by Abra Taylor
Miranda indicated a chair close to her sales desk. 'By all means. Do you mind if I munch my lunch? I always bring a sandwich down because I don't like locking up shop more often than absolutely necessary.' She circled the desk and sat down, then paused and eyed Domini anxiously. 'Although I could do that for a few minutes this afternoon, if necessary. Do you think you'll need to be rescued?'
'I doubt it.' Domini smiled, with more hope than conviction. 'I'll scream if I'm in need.'
'Have you eaten?' asked Miranda, extracting a sandwich from her drawer. 'I'm not too hungry and I'll be happy to share. Not fancy, but if you like chopped eggs...'
'I've eaten,' Domini lied. Nerves had prevented her from getting a single morsel down her throat, even at breakfast time, when she usually ate the oatmeal porridge she made for Tasey. 'Besides, Miranda, you could use it. You're all skin and bones. Very attractive of course ... but you could use a few pounds.'
'Thanks,' Miranda replied with a wry grin. Still in her carefully kept black dress, she presented a picture of chic respectability, but Domini wondered if she would not be far prettier in some lighter colour ... a soft dove grey, for instance, to enhance eyes that were many shades lighter than Sander's. But dove grey, Domini supposed, needed too many trips to the dry cleaner.
'You've hung a new show,' Domini remarked, looking around the gallery. Gone were the indifferent art toys, and in their place was a collection of indifferent paintings. 'You must have been working very hard to get them all up since yesterday.'
'The picture rails help,' Miranda said. 'Joel came over this morning to lend a hand. Sander keeps offering to do it, but I don't like to let him in case he falls. I get around it by not telling him when I'm going to rehang.'
'Joel seems very nice. Is he divorced? Or widowed?'
Miranda was studying the sandwich in her hands. 'Divorced,' she said. 'His wife went off to discover herself, or some such thing. Crazy, isn't it? Trading kids for a career! I'd give my eye teeth to have the choice, but I wouldn't make the same decision.'
'I thought he looked decidedly eligible,' Domini observed. 'I gather you haven't known him for too long?'
'Just since he bought the restaurant.' Miranda ducked her head and busied herself in brushing imaginary crumbs from her lap. Then she looked up and smiled brightly. 'Now tell me about yourself. Do you know, in all the conversations we've had, you've hardly told me a thing? It's really unfair, the way I've dumped all my problems on you! Now start at the beginning. Where are you from? New Yorkers are never from New York.'
'This one is,' said Domini, smiling. The lie had become so much a part of her existence that she told it now without hesitation. But talking about herself was not the purpose of early arrival. For the next few minutes she tried without success to turn away Miranda's questions. Today, however, Miranda would not be deterred, and so Domini went through an assortment of fanciful tales invented long ago: parents who had died in her youth, a kindly aunt and uncle who had reared her and then moved to Europe, a lover who had died in an aeroplane crash, leaving Tasey as his only legacy. The stories had served Domini well over the years, and by this time they came trippingly off the tongue.
It wasn't until shortly before two o'clock, after a browser had entered and left, that Domini managed to turn the conversation to the topic of Sander. 'You know, there are stores that would be interested in the kind of thing he makes,' she said. 'Maybe not here in SoHo, but in the ritzier neighbourhoods. Have you thought of approaching them?'
'Of course.' Miranda laughed shakily. 'I did try one or two, but I had to close the gallery while I trundled the stuff around. I have a suitcase full of his samples over there in the corner, but I simply can't spare the time to show it to any interested buyers. And as for Sander, he can hardly .. .'Her voice trailed off.
'Maybe I could try,' Domini said thoughtfully, wondering if she could manage to squeeze in some calls when she was out looking for new clients.
'He'd probably resent that,' Miranda said with a helpless shrug. 'For some reason, he seems to resent you. I'm sorry that he does, because . . . well, frankly, you're the first new female he's met for some time, and, and ... I was hoping .. ' Miranda covered her confusion by beginning to speak very rapidly in defence of her brother, giving Domini no chance to interrupt. 'He is a very attractive man, even with his disability. He's a little reluctant to make advances nowadays, but women . . . Well, it's not as though there's been nobody interested in him all this time. That nice nurse you met, she shares a big loft with several other girls. New apartment mates move in and out all the time ... commercial artists, folk singers, dancers. There was one in particular, an airline stewardess who always used to want to see Sander whenever she was in town.' She laughed half apologetically, torn between revealing confidences and establishing that her brother was not an undesirable man. 'But you know, airline stewardesses come and go and they're not always, well, you know, serious. The girl was transferred a couple of months ago, so that was the end of that. And since then . . . well, I mean, blindness does scare some women off. And when you seemed so very interested...'
'My interest isn't like that,' Domini said crisply, not wanting to give rise to Miranda's hopes. At least Miranda had answered one question in the back of her mind: she was relieved to hear that Sander was probably not in a state of dangerous frustration. 'I have other male friends, and I'm not short of dates. Just because I agreed to model for him doesn't mean I'm looking for a husband ...or an affair.'
'Oh, well, of course not. I didn't mean ...' Miranda broke the tension of embarrassment by glancing at her watch. 'Two o'clock,' she said. 'Hadn't you better go up?'
Domini rose, smiling. 'After what you told me, I expect I'll be lucky if I'm not thrown right back down the stairs.'
'I'll catch,' Miranda offered. 'Good luck!'
Domini shouldered the tubing and chicken wire and started up the stairs with wry thoughts that perhaps all her efforts had been in vain. She couldn't deny that mingled with apprehension there was some sense of relief; the idea of modelling in the nude was not at all to her liking. Well, if there was any truth to Miranda's warning words, she wasn't very likely to have to go through with it.
'Very prompt,' Sander said coolly as he met her in the hall at the top of the stairs. 'I've been wondering if you'd show up. I confess I'm surprised and pleased.'
Domini blinked with astonishment. After what Miranda had said, she had expected to be met with rudeness, insolence, or outright refusal to let her set foot through the door. But this? What on earth did Sander have in mind? She stared up at his face, but nothing in the carefully bland expression hinted that his polite greeting was anything less than genuine.
'I've brought you some tubing and chicken wire,' she said. 'I thought you might need it to make an armature.'
He reached his hand forward slowly until it connected with her offering, and then with more sureness he took it into his own arms. 'Very considerate, but it won't be necessary today. I need to get the feel of the material, so I've decided to start with a small model, a maquette. Come in, won't you?'
Domini walked through the open door to a rearranged room. The workbenches had been pushed to new positions, both against a wall, in order to free the main space for other use. Central in the room was a platform Sander had constructed of raw lumber. It was about the height of a bed, and the layer of blankets over the hard surface informed Domini that it was intended for posing. The big kitchen table had been pulled right up against the platform, with some clay, some modelling tools, some wet cloths, and a large pan of water resting at the ready on its oilcloth surface. Could Miranda have been mistaken about what she had overheard?
The door clicked closed behind her, and she turned in time to see Sander's enigmatic expression as he said, 'I imagine you're unfamiliar with posing in the nude. No doubt you're nervous, but there's no need to be concerned. I'll be as impersonal, I assure you, as a doctor. You can undress whenever you're ready.'
Wordlessly, and with feel
ing of total apprehension, Domini started to remove her clothes. Had she really once started to show herself to Sander in the innocent belief that that sort of thing should be done without reservation or modesty? She had been taught as much, of course. Her father's dislike of false prudery had been drummed into her from an early age, and she hadn't been in Paris long enough at that point to realize how truly unconventional her upbringing had been. On that day, when she had begun to strip, she had felt embarrassed and sickeningly ashamed of her embarrasssment, thinking it some sort of lack in herself. Now, with more experience of the real world to guide her, she realized it had been natural enough in a young girl unused to displaying herself. She was more mature now and she thought it should bother her less, but it didn't, despite Sander's unemotional reassurance. Oh, how simple life would become if everyone were as open and uncomplicated as Papa would have them be!
'I'm ready,' she said a few minutes later when the clothes were off and the terrycloth robe on.
Sander was idling with some clay, moulding it into some indeterminate shape on the table. Absently, without turning to what he could not in any case see, he nodded towards the platform to indicate she should mount it. With trepidation, Domini climbed on only two feet away from him, still decently wrapped. 'Are you ready? Shall I . . . take off my robe?'
'Please do,' he said dryly. 'Just lay it over the end of the platform. A moment, and I'll decide on the pose I want.'
Domini discarded the last of her coverings, feeling very vulnerable and visible despite Sander's inability to see. For a time he continued to mould the clay as though getting the feel of it, a dark forelock falling over his brow as he bent his head and knotted his brow in sightless concentration.
His frown suggested something less than pleasure with the new medium. During the wait Domini's apprehension mounted until she was shivering with nervousness as well as chill.
Finally he slapped the clay on the table in a decisive gesture and started to remove his shirt. 'Old habit,' he explained with a faint grin. 'I always used to work stripped to the waist. Perhaps it will help.'
It didn't help Domini. The uncovering of remembered muscles and matted textures had an awesome effect at this close range, multiplying every sensation a hundredfold. Alarm prickled over the naked surfaces of her skin. Her agony of suspense became almost unbearable, but she fought down the overpowering desire to flee.
'Will you be... long?' she said after he had wasted some more suspenseful minutes experimenting with the texture of the clay. By this time she was hard pressed to keep her teeth from chattering. 'If so, I think I'll put my robe on. It's very ...'
'No, stay just as you are,' he said at once, grimacing as he put down the lump of soft clay and rubbed his hands together to remove the last of it as best he could. 'I'm ready now. I'm afraid, Miss Greey, that you're bound to get some clay on you. You'll understand that I can't possibly wash my hands every time I come into contact with your skin.'
'I... yes,' Domini agreed as she warily watched him turn to the platform. He moved so close that she could smell the tang of him beneath the aroma of undried clay, an earthy male scent that further stimulated her wildly misbehaving imagination. His first tentative touch established contact with a knee. Her nerves leaped.
'Draw your feet up on the platform, please. I can hardly sculpt your legs hanging over the edge. Now adjust them so there's a bend to your knee. That's right...'
With his bearings established, he started exploring the shape of her feet, running his long, responsive fingers quickly over each particular toe and tendon as if to establish its shape and size. Then the ankles, the calves, the knees; and there he paused for some torturous moments, testing the soft sensitive hollow in the underpart of the bend. 'Odd how one finds tiny pulses in such out-of-the-way places,' he murmured thoughtfully.
Domini clenched one fist against her mouth as the fingers stayed in place for a full minute, counting a pulse rate that cause a fleeting smile to cross his features. But he made no particular comment, only moving the hand a few inches until it rested on the thigh directly above her knee.
'Very fine legs up to this point,' he observed detachedly, as if commenting on the weather. 'Good bones, good flesh, good surfaces and angles. If the upper thigh is as shapely, I think you may make an excellent model.' He planted his second hand on her other thigh just beyond the knee bend, palms over the front surface, fingers lightly touching the inner flesh where her legs met.
'Now calm down; you're trembling like a leaf.'
'I'm c-cold,' said Domini, although by now there was a burning heat radiating all through her flesh, its source the very place where Sander's fingers were so intimately lodged. To the further disorder of her senses, she realized that the bend of his half-naked body as he leaned over her had brought his unclothed torso against her lower legs. At a slight withdrawal of her knees he only leaned further forward, re-establishing contact as his roughened chest brushed her smooth calves. Domini stiffened perceptibly.
'Would you like to stop?' came the dry offer. 'I'm prepared to call it quits any time. If you want to back out of the arrangement
'No,' Domini managed, trying to relax her legs. 'I'll be all right.'
Sander frowned as if he didn't like that news at all. For a few vital seconds his hands remained motionless just above her knees. Then, with alarming suddenness, they started a long swift slide to a new, more vulnerable goal. Involuntarily Domini clamped her knees together like closed scissors, heart palpitating at an insane tempo as she considered the exactitude of his aim.
Her reaction stopped him with an inch or so to go, but by no means did he withdraw his hands. His faint smile might have been pure reassurance, and his voice softened as though he were gentling an unbroken colt. 'Now calm down. It's unsettling to have someone seize up like that. Are you all right? We can still stop, you know.'
'I'm... fine,' choked Domini.
'Oh?' he murmured pleasantly, without changing the dangerously suggestive placement of his fingers on her inner thighs. 'I thought perhaps you didn't trust me. You must try to remember that my actions are totally impersonal. As I can't use my eyes, I'm only doing what I must. Otherwise there's no point continuing, is there? Well, what shall it be? Do you want to call it quits before I go further?'
Domini called upon every ounce of inner strength she possessed. So this was how Sander planned to chase her away. Of course; she might have known he would have some such wretched plan. And if she went the clay was sure to end up in the trashcan. Damn him! Well, she didn't like his intentions, which weren't impersonal no matter what he said, but by this time she was determined not to be browbeaten into leaving. It had become a battle of wills.
'Just watch where you're going,' she said with a degree of annoyance that put a convincing tautness in her tone.
'If I could,' he drawled, 'I assure you I would.'
After that one sardonic remark, Sander's expression became forbiddingly enigmatic. To Domini's intense relief his hands now quickly changed directions, sliding around to explore the curve of her hip, the precise flow of her bones, the slender hollows of her waist. But soon the relief changed to something else as the progress of his fingers began once more to waken sleeping fires, igniting each inch of skin subjected to his scrutiny.
He spared no part of her but lingered nowhere. His hands on her throat, her shoulders, her arms, her breasts, could not have been more objective in their swift, impartial search. This time there was no derisive smile, such as he had smiled on feeling her pulse, when he discovered the telling firmness of her nipples. If anything, he looked displeased and moved quickly onward to an area less sensitive to arousal. Domini, for her part, bit her lip to prevent gasping as his fingers roamed over her flesh, leaving a trail of exquisite but unwanted sensations in their wake.
At length he finished, with a swift repetition of the tactile reading of her face that had been done so thoroughly on the previous day. He did not release her hair, as he had done before. At once he said c
risply, 'Fine. Now turn in the other direction, will you, and take a similar pose? Face the far wall. Under the circumstances, as I'm trying out a new medium, I'm not too anxious to have a stranger watch the experiment. And as for you, you may have an easier time holding your pose if you're not distracted by what I'm doing. If you wish, wrap your robe around your lower half to keep you warm. I'll be working on the upper only for today.'
He spent some minutes adjusting her pose ... the angle of her chin, the bend of her elbows, the eloquent twist of her fingers. With her head upstretched to extend the long, smooth curve of her throat, and her arms uplifted in the air, it was not an easy pose for Domini to hold. She suspected him of making it deliberately difficult, but at this point she knew better than to complain. Sander's attempts to thwart her had simply succeeded in stiffening her every stubborn resolve.
'Now whatever you do, don't move a single muscle,' he instructed curtly before turning back to his sculpture table.
'This is going to be hard enough for me without also having to remember the exact tilt of your head, should you alter it by a single degree.'
Domini tried to obey, for she wanted him to find no excuse for calling an end to the sitting. The difficulty of holding her position was not diminished by the way his hands frequently came wandering around from behind to explore her shoulders or her breasts, damp clay still clinging to the fingers roughened by manual work. As the afternoon progressed some of the clay clung to Domini, too, each mote of it a reminder of where his hands had travelled and where they would travel again. Her neck began to hurt from stretching, and her arms began to tremble from being held in the air. If there was consolation at all to be found in the discomfort of her difficult pose, it was that it totally suppressed any other physical reactions she might have felt at such intimate recurring explorations of her flesh.
'What colour are your eyes?' he asked at one point.
'Blue.' It was a pallid description of their colour, a rare bluish violet with the depth of wet wildflowers, but it would not have occurred to Domini to wax poetic about her own eyes. Her passport described them as blue.