Chapter Text
He stood in front of the mirror, the long one hanging on the back of the bathroom door. His eyes followed his hands as they roamed his body. Every now and then he'd glance at the lit screen of his phone sitting on the sink.
Nude models needed for posing. 4 hours +, daily. Paid. All body types welcome, please contact . . .
He needed quick cash, an odd job to get him by while he searched for something more solid. This was the most doable ad posted, no experience needed, no heavy lifting. Still Lucas felt some trepidation.
He sent the text anyway, before he could lose his nerve. One step further, he switched his phone off and headed to bed. Sleep eluded him as he lay on his ratty cot, staring at the ceiling. There was an ache in his chest, a wound at his center. Homesickness. It was only getting worse.
*
Turning off his phone had been stupid. The artist had responded almost immediately. Sent a time and address, promised a trial and, if all went well, one day's pay. Lucas was supposed to be there at 10:00 am. It was past noon, now, and he was losing faith his prospective employer would be forgiving.
He didn't look for an elevator, spotting the stairs first. By the time he reached the right floor, he was panting. Shedding his jacket, he took a minute to calm his breath. When it was even, he continued.
His knuckles hovered over the painted wood of the door, doubt stilling him. Winded from a few flights of stairs. He hadn't had a regular exercise routine in months, hadn't had a rigorous one in years. Was he really going to offer this body, neglected and soft, up for nude modeling? Was he really going to strip for a stranger?
The door swung open before he could decide. Standing there was the artist, the prospective employer, the stranger. His white tank top was smudged with every color, his jeans much the same. Lucas couldn't ignore the solid, lean build beneath them in his moment of self-consciousness. Though there was no smile on the young man's face, there was no disdain.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm here about the ad." Lucas adjusted his glasses and held out a hand. "I'm terribly late."
"Yes," he checked his watch with one hand while shaking with the other, "you are. You're lucky I'm a patient man. Come on in."
The walls were all white, hung with paintings. In some places there were shelves, brimming with creative miscellany, and the windows, dressed with white, sheer curtains that fluttered in the light breeze. A faucet dripped into the bowl of a large, metal sink. Lucas spotted an easel. Beyond it an area with an elevated platform. The place he would be posing.
The door clicked shut behind him. "Didn't catch your name."
"Lucas."
"I'm Chris. Can I get you something to drink? I have water," he pointed to the sink, "or beer," he pointed to a cooler on the floor.
"I'm fine, thanks."
"Suit yourself."
Crossing the room, Chris grabbed two stools. Returning, he offered one to Lucas. It was awkward mounting it. He scuffed the floor a bit as he tried to get it underneath him.
"So I thought we'd begin with a sort of interview." Chris said once Lucas was settled. "Just some getting to know you stuff, so we're not total strangers. It can be tedious, posing. It can be tedious for me, too."
"You sound like you're new to this."
"At painting," he gestured the work on the walls, "no. But up until now I've used people I've already had an introduction to. Friends. Friends of friends."
"Run out of friends?"
"No, it's just most of them are physically similar. I want some practice with different body types. I like the looks of you already."
Lucas wished he accepted that water. "Is this how you make your living?"
"Yeah, I'm one of the lucky ones. Though there are dry spells. To keep myself comfortable I might pick up a part time job. What about you? What do you do?"
"Nothing, at the moment. Nothing steady. I only came to the city a few months ago. I, um, I'm still getting my bearings."
"Where'd you move from?"
"Denmark." Lucas hoped he wouldn't pry. He didn't like giving details, didn't want anyone looking him up.
"Never been but I've heard good things. A couple guys nearly got me to backpack there when I was on my artist's pilgrimage to Paris. They left without me and I ended up in Spain instead." Chris smiled at the memory. "I miss traveling."
"You have plenty of time for more."
Chris's grin spread like the idea please him. It made him look younger, boyish and sweet. Less intimidating.
"I like you, Lucas. I think I'll keep you. If you want we can start the clock now." He checked his watch again. "I'll round up and pay you for six hours. How's that sound?"
Lucas was quick to nod, eager for the money. Then he remembered himself.
"What is it you want me to do? Do you have something in mind or . . ."
"We'll figure it out, just strip and let me see you. Throw your clothes anywhere."
Somehow, Chris managed to give him privacy while occupying the same room. He busied himself collecting and arranging supplies. Lucas, still managing to be shy, stripped.
The easel had been pushed aside. There was another stool there now, a sketch pad and utensils set atop it. Politely, Chris waited until Lucas' form approached in his periphery to turn.
Lucas didn't cast his eyes down but he did avoid meeting Chris'. Hands at his sides, he fought the urge to cover himself. He waited for direction. Only when he heard an intake of breath did he look the other man in the face.
"Let's get you set up." He took Lucas' wrist lightly and led him to the platform.
"Now, maybe just a few practice poses. Just to get my used to you. Step up, yeah. Stand straight, turn your ankle out a bit. Hands, no one ever knows what to do with their hands. Here is fine. Oh, how blind are you?"
"How blind?"
"Without your glasses. Would you mind?" Chris reached up, hands expectant. Lucas bent at the waist into his reach. Off went his spectacles, the whole world blurring.
Vulnerable, he felt ridiculously vulnerable, bared and blinded. But there was something comforting about Chris in his kind frankness, something reassuring. Lucas allowed this to settle him.
He could make out the shadow of Chris' movements, hear the scratching of pencil on paper. They were quiet, Chris intent on his work and Lucas lost in his head. The wordless silence between them was broken only when Chris requested he change positions. This time he was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow. Unintentionally, Lucas let his head fall out of place, tilting heavy to the ground. Chris said nothing, smiling unseen. He liked the image better that way.
"How about you just sit on the edge there, now? Make yourself comfortable."
Lucas did as he was told, leaning his elbows on his knees. Hands steepled, his chin balanced on his outstretched thumbs. Liking the feel, he waited. Chris made no suggestion, only began with his pencil again.
"How are you liking the city?"
"It's better than the movies."
"Yeah? I hear a lot of tourists complaining."
"Not me."
"And your family? Your wife?"
"I'm divorced." He wouldn't mention his son, there was no need. The least amount of information possible.
"So you're single?"
Lucas only nodded, anxiety tightening in chest. The knot loosened as Chris' questions seemed to backtrack.
"Have you done a lot of sightseeing?"
"Not yet. Mostly trying to settle."
"I've lived here my whole life. If you need a guide, you've got my number."
"I - thank you. I'll keep that in mind."
The hours passed quicker than either man expected. But soon the breeze coming in the windows was too cold and they had to be shut. No more soft sunlight warming the interior, just a pitch black sky and the lights of the city. It was beautiful and Lucas watched it as Chris counted his pay.
"Here you go." He said finally, holding out a thick rubber-banded roll. "And," he held up another two fifties.
"What are th - "
"Let me take some reference pictures of your face. Just five or six, for my eyes only." He wagged the bills. "It's an easy hundred."
That it was. All Lucas had to do was make whatever expression he was asked. It was more than five or six but Lucas didn't mind. As their time together came to a close, he decided he liked Chris. He liked him a lot.
"Text me so we can set up another day, okay?" Chris said as he hovered in the doorway for their parting. "I haven't had enough of you yet."
Lucas told him he would and hoped he didn't sound foolishly eager. Fingering the cash as he walked, he traced the soft edge before slipping it safely in his pocket. The night air was biting and it was a long way home. Lucas found himself smiling, even as he collapsed into bed. That same homesickness bubbled up but the loneliness didn't come. Something in him had been sated, a need quenched enough to ease him. Sleep came easier. Lucas might have even dreamed, a little. Of his dog and his son and his town, walking through the streets, taking pictures all the while. Pictures he brought back to Chris, who turned them into art, who turned Lucas himself into art.
These dreams were forgotten upon waking.
*
He got a job as a barista and another busing tables. On the days he wasn't foaming cappuccinos he was sweating in the crowded kitchen of an upscale hotel. And he didn't mind it one bit. The independent coffee shop was always swarming with business, hipsters looking for organic drinks and compilation disks, the hotel a hive of activity without a moment's rest. It left him no room for the homesickness or the loneliness. He'd come back to his little hole of an apartment, collapse and sleep the whole night through. He never took a day off.
He almost forgot about Chris.
But then a girl stopped by the cafe. He was working the register while one of the other baristas stepped out for a smoke. Of course, the moment he was left alone the entire city seemed to come pouring in door. Order after order placed, all overtly complicated and begging for individuality in the sea of combinations. But like an old dog who'd managed to learn a few new tricks, Lucas kept up with them. The line moved steadily and everyone was polite.
Lucas handed the simplest drink of the day, french pressed coffee, black, to a dapper but distant looking gentleman and hurried onto the next customer, a smiley brunette in high-waisted shorts and pigtails. Her eyes stayed focused on her wallet as she stumbled up to ordered.
"Large creme frappe, whole milk, three pumps caramel, three toffee nut and a drizzle on top. Please."
He scribbled the abbreviated order onto the side of the cup and asked for her name. She looked up for the first time, card ready, but paused when she saw his face. Her brow knit for a minute and he could tell she was trying to place it. Where she could've seen him before he didn't know.
When it came to her, she slapped the counter. "Do you know Christian Smith?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Chris. He's about this tall, glasses, hair," she mimed a beard. "He's an artist."
"Oh, um - "
"I knew it was you!" She grinned, handing over her card. "You're everywhere. In his apartment, I mean. Sketches in pencil, charcoal. He even busted out the watercolors for you."
Heat rose to Lucas' cheeks when he noticed her giving him a once over. Did he imagine her eyes lingering on his crotch and chest? He was grateful to be able to retreat, fixing her drink. Even more grateful when he was finished with it.
"Thanks," she took an experimental sip. "Damn, it's perfect. Hey, are you coming to his gallery thing this weekend?"
"No. I wasn't invited," because we haven't spoken in weeks. Really, I don't even know him.
"You should totally come, Chris would be thrilled." She grabbed his hand and started scribbling on it with the counter top's attached pen.
Lucas blinked at his inky palm. "I - "
But she was already waving goodbye, moving through the crowd towards the door where another woman was waiting. They exited hand in hand, Lucas' eyes trailing them until they disappeared from the shop's view.