Ransom has shown up at the club a few times. He’s watched me dance, but I don’t watch him. He’s asked for me personally, but I decline. Then he left a number for me with Bernice—I assume, out of desperation—and even though I have no intention of calling it, it sits buried in my purse.
It’s a small source of comfort to know that I could hear his voice anytime with just the push of a few buttons. It’s also a big source of stress because each day that passes makes me wonder how much longer I can prevent myself from picking up the phone.
The problem has only grown deeper as my impending show approaches, and now that it’s finally here, I find my hand searching for that scrap of paper. I won’t call it, but I desperately want to. I spent a lot of time preparing myself for this night, but now that it’s here, all of my insecurities are jumping to the forefront of my mind.
Is this how I want people to see me? Is it really worth taking my clothes off for? Does this cheapen me somehow? It’s supposed to be art, that’s what Mrs. Jackson said, but blending nude art with education somehow feels wrong.
But it’s a paying gig, and that’s what ultimately has me walking into that room Wednesday night.
There are easels set up in a circle around the edges of the room, creating a stage for the table placed dead center. It’s draped with white fabric that I think was intended to make the space more inviting, when in reality it lends it a clinical feel. I hate it instantly and a voice inside my head whispers that it’s not too late to turn around. I’m the only one here, so they would just assume I never showed up, right?
The idea is blown to hell when I turn to find Mrs. Jackson approaching. She’s dressed in a long, flowing tie-dyed dress and she’s pushing a cart stacked with paint, brushes, and other supplies. And she’s looking right at me with a pleased smile. “Good, you’re here. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d show.”
As I move to the side to give her room to pass, I feel my brows pull down.
Even though she hasn’t seen my expression, she continues speaking. “You probably wouldn’t know it from the level of cockiness in your fellow classmates, but there are a lot of cold feet at this school, especially the boys. They’ll strip down and blaze a naked path through a football field on game day for a laugh, but they’re shaking in their sneakers if you ask them to get naked and take a load off so a few people can draw a picture.”
I laugh nervously as I set my purse down on a nearby table and follow her deeper into the room. She stops the cart midway and positions it near a large sink basin.
Before I forget, I fish the paper Ransom gave me from my pocket and hold it out. “I need you to fill this out. It’s a questionnaire and proof that I was here.”
She takes it, and unfolding the paper, gives it a once-over. “This is for your final project?”
“Yes, it is.”
She nods and reaches over to drop it on top of her desk, sighing wistfully. “What I wouldn’t have given to have such a cool assignment for my final exam when I was your age. I’ll have it back to you at the end of class.” Leaning back, she props herself on the edge of the desk, and her expression is all business. “Okay, here’s the drill,” she says as she eyes me. “I assume this is your first time?”
“Yes.” That single word reveals the nerves currently creating a maelstrom inside my stomach.
Her smile is kind, but her words are frank. “You think you’re nervous now? Just wait until my class shows up. That’s the true test for everyone.” Pointing to the table in the center of the room, she says, “That’s your stage tonight. Once everyone is seated and ready to go, I’ll have you start by lying down on your side, facing my desk.”
Crap. I have to walk into a crowded room and get naked. I don’t suppose she has a stripper pole that I can warm up on. “That’s it? I just lie down and they draw me?”
“To start. The class is expected to draw three images tonight from three different angles. So we’ll get you lying down facing one direction, then have you flip over so they can draw you from a new perspective, and we’ll finish with a sitting portrait.”
I gulp. “How long is the class again?”
“Only an hour, and don’t worry, you’ll survive,” she says, her voice ringing with laughter. Clasping my shoulder, she looks me in the eye with utmost sincerity. “I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but everyone is nervous the first time. I can tell just standing here that you have a gorgeous figure and most important, you’re confident in your looks. Don’t let a little case of the nerves run you off. I am a firm believer that facing the things that strike fear in you is a great way to build character.”