to him. Apparently I was doing this.
Taking several containers of pale paint, Jack cracked open the lids while I unclipped the model’s hair. She sat perfectly still. I wondered what was going through her head. Jack told her to lean back. The girl arched her back, her hair reaching toward the floor, nearly falling out of my hands. The position left the model holding onto the chair with her breasts in the air, her head tipped back as far as it would go. Jack ignored the seductive pose, but I froze. This was much more than I thought. For some reason it didn’t register until I was standing next to Jack.
He grinned, as he lifted a strand of curled hair and dipped it in the paint. “Why, Miss Tyndale, you seem to be blushing again,” he teased.
“I didn’t realize I would be this close to the model,” I said softly, feeling odd that the girl could hear me. Jack dipped another piece of hair, and I took it from him, holding it away from the girl’s naked body. Awkwardness consumed me. This was beyond weird. Seeing other girls naked in the locker room was one thing, seeing a nude woman in a painting was another—and this by comparison, well there was no comparison. It was just really strange.
“I don’t bite,” the girl said, trying not to smile and ruin her paint. Jack grinned.
“That’s not what I meant, but thank you for not biting me,” I replied, feeling like a dork.
Jack laughed, shaking his head. Continuing, he dipped each tendril in paint until her whole head was dripping. It took about five more minutes and he was done. The girl was a monochromatic rainbow of white. “Okay, this is the tricky part,” Jack said. “We need to help her move from the stool, to the canvas. She only has one chance to lay on this correctly. If she messes it up, we start over. If we drop her, we start over. Got it?”
“If we drop her?” I squealed. “Jack, what the hell? You said no touching!”
The model laughed, glancing at Jack, “Your nun cursed!”
“I think she’s allowed to say Hell, Cheri. It’s a noun and it’s in the Bible,” the corners of his mouth lifted, laughingly.
“Shut up,” I laughed back, shaking my head. I’d been around New Yorkers for less than two days and my mouth was already regressing to its former sailor-like state. “How do I help her?”
“Her right hand has no paint. If she were a lefty, it’d be her left. She’s going to put her other hand on the canvas as you lower her holding the paint-free hand. It’ll keep her from slipping or hitting the canvas too hard.”
Emily spoke up from her seat by the table, “Do you want help, Jack?”
Without looking at her, Jack answered, “Sure, but you stay there. You can tell Abby if you see her doing something wrong,” Jack answered.
While they spoke my mind replayed, I can’t believe I’m doing this over and over. There was nothing wrong with helping a naked woman covered in paint lay down on a canvas, but it felt really weird. I held up her hair with one hand and took her dry hand with my other. “What about her hair? I won’t be able to hold her hand and her hair once she leans back onto the canvas.”
“You don’t have to,” Emily said. “Once her hair is over the canvas, let go. It’ll fall where it’s supposed to go. Basically, you’re making a snow angel here, Abby. You’ll get a crappy one if she hits the canvas wrong.” I nodded.
Jack looked at me, a small grin on his lips. “Ready?” The model was positioned at the edge of the canvas, her bare feet next to it. Cheri nodded and took my hand in hers. Jack began to tell Cheri what he wanted her to do. “Go down on your side. I want your face to press into the canvas, and then roll back. Make sure your arm is at shoulder height, so there is a clear impression of the side of your breast. Abby will fan your hair and then we’ll do the rest.”
Swallowing hard, I did as he asked, and lowered the girl without dropping her. Cheri’s hand was about shoulder