A Thousand Words
Chapter 2
Eyes on Me
"All right, let's see what we've got, then."
I nodded. My hands trembling ever so slightly, I pulled off my scarf.
"I did tell you I won't be able to pay you, yes?" He said this almost timidly, fearful that I would reconsider.
I didn't answer in words, but I stood up in front of him and unbuttoned and removed my coat. I let it drop to the sofa behind me. He glanced upward at me, raising his one visible eyebrow, indicating that I was to continue. I fought the trembling in my fingers as I undid the buttons down the front of my dress, one by one. Funny – there didn't seem to be quite so many buttons when I put it on this morning. When the last one finally was open, I shrugged the dress off and it slid to the floor. Knowing what type of sitting this was to be, I hadn't bothered with the nuisance of undergarments.
His eyes traveled down the length of my naked body, but he wasn't leering - quite the opposite, in fact. He was eyeing me critically, my shape, my size. He was looking at me as any artist would evaluate a potential subject.
I'm no raving beauty - no one would ever confuse me with Claudia Schiffer - but I am comfortable with my body. Sure, I have a few extra pounds, but I'm well proportioned and healthy looking, not like all those anorexic models you see everywhere nowadays.
I am, however, self-conscious about one thing: the scar on my abdomen. It was still an angry red, and I saw that his gaze rested there more than once. My hand drew up instinctively to cover it.
"Don't do that. It's nothing to hide."
That voice again - did my knees start to liquify once more, or was it just my imagination?
I did as he asked and dropped my arm.
There should have been alarm bells going off like crazy in my head. I was naked in a stranger's art studio, for the love of Mike! I don't even like being naked in my own home! But there I was, as naked as the day I was born, with this... man... staring at me, or more accurately, staring through me. I couldn't hide anything from his intense gaze, and I was more than a little unnerved by it.
I was even more unnerved by the fact that those alarm bells weren't going off in my head. Aside from my nervousness at not having any clothes on, I was actually rather calm. Erik's quiet demeanor seemed to be contagious.
He stood, facing me, and put his hands on my shoulders. I fought to keep my composure.
"All right, why don't you sit back down here, put your feet up..." Erik positioned me on the sofa, plumping pillows behind me. I was reclining back against the arm of the sofa, with one of my arms draped gracefully along the back cushion. The pose brought a particular scene from Titanic to mind, and I fought back a smile. Then he gently clasped one of my ankles and removed one of my shoes.
"No," he said more to himself than to me. "Leave the shoes on." So he deftly put the shoe back on my foot.
My skin tingled where he touched me.
Oh, grow up, I scolded myself. He's not interested in you, he just wants to paint you.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my heart rate and lower my blood pressure.
Erik stood back, critically viewing the tableau he had created, and nodded approvingly.
"Good," he said.
He picked up my coat and dress, and with an easy, languid stride, he crossed the room and carefully draped them over a chair near the front door. Then I watched him as he walked over to the opposite side of the room and chose a blank canvas, took it to his easel in the middle of the room and propped it up. It was enormous! What would I look like painted on a canvas that size?
I hadn't thought of that before.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all...
"Keep your eyes focused here," he said to me. I looked over at him. "Good. Now tilt your head down just a little... over to the left... there. That's perfect. Stay just like that. Keep your eyes on me."
Keep my eyes on him. Hmmm. That shouldn't be so hard to do.
Before I knew it, Erik was hard at work. He sketched in a few lines with charcoal first, then he took up his brush and palette and went to work.
The room was silent save for the sound of the brush scraping across the canvas and the street noise filtering in from below.
"How long have you..." I began.
"Shhh. No talking. Keep your eyes to me; I need to see your face."
So there I languished, losing all track of time, not caring how late it was. I had no other plans for the day.
Erik was seemingly lost in his work.
Whenever he peered around the canvas to see me, I would only see the unmasked side of his face. He was exceptionally good looking, what my friends and I would have termed a "hunk" when we were back in school. Finely chiseled features, jet black hair, piercing eyes, full lips. Yep. Definitely hunk material.
I briefly wondered what he hid underneath the mask.
My mind wandered: who was he, was he married, did he have a girlfriend, was he alone, was he gay?
"Stop looking down. Eyes up here," he commanded softly.
"Sorry," I said sheepishly, guilty that I had been caught daydreaming. About him.
He worked in silence, feverishly painting, oblivious to what was going on in my head.
I felt decadent, lying there naked except for my black high-heeled pumps. I had never felt so sexy in all my life. What could have been a very humiliating experience if Erik had not turned out to be such a gentleman ended up as one of the most memorable afternoons I can ever recall.
Of course, if I had an inkling that he had ulterior motives to my being there, or if he had behaved badly in any way, I simply would have walked out.
I slowly became aware of the fact that my face was flushed despite the chill in the room. Just as I convinced myself it was due to my nervousness, I began to cough. And cough. And cough.
Erik put his palette down. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"I'm fine," I said, still coughing.
"Let me get you some water."
He disappeared once more into the kitchen, this time emerging with a glass of water for me. He knelt by the sofa as I drank.
"Better?"
"Yes, thank you."
"I think we've done enough for today. Why don't you go home and rest."
"Oh. Okay then."
I was grateful to him for sending me home; I felt exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed.
For the first time all day I felt true embarrassment as I crossed the room to fetch my dress. I cast a furtive look at Erik as I began fastening up the many buttons and caught him in a sidelong glance at my breasts. He quickly looked away.
So! He is interested! At least I can cross gay off the list.
After I put on my coat, I nonchalantly walked over to the easel. "Can I see?"
"No," he said, and in one quick motion he picked up a white paint-stained sheet and draped it over the canvas before I could see it. "No one sees works still in progress."
We stood silently, face to face, for a long moment. I was determined not to be the one to back down, and after a long moment he finally turned away.
"Can I call a cab for you?" he asked, busying himself with his brushes.
"No, thanks."
"You'll come back tomorrow." It was a statement, not a question.
I nodded in response. Then, without a word of goodbye, I wrapped my scarf around my neck and left the studio.
That night, as I lay in bed, I thought of nothing but Erik. He haunted me - his face, his voice, the smell of oil paints that permeated his studio and was embedded in his clothing.
He hadn't said more than two dozen words, but I knew I would never forget his voice. It was mesmerizing, soothing, enticing. And his eyes - he watched me all afternoon, taking in every detail of my body. A warmth flooded over me just thinking about how his eyes roamed over my flesh.
I tossed and turned in my bed, trying desperately to get some sleep. The coughing grew worse, making my chest hurt, and my entire body ached. All I wanted to do was sleep. Sleep, however, eluded me for the second night in a row. After I watched the sun rise, mirrored against the glass and steel building across the street, I got up and took a long, hot shower, hoping it would ease the aches that wracked my body. Having no energy to fix breakfast or eat it, I crawled back into bed.