Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
WILL
Day Ten
The next afternoon, I stand in the lobby of my hotel, waiting for Sam and Jill to come and collect me for their art class. Stifling a yawn, I pace back and forth, butterflies in my stomach.
‘Everything good?’ Lydia approaches, adjusting the collar of her uniform.
No, Lydia, it’s not. I still haven’t got back to Ollie and I’ve ignored his calls and his texts and I’m nowhere near being close to giving him a proper answer.
‘Yes, why wouldn’t it be?’
‘I walked past your room earlier and heard sobs,’ Lydia says. ‘I was going to knock, but I didn’t care enough.’
Despite everything, I laugh.
‘No, but seriously,’ Lydia says, as I see Sam get out of Jill’s car. ‘Is everything okay?’
Sam waves at me, a smile so big, like a ray of sunshine. It thaws my anger, my hurt.
‘Everything is fine,’ I say. ‘Working again?’
‘Yeah, had to cover this one last minute, too.’ She shakes her head. ‘I don’t wish to talk about it.’
‘You don’t concern yourself with the particulars.’
She laughs, and I’ve never felt more proud.
‘Catch you later, Lydia.’
The cries she heard were me mourning the loss of what I once had with Ollie.
After he asked me to marry him, differently this time, I felt numb, my thoughts sluggish, and then as I got back into the privacy of my hotel room, it all hit me.
We’re truly done. We’re never going back to how it once was.
Now he needs me, but for something else. And I don’t know how to handle that.
It already hurts to accept that I need to let him go; it kills me to think that I should be the one to marry him to someone else. After everything we’ve been through.
Sam pats me on the back as I approach. He’s got a shoulder bag strapped to him. ‘Thought we could sit in the back of the car.’
Jill drives us away.
As we drive, I let my hand snake over to his until I make contact.
He lets out a small gasp, stifled as he glances at the back of his mum’s head.
It’s like we’re kids again, getting away with something secret.
With confidence, he takes my hand in his.
‘Thank you so much for stepping in for us at the last minute,’ Jill says as we park outside the art gallery. ‘Our model had to work.’
Getting out of the car, the warmth of the evening air strikes me. The indigo sky reveals sparkling stars and all of its secrets.
‘Have you modelled before?’
‘Oh, no, of course not,’ I say. ‘But I don’t mind being drawn.’
‘Mostly painted,’ Sam says.
We head into the gallery reception. Voices drift from somewhere in the beige marble building.
‘What are they expecting from me?’ I ask. ‘Are we doing portraits? Do I need to pose with anything?’
Jill looks at Sam.
‘You didn’t tell him?’
Sam adjusts his T-shirt, avoiding my eyes.
‘I thought he already knew.’
I look between them.
‘What am I missing here?’
‘You know this is life drawing, don’t you?’ Jill asks. ‘Nude life drawing.’
She says this last bit in a whisper.
I look at my fake boyfriend, my mouth opening into a perfect O.
He winces.
‘I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you already knew.’ Sam pulls a face. ‘I thought you knew. Oh God, should I not have asked?’
I turn away from their stricken faces, needing to think. I don’t have to do this. There is nothing to prove. The people-pleaser in me, however, says otherwise.
Of course, I’ve never done something like this before, and yes, I’m noticing a theme with Athens and nudity, but this is the real deal.
Being nude at the hotel is already out of my comfort zone, and a lot different.
Nobody looks at me there. Nobody wants to observe me and draw me like one of their French girls.
‘There are only about twenty of us,’ Jill says. Maybe it’s the fact I’m looking toward the sound of voices that gives me away. ‘We’re all very respectful. We’re not here to be sordid. The human body is an art form, and…’
Her words are lost on me, my mind elsewhere, my heart beating fast.
I pinch the flabby bit on my stomach. I prod muscles that are like jelly, rather than like, well, Sam’s. I think of the hair around my dick, no trim done since arriving here in Greece.
It isn’t like I had to get it tidy for anyone.
Lesson learned. Always shave your willy.
Could this happen? Could I do it?
‘We’re not forcing you,’ Jill continues. ‘Honestly, they won’t mind if you do it clothed. You have to be comfortable.’
The words bring me front and centre.
Why not do it?
I will never see these people again. Well, except for Sam and Jill.
I’m learning to be less … me in Greece. Less fearful.
‘I’ll do it.’
‘What?’ Jill asks, but she looks hopeful. ‘Are you sure?’
‘We don’t want to force you.’
My eyes linger on Sam, hesitation creeping in ever so slightly.
Sam.
Me.
Naked.
‘I’ll do it.’
Why do I keep repeating that?
‘Really?’
‘I will, even though I’m scared. Terrified. But I will do it. I want to do it. Truly, I do.’
It isn’t a lie.
I can do this.
So, with that, we’re inside the gallery, a room of twenty people, just like Jill said.
They’re of various ages, dressed like you’d imagine artists would dress; effortlessly cool, chic and stylish.
Canvases and easels ready, painting equipment to the side.
Everyone sits on stools, aprons already on, glasses of champagne in hand, positioned to face the set, which is simply a black backdrop with a chaise longue.
I can’t meet anyone’s eyes, instead seeing them as huddles of flesh.
Jill steps to the front, looking slightly afraid.
‘I found us a replacement life model this evening,’ she says. ‘His name is Will.’
She repeats it in Greek.
Their eyes find mine, and in a few minutes, they will see every part of me. But they have kind faces, and I just have to imagine them naked and I’ll be all right.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Sam whispers to me, his hand on the small of my back. My nerves dance, vibrating with anticipation. There is something magnificent about the touch of another man on such an intimate part of your body.
‘I’m sure.’
Inches away from me, his eyes tracing my lips, he smiles.
‘Go get ’em,’ he says.
Jill leads me to another room. ‘Here, put this robe on. Then you can get comfortable on the chaise. Cover yourself if you need to. Do whatever makes you comfortable. Honestly, people won’t be looking at you rudely. They will be lost in the strokes.’
‘Wrong thing to say to someone about to get their willy out.’
Jill blushes, but laughs, an unspoken taboo between us.
‘Are you sure you want to see me naked, Jill?’
Jill doesn’t answer, but I can see from the way her forehead creases that I’ve given her something to contemplate. This is Sam’s mum. She’s known me since I was a kid.
As I walk back into the room, ready to face my fears, to be brave, to do something out of my comfort zone, Jill steps in front of the class once more.
‘I’m going to be in the next room,’ she says. ‘I have some things to do. You have one hour.’
The class doesn’t question Jill’s choice to excuse herself, instead they turn to me with expectation.
I pause, afraid of letting her down, of taking away an enjoyable evening of drawing nude people from her class.
There is nothing I can do now. She gives me an encouraging thumbs up and heads into the next room.
‘Ay up, look who it is,’ a voice says, and I find nudist Tim in the crowd. Him and Jemima are only now taking their seats.
‘I didn’t know you were a life model, too,’ Jemima says.
‘You’re in for a treat here, people,’ Tim says to the room. ‘He’s got a very nice member.’
‘Very nice,’ Jemima echoes.
Swallow me up now.
I laugh along with the room, as if it was perfectly normal to be talking so openly about my ‘very nice member’. Although, I have to admit, Tim scored some points with that comment.
I’ve always liked Tim and Jemima.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and shed my robe, trying not to think about whether people agree with Tim, before getting onto the chaise and arranging myself.
I don’t know why, but I keep my gaze upward, as if contemplating the moon.
Brushes whisper across the canvas, clothes rustle, and I know people are observing me.
My eyes won’t meet Sam’s.
I can’t.
I feel him, though. The print of his hand on my back. The warmth of his skin. What does he think of me? How vulnerable I am right now, how exposed I am under his gaze.
The soft silk of the chaise longue chills my skin, but it’s nice, soothing, like aloe vera on sunburnt skin. Lying here feels liberating.
Every person in this room is a friend.
Why have I ever let fear hold me back?
If I can do this, I can do anything.
Unconsciously, my eyes find Sam’s.
He doesn’t break the stare, but his cheeks flush cerise. We share that look, that understanding, that safety.
Sam is perfection.
Ollie isn’t Sam.
The calm serenity I’ve felt lying here is replaced by a jolt of fear.
A realisation.
Ollie isn’t Sam.
Why that thought? What does it mean?
Sam is lost in the painting before him, taking his time, taking pride over me, even if it’s in art form.
A strand of blond hair falls over his face, but he doesn’t notice. The veins in his forearm catch my attention, poised over the canvas. What part of me is he obsessing over?
Slowly, people put brushes down. I don’t know what time it is, or even what the rules of life drawing class are. Am I supposed to get up of my own accord, put my robe on, and leave in silence? Am I supposed to stay naked until everyone leaves?
‘People, time is up,’ Jill’s soft voice comes from the back of the room. The door is ajar, her shadow the only thing I could see. ‘Will, you may now put your robe back on.’
I do as I’m told. No awkwardness, no averted eyes.
‘I’m decent,’ I call, and Jill walks back into the room, observing what people have painted. ‘I like what you did there. Great use of colours. Oh, beautiful.’
‘Told you he had a nice member,’ Tim says, and there is an echo of what I hope is agreement in the room. ‘Definitely not a grower.’
Jill clears her throat, heading away from Tim and Jemima and towards Sam. She gasps, her eyes on Sam’s painting.
My heart drops.
‘Sam,’ she breathes. ‘What is that?’
I look at him, seeing his shoulders slump. Of course, he’d drawn me to be the ugliest specimen alive, I’m sure of it.
‘It’s Will.’
‘It’s stunning,’ Jill says, a look of pride on her face. ‘Will, you have to see this.’
I get to my bare feet and walk across the gallery. People follow me to see what Sam has drawn.
Other people gasp, some whistle, and then I see what all the fuss is about.
It’s the most lifelike drawing I’ve ever seen.
He’s caught the tone of my skin perfectly, the creases of my stomach like it is the prettiest roll of skin in the world.
The hairs on my chest, the fibres on my arms, and the trail leading to my pubic bone highlighted in contrasting colours of black, brown and a rustic red.
The shape of my penis, which I absolutely refused to acknowledge when lying naked, is spot on.
He’s even captured the curvature of my calves.
‘Sam! I didn’t know you could paint like this.’
‘It’s a little rough around the edges,’ Sam says. ‘I need to finish it.’
‘It’s perfect.’
My arms wrap around his shoulders, the back of his head against my stomach.
The shine of the lights highlights the beautiful strands.
He stiffens at first, as if afraid of what the others in the room might think, but then he leans in, turns his gaze to me.
I kiss him, friendly at first, at the top of his head.
It might be wrong to do so, but it happens before I even know what I’m doing.
Breaking away, I avoid everyone’s eyes, instead looking at the painting in front of me.
Sam turns to me, reaching for my face. Time slows, but my heart rate quickens.
I meet him halfway, because staying still isn’t an option.
His lips are upon mine, and I can feel the softness of him against me, his hand grazing the side of my face, his knees now touching mine as he swivels to face me.
My eyes close, despite surprise welling within me.
With every kiss, my breath gets lighter.
I could let it go on longer.
I’m desperate to.
When we break away, we meet with a distinct look.
‘I think we should leave these boys to it,’ Jemima says.
I excuse myself.
After all, all I have on is a flimsy robe, and I’m certain something is about to pop out, and that would not be respectful.