by Holly Rayner
“Not really. I’m not going to expect you to hold the same pose this whole time anyway. Show me what you want it to look like, though.”
“You mean, just get in position?”
“Yeah. Right over there.”
Blaine stepped into the area at the side of her studio that got the most light in the evenings. She’d intentionally left it clear. Brooke wasn’t a morning person, and she did most of her best work as the sun was setting. It was important to set up the studio in a way that made the most of that.
She assembled the tools she’d need. She wasn’t going to start working in clay just yet. The first order of business would be to get a couple of good sketches of Blaine. That way, she could get a feel for what he should look like from every angle. Her hands could learn the contours of his body. She’d also be able to work on the project when he wasn’t in the apartment with her, which would no doubt make things easier. She had to admit, she was having trouble concentrating with him here.
She clipped her drawing pad to her easel and found some charcoals to work with. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“Ready.” Blaine grabbed his T-shirt by the hem and pulled it over his head. Suddenly, without warning, he was standing half-naked in her apartment.
Brooke ducked behind her easel, giving herself an extra moment to deal with this turn of events. She had known he’d begin shedding clothes as soon as they got started on the project, of course. That was the plan. And it had been apparent that he had a nice body, so she couldn’t say she’d been taken by surprise on that front either. Yet now her heart was racing, her breath coming too fast, and she couldn’t even bring herself to stand and face him. What was going on?
Brooke wasn’t shy about the human body. She’d studied life drawing in college, of course, and she’d worked with models in various states of undress, including many who were fully nude. Always before, she had had no trouble distancing herself, keeping a cool head, and drawing the figure before her. It had been a job. Nothing more, nothing less. This should be the same.
But there was something different about Blaine. For one thing, he clearly had no experience modeling. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He had struck a ridiculous, unnatural pose, and kept looking over his shoulder at her to see if she’d gotten started drawing him. He also kept adjusting his facial muscles, as if he was expecting a photograph. The fact that he had so obviously never done this before made it somehow charming that he’d so readily taken off his shirt. He had gotten comfortable with her.
Recovering herself a bit, she stood up from behind the easel. “Okay, first of all, that isn’t the pose you want.”
“What? Why not?” Blaine flexed his muscles. He was in a low squat, like a running predator, his arms pulled into an archer’s flex. “It looks like I’m hunting!”
“Yeah, well, how long can you stay like that?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “A while.”
“An hour?”
“Really?”
“Stand up. Walk around a little.” Brooke pulled a knife out of her bag and sharpened her charcoals. “Just get comfortable. We want this to look natural.”
“But I want to look cool,” he said.
“Trust me. This thing’s going to be sitting in your house where people can see it. A figure of you in a hunting pose is going to look goofy by the second week, and no one will even get that it’s you. You want something that looks like you look.”
Blaine shrugged. “You’re the expert, I guess.”
“So how do you feel now?”
“Okay.”
“More relaxed?” He was. She could see it in the set of his shoulders and the ease of his movement, even before he nodded. “Great. All right, now stand still. I’m going to start drawing.”
Blaine came to a standstill in the middle of the room.
Brooke laughed. “You can breathe. In fact, you’d better. I don’t want you passing out in my studio; we’re going to be here for a while.”
He took her advice, as Brooke took up a charcoal and set about outlining his torso. He was a lot more muscular than she’d imagined when she’d seen him with clothes on. She had expected a slender frame, but the body in front of her seemed more like that of an athlete than a business mogul. When could he have had time to go to the gym? He must spend hours working out to get a body like that.
Was it hot in here? Maybe she needed a reminder to breathe.
Stay professional, Brooke chided herself. You’ve drawn dozens of men before. This isn’t any different.
It was, though. Maybe it was because she knew Blaine. She’d already spent the day with him. She’d even imagined herself on a date with him. She’d never even known the names of her life-drawing models, and maybe that was what had helped her to keep her distance.
But Brooke was serious about her work. She was going to get this done, and she’d do it well. For the rate Blaine was paying, she could get through anything. So what if his body made her a little weak in the knees? There was no reason he had to know that. She could keep it to herself.
“Turn around,” she told him.
“Why?”
“Because I need to make a sketch of your back, too.” She flipped her sketchpad to a clean sheet. “Sculptures are three-dimensional, you know.”
He laughed and turned. His pants rode low on his hips, revealing back dimples and contouring to the shape of his well-toned butt. Brooke couldn’t stop staring. She was going to have to collect herself if she was going to finish the project, that was for sure.
“So how often are we going to do this?” Blaine asked.
Brooke was grateful for the question, as it gave her something else to focus on. Her hand continued to trace his perfect body onto her sketchpad as she answered. “It depends on your schedule, at least at first. Once we start working with clay, I’m going to have to move pretty quickly, which is why it’s so important to get these sketches in place. If you can’t be over here, I’ll still be able to work.”
“But it’s probably better if I am here, right?” Blaine asked. “I mean, the real thing has to be better than a sketch.”
“That’s true, yeah. And I’m not so hot at drawing, either, so what I get down here might not be the best in terms of working notes.”
Blaine abandoned his pose and walked over to examine her work.
“Do you mind?!” Brooke squawked.
“You’re doing good,” he said, reaching out to trace his fingers along the line she’d drawn to demarcate his hip. Once again, she noticed, he stopped just short of touching her work, hovering just above it instead. Like it was in a museum or something. Like it was special.
Brooke closed her eyes. This isn’t going to be easy.
5
Ali
A week later, hard as it was to admit, Ali had actually begun to appreciate what Vermont had to offer. That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t have jumped at the first opportunity to get back home to New York, of course, but he had to concede that Vermont had several things to recommend it, and that Jasperville, despite its size, was a nice little town.
It had gotten easier being “Blaine.” He’d taken several steps to help himself relate to his new identity. As Blaine, he dressed differently. He traded his stylish jeans for functional ones and swapped his designer T-shirts for plain cotton V-necks and flannel overshirts. He wore his boots every day. They had started to wear in and now felt comfortable. He regarded himself in the mirror each morning, dressed in his new clothes, his hair tousled and unkempt instead of immaculately combed, and he didn’t see Ali anymore. He saw Blaine.
The routine he had settled into was largely centered around Brooke. At first, she’d insisted that their relationship was strictly professional, but that had worn away fairly quickly. She seemed to enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed hers. It wasn’t just the fact that she was a pretty girl, either, although that was nice. He was drawn to her outlook on life. She had a way of seeing the positive side of everything th
at was almost inspiring. He’d spent the last several days feeling as though the world were conspiring against him, but Brooke seemed incapable of taking a negative view of life.
One night, after they’d finished work on the sculpture for the day, Brooke invited him to stay for a movie. She made popcorn and served it in a clay bowl, which Ali could tell was one of her own creations. He held it up to the light and examined it. “I thought you didn’t like making bowls.”
She laughed. “I don’t. That one was a commission originally, but then the guy who ordered it canceled. He decided he didn’t want to pay my rates, because he could get a cheaper bowl at the drugstore.”
“He was expecting a handcrafted bowl to compare in price with a mass-produced drugstore product?”
“Apparently! Anyway, by then, I’d already made the thing, so I just kept it.”
He made a face. “I don’t think I’d be able to stand to look at it. If someone did that to me, I’d have to have a ceremonial bowl-smashing to deal with my rage.”
“It’s a good bowl, though.” She grinned. “Perfect for popcorn.”
It was. Ali pondered her reaction, her ability to take the canceled order in stride despite the fact that it had meant she wouldn’t be paid for work she had already done. She was much more coolheaded about it than he would have been.
During the days, Brooke had made it her mission to help “Blaine” earn his driver’s license. Several times that week, they’d been out to the countryside for a couple of hours so he could practice, driving back and forth on the infrequently traveled dirt roads that surrounded Jasperville. At first he was anxious behind the wheel and kept the car at a crawl, but by their third day out, he was driving thirty miles an hour and talking to Brooke while he did it. She coached from the passenger seat, but Ali didn’t require much help. Driving came naturally to him.
They made frequent stops during their driving excursions. Ali was blown away by the natural landscape of Vermont. It was so unlike the desert landscape he’d grown up surrounded by, and even more unlike the uncompromising steel of New York City. Here, everything was verdant and beautiful. They parked the car by the side of the road and hiked into a wooded area, amid the tallest trees he’d ever seen in his life, though Brooke said these weren’t all that large and if he really wanted to see some giants he’d need to visit the West Coast.
“I’ve always wanted to go out there,” Ali admitted. “I thought about going west when I was leaving New York.” He had become skilled at dealing in half-truths, eager to share details about his life with Brooke but knowing there was a line he couldn’t cross when it came to telling her things about himself. He had to protect his true identity.
On another occasion, Brooke directed him to a small lake in the middle of a grassy field. She had packed a picnic of sandwiches, raw vegetables, and cookies. They sat by the water and ate while Brooke pointed out native wildlife. Ali was amazed at the creatures he saw—birds, chipmunks, and even deer. Shunayy was largely without wildlife, with the exception of the snakes that liked to creep into people’s homes, and New York had nothing but pigeons. The animals here were beautiful. He watched Brooke tear the crusts off her sandwich and offer them to the ducks paddling in the lake.
His favorite part of the days they spent outside the city limits was evening, when the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky split into prismatic color. He had seen his share of sunsets back home, of course, but sharing the moment with a girl like Brooke was special in a different way. It felt, at times, like they were the only two people in the world watching the sun go down, and the celestial heavens had created this performance just for them.
As long as his friendship with Brooke held out, he decided, being exiled to Vermont wasn’t going to be half bad. What good luck it was that his safe house had been established in the apartment right next to hers.
One Saturday morning she arrived at his door promptly at seven o’clock. Pajama-clad, he stumbled across the room to answer her knock. He hadn’t been out of bed this early since college, and even then, he had made a concerted effort to schedule his classes in the afternoon so he would have the opportunity to sleep in.
Brooke looked like she’d had no trouble getting up, though. Her brown hair was neatly woven into two braids, and she was fresh-faced and chipper.
“Any plans today?” she asked.
“I’m going back to bed. It’s Saturday.”
“What does Saturday have to do with anything?” Brooke challenged. “You don’t have a job.”
“I’m a creature of habit, Brooke. Saturday is for sleeping in. It’s been that way since the dawn of industry, and it always will be. You can’t change it.”
“Well, I am changing it. I’m going out to Folson Park today, and I want you to come with me.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
She pushed her way past him and into the apartment. “It’s a protected area for the preservation of wildlife. It’s really cool, but I haven’t been since I was a little kid. My dad used to take me at least once a month, and I thought we could go out there and see the animals. We can grab something to eat on the way. Come on, put your clothes on.”
A month ago, he would have protested, or quite possibly even shut the door in her face. He wouldn’t have been able to see the idea of getting up early and spending his Saturday in nature as anything but an unnecessary pain. But something had changed. Although part of him still wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep for at least three more hours, he was intrigued by the idea of seeing more of Vermont’s wildlife. Not only that, this was a piece of Brooke’s childhood. She was letting him in further than she ever had.
“Hang on,” he said. “I’ll get dressed.”
He was thankful, now, for his new Blaine clothes. They were hardly the height of fashion, but they would be perfect for a day spent outdoors. He put on his most comfortable jeans and a loose T-shirt that would breathe well.
“Ready?” Brooke asked.
“How far away is this place?”
“About an hour.”
He reached into the cupboard and grabbed a granola bar. “Okay. Ready.”
Brooke looked surprised. “When did you get those?”
“Couple days ago. I was at the store again.”
“And you didn’t just buy stuff from the deli?”
“No,” he said, feeling sheepish. “That didn’t exactly work out well last time. Everything went bad before I could eat it.”
“I thought that might happen. I was surprised you didn’t see it coming.”
Every conversation was full of minefields like this. “I’ve never really cooked for myself,” he said, treading carefully. “In New York I ordered takeout a lot. Or I went shopping for one night at a time. I didn’t plan meals ahead of time.”
“Didn’t that get expensive?” she asked and then seemed to catch herself. “I guess you were rich enough. But you never wanted to try cooking?”
“I don’t know how,” he admitted.
“I could teach you.”
He laughed. “One thing at a time.”
“Right.” She smiled. “I’ll drive today, though. You’re still too slow on the highway.”
* * *
“This way,” Brooke said, pushing through some undergrowth. “Animals tend to hang out around the water.”
“And you’re sure this is the way to the water?” Ali wasn’t even sure they were following a path. Brooke was picking her way through the brush like she knew where she was going, but would a path really be this overgrown? “It looks like no one’s been this way in years.”
“Not a lot of people do come this way,” Brooke said. “It’s not the easiest walking trail through these woods. Families go on the main path that leads in a mile-long loop around the preserve. It’s a lot easier to follow, too.” She pointed out a tree with a yellow ribbon tied around its trunk. “That’s how you can tell you’re still on the right path. Follow the yellow ribbons.”
“Seriously?
That’s it? What if you take a wrong turn?”
“No, look.” Brooke pulled Ali level with her and pointed into the distance. “You can see the next one from here. See it? That’s why they use yellow. It stands out against the trees so you can spot it and know you’re going the right way.”
Ali was impressed. “You know a lot about this stuff.”
“I learned from my dad.”
“Yeah, you said he brought you out here a lot.”
“He did, yeah. This was our favorite place.”
“But you haven’t been here recently?”
Brooke scuffed her foot in the dirt. “He died a few years ago. I never really wanted to come here after that. It would have been weird without him.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “That’s pretty much the main reason I moved home from the city. I hated the idea of my mom being on her own after that.”
“Wow,” Ali said. “You’re a good daughter.”
He had to admit, he didn’t know if he’d have been able to do such a thing for his own parents. Of course, he thought, if my father dies, I have to go home anyway. The acting Sheikh of Shunayy couldn’t be on an extended vacation in the United States.
Brooke stopped to rest, throwing one leg over a fallen tree trunk and sitting atop it. Ali followed suit. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a couple of granola bars, passing one over to him, and for a few minutes the two ate in companionable silence.
“So I guess you and your dad were pretty close,” Ali hedged.
“We were. We spent a lot of time together. I could tell him anything. And I never felt like he was judging me or wishing I would change. I love my mom, but I know she has doubts about me sculpting for a living. But Dad never had a bad word to say about it. He just thought it was great.”
“I’m really sorry he died,” Ali said. “It must have been hard on you to lose him. And to lose a parent at such a young age. I can’t even imagine that.” Both of his own parents were healthy, and the idea of saying goodbye to them wasn’t one that had seriously crossed his mind. He would have to do it someday, he knew, but he expected many more years of parental annoyance before he had to worry about that particular milestone.