Page 92 of Born to be Wilder

Head up, look at me, head down.

Over and over again.

Then he stood up and walked over, holding his sketch pad.

“Who’s this? Why is he approaching us?” Marge stood, her posture defensive.

“Hey. I, uh… I drew you, if you want it,” he said, his gaze fixed to the ground like he was too shy to look at me.

He ripped off a piece of paper from the pad and extended it to me.

Marge took it first like she was a poison tester for royalty making sure it was safe, but as she looked at it, her face softened. “Oh, wow. This is… incredible.”

She spun it toward me, and my breath caught when I saw it.

Charcoal sketched in such detail I could hardly believe he hadn’t traced it from a photograph. But done in such a beautiful, unique way that it wasn’t just my likeness in a mid-dance pose that made tears sting behind my eyes, it was… me.

Somewhere in that sketch, with my eyes closed, hands raised above my head, he had managed to capture the essence of what I felt when I danced.

I rose slowly and took the sketch. “This is remarkable. You are… wow. So talented. I can’t believe you just sketched this right here in the street.”

He shifted nervously on his feet. “You were quite inspiring. I just thought maybe you’d want it.”

“How much?” I asked, already reaching for my wallet.

“No charge. I don’t do art for the money.”

I scoffed. “Darling, with talent like this, you could make a lot of it.”

He peeked up from beneath his dark bangs. “Really? It’s good?”

Sylvie looked over my shoulder, nodding. “It’s exceptional. She’s right. You have a rare talent.”

“God gave you a wonderful gift. This is beautiful.” Doris pressed a hand to my arm. “It’s you, Alice. All of you.”

“I insist on paying you.” I pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill, and his eyes bulged.

“Really?”

I looked at the sketch again, then pulled back the hundred. “Actually, I will pay you for this, but I have another idea.” I paused, then straightened up. “I want you to sketch me. I want a nude.”

“What?” Doris, Marge, and Sylvie all echoed.

Marge spun to me. “Cripes, Alice! I know you’re comfortable in your own skin, but you can’t get naked in the street!”

“I didn’t mean here,” I said with a soft shake of my head. I looked back at him and said my truth. “I have breast cancer and will be getting surgery soon, and perhaps even a double mastectomy. I would love to have the honor of you using that talent to capture me in this body exactly as I am right now. Will you do it? I’ll give you a thousand dollars to draw me.”

He looked shocked for a moment at the sum of money, but then he nodded. “I’ll do it, though you don’t have to pay me. It would be my greatest honor to capture someone of your beauty, your power, before you go on such a transformative journey.”

“Wonderful. What’s your name?”

“Lawrence. Lawrence Marchant.”

“Well, Lawrence Marchant, are you ready now?”

“You want to go now?” His dark eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Yes. Right now. Find somewhere private and do this. I have limited time in New Orleans. So will you, Lawrence?”