Adventures of a Nude Model: Complete Page 2
“I'm glad.” Beth sat up, gazing at her mother tenderly, then her grin returned.“Oh, and speaking of bushy tails ...”
Her eyes dropped to a spot slightly to the left of Sophie's right hip. Turning, Sophie discovered that she was backed up close to, but not quite against, the wardrobe mirror, which had been giving Beth a view of her naked rear the whole time they were talking.
“Very cheeky, Mum,” Beth chortled, jumping up and heading to the door. Sophie let out a small whimper of chagrin, then couldn't help snuffling with laughter. And to think earlier today her life had seemed boring…
CHAPTER THREE
Despite not sleeping all that well, Sophie continued to feel cheerful and bubbly the next day. With the thought of Clodagh's class in the back of her mind, her life suddenly seemed full of new possibilities. The trouble was, if she actually tried to picture herself doing it for real, feelings of a much more intense kind would wash over her – a cold terror, and a warm, queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Those feelings had their own addictive quality. But the time was coming when she needed to make a decision. Was she going to content herself with building castles in the air, or was she actually going to do the dastardly deed?
The first class would be this Saturday, which was ideal, as Beth would be with Graham all day. But who was she kidding? It was never going to happen. And yet she kept the photocopy of the flier tucked in her pocket. And during her lunchbreak, she removed herself to the storage room on the second floor, where, having closed the door behind her, she unfolded the now-crumpled A4 sheet and pored over every inch of it for what had to be the umpteenth time.
She was shaking with nerves. She wasn't seriously considering doing it. It was only a game she was playing in her head. So why, then, was she pulling out her mobile phone and tapping in Clodagh's number?
“Hello? Clodagh MacDowell speaking.”
A very young-sounding Clodagh answered almost at once. Just like that, fantasy became reality.
“Oh, hi, Clodagh. Uh, we met at the library, I'm the, well I'm a… librarian…?”
“Oh yeah. Thanks for all your help. Were you calling about the figure drawing class?”
This was it. Crunch-time. It crossed Sophie's mind to bottle it, to justify the phone-call by asking some spurious, spur-of-the-moment question. But somehow she took the plunge. “Yes – actually, I'm… I was interested in modelling… if you'll have me.”
It took an enormous effort to get the words out.
Clodagh seemed to sense as much, because her tone softened.“Oh! Right. Well, first things first. Why don't you tell me your name?”
“Sophie. Sophie Parrish.”
“Okay, Sophie, so you understand that modelling involves full nudity? This is art nude modelling, and for a sense of what is required you might want to glance at some of the paintings on my website.”
Sophie remembered thinking that some of those poses were quite revealing, but she said, “Yes, that's absolutely fine. I had a good look at your site last night. It was one of the things that convinced me I wanted to give it a try.”
“The pay is £12.50 an hour, but in all honesty life modelling isn't the sort of thing you should do for the money. You should do it because you love it.”
It hadn't occurred to Sophie that she would be paid. She said, “No, it's not about the money, it's just something I really want to do for my own satisfaction.” Sort of like a hobby, she was tempted to add, but checked herself in case it gave the impression she wasn't taking things seriously.
“Perfect! Lastly, I should warn you that I like to try new things and take people out of their comfort zone, all in the aid of making it a memorable occasion for all concerned. Hope that doesn't put you off?”
It sounded terrifying, but Sophie said, “No – no, if anything that's just what I need.”
Her answer provoked another one of Clodagh's trills of laughter. Even through the puny speaker of her mobile phone, it seemed to burst over Sophie in a calming wave. “Okay, let's look at some slots.”
“The first session would be great, if that's available.”
“Sorry, I've already got a model pencilled in for that one. How about the Saturday after?”
Sophie blushed. Stupidly, she'd been counting on having that first slot. The following Saturday – well, Beth would be around then. If she was going to disappear for two hours, Sophie would need to come up with a 100 percent water-tight, daughter-proof excuse …
“Um, probably, but can I get back to you on that? Sorry, I realize I haven't thought this through ...”
“No, probs. I'll keep that slot clear for you for a couple of days, if you like.” They talked a little more and Beth took down Sophie's email address before ringing off.
Sophie sagged. God, she'd made a right balls-up of that, hadn't she? Clodagh had been very sweet and patient, but she couldn't have been very impressed. And the worst thing was, now Sophie had tried and failed to become a nude model, she understood just how much she had been looking forward to it.
She dragged herself, demoralized, back into the library. She was still provisionally booked in for the second slot. But would her nerve hold that long? And what would she tell Beth? She certainly couldn't tell her the truth. It would be much too embarrassing.
There was plenty of her lunch break left. Sophie decided to go for a walk. She grabbed her coat and was heading out through the automatic doors when her phone rang.
It was Clodagh.
“Hey, Sophie.”
“Clodagh! Hi!” Sophie stopped dead, then scurried a few steps away from the doors to give herself some privacy.
“Listen, I phoned the other model just to confirm with her, and she's begged off. So the first slot is yours if you still want it.”
“Really?” Sophie went cold, then hot.
“Yup. Family emergency. She was just about to call me, so she said. So shall I put you down for that date?”
Sophie swallowed. Her throat was tight, but she felt herself nodding vigorously. “Yes! Yes, please!”
“I'd like you to be there about twenty minutes before the class begins. And if there's any problem, let me know in good time, okay, so I can arrange a replacement, because we wouldn't want to disappoint the class with a no-show.”
“No! Don't worry, I'll be there! I know I sound a bit disorganized, but I promise you this is something I really want to do.”
“Excellent.” They ran over a few more details, and Clodagh said, “Well, Sophie, I really look forward to seeing you on Saturday.”
“Me too.”
Sophie had an ear-to-ear grin as she put the phone back in her pocket. She'd done it! She was going to be a nude art model! Then a sickly feeling gripped her and she thought, Oh God, what am I letting myself in for?
CHAPTER FOUR
The intervening days passed in an agony of anticipation. The nights were even worse, sleepless and full of wild imaginings. She tried to prepare herself by studying the book of poses she'd borrowed and practising some of them in front of the mirror. She made appointments to have a trim, a wax and a mani-pedi. She did lots of yoga. She was hopeless at work, putting books back on the wrong shelves, not listening when she was being spoken to and generally drifting about in a daze. Around Beth, she did her best to seem normal and not totally preoccupied with the ordeal ahead of her, but the effort was exhausting.
It was a sweet kind of torture, though, and she knew she would have been devastated if Clodagh had phoned to say the class was cancelled.
Fortunately, no such phonecall came, and at last it was the day. At 9:30 sharp, Graham collected Beth and whisked her off in his silver Audi for a day of father-daughter bonding. Left alone, Sophie thought she was going to be sick. She bathed, stretched, then idled around in a towel, channel-flipping, nibbling an energy bar in lieu of lunch and peeing every five minutes because of her nerves. In t
hree hours' time I'm going to be standing naked in a room full of strangers, she would think. Then, later, In two hours' time I'm going to be standing naked in a room full of strangers. No matter how often she put it to herself, she was unable to get her head around it; it continued to seem most unlikely.
Finally, it was time to go. She put on a black tracksuit with nothing on underneath, and grabbed a bag into which she'd packed a pale peach jersey wrap and a hair-brush and… well, that was all she could think of that a nude model might need. She drove into town like a zombie, watching herself from far-off, an imaginary Sat-Nav device saying to her in a sing-song voice, You're now a mile from the location where you're going to be naked. You're now half a mile from the location where you're going to be naked.
She parked in her usual space behind the library. The class was taking place just opposite, in a rambling old building that housed one of Dalchester's less interesting museums, in a room at the back which was sometimes used for lectures, Q&As and meetings.
Sophie crossed the pedestrianized square and followed a sign with an arrow – ART CLASS, it said, with, hooray, no mention of nudity – to a door at the side of the building. She went through into a hallway, where another door was ajar, with another sign saying ART CLASS tacked to it. So this was it, then. The point of no return. She expected to be in a panic, but instead she felt numb. Even at this late stage, it just wouldn't sink in that this was really happening. She would only truly believe it, she supposed, once she was actually standing there in the buff surrounded by scratching pencils.
She'd gotten here earlier than she needed, so she could have given herself a few minutes. But she rapped timidly on the door and nudged it open. “Clodagh?”
The artist was over at the far end of the room, manoeuvring a grey plinth-like object over the scuffed parquet floor. “Sophie! Eager-beaver, you're early!” There was just a hint of relief in her friendly greeting, as though she'd been secretly worried her model might not show up.
They shook hands. The last time they'd met Clodagh had been swallowed up inside a sopping-wet anorak. This was Sophie's first opportunity to have a good look at her. Once again, she was struck by how very lovely and very young she was. She was two or three inches taller than Sophie, the firm curviness of her body revealed by a tight long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. Her inky-black hair was pulled back in a glossy ponytail. Her skin was naturally tawny and high-coloured. She had big hazel eyes and a broad, sensuous mouth. She wore no make-up or jewellery of any kind, but she really didn't need any – mother nature had done a fine job on her.
It would have been natural for anyone walking in to assume that Clodagh was the model and Sophie the tutor. There was a part of Sophie that believed it should be that way, that the young and beautiful should pose for the older and less beautiful, not the other way around, and that doing it this way round was almost perverse.
Clodagh, though, seemed totally at ease with the situation as it stood. “So here we are,” she said, rubbing her hands and smiling. “This is where it's all going to happen. Wonderful spot for making art, isn't it?”
Sophie looked around. She had been in this room before, one or twice, but never when it was empty. It had a shabby grandeur. There was a high ceiling with a chandelier and ceiling rose, supplemented with modern light fittings. The walls were pale olive, and taking pride of place against one of them was a marble fireplace enclosed behind a fretted brass screen. All of the original features looked grimy and slightly the worse for wear. The air smelt faintly stale, as though the room hadn't been used in a while. There were doors off, one letting into a kind of kitchen area where she glimpsed flasks of tea and coffee. A couple of stacks of wooden chairs and a few more of those plinth-things came close to completing the inventory. Apart from some wooden drawing boards and a pile of sheets and pillows, which Clodagh must have brought with her, there was none of the usual paraphernalia of the art studio. Sophie could see how that might prove to be inconvenient, but perhaps Clodagh wanted it that way – after all, hadn't she said she was reinventing the life class?
There was one other detail of note. At the far end was a set of French windows. Through them, Sophie saw an area of green, perhaps twelve feet by eight, enclosed by a high brick wall covered in creepers. A mossy garden statue of a goddess looked back at her as a sprinkle of rain began to fall. Light was spilling in through the dirty panes of glass, giving the room a bright, open feeling that in other circumstances would have been very pleasant, but in these circumstances made Sophie ask, “What are you going to do about the windows?”
Clodagh gave one of her trademark chuckles. “Don't shoot me, but I actually chose this venue because of them. All that natural light. It'll make such a difference. And it's fine, we're not overlooked, I checked the sight-lines.”
“What if someone comes into the garden?”
“Won't happen. No one has access apart from the handyman who trims the lawn, and he only tends it once a week. Actually, I'm going to see about getting us a key, we might be able to do some drawing outdoors if it ever stops raining.”
Sophie nodded, starting to feel guilty that she had questioned Clodagh's judgement. It was important to remember that Clodagh was in charge. Sophie promised herself that from now on she would simply surrender and go with the flow.
“You're right, it's spectacular,” she said. “Did you want help with that box-thing?”
She could tell by Clodagh's grateful reaction that she'd scored major Brownie points with that offer. Together, the two of them wrestled the box to a spot about five feet in front of the French windows and then turned it on its side. They then fetched another and laid it next to the first one. The two clicked together, and Clodagh threw the sheet on top of them. The result was a small, low platform just about big enough to accommodate a reclining figure with curled up arms and legs – Sophie recognized it as being part of the podium that was usually put up for visiting Q&As.
Clodagh dusted her palms. “I think that's all we need.”
It felt good, tutor and model working together to get the room ready for the artists. The strenuous physical activity also helped to distract Sophie from what was awaiting her, or at least it might have done if Clodagh hadn't said, “We're going to draw in the round today. It's a good way of breaking down the barriers between the model and the artists.”
Sophie thought that sounded very ominous, but she kept a positive expression on her face and said, “Will you tell me what poses you want me to do?”
As she asked the question, she perched herself gingerly on the edge of the platform and peeked up at Clodagh through her fringe, which had tumbled into her eyes during the box-shifting. She felt small, like a schoolgirl.
Clodagh shook her pretty head. “I might now and then, but on the whole it'll be up to you to come up with the poses. They're your means of self-expression. I might edit and select, but ultimately it's down to you.”
“I see.” Now she felt even smaller. Clodagh certainly chose her moments to tell her things. “Can you give me any clues as to what makes a good pose?”
“Remember one thing. The artists are coming here to draw the nude body. At a basic level, they want to see breasts and bottoms.” Pre-empting Sophie's reaction, she laughed and added, “My old art professor would have a stroke if he heard me put it so bluntly, but it's true, so why beat around the bush? Breasts and bottoms are the vital components of nude art, at least as far as the female nude is concerned, and I don't see why any of us need be embarrassed about that. So when you pose, watch your sight-lines and make sure that the artists can see as much of both as possible. Do that, and you really can't go wrong.”
Sophie coloured. Breasts and bottoms. It was all rather more full-on than she had anticipated. Especially as Clodagh wasn't really talking about breasts and bottoms in the abstract, but Sophie's breasts and bottom, soon to be revealed. Sophie's bottom, right now, felt very warm, and her nipples were poking through the flimsy fabric of her tracksuit. Clodagh really knew how to
throw the cat among the pigeons.
At the same time, Sophie thought that Clodagh was rather brave for being so honest and forthright. Trying to be brave too, she smiled and said, “Right, breasts and bottom it is!”
“You see, Sophie, for centuries, the art world has promulgated idealized forms of the nude while at the same time managing to seem thoroughly embarrassed by the real thing. And in my opinion it's undermined both the art of life drawing and the status of the model. I want to encourage artists and models to take joy in the nude form – starting today.”
She didn't actually saying Are you with me? and pump her fist. But it was implied, and Sophie nodded vigorously, clutching her knees. She found Clodagh utterly spellbinding.
Clodagh glanced at her watch. “How time flies when you're having a rant. You'd better go and slip on your robe, the artists should be here any minute.”
Sophie was pointed to a door in the corner. Going through, she found herself in a storage room. There was a stack of wooden chairs and another one of those grey plinths, otherwise it was empty. No bench, no locker, no mirror. The picturesque squalor of the model's life, she thought to herself, trying to make herself smile, but she was too nervous.
She pulled two chairs off the stack and placed them side by side. Then she sat down and took off her trainers. As she was doing that, she heard voices through the wall. God, people were arriving. They were out there. Waiting for her. It made her feel like a cornered animal. The storage room had no windows or other exits, so the only way out was through the door she'd come in by, and if she tried to sneak out that way, heads would turn …
Not that she wanted to bolt. Not really. Clodagh was counting on her. The artists would be terribly disappointed. She had no choice but to go through with it.
The realization that it was, in fact, far too late to change her mind had a surprisingly calming effect on her. Standing up, she unzipped her top and shrugged it off her shoulders. She folded it and laid it over the seat of the other chair. Then she pushed down her tracksuit bottoms, sitting to work them over her ankles. She folded them, too, and put them on the seat.