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‘Was he ever... A nude model...’ Candace mulls over the words. ‘I have so many questions. How does it work? Where is it at? How long do you sit there? Are you sitting? Do you just stroll in, buck naked and sit down? Are there creeps just staring at you?’
Here we go. I was expecting this. ‘It’s nothing like that. Okay, it’s a bit like that. But first of all. I’m not completely naked. I wear a wig.’
‘A wig?’ Candace looks at me, astonished.
‘Not finished. A wig, a pair of sunglasses, and sometimes shoes, sometimes not.’
‘Let me get this straight. You’re not buck naked because you’re wearing a wig and sunglasses.’
‘Sometimes shoes.’
‘Sometimes shoes? Can you hear yourself? You’retotallynaked.’
‘But I’manonymous. There’s a difference. No one would ever know it’s me. All I have to do is sit there, usually lounge there. Not difficult. And I get a nice little cheque at the end of it. Works out for everyone, really.’
‘Leyna, I’m impressed. You have managed to completely floor me.’
‘Oh, but you see, it’s not me. When I’m there, I’m known simply asCinnamon.’
‘And there you go again,’ Candace is both laughing, tears streaming down her face, and shaking her head at me. ‘You do realise that’s a stripper name.’
‘It’s not! I needed to be anonymous, and I couldn’t use my real name. Obviously.’
‘Everyone in there is going to think you’ve just dropped in after your shift on the pole,’ Candace manages to say in between fits of laughter.
‘It’s nothing like that. I wear a wig and sunglasses and have astage nameto protect my identity. Just like an actor. Plus, everyone in there is a professional artist in need of a model. It’s as simple as that. It’sart,’ I draw out the last word, as though the emphasis makes it more meaningful.
‘You justify it any way you want, Leyna. And of course, I will always support you. You know how I feel about women having complete control over their own bodies so it’s none of my business. But also, W-T-F, Leyna!’
‘Um, do you want me to respond to that?’
‘Would you like to?’
‘It’s just a paycheck, Candace. No big deal.’
‘So why are you wearing a wig and sunglasses?’
I totally do not want to be having this conversation right now. It’s Friday night. I’m supposed to be out for our weekly relaxing cider where we laugh and make jokes and reminisce about shit, old times when we shared a flat back at uni.
Now I know why I’ve waited months to open up to Candace.
I simply stare back at her.
She gives up and throws her hands in the air. ‘As long as you’re sure you know what you’re doing! We’ve been friends a long time and I don’t want to see you get hurt. We gotta stick together, you know?’ The cider was starting to have its desired effect. It didn’t take much with us.
‘Thank you, lovely. I’m fine. I know exactly what I’m doing.’ I had no idea what I was doing. That’s why I needed to wear a wig and sunglasses. The disguise kept me in my comfort zone, despite the fact that my bra and knickers were in a different room. It allowed me to believe the lie that if anything bad happened I could just up and leave without any negative consequences.
‘And also, for the record, where you display your fanny isyourbusiness. You don’t need me telling you this and that. There are enough arseholes in this world who’ll think nothing of telling you what you can and can’t do.’ Candace was on the verge of one of her rants. I loved her for it, but my stomach was already grumbling and once she got started, we’d never get out of here. I needed to head this off.
‘Absolutely, Candace. Well, enough chit chat. Looks like we’re done our pints. We need food. Shall we go for dinner now?’
‘You read my mind. Let’s get something spicy. Come on, Cinnamon.’
––––––––
LATER THAT EVENING, after I stumble out of a taxi and make my way home from our girls’ night out, I think about what Candace had said. What I had said. Is the nude modelling just a paycheck? Am I only doing it for the money? Or is there something deeper to it?
I think about how I feel every time I step into the room without a stitch of clothing on, everyone’s eyes upon me. Sometimes their eyes avoid me at first, looking away, not knowing where to look. But I love it because I feel free. I feel powerful. Perhaps notI, exactly, but a version of myself. The version who knows what she wants and what makes her feel alive.
