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‘Oh right, of course. Sure, do you mind waiting? I’ll see what I can rummage up. I might be a few minutes, here,’ and I scoop her the cardigan up off the floor and hand it to her. ‘Stay cosy.’
I have to go all the way down two flights of stairs and then a third to reach the kitchen on the bottom floor. The houses are built on and into the hill which is why they have several levels. I manage to find a few large white ones. I have no idea where these have come from, probably my mother who occasionally likes to bring homey things to my house. I grab the box of matches next to the wood stove and climb the flights of stairs once again.
‘Got some,’ I proudly hold up the candles like a delighted schoolboy.
‘You should put one here, here, and here,’ she points to various positions around the room. The last one I place on the windowsill, where she recommends.
‘This won’t bother you here?’ I ask.
‘It’s fine. You’ll need the light from this angle.’
I see her then, with the candlelight illuminating the soft contours of her face, her high cheekbones, her small, round mouth. It plays magic tricks with her curves and edges and I find myself wanting to tell her secrets. I need her to know that I know. I want to tell Leyna the truth.
But we’re both playing a game here and I’m still learning the rules. She obviously knows who I am. She sees me nearly every day at work. I stop myself from blurting anything out in the heat of the moment, surrounded by shadows and candlelight. Perhaps it’s not for me to divulge any secrets. They are her secrets, after all—she’s the one in disguise, not me.
‘Where did you learn about Vermeer and light?’ I ask, remembering that Leyna told me she mentors art students in the community.
She looks caught off guard and hesitates before she says, ‘Uni. I studied art history.
Now I’m the one caught off guard and I am reminded of how little I know about her. ‘And now you’re the art.’
‘Mmm...’ She looks distant and pensive.
There is something in the atmosphere that feels different now that the sun has completely disappeared and we’re both here in this room with just the light of the candles. It feels intimate.
‘Do you want me to...’ She lets the words hang in mid-air. She grasps at her cardigan, looking at me questioningly. In other words, do I want her to discard the cardigan so I can get back to drawing? What am I doing making conversation? This is a job for her, nothing more.
I clear my throat. ‘Of course,’ I say and get back to my spot behind the easel.
The lighting is stunning, catching angles and creating a softness that was only there in my imagination before. Leyna gently slips the cardigan off once more, tossing it aside, and stands once again, completely in the nude. ‘How would you like me to sit?’ she asks. ‘Like before?’ She adjusts her body into the near exact same pose as earlier. ‘Or perhaps something different?’
It’s as though, unbeknownst to me, something’s changed. The air is static and the space between us is charged and crackly. One thing is certain, Leyna seems to have a new confidence and her voice is... different.
‘Erm...’ I hesitate. ‘Are you uncomfortable on that stool? Would you prefer to sit on the rug?’ I had laid out a soft sheepskin rug earlier. She often took this particular pose while at the art class.
She continues, ‘Sure, but something different from the art classes? I mean that’s why you asked me here, right?’
I have no idea what she means so I simply nod. I place a clean sheet up on the easel, ready to start over again, but I am not prepared for what follows.
Leyna stretches out on the floor, snuggling into the soft, white, sheepskin rug, the fur just long enough to cocoon her, to make her look like she is partly immersed into it—like an angel embedded in snow. While on her back, she lifts her arms so that they are above her head one slightly higher than the other. But then...
I suck in my breath—
Leyna, wrapped deeply within the white fuzz of the rug, lifts one of her knees and lays there still as a pin, looking me straight in the eye, every curve, every bit of flesh visible to my eye. Every bit of flesh.
What the fuck was she doing to me? Did she know what she was doing?
I try to remain calm. Has she done this before? The thought of her doing this for someone else sends hot, possessive waves coursing through my veins. I expel that thought from my head and compose myself. If this is how she wants to pose, this is how I would draw her. But it will be a fucking miracle if I manage to get through this evening without losing my dignity.
I struggle to control my breathing as I sketch. If this was the game she wanted to play, I was all in.
I use my fingers to smudge the charcoal into the drawing, as though I’m caressing the contours of her body. Every so often our eyes lock together, our breaths mimic each other, the rhythmic in-and-out matching the tension in the room. I think to myself, I could draw her a thousand different ways and still wonder what lies beneath her surface.
My drawing is nearly finished when Leyna’s phone starts buzzing. It’s her alarm, telling us both that art class is finished.Art class, I scoff to myself. I have no idea what the hell this is, but I’m quite certain that whatever it is we’re doing has very little to do with art.
Leyna puts her cardi back on and looks at me as if to say,I’m getting dressed now.
I nod imperceptibly and take a huge breath once she’s out of earshot, as though I’m letting air out of a pressure valve. That was fucking intense.
