Green Card

Excerpt From: Green Card

Mason Germane tipped his head from one side to the other and stared at his life drawing. In his mind, the thin, short-haired, flat-chested model resembled a ten-year-old boy.

Peering over his shoulder, his instructor Ms. Tempest said, “I think you may do better with our next model. Hang on a minute and I’ll tell you why.” She called out, “Break for lunch, everybody.”

The model gathered her robe from the floor, slipped it on and disappeared around the partition behind her.

Lunch? Already? Mason glanced at his watch. Sure enough. Twelve thirty. He could get lost in his art, mostly when it was going very well or very badly. Before he set down his pencil, Ms. Tempest continued. “I’ve noticed that your style is very sensuous. Katia is curvier. She’s late, but by the time you come back from lunch, I’m sure she’ll be here.”

The other dozen students filed out of the room, and Mason figured he’d pick his instructor’s brain while he had her undivided attention. “Are some bodies better suited to an artist’s style than others?”

“Oh, absolutely. Unless you’ve apprenticed with an old master. They really put their students through hell.” She chuckled. “Andrew Wyeth’s father had him draw nothing but cubes and spheres for months. When he finally got the shading exactly right, he was allowed to move on to drawing a skeleton. Most artists don’t have the time or patience to learn that way anymore so they adapt by finding subjects that suit their style. What do you hope to do with your talent?”

“I have talent?” Mason asked and chuckled.

“Of course, you do. I’ve seen other drawings you’ve done.” She pointed to his easel. “This isn’t your best work.”

“I’m glad we agree. Actually, I’m creating a graphic novel about a kick-ass, female super heroine called The Totalitarian.”

“A comic book?” His teacher smirked then tried to cover it with her hand and a fake cough. “Well, good luck with that.”

Mason was just about to defend his idea when a nude brunette streaked from behind the screen into the studio, clutching her robe in her hand. She leapt into the air and landed on the platform with a thud. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, huffing and puffing.

Mason’s eyes popped. To say this model was curvy was an understatement. She was almost plump. The firm flesh, however, would belie the word ‘fat’. Voluptuous was the word he’d use to describe her hourglass figure.

“You must be Katia,” the teacher said, crossing her arms.

“Yes, I am. And I’m very sorry I’m late.” A slight, hard-to-place accent accompanied her apologetic voice.

“Well, everyone has gone to lunch. I had the other model stay longer so I’ll have to dock your pay and give it to her.”

She dropped her head. Her long, wavy hair fell forward. “I understand.”

As she began to stuff her arm into her robe, Mason spoke up, “No. Wait.” Looking to his instructor, he raised his pencil. “Ms. Tempest, I’d like to try drawing her? Right now. If I pay her, is it all right with you?”