The Artist Pt. 02

He also met with Isobel who told him to take care of Siobhan, she was brilliant and brash but easily hurt, even if she didn't show it. She also knew about Siobhan's idea for a painting and thought it was wonderful which surprised Mulqueen.

"I was always more radical and daring than you but it's a man's world. You fucked off and fucked everything on two legs, I stayed behind and brought up two wonderful children."

He could have argued and said he didn't know about the children but knew in those days that he'd have left anyway, she was also right about herself as an artist.

He met Siobhan off the train and they got a taxi to his house, Mulqueen explaining that it was in what was now a trendy part of London but had been a bit of a slum when he'd bought it.

"Now the only slum part is my house, I think I bring the tone of the neighbourhood down."

She laughed at this and he went on to explain that it was a big house and she'd have her own bedroom and a bathroom on the landing, he'd use the one downstairs.

"And is there a present day Mrs. Mulqueen or live in lover?"

"No, not at the moment."

"Wow! Maybe you are past it." it was his turn to laugh, he'd have to get use to having the piss taken out of him.

It was a sizable house and Siobhan seemed impressed, from the outside at least. They entered and he offered her a coffee but she wanted the obligatory tour. Her eyes were everywhere, taking in all the details, Mulqueen thankful that he'd seen a notice in the local supermarket for a cleaner, two ladies turning up and spending a whole day making the house safe for human habitation, Mulqueen disgusted at himself for letting it get so bad.

They were still on the ground floor but Siobhan had already suggested moving furniture and repainting rooms, Mulqueen sure that she was only doing it to see his reaction to her invasion of his space. Upstairs he showed her the bedrooms, hers next to his at the front of the house. "Wow, clean sheets, you really have made an effort." She teased as she jumped onto her bed. He pointed out the bathroom which he'd really miss as it had a large free standing bath and a big window overlooking the jungle of a garden.

"This is amazing, it's as big as my bedroom back home, I love the big window. If we cut down that tree I can give the neighbours a show as I get undressed."

He gave her a 'if you say so' look which was now his bemused go too expression when Siobhan was just being Siobhan. As they left the bathroom she pointed to the shut door next to it. "What's that, is that where you keep all your skeletons?"

"Sort of, it's my studio, bit of a mess at the moment."

"Show me it then."

Mulqueen was nervous, very few people got to go in there. Even when he had models he would cover all the other works, feeling almost as if his soul would be exposed. He opened the door, both of them greeted by a slightly musty smell as they entered the room.

It was the biggest of the bedrooms and was designed to be the master suite, two large windows and its own bathroom which doubled as a changing room when he used to have models. The room was covered in canvases, painting paraphernalia and dust.

Siobhan's eyes lit up as she walked around, soaking up the atmosphere of the room, looking at paintings, some finished, many not, that no one had ever seen before.

"I love this room. Is that were you'll pose me?" She said, pointing to a slightly raised platform, "or maybe on there, like the one by Roderic O'Conor." Pointing to a moth eaten chaise lounge.

Mulqueen was impressed that she knew the work of O'Conor but was less impressed, but not surprised, by her follow up comment. "Although in that painting the woman has her legs together, I think mine should be open."

"Umm, let's get a cup of coffee then you can unpack."

Over the next few days they spent time getting to know each other, Siobhan posing for Mulqueen hardly mentioned. One of the most enjoyable days was spent going around the national gallery, admiring and discussing the old masters, Mulqueen impressed by her knowledge and intrigued by her way of looking at things, different from his own. They ended up going for a meal and then walking through Soho, Siobhan insisting they visit some of Mulqueen's old haunts, the pubs where he and other artists would hang out. Mulqueen had come to hate these places, many of the patrons even more washed up and sad than he was.

Surprising, to him at least, was that the clientele had changed, still arty but younger and more vibrant. A few recognized him and raised their glasses in greeting which did his ego the world of good, Siobhan delighted at the smile on his face. She insisted on buying the first drink and spent ages at the bar talking, and as far as Mulqueen could see, flirting with some of the customers. When she eventually returned with their drinks Mulqueen asked her what they had been talking about.

"They asked me how I knew you; they seem a bit in awe of you."

"What did you tell them?"

An impish grin crept across her lips, "I told them I was your muse and your lover." Mulqueen nearly choked on his beer but before he could say anything she continued, "they asked did I pose for other artists and I said I did. Geoffrey, the good looking one with the scruffy blond hair, said he was doing a project highlighting societies changing attitudes to sodomy and would I be interested in taking part. I said it sounded brilliant and yes I'd be interested."

His face must have been a picture because she burst out laughing, "Actually I told him I thought he was up his own ass and he wasn't getting up mine."

There was something irrepressible about Siobhan's character and attitude to life. Maybe it was just her age but Mulqueen thought it was more than that, whatever it was it made him feel ten years younger and had drawn him out of the quagmire of self pity that he'd found himself in.

When they'd stopped laughing and had each taken an almost celebratory sup of their drinks Siobhan looked at him seriously.

"I really need for us to get started on our project." Mulqueen nodded, trying to keep a straight face, he'd been expecting this and had already made up his mind, "I know you're nervous and I understand why, and I know it's not only because I'm your daughter. But I think it'll be fine, more than fine, I think it'll be brilliant. If we don't do this soon I'll get bored and my mind will go elsewhere and..."

The smile got the better of him, a big grin creeping across his face as he put his hand on hers to stop her talking, she looked a bit annoyed and then uncertain, wondering at his silly grin.

"I think we should start tomorrow."

"Really?"

As he nodded Siobhan nearly jumped across the table, hugging him and saying thank you multiple times in his ear. He knew she wanted to do it but was a bit taken aback.

"So you agree."

It was her turn for a silly grin, "And I promise to try and behave myself."

"Leave the behaving to me, you just be you or it won't work properly. It's you pushing and goading me that has got my brain working again." He raised a toast, "thank you for that."

"No thank you. And I don't think you're a dirty old man like all those nasty people say you are." The look on her face as she said this told him she didn't need any encouragement.

He slept better than normal, the thought of painting again relaxing his mind. Awaking early he got up to prepare a light breakfast for them both. Siobhan joined him wearing his silk dressing gown that she must have found in the wardrobe. It was a luxurious deep burgundy and an old girlfriend had bought it for him, saying it was what an artist should wear. He'd only worn it once or twice to please her and had almost forgotten he owned it.

Siobhan had always been dressed when she been around the house and seeing him looking at the gown she said. "Hope you don't mind, I didn't want to mark my skin. I could have come down in the buff but thought I might put you off your eggs."

"You can have it, looks better on you than on me. The great thing about painting as opposed to a picture is that I can marks don't matter, I can just ignore."

"Oh yeah, of course. If I'd thought of that I wouldn't have spent ages covering up my love-bites with make-up."

He nearly fell for it, about to ask 'what love-bites' when he realized she'd been with him for the past five days, so must be winding him up again. Instead he just smiled and said, "Good idea."

They made small chat as they ate, modeling and painting, almost on purpose, being avoided. As they finished their second coffee a nervous 'suppose we better get on with it' look passed between them.

Mulqueen took two bottles of water from the fridge and they went upstairs to his studio.

"Where do you want me?" For a moment Mulqueen thought Siobhan was about to disrobe as she walked into the room and asked the question, his heart rate telling him he wasn't as cool with this as he was telling himself. Thankfully she was just tightening the belt but the smirk on her face showed that she'd seen his reaction.

"I don't know yet. I want this to be a collaborative piece. Let's tidy up a bit and see what ideas we can come up with."

It was fairly cluttered and they stacked most of it against walls and then Siobhan watched as Mulqueen went into auto pilot, setting up three easels with canvasses and arranging his paints. He also set a drawing pad on a table behind him. Finally set, he turned to Siobhan. "Right, what ideas did you have for a painting?"

"I don't know really. Do you always paint and draw?"

"Sometime one, sometimes the other, sometimes both, depends on the moment."

"Why three canvasses?"

"Sometimes I just get ideas that I want to try and don't want to spoil a painting. Other times I have more than one painting on the go."

Siobhan just nodded, he seemed in a zone, vibrant and intense. Different from how she'd seen him previously. "How shall we start, where will I lie? Or stand?"

He looked slightly frustrated and agitated, eventually taking hold of her shoulders and physically moving her so that her right side was in the light, her left more shaded. He stood back and looked at her. Satisfied with the light he told her to remove the dressing gown from her shoulders but to keep her breasts covered.

She gave a silly disappointed tut that she wasn't showing more and even though he attempted a smile she could tell he took this seriously.

He stood back and looked at her again, a genuine smile of admiration on his lips as he mouthed "Beautiful."

She felt herself blushing and a little tingly. She'd been told before that she was beautiful but always thought it was just patter, either to get into her knickers or to get her to pose more suggestively, but the way he said it and looked at her was different.

He moved behind an easel and was just staring at her. Even though she posed naked many times for photographers and had even taken part in the exhibition, his stillness and the intensity of his stare made her feel surprisingly uncomfortable and exposed. When he suddenly spoke it made her jump, "I was thinking back to seeing you and Patrick on the pedestal, you were both naked and obviously aroused but do you know what image and thought sticks out in my mind the most?" She shook her head.

"Your collar bones. I looked at your tits and fanny and at Patrick's cock, but I couldn't describe them now. But your collar bones I could. I thought they were just so beautiful, gently defined and incredibly elegant. I still do."

Siobhan felt herself blushing again. She was used to compliments but not to really accepting them, the intensity of his words weren't something she could just laugh off as she normally would. Before she could even reply, even with a simple 'thank you' he started painting and no words were necessary.

His hand moved quickly, the rest of his body still except for the odd raise of his head to look at her and then, seemingly unaware, he begun to hum. She didn't know the tune or even if it was a tune but his hand moved and flowed with it and she found her own brain relaxing, her mind wandering and time passing.

"Right, I think this one might be finished."

Again she jumped at his voice, almost startled to find herself still standing there. She smiled at him, "I think I was almost asleep, how long was I posing?"

He picked up his phone, "Nearly fifty minutes, that's quite quick for me."

With an effort she moved her legs and went to stand beside him, him moving a pace back to admire the work. Her hand went to her mouth, "Oh my, wow."

It was just her lips, jaw, neck, shoulders and collar bone, tiny strokes of paint bringing it alive and making it almost jump out at the viewer. "That's incredible, it's so, so beautiful." Siobhan felt herself begin to cry and Mulqueen put his arm around her and pulled her close, neither realizing it was the first time they'd ever touched.

Mulqueen went to make a cup of tea and told her to decide on the next pose, he'd try and paint whatever she wanted. She stared at the painting in wonder, moving further away and then closer, the image giving her something new each time. She was embarrassed, knowing that part of her original plan was somehow to make a fool of Mulqueen. She wanted to meet him but never thought she'd like him, she'd string him along, get him to paint a naughty painting of her that she'd sell for a lot of money and then forget about him.

She'd realized that she'd come to really like him, she didn't know if she loved him as a father but she certainly cared very much about him, feeling protective and even possessive. She didn't know exactly what he thought of her but she knew she'd inspired this wonderful piece of work and she wanted to do it some more.

He seemed to be gone ages and she wondered if he was just giving her some time. When he came back with two steaming mugs of tea he had a happy, almost boyish grin on his face. "What?" she asked him.

"I don't know, I'm just happy. I haven't enjoyed painting like that in a very long time."

She smiled back at him, "I think it must be the quality of the model that did it."

"I think you're right." He raised his mug in a toast, "Cheers, here's to very beautiful, inspiring models."

They sat smiling sillily at each other, Mulqueen eventually asking "Have you decided what you want to do next?"

She paused before not being able to help herself, a babble of excitement pouring out. "I want you to paint me twenty, thirty, forty times. I want you to paint me standing in the kitchen, sitting on the toilet, laying in the garden, everywhere and doing everything."

He smiled at her enery and enthusiasm, I bit of him wanting the same thing. "Okay, where shall we start?"

"How bout the toilet, I'm dying to go."

"I'm not painting you on the toilet."

"Maybe not today, but you will." She stood up and threw her head back in mock allusiveness. She walked to the toilet, the exaggerated sway of her hips and wiggle of her ass clearly visible through the thin material of his gown.

He had to smile, she would probably get her own way and he would paint her on the toilet, but not today. He shouted after her. "While you're in there decide what we're doing next, I want to carry straight on."

She sat there thinking, weighing up options, her own boldness driving her to be shocking. With a trembling hand she removed the gown. Taking a few deep breaths she walked out of the toilet.

Mulqueen's heart skipped a beat, as an artist, as a man, he really wanted to see this. As a father he really didn't want to see this. He was about to tell her to put the gown back on, but something in his head stop him, instead calmly asking, "What are you doing?"

She felt a bit confused and deflated, his reaction and voice gave nothing away. He wasn't angry or excited. She could have been wearing jeans and a wooly jumper for all that Mulqueen seemed to care.

"It might not be original but I thought you could paint me in sections, a type of Siobhan collage, you've already done my mouth down to the top of my boobs, now you can paint another section, you choose."

The artist in him was winning through, it wasn't a bad idea. He could put his own twist on it, raising it above the mundane but he needed more from her. More than just her naked body, he needed her mind.

"You're slouching, stand up straight and put your shoulders back." Siobhan responded without thinking, immediately aware of the effect this posture had on her small, pert boobs, the increasingly hard nipples now pointing up at Mulqueens face.

He was about four feet in front of her and his face gave nothing away, only his eyes moving as he took in every inch of her. Siobhan's mind was in turmoil, his glare both unsettling and erotic, the 'fuck you' side of her brain telling her she was in charge, she was strong; another part of her brain wanting his adoration and maybe even his touch.

He moved slowly and started to circle her, never getting closer but his presence feeling almost claustrophobic. He would stop and look at her from different angles, Siobhan reacting by thrusting her tits out more as if to say 'I don't care, have a good gawp' her eyes darting down one time to look at his crotch for a reaction, there wasn't any.

Mulqueen's own brain was in turmoil. He'd danced this dance many times with models or even with lovers, the battle of wills drawing more out of them than they even knew they had. But this was different, forcing himself to look at the curve of her breast rather than at the incredibly erect and suckable nipple, at the finely muscled arms and legs rather than what was between them, at the beautiful lips rather than at the mesmerizing eyes, less he be drawn in.

He moved behind her, unable to stop himself reaching out and tracing the lightly defined muscles of back with his finger, her skin reacting with goose bumps and her mouth with a gasp. He withdrew his finger and a silly thought came to his head, how she remained so slim and lithe, each time he'd been with her she was eating pizza and drinking pints.

His eyes moved down and he forced another unwanted idea from his head. He had sometimes told models to bend and touch their toes, the final act of exposing and giving themselves to him. He thought Siobhan would probably do it but it would change things, he didn't want to go there, not all the way there at least.

He moved in front of her again, "Turn around and face the window."

She was confused, he'd just seen and even touched the back of her, now he wanted to see it again? The look on his face told her he was serious so she shuffled around till she was looking out the window, the streams of sun feeling nice on her face and chest.

"Bend over and put your hands on your knees."

She thought about protesting, then about turning around, telling him to fuck off and giving him the finger but decided on fuck you, if you want to see my asshole and my cunt then I'll show you my asshole and my cunt, an anger beginning to seethe within her.

She bent and touched her knees and bent lower, so she was looking directly down at the floor, just stopping herself from saying 'enjoying the view?'

"Bend your knees slightly, arch your back and lift your head up."

She did as he instructed, feeling her ass stick out and the cheeks spread apart, 'fucker!'

She sensed him move and wondered if he was coming to her, how would she react? Instead he moved behind his easel, but she could still feel his eyes on her. She was looking straight ahead but wanted to look behind her, did he have an erection now? Was he touching himself?

"What was your favorite subject at school?"

"What, err, I dunno. English I guess and art."

"Did you have a favorite teacher? Who's your favorite writer etc." This was so fucking bizarre, here she was, ass stuck out and cheeks spread and he was making small talk. It continued, what exercise do you do? You have great tone to your muscles, err 'thanks'