“Ivanna,” she says, shaking hands with Dom and me in turn. “You guys go to the university?”
We both shake our heads.
“I don’t go anywhere,” I tell her.
“It’s better not to!” she says emphatically. “They want to squeeze the creativity out of you. Turn you into some soulless ad copywriter or graphic designer.”
She scowls like either of those options would be the next worst thing to murder.
“Nataly is alright though,” she says, jerking her head toward the teacher. “She’s a muralist. All large-scale works. Have you ever seen the one on Primkost street, on the back of the bakery? That’s hers.”
Once everyone has their easel in place, Nataly calls the class to order. She spends a little time talking about the purpose of the day’s class, which is to capture a mood in the positioning of the body.
“Now,” she says, taking her place in front of her own easel, “Let’s bring up our first model.”
The older gentlemen that I had first taken as one of the students walks to the middle of the room. He climbs up on the simple platform and, completely unembarrassed, begins to strip off his clothes. He pulls off his shirt and then drops his trousers and his underwear, too, baring a skinny, wrinkled frame, with a thick mat of gray hair on his chest.
He folds his clothing, not caring which way he bends or what he exposes in the process, then hands the neat pile to Nataly for safekeeping.
“Thank you, Albert,” she says calmly.
Everyone else in the room seems to take this sudden nudity in a stride, but for me, it’s the first time I’ve ever been in a room with a completely naked man, so I can’t help blushing. Especially once I see Dom watching me, trying not to laugh.
Albert strikes his first pose, which involves standing with his legs apart, hands on his hips, belly poking out.
“Now,” Nataly says, sketching on her paper as she speaks, “First we want to draw the general shape of Albert’s pose. This is called an envelope—it sets the boundaries for the drawing.”
The rest of the students imitate her first few strokes on their own easels.
“Remember to keep your lines extremely light and loose at this stage of the drawing . . .” she says.
I pick up my own pencil and sketch out the basic linear shape of Albert’s pose.
“Now let’s establish the blocking for the head. We’ll be using the head size as reference for the proportions of the rest of the figure . . .”
Nataly’s voice is incredibly soothing. Soon I forget the bizarreness of a nude stranger standing in front of me, and I begin to notice the fascinating and awkward proportions of Albert that make the drawing interesting. How long his arms and legs are in contrast to his round little belly. The proud and dignified expression on his face, in contrast to his thin little shoulders and large, paddle-like feet . . .
Once most of us have the basic form sketched out, Nataly begins to walk around, examining our progress.
“Good,” she says, when she comes to me. “Just remember, you want to have a middle range of shadow, not just light and dark . . .”
She shows me, on my drawing, where I need more medium ground.
When she comes to Ivanna, she says, “You’ve made Albert look a bit like a Cro-Magnon—here, in the brow.”
Ivanna scowls again, scrubbing out that bit with her eraser, but waiting until Nataly moves along before fixing it.
Dom comes to see my drawing.
“Very nice, Michelangelo,” he murmurs in my ear.
Knowing that he’s watching me, it’s incredibly hard to work.
But I like it, too. I’ve never experienced anything like this, being in a room full of people all working on the same thing. Looking around at the various easels to see how the others have tackled the subject is useful, and inspiring.
Nataly gives us a few more pointers, makes another round of the room, then tells us to finish up before we try the next pose.
“You should get an easel,” I tell Dom. “Give it a try . . . it’s not so hard.”
“I can’t even draw stick figures,” he tells me. “Besides, I’m already jealous enough of Albert, getting all your attention.”
Albert lets out a little belch, then puts his hands back on his hips, resuming his pose.
I try not to laugh.
“That makes you jealous?” I whisper to Dom. “You really didn’t strike me as the type.”
“But I am,” he growls in my ear. “I want you all to myself, Lara . . .”
“My apologies, class,” Nataly says, “I had planned to have another model for you today, but the other gentleman wasn’t able to come. The male figure, is of course, as varied as the female. Even more so at times. I hope to bring people of all shapes and sizes so you can really explore the diversity of the human form . . .”
A wicked thought seizes hold of me.
Before I can think the better of it, I blurt out, “Maybe Dom could do it.”
Nataly pauses, looking over at us.
“Pardon me?” she says.
Dom shoots me a dangerous look, but I can’t help myself.
“You said you wanted a second model, Ms. Nataly? I was thinking that Dominik could pose for us.”
“That would be so incredibly kind!” Nataly says, clapping her hands together. She looks up and down the length of Dom’s considerable frame. “This is exactly what I was talking about! A study in opposites.”
Dom is staring at me with his mouth open.
I don’t know what on earth made me say it. But now I can barely contain myself. The look of outrage on his face makes me want to laugh so badly that I have to literally clamp a hand over my own mouth.
“Go ahead and step down, Albert,” Nataly says to the first model. “And take your position whenever you’re ready, mister . . .?”
“Just Dom,” Dom says through stiff lips.
“Don’t forget to take your clothes off,” I whisper to him, biting my lip to keep a straight face.
“You’re in so much trouble,” Dom hisses back.
But he strides to the middle of the room, stepping up on the raised dais.
You could hear a pin drop. Nobody wants to make a sound because we don’t want to ruin what’s about to happen. Every single one of us really, really, really wants to watch Dom take his clothes off. Even the teacher is staring at him wide-eyed, chewing on the end of her pencil.
Dom strips off his hoodie first, dropping it on the floor next to the dais. Then he pulls his t-shirt over his head.
There’s a soft sigh from all around the room, like wind running through grass.
Dom is a literal anatomical model. He’s so lean that just the simple movement of shucking his t-shirt over his head and tossing it on the ground sends waves of movement across the muscles of his back, traps, shoulders, and chest. Now I see why his jeans hang so low on his hips—he’s got the tightest waist I’ve ever seen. Not just abs, but extra little abs next to the main ones. Plus deep cuts from his navel down to his groin . . .
We’re all just staring, completely silent. Nobody has touched pencil to page, or even thought about doing so.
Dom’s skin is perfectly smooth, no hair on his chest. However, he does have several tattoos. A lot of them, in fact. One on his left pec, tattoos on both shoulders, a full sleeve on his right arm, and more on his back.