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Latisha could now see that the fabric, belt and bracelets were a perfect match for the ones on the large half-naked white woman in the painting, but she was beginning to feel as if she were an object or a piece of furniture and not a living thing with emotions. It was as if she was virtually invisible to the people around her. In a strange way, this had worked to her advantage. Susie hadn’t connected her to Maxine yet and she’d been able to calculate the layout of the studio, memorising both the entrances and exits, and which fire escapes were visible outside the windows, as well as memorising the security code when Susie’s assistant had come down the stairs to let her in.
She glanced over at the artist, busy on the other side of the studio. Was she all Maxine had described? How close was she to Felix Baum? Did she have any idea about his involvement with Maxine and her so-called suicide? To her surprise, Susie, sensing her gaze, looked up and then walked over. Standing at a distance, she studied the costume critically.
‘Muriel, can we see what she looks like with the Statue of Liberty crown on?’
Latisha leaned down to allow the Englishwoman to place the crown upon her head, then stood at her full regal height, the gazes of the other three falling across her like heat. She couldn’t help smiling to herself, imagining what her mother would have said if she were still alive, to have seen her dressed up as a version of the Statue of Liberty. She figured a hundred years ago people would have been shot for less disrespectful acts, and it was still a criminal offence to set fire to the Stars and Stripes, yet here she was, with her bosoms hanging out, the liberty crown on her head, not knowing whether it was an homage or a criticism of the American values the statue personified. And although she didn’t understand how this curious process of dressing up and mimicking paintings already in existence could be considered art, she recognised the passion and craft with which Susie Thomas pulled together all the different elements of the artwork. She’d seen it before, modelling for Maxine.
‘So the plaque goes in her left hand, the torch in her right hand,’ Susie commanded.
Muriel immediately handed the two props to Latisha: the torch, made of polyester foam and spray-painted, was instantly recognisable; the plaque – also deceptively light – had the same Latin inscription and date on it as the original held by Liberty.
‘And you want her like the figure in the painting?’
‘Face in full profile, body at three-quarters,’ Susie instructed.
Latisha turned for her.
‘Thank you… ’ Susie checked the piece of paper Alfie had given her earlier, a print of Gustav Klimt’s Beethoven Frieze. ‘Laura, is it?’
‘That’s right, Miss Thomas.’ Latisha had given her mother’s name rather than her own, not wanting to risk being recognised or identified as the woman Susie had tried to get in touch with.
‘You’re doing great, Laura. Can you hold the plaque down by your side like you’re holding a book, and the torch in your other hand, also by your side, just letting it flop down slightly?’
Latisha followed her instructions exactly, feeling like a big doll that was being manipulated, while Susie’s assistant Alfie took photographs and Muriel adjusted the props.
‘She looks perfect,’ Susie remarked.
Alfie stepped back and examined Latisha’s pose critically. ‘Culturally, it’s going to be a loaded image, especially if you have the blonde behind as a Marilyn Monroe lookalike. And if you make the huge ape figure King Kong, with his teeth referencing the Manhattan skyline, with the Twin Towers still in there, it’s going to be strong, very strong.’
‘Can I move now? This crown is real heavy,’ Latisha asked from the other side of the room.
‘You got what you wanted?’ Alfie asked Susie.
Susie looked over at the painting. Apart from her skin colour, the woman’s figure matched the proportions of the figure in the painting, her profile an African-American version of the same face. Yet she felt she’d seen the model before – her shape and girth triggered a memory.
‘Yeah, she can move.’
‘You can relax now,’ Alfie instructed Latisha, who stepped down from the podium and wandered, still in costume, over to the copy of the original painting sitting on the easel in the centre of the studio.
‘Where did you find her?’ Susie asked Alfie, once she thought Latisha was out of earshot.
‘I didn’t, she found me. Just phoned me out of the blue. I’m figuring she probably got my number from the circuit somehow. Life models tend to clue other life models in to potential work.’
‘Interesting. Her name’s Laura, right?’
Alfie nodded.
‘Did she give a home address?’ Susie persisted, intuition prickling at the back of her scalp.
‘Nope, and she’s insisting on being paid in cash – which is fine by us, right? I mean, we’re avoiding agent’s fees anyway by using her.’
‘Sounds good.’
Susie watched the massive black woman examine the work on the easel. ‘She’s got a powerful presence, that’s for sure. Does she look familiar to you?’
‘Only as an archetype, if that’s what you mean?’
‘I dunno. I just feel like I’ve seen her before.’ Susie walked over to join Latisha, still staring at the easel.
