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CHAPTER19
Tristan
This isn’t how I hoped “meeting the family” would turn out. I’m locked in a bathroom—completely humiliated. Tara is in tears, sitting on the counter beside the fancy marble vessel sink, and Remi is banging on the door.
“Let me in, Tristan!” he calls.
“Give us a minute, Remi,” I reply, considering options of how to escape from this stuffy Connecticut estate.
“Nobody in that room except my grandmother is out to get you.” His knocking escalates in volume.
So, she really is out to get me.
“Good to know.” I help my sister down from the countertop. “It’s okay, Tara.”
“But are you okay?” she asks, wiping her nose with her fist.
“I’m not thrilled about how the kids learned that I model naked, but I’m otherwise fine.” This is something of a lie, as I’m sure she knows. “Time to face the music.”
Before Remi makes a second scene here in the back hallway, I open the bathroom door.
Remi’s eyes are shadowed with fury, and his hands are curled into fists. “If you want to leave, I understand. Believe me, I do,” he says breathlessly. “Dacia and I will pack up the kids’ things and meet you and Tara in the SUV. Give us ten minutes.”
“That’s not necessary.” I lean over the fancy sink and rinse my face. He hands me a towel. “I don’t want to miss dessert.” I do my best to smile, but it’s just a meaningless lip gesture that doesn’t reach the rest of my face.
“I’m sorry about what happened. I’ll call Grandmother from the dining room and speak to her privately about her behavior.”
“No. I appreciate you wanting to defend my honor, but that will only make the situation worse.”
“I’m gonna quit working for Remington Plaza. If that nasty woman is at the top of the company, it’s gotta be a crappy place to put my effort.” Tara isn’t crying anymore, but her wrath is possibly more dangerous.
“Don’t do that, Tara. Your job makes you happy, and it takes the full burden of supporting the family off my shoulders.”
“How do you want to handle it, Tristan?” Remi asks.
“I want to go back into the dining room and say my piece.” I return the damp towel to the bar and head into the hallway. Remi and Tara follow, close at my heels.
When I enter the dining room, the dinner plates have been cleared. The adults sip cups of coffee, and the kids lick the whipped cream from steaming mugs of cocoa.
“Uncle Tris, I still love you even if you get butt naked in front of students,” Jared says.
“Did you cry in the bathroom?” Tommy asks.
“Bah-Bah Lamb Baby thinks Miss Emmie-ton is a yucky ol’ meanie!” Wendy concludes.
I stand near my chair. “Go ahead and sit down,” I tell Remi and Tara. Remi hovers by my side for a few seconds before doing as I say.
First, I direct my attention to the kids because what they think of me is what matters most. “You just found out that I model for artists without wearing any clothes. It’s called being a life model… and I want you to know that I’m not ashamed of my job.” Wendy is still glaring at Remi’s grandmother and doesn’t seem particularly interested in what I have to say. The boys are a different story; I have their complete attention.
“Why do you need to be, like, butt naked? Can’t they draw you with clothes on?”
“That’s a good question, Jared. Without models like me, artists wouldn’t be able to study the human anatomy. They couldn’t learn about the way body parts are connected and how people move. A real live naked body teaches artists a lot more than a photograph can.”
“It’s like if I go outside and look at a tree and then I draw it, my picture comes out better than if I draw a tree I see in a book,” Tommy says.
“Yes, exactly. And light reflects differently on the real thing, right? It’s like that with human bodies too. Light shines differently off my skin than off clothing.”
“So, you just stand there in front of the class with no clothes on?” Jared asks.
“Not exactly. I come up with all different kinds of poses—standing, sitting, and lying down. I need to stay perfectly still when I’m posing. Sometimes for a long time.”
“Anybody can stay still,” Tommy observes. “That’s easy.”
“It’s not easy at all. I have an idea. Let’s try not to move for one minute—you’ll see how hard it is. Okay, ready? Go.” As I count quietly to sixty, the boys struggle not to fidget.
My experiment seems to work. “That’s not as easy as I figured, Uncle Tris. Under my arm got itchy, and I couldn’t scratch it,” Tommy says.
“But don’t you get embarrassed?” Jared asks. “And cold?”
“Usually, the classrooms are kept pretty warm when a model is there. And yeah, I did feel embarrassed when I first started, but I reminded myself about how important my job is for artists who are learning how to draw and paint and sculpt the human body.”
“Sculpt?” Tommy’s ears perk up. “With clay?”
“Uh-huh. And even cartoonists need life models like me.”
“Cool beans. What’s for dessert?” Jared seems to have moved past the concept of naked Uncle Tristan.
Tommy isn’t quite finished with his questions. “When we get home, can you be my life model? I wanna make a clay statue of you—butt naked.”
I shake my head. “Only grownups can be… and use… naked life drawing models, Tommy.”
“For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t be the artist I am today without life drawing models like your uncle.”
I smile at Remi, thankful for his support.
