genuine appreciation in his eyes. “It most certainly does. Your sense of line is really wonderful.”

  “I haven’t drawn anything in more years than I care to think about. Do you think I can make something that will give me pressure?”

  “That’s an interesting way to put it. Most people are concerned with whether they can create something salable.”

  “I’m not interested in selling my work, just enjoying it.” Ellen realized that this was the first time she had ever done something for pure pleasure, without an ulterior motive.

  “I always rant and rave about people who are only interested in the monetary aspect of art. In my mind, if you get joy out of what you’re creating, that’s the object of the game. If you sell something, so much better.” He glanced at the timer at the front of the room. “This arrangement has only another minute, but we’ll do several more. The class lasts until twelve. Stay after and let’s talk.” When Ellen nodded, Kevin hustled to the front of the room. “Okay,” he said, “let’s do another fifteen-minute exercise.”

  Two hours later only Kevin and Ellen remained in the workroom. Toward the end of class, Kevin had introduced Ellen to the other students. Each was warm and open with, “Glad to meet yous,” and “Welcomes.” One woman suggested that one day they have lunch after class. “What a nice group you have,” she said when Kevin had finished cleaning up the front of the room.

  “I seem to attract the nicest and most talented people.” He stood behind her and Ellen could feet the warmth of his breath on her neck as he talked. “You included, of course, but I do have a collection of very talented artists in my classes. You met Joseph Overman, the guy with the heavy eyebrows and the glasses.” Ellen pictured the inept-looking man who seemed to have trouble seeing the end of his brush through his amazingly thick glasses. “He’s having a one-man show at The Morris next month.”

  “He is? What’s The Morris?”

  “A very prestigious gallery in Soho. It’s quite an honor for him.”

  “And for you, too, I’d say.”

  Kevin nodded, then lapsed into silence gazing at her work, finally saying, “You know, you’ve really got talent. I hope you’ll continue to come here.”

  She had no idea whether she actually had talent or whether Kevin was just saying that to get her to sign up for a series of classes, but she found she didn’t care. She was doing something just for the hell of it, and she hadn’t had as much fun in a long time. “I have no clue whether I have talent or not, but I really enjoyed this morning. I think I’d like to come back. I’ve read your brochure and I think I can deal with the cost of ten lessons to start.”

  “Wonderful.” He took her credit card and hustled downstairs, returning several minutes later with a receipt for her to sign and a handful of signed business cards. “You turn in one of these each lesson. That way I don’t have to keep track of what days you come. I do classes Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and my brother, Sean, does them on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He sculpts so unless you want to play with clay, come on my days. Most classes, like this morning’s, are applicable to any medium, but I have some special ones from time to time that focus on techniques for a specific medium. There will always be a schedule posted both up here and downstairs. Why watercolors, by the way?”

  “I used to paint when I was a kid and I always enjoyed poster paint so I guess I just thought that made sense. Otherwise, I’ve no fixed ideas.”

  Kevin tipped his head to one side. “Let me ask you this. If you could paint anything in the world: landscapes, portraits, still lifes, animals, what would you paint?” When Ellen didn’t answer immediately, he continued, “Close your eyes and see yourself in your living room, gazing up at a blank wall. Now see a frame there, filled with something you created. You’re happy to look at it, pleased that it came out so well. Got that?”

  “Yes,” Ellen said, eyes closed.

  “Okay. What’s in the frame?”

  “It’s a landscape, I guess. Soft green trees and a lake.”

  From close behind her, Kevin whispered, “Tell me more.”

  “There are flowers and puffy white clouds. Two people are having a picnic. They are obviously laughing and enjoying the warm sun but they are small and you can’t make out their faces.”

  “Okay,” he said softly. “That’s a good place to start. Just because you’re thinking about landscapes doesn’t mean you can overlook the basics though. It doesn’t free you from work and exercises like the ones we were doing today. You need to master line and form, shape and contour. You must learn about composition and texture.” He grasped her shoulders and stood close to her back. “And in your painting, were those people you and me by any chance?”

  Startled, Ellen realized that she hadn’t had any sexual thoughts about Kevin since she arrived, but now her mind was filled with the feel and smell of him. The hair on the back of her neck prickled from the feel of his breath. “You know, of course, that I paint. I was wondering. Would you pose for me some afternoon?”

  “Me?” Ellen thought about her fantasy. Being alone with Kevin, just the two of them. Be real, Ellen, she told herself. He’s just a painter looking for a free model.

  “Sure,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “Why not?” Don’t get carried away, she lectured herself.

  “Good. That’s great. Could you sit for me one afternoon this week? I’m just finishing something, but Thursday would be wonderful.”

  “Can you just take time from the gallery like that?”

  “My brother Sean and
I co-own the Templeton. He sculpts while I cover the downstairs, then I paint while he gallery-sits. Could you come on Thursday?”

  Why the hell not? “Okay.”

  “I need to tell you something that might change your mind.” She could feel Kevin’s sigh. “I was considering letting you show up then telling you but I have too much respect for you to create an awkward scene. I paint nudes.”

  Ellen felt the heat scorch her cheeks. “Nudes? Why me?” she squeaked, unable to get anything else sensible out of her mouth.

  Kevin took her shoulders and turned her around to face him. “Honestly? You have a wonderful combination of sensuality and reticence, power and modesty, curiosity and hesitancy. If I could portray that, I’d be a genius. I want to try.” He brushed her lower lip with his thumb. “And you have such a sexy mouth.”

  Ellen couldn’t get any coherent thoughts through her brain. It was as though her entire body was paralyzed and all the energy of movement flowed into her swirling thoughts.

  Kevin cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I’ve embarrassed you and I didn’t intend it at all. Really. I’m not making a pass at you, I was just being truthful, something that often gets me into trouble. Please. Feel free to say no, but also consider saying yes. The human body is so beautiful that it’s what I enjoy painting most.”

  Ellen realized that her hands had crept up until they were covering her breasts. She certainly didn’t have a body that men wanted to paint.

  “Let me show you a few of my paintings and maybe you’ll understand.” She didn’t protest when he led her into a small side room. Paintings stood on the floor, balanced against the walls. They were all of nudes, reclining, seated, standing, posed and in natural positions.

  “These are very good,” Ellen said, overwhelmed by the quality of the work. “They live. They almost breathe.”

  Kevin’s smile lit his face. “That’s what I hope people will see in them.”

  “The women are all so lovely,” Ellen said, more sure than ever that she couldn’t pose for him.

  “Are they? Look more closely. They are all just ordinary women.”

  Ellen took a better look and quickly realized that Kevin was right. There were no perfect bodies, no models’ shapes yet all the women were, each in her own way, beautiful. “Why do they all look beautiful?”

  “Because, when I paint them, they feel beautiful. That’s all it really takes to make a woman beautiful.”

  “Not really,” she said, but she continued to stare at the room full of nude women.

  “Really. Let me prove it to you. Let me sketch you on Thursday. Come at about two. If you don’t want to stay, I’ll understand. If you just want to sit, fully clothed, and let me try to capture that wonderful attitude, that will be enough for me.”

  She could keep her clothes on, yet he could make her look beautiful? Should she do it?

  “Listen, Ellen. I’ll be here at two, waiting, hoping you’ll show up. If you do, we will do only what makes you comfortable. If you’re not comfortable I can’t paint you anyway. Please come. But if you don’t, I’ll understand, and of course you’ll still come to my classes. Okay?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Bravo!” Lucy screamed. “She’s going to go for it.”

  “Lucy, you promised not to eavesdrop,” Angela snapped.

  “I know, but she’s such a fascinating case. You know me. I can resist anything but temptation.”

  “Luce, you’re incorrigible. Don’t promises mean anything to you? How’s she ever going to feel like she has any privacy?”

  “She doesn’t.”

  “I know that, but she doesn’t.”

  Large letters streamed across Lucy’s computer screen.

  “LUCY—YOU AREN’T GETTING ANY WORK DONE. PAY ATTENTION TO BUSINESS AND STAY OUT OF THINGS THAT DON’T CONCERN YOU.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lucy said, returning to a stack of computer printouts. “But I decide what concerns me,” she whispered.

  Chapter

  8

  When Ellen wandered into the kitchen the following morning, Maggie was sitting waiting for her, a gift-wrapped box on the table in front of her. “I took the liberty of starting coffee,” she said. She pushed the box toward Ellen as she settled across the table. “This is for you.”

  Ellen settled at the tiny table and picked up the flat box, wrapped in shiny red paper with a black ribbon and intricately tied bow. “You didn’t have to get me anything. You’ve been so much help already.”

  “It’s not from me. I found it in the changing room.”

  “Changing room?”

  “The changing room is where I am just before you see me. I’m just there, and there are clothes waiting for me appropriate for what I will do that day. I dress, then open the door and I’m here, or wherever. Lord the verbiage is so difficult.” She combed her fingers through her hair. “Anyway, I found this on a bench and the card’s addressed to you.”

  Ellen took the package and pulled off the attached card. The envelope was small and black as was the business card inside. “For Thursday,” it said in white ink. “Knock him dead. Love, Lucy.”

  “It’s from Lucy,” Ellen said, barely able to keep her jaw from dropping. She pulled the paper off the box and opened it. In a nest of black tissue paper lay a tiny lacy bra and matching bikini panties, both in a soft blue. As Ellen held them up she realized that, while they were totally decent, they were also decadent, with carefully selected areas of thick and thin lace. “She’s got to be kidding,” Ellen said, gaping at the lingerie. “I couldn’t wear anything like this.”

  “Why not, and what’s happening on Thursday? And what day is it now?”

  “Actually, it’s Tuesday, and quite a bit has happened since I saw you last.” She told Maggie all about Jim and dinner the previous Saturday evening. Then she spent several minutes discussing Kevin’s painting class. “Oh, and he asked me to pose for him next Thursday.” She ducked her head. “Nude.”

  “Wow. Quite a step out of your safe little cocoon, I’d say.”

  Ellen’s head snapped up abruptly. “Just a damn minute. How does Lucy know about Thursday?” she snapped. “Has she been watching me again? I thought they both promised to stay out of my life.”

  Maggie held her hands up, palms outward. “Hold it. I have no control over Lucy. To be honest, I doubt that anyone has, except maybe her boss.” She chuckled. “And I’m not even sure about him.”

  “The nerve of her.” Ellen almost ran into the living room and dropped onto the sofa. She jumped up again and paced. “The nerve.”

  Maggie followed her into the living room, a coffee mug in each hand. “I would suggest that you just don’t think about her,” she said with infuriating calm. “She’s become more and more of a busybody lately, but she can’t really affect what you do unless you let her.” She handed Ellen her coffee and settled in an overstuffed chair. Changing the subject she asked, “What are you going to do about Thursday? I hope you’re going to pose for him.”

  “I don’t know,” Ellen said with a long sigh, propping her feet on the coffee table. “Part of me wants to be brave and daring, to go along with my new look and all, but part of me is terrified that I’ll get myself into something that I can’t get out of.”

  “I know you don’t know Kevin very well but from the feelings that you get, do you think you have to worry about him attacking you? Do you think he’d stop if you said no to something?”

  Ellen thought a moment. “I think he would. I don’t know why I say that. He might be a total con artist, bilking unsuspecting women out of their life savings for art lessons and midday sex.” When Maggie raised her usual skeptical eyebrow, Ellen said, “Okay. He’s probably not on America’s Most Wanted and somehow I do trust him.”

  “So what you’re saying is that it’s you that you don’t trust.”

  Ellen took a long time going into the kitchen and refilling her coffee cup. Maggie was right, of course. What she didn’t trust were her ow
n feelings and needs. Until recently she hadn’t realized how much she had been missing in life. Sure, she had been depressed when Gerry moved to the city, but she had made a life for herself without a man in it. But was that really life? Didn’t she need more? Wasn’t that why, deep down beyond the obvious, she had come to the city? Ellen had never been particularly introspective but now, as she finally looked into herself, she had to admit that she was curious about men and sex and relationships. More and more, thoughts about what she’d been missing had been filtering into her consciousness.

  As she returned with her coffee, Ellen picked up the conversation. “I guess what I’m scared to death of is being out of my league, of discovering that I know nothing about loving.” Tears started to gather in her eyes. “I’m terrified of having someone like Kevin make a pass at me, then being so inept that he laughs at me or just gives up in frustration.”

  “No one’s born knowing or confident,” Maggie said, handing Ellen a tissue from the pocket of her jeans. “Every woman in the world has had doubts like yours from time to time. Women who’ve been out of the dating scene for a while wonder whether anyone will ever be interested in them again. Some women stay with men who are incredibly bad for them because they are frightened that they will never have sex again.”

  “You never had doubts,” Ellen said with a sniff.

  “Of course I did. Not as much in my later years, of course, although I was often worried that a new man would be disappointed in my body or my performance. In my early years, I was nervous almost all the time, but it’s attitude that matters. If you force yourself to feel confident, then the confidence will become real very quickly. It’s like ‘Whistle a Happy Tune.’ Make believe you’re brave and all.”