The Tawdry Tangerine Farewell Pt. 02

There are a couple more actors whom we'll require later, so we need to meet them before things start toward home plate.

I would like to mention that sometimes things get rather dark before they get better, and that second acts are one traditional place for that. If you're upset by noncon or reluctance, be warned. I'm assuming you've read Part 1 and can probably guess something of the circumstances. All I can say is, it's part of a longer story.

Again, thanks to thewinedarksea for his editing, particularly with, "Okay, you can stop overwriting here. You've made your point."

--C

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Molly

I guess I can't be too cranky about the fact that Rick was out getting laid while I took messages for him. Neither would've happened except for me, well, me indirectly.

"Hello, may I speak to Richard Leland, please?"

"I'm sorry," I said. "He's not here right now and I don't expect him back today. May I take a message?"

"This is Victoria Carter. I wanted to set up a time to speak with him. Perhaps he could call me tomorrow?" The voice was pleasant, polite and extremely self-assured. She wasn't really asking if he could call tomorrow.

I was fairly sure I knew who Victoria Carter was: a prospect for some of Rick's work. About a month ago, the subject of a portrait I'd been working on had seen some pieces of Rick's and exclaimed, "Oh, Victoria would love these!" and now he had a call.

"If you leave me your number, I'll make sure he gets it first thing in the morning," I said smoothly. She gave it to me, thanked me, and hung up.

If I was correct about the circles that Victoria Carter moved in, we weren't talking art-on-the-cheap here, so I sent Rick a text immediately:

▸ Not trying to interrupt but Victoria Carter is big client. Needs call tomorrow. Don't sleep all day.

In a roundabout way, that portrait was also responsible for the fact that Rick was out getting laid. Or, at least, I presumed he was getting laid. Leah had been pretty clear in her intentions.

Rick's parents had hosted a holiday party at the Leland home every year for decades, and his father had kept it going after his mother died. Rick and his sister, Rachel, picked right up when he passed, and all their friends looked forward to the annual visit to what, since Rachel's marriage, was now the Forrester place. One of the guests last year was Mark Enright, the head lawyer at Bluefish, the company where The Bitch works, and the husband of Sophie Lane, the actress.

It happened that Sophie was flying in from making a movie somewhere but her flight got delayed so she had her car service bring her straight to the house. The men dumped all her suitcases in the library and, while he was in there, Mark saw and loved a portrait I had done of Rachel's husband. Mark dragged Sophie in to see it. She liked it, too, and they tracked me down in another room and enthused, which is fun after you've had an eggnog or two. Fast-forward a few months and I got a call from Sophie that she would really like to have her portrait done by me as a gift for Mark, would I be interested? Of course I was.

♦ ♦ ♦

"So, tell me a little about what you're looking for," I said after she had seen four or five canvases I had in the studio plus images of several more.

"Well, I'd like something to hang in the study. And I'd like something that's," she hesitated, searching for the word she wanted, "well, I don't want Sophie Lane, the actress. I want Sophia Lundgren, the woman he married. The one who steals his flannel shirts and overcooks his eggs in the morning."

"Got it."

"And I don't mind if one of the images was unclothed like you've done in most of these because it gives it an intimacy, but I absolutely do not want anything boudoir-ish."

I paint multiple images of my subject over each other using transparent oils. It's kind of like a multiple-exposure photograph. The main image, the public persona, tends to face outward. The others look away and I think of them as glimpses into the private person.

She was peering at me to see if I had any clue as to what she meant. I gave it a shot. "You want a portrait that's got the aspects of you that are all about your life with Mark, including being man and wife, but you don't want anyone who happens to walk into that room to ever think that they've stumbled on some private erotica you had done for him."

That megawatt smile had earned her a lot of money.

"Okay, then let's look at a bunch of nudes done by various artists and you tell me when the Erot-O-Meter pegs into the red." She giggled at that. We spent about forty minutes moving from Renoir to Gérôme, from Gauguin to Pavlychev until I had a good idea of her taste.

We talked over what she liked to do, how she saw herself, and I proposed several different ideas that might be Sophia, not Sophie. In the end, she said, "You're the artist. I think you understand. How about I stay in my lane and you pick what works." We discussed a price and she agreed without hesitation -- not dismissively with an attitude that hinted, "I can't be bothered with chump change," but appreciatively with, "I think your work is worth that." Damn, I liked this woman!

"Okay, when are you thinking of doing this?" I asked.

She got an apprehensive look on her face. "Well," she said, "that's where the problems come in. I'm really afraid of coming across as a diva. It would upset me if you thought I was."

"I doubt I will. What's the problem, Sophie?"

"Well, there's more than one." I raised my eyebrows and she wrinkled her nose as if to say, "I know, high maintenance!"

"The first is that Mark's birthday is in just under three months."

"Okay," I said. "I'm in the middle of some other things but I'm pretty sure I can make that work."

"The second is that I'm currently filming on two different projects, which means I'm not free that often. I have to leave this weekend and won't be back for over two weeks. And then it's hit or miss right through."

"I like to work from a combination of life and pictures, Sophie. Will you be around enough that we can do four or five sessions in person? I can work from photos the rest of the time."

"I'm not sure. Two or three for certain and I'll try hard for a few more." She hesitated. "But, don't be offended" -- I blinked at words I certainly didn't expect -- "I don't ever, under any circumstances, allow nude photographs, not even in private, and I won't for you. Please don't take that personally," she pleaded, "it's just a thing with me to avoid ever being unhappily surprised the way Jennifer and some others were."

"I don't," I reassured her, "but I can't paint you nude without seeing you nude."

"I'll get naked for you. I trust you. It's just... no cameras means no accidents. I can't really explain why, but a painting's different than some nudie shot on a web site. I don't think," she said, with a momentary flash of humor, "that too many teenage boys are trolling for oil paintings." We laughed together. "Maybe you can do that part at the end or sometime when I have a break in shooting?"

I grimaced. "I do all of them sort of together so they work properly. It's not just one image on top of another because I pull the important pieces of each image up."

"Oh," she said, disheartened.

"And, Sophie, because nothing is covered by clothing, seeing the person's body is really important if we want it to be believably you. I'd bet good money that Mark knows exactly what you look like naked," I grinned as I said this and got an answering smile, albeit a weak one, "and he's going to notice if it's not right."

"I really want to do this. Mark still talks about that picture he saw and I know he's half-hinting. And this is a big birthday coming up so I don't want to wait. Could we..." she hesitated "...I have a body double. Could we use her and you tweak it with the real me whenever I can get free? I'll pay for her time."

That didn't sound like a great idea. In fact, it sounded like a terrible idea. If there's one thing a portrait has to do, it's evoke the subject, not some other person.

My face must have shown it because she pressed on, "I'm telling you that her body is really close to mine. That was a major factor in choosing her because I was down to underwear in some scenes, and they wanted the audience to believe it was the same person just seconds later. Please, Molly," she put her hand on my arm. "At least, would you look and see what you think?"

It's hard to say no to someone as charming as she was, and it was a commission, and what did I have to lose by looking? That's how I met Leah.

♦ ♦ ♦

"Okay, ladies. You can use the screen there to undress. Rick!" I called out.

"Yeah?" I saw Sophie's face tense as she looked over to assess how private they really were. She had known he was there because he had let them in, but I guess she hadn't thought through getting naked with a guy right around the corner of an L-shaped room.

"Models in here now. Stay on your side and door stays closed, okay? Ten minutes, tops."

"Sure," he called back. He was used to this. He surprised me, though. I guess he knew Sophie wasn't a seasoned figure model. "If you're more comfortable, I can go get everyone coffee. What do folks want?"

Sophie's face relaxed. "Black," she called, "and thanks, Rick."

"Side by side, ladies, if you don't mind," I said when they came out from behind the screen. "Okay," I said after a short inspection. "Are people sensitive about their bodies or can I just be objective?"

"Go for it," Sophie said and Leah nodded.

"Generally good. Your search people had good eyes." In about a minute I walked through what was the same and a few minor differences between their bodies before coming to the bad news. "The problem is boobs, girls." They looked surprised. "Size is okay but, Sophie, yours hang slightly lower and turn out more, and the nipples aren't the same. I guess none of that mattered in films because you were wearing a bra and all someone would see is their size, but it will show in a nude."

I saw her bite her lip. I was figuratively biting mine a little but I liked her and I wanted this commission, so I conceded. "I'll work with you until you have to fly back. Then I'll work with Leah. If you won't let me have a topless picture to work from" -- she shook her head -- "then it would be really helpful if you were here several hours over the next couple days. I need to do a fair number of drawings because I'm not quite sure how I'll pose you. Normally that would sort of flow organically, but..." I trailed off.

"I can do that," she said.

It was on the second day while we were taking a break that Sophie wandered around Rick's side of the studio. Our space is an L-shape in an old industrial building. Rick has the larger leg that includes a loading bay door. I have the smaller leg and he hung curtains of heavy plastic from floor to ceiling to keep the dust of his projects from getting into mine. The area that would complete the rectangle has a bathroom, a storage room, and a small room with a cot that we used as an office and a crash pad when one of us worked too late. Their doors open off of Rick's side and she headed over to use the facilities.

"I really like his work," she said when she came back. "I've seen the piece that Rachel has in the back yard and the piece at the Kimberly building, but that's it."

I smiled in agreement and continued making coffee for the three of us. Leah had come along with Sophie so that she could watch the poses. Rick primarily works in stone. His style is pretty cool. Each piece has parts that are highly finished and parts that look like the sculptor has barely started work.

"My parents took Rachel and me to the Accademia in Florence when I was about twelve," he once explained to me. "I saw Michelangelo's 'Slave' sculptures and they blew my mind. I didn't even realize they were unfinished. I thought he made them that way deliberately. I knew that's what I wanted to do. Not exactly like his, but capturing that sense of art tearing itself out of primal material." He had blushed at how pompous that last sounded, but I noticed he didn't retract it, either.

Sophie accepted the cup of coffee with a little nod of appreciation. "Maybe, after this painting is done, I should start dropping hints to Mark that I wouldn't mind a figure of him in return. Of course, I'm not sure how comfortable he'd be standing around naked with another man staring at his willie." We smiled at the mental picture. Sophie gave a wicked little grin as she added, "Kinda gives an interesting twist to the phrase rock hard, though." That got a dirty little chuckle from all three of us.

"Well, speaking of rock hard," I said, "do you want to see a woody?" Eyebrows went up expectantly. I smirked and beckoned them to follow me.

Leah gave a little giggle, "And here I thought today was just going to be sitting around making mental grocery lists!"

I unlocked the storage room and flipped on the lights. In the back corner, a shape about six feet tall sat on a small dolly with a sheet covering it. I pulled the sheet off.

"Oh," they said simultaneously.

Rick had another way he worked. I think he's only done it a handful of times, and I'd never seen him even try to sell one of these pieces. "I don't have enough name recognition, Molly," he'd said. When I asked him what he meant, he explained, "It takes forever to put one of these together, between planning and more planning, and shaping, joinery, finishing. The price I'd have to charge to make it worthwhile is higher than I command, way higher."

Thick columns of amber gumwood curved up from a central base: sinuous, beautiful abstract shapes in their own right, both individually and collectively. They were gorgeous really. You could spend a while letting your eyes trace the curves before you realized that they weren't one-hundred-percent abstract: he'd lightly worked each to give the barest suggestion of human figures. Your eye had to fill in almost every bit of the detail, but you were certain that people were hiding in there somewhere. It was a masterpiece of subtlety.

"It's beautiful," Sophie said.

"Wait, there's more," I promised. "Stand really close together." I looked at the work for a second to orient myself, then used my foot to rotate the dolly about thirty degrees. "Now look."

At first, they said nothing, then, "It's a woman!" Leah exclaimed. Sophie saw it a second later. The negative space between the arms formed the shape of the torso and head of a woman who was being hugged and supported... caressed?... by the other shapes. Unlike the forms in the wood, the woman's silhouette was quite detailed if you stood just right.

Sophie studied it a moment, moved a few inches to the right to adjust her viewpoint, and then asked tentatively, "Is that Kate?"

My smile faded. "Yeah. I think Rick was going to burn this, but I convinced him to just put it away until it didn't have any emotional charge, then sell it for a boatload." I could see Leah had no idea of who we were talking about. "His ex," I clarified.

"How come he never shows any of this?" Sophie asked.

I explained about the economics. "I think he's only done about five or six. He has one of his daughter in his condo. I have a small one in my apartment." It was my favorite possession. "Rachel has two, one of each of her kids. And this one. This is the only big one."

"Oh, Victoria would love these!"

♦ ♦ ♦

It didn't suck working with Leah. Personality-wise, she was great: funny, energetic, and always good-humored. Right from the beginning, however, she seemed taken with Rick.

He was in the studio most days working on a piece for a small town in the burbs. He didn't love the theme they requested -- honoring some local favorite son who made good in Washington -- but they liked his artistic style and I knew he found a kind of relaxation in letting himself just sink into the work. She'd wander over on breaks to watch what he was doing and chat a little, though he wasn't very talkative. He'd just let her talk, listen, and nod his head at appropriate intervals. He never seemed to mind.

She didn't try to snag him with anything overt. She wasn't body-conscious -- "my job is showing T&A on a thirty-five-foot-tall screen" -- but she didn't use it. When she was working, she changed behind the partition and Rick was always out of the line of sight. She'd make sure to put on a robe and slippers if she wanted to head over to his side for any reason.

Yeah, but she didn't bother to hide her attraction either. Any girl knows how to express interest just with eye contact and attention. And, without fail, she'd give him a little hug and quick peck for both hello and goodbye. I knew she caught him checking her out once or twice when she was in street clothes, but she pretended not to notice.

She flushed when I caught her checking him out right back when his back was turned.

"I like shoulders and arms. They're just my thing, Molly," she'd confided to me with a little grin one day. "And tall, dark and a cute butt doesn't hurt either."

I just smiled vaguely. She looked at me searchingly. "Oh, wait! Is this okay? Am I trespassing? Tell me, 'Back off, bitch!' if I am."

"No, it's okay," I said. "Look, half a year ago his ex cheated on him with some rich fucker. He's just getting his head straight and, well, I look out for him."

She shook her head and gave a nice smile. "I always play fair, Molly. I don't like anyone getting hurt. You sure you're okay with this? 'Cause--"

I cut her off. "Go for it, if you want."

Of course, when she managed to prise out the fact that Samantha was going to her cousins' house the following weekend for a birthday sleepover, and that Rick was just going to sit around eating takeout and having a beer, and then she talked him into going out with her, I suddenly felt a need to hit a club myself and maybe think about getting laid. If only I'd been psychic about how that would turn out.

Rick

I staggered into the studio the next morning worn out. On top of the long evening, Leah had wanted a repeat in the morning. Eventually, we got into the shower, where she giggled and asked, "One more, lover boy?"

I didn't know how I felt about the conversation we'd had over eggs and bacon while sitting on stools at the kitchen counter.

"If you want a next time someday, Rick, it's your turn to ask," she said. She looked at me with mock seriousness. "Though I may insist you get your nap out of the way before you pick me up."

I shook my head at her joke. "How about you? Do you want a next time?" I asked.

"No girl likes to be pinned down" -- she winked as she said it since, late last night, I'd done exactly that -- "but I bet you have a pretty fair chance of a yes. But Rick," she said seriously, "I'm not gonna think you're a jerk for not sending me roses."

I didn't say anything.

"You're wondering what the hell I'm trying to say, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm trying to say that last night, and this morning, were a helluva lot of fun. But let's not confuse one thing with another. I mean, do you suddenly see me as the woman you want to spend twenty-four-seven with forever?"

I didn't respond to that. It seemed like the most obvious of traps, right up there with, "Does this dress make me look fat?"

She laughed at my expression. "Okay, Mr. Deer In The Headlights, that wasn't fair. Of course, you don't. Unless you're hiding a secret yen for Taylor Swift concerts and Instagramming."

When I still didn't respond, she expanded, "Look, despite all my jokes, I'm not saying you're too old 'cause I think I made it pretty damn clear last night I don't think that." She took another bite. "And I'm not saying it's me who's too young because I'm clearly old enough to fuck." She gave me a dirty grin to go with the dirty talk. It lightened the mood, just as she intended.