“For you, I’ll do David.”
HER HEART racing, she climbed the narrow stairs of the 72nd Street subway stop and walked out into the early evening crowd. Up Broadway on the West Side of the street, she could see the impressive pile of ancient sandstone known as the Ansonia, ever in constant repair, determined to drag its elegant late 19th century French self into the 21st century.
She had taken the subway because she wanted time to clear her mind. Because she wanted to be a bit late. Because the subway reminded her of the first time…
Amanda crossed from the square granite subway kiosk planted in the middle of the intersection of Amsterdam Avenue with Broadway to the west side of the street and turned north across 72nd street toward the famous old building noted for its artists-in-residence.
Inside the lobby, she gave her name to the guard at the entrance of the elevator bank alcove which took guests to the upstairs condominiums.
He smiled. “Mr. Wilde seems to have quite an evening planned. He’s been bustling in and out all day. We are to be particularly welcoming to his guests.” He gave Amanda a smart little bow. “Welcome. And have a very pleasant evening.”
She returned his smile, thanked him and started to enter the elevator.
“And don’t throw anything away,” the guard called out. “Bring it down here for the guys. Mr. Wilde’s pretty good about passing out his rejects. Good artist; he does good stuff.”
The elevator door closed leaving Amanda to digest the information that Wilde freely gave his work away. She found the apartment and rang the bell.
“Oh, my dear, what a joy to see you. We were beginning to worry. We’ve already begun. You must go dress. Christine will assist you.” Mr. Wilde looked wonderfully impressive in a long, cut-velvet, Renaissance robe. A squashed velvet hat rested on his fluffed white hair.
She had seen a similar costume on Juliet’s father in a production of
Mr. Wilde had indicated a doorway off the hall. Christine bustled in, looking fabulous. More velvet, floor-length. Deep wine, heavily brocaded with glints of gold thread. With her coloring and dark hair, she looked lush. The gown had a high, fitted waistline and the bodice was pushed up indeed.
Her ample bosom was outlined with flourishes of antique lace peeking from the embroidered banding. Her dark, gleaming hair was piled high and crowned with a flat hat from which a drape of pale silk framed her face.
“Pretty jazzy, huh? The guys can hardly keep their eyes in their heads. You missed the big play. Antonio was all over me. Buck naked. Whew, those hot Italians. Nathan was between us like an attack dog. Made it very plain I was not available and was ready to scar pretty boy to make his point. Wilde smoothed it all over. We’re all great buddies now. Nathan suggested to our horny model he take after you, would you believe? God, I feel wonderful. I’m doing some great stuff.”
She zipped Amanda into a light, layered silk, pale blue underdress with a high waist and a snug, embroidered, multicolored bodice. The long, puffed sleeves were caught up with delicate gold cords. Over the dress, Christine slid a sleeveless, pale lavender open robe with narrow banding encrusted with colored jewels.
Amanda’s hair was to be down, she instructed, brushing it quickly and vigorously until it shone. Then she pinned a small Juliet cap onto the crown of auburn waves that framed Amanda’s face. She stepped back, admired her handiwork and gave Amanda the okay sign.
“Young stud is in tights. Don’t laugh, for God’s sake. He looks hunkier than hell. He’s in a short tunic that just grazes those cute buns.” She fanned herself exaggeratedly. “Damn, I wish Cissy were here. She’d get such a kick out of this.”
They started out the door. “Angeli whispered that Wilde’s gonna bring out his good stuff later. Like five-hundred year old paper. I don’t know if I’ve got the guts to touch it. And he keeps dropping hints about other stuff, too. He’s like a kid.”
She pulled Amanda after her through a small, bachelor living room into a large high-ceilinged studio, for which Amanda felt an immediate pang of envy.
At an easel facing the naked model, Professor Angeli sat, dressed similar to their host but in a more subdued robe and wearing a much more restrained hat. He gave Amanda a perfunctory but pleasant nod and immediately returned his full attention to the drawing he was making.
Nathan looked smashing. A jaunty cap with a plume sat atop his murky hair- Christine must have cajoled him into combing it for the first time in months- topping off the tights and tunic. Amanda had to admit, the guy did have a great set of buns with which he greeted her with a smart-ass wiggle. He pointed to velvet slippers on his feet.
Looking her up and down with a lascivious leer, he gave an appreciative nod, two thumbs up, and went back to work. Amanda could imagine the talk around the water cooler at work next week.
The breath went out of her when she finally dared focus on Marc.
His naked body deeply golden-toned, the dark crop of curls adorning his head, his eyes a rich, deep chocolate. “Antonio” bore almost no resemblance to the man with whom she…
He was standing on a small posing platform, his weight solidly planted on one leg, the other leg relaxed, lightly lifted, the knee bent, resting on tiptoe. His beautiful, muscled body spiraled upward in an ecstatic twist. One arm was poised, half-raised, in horizontal open-palmed anticipation, while his opposite arm arched skyward.
His sculpted face, alive with joy, peered upward. It was a perfect reproduction of the Muse of the Dance from one of the famous sculpture groups on the facade of the old Paris Opera house.
“Antonio” momentarily cut his eyes to Amanda and gave her a wink.
Amanda was instantly hot and flushed with the memory of the magnificent animal before her lusciously ravishing her more than willing body and her, equally lustily, ravishing his.
“Isn’t that glorious?” Wilde whispered at her elbow. “The boy is absolutely astonishing. See what I’ve done.” He thrust a group of sketches at her. “He is a fount of inspiration. And soon,” his voice dropped teasingly, “I shall astonish you all with materials worthy of that inspiration.” He patted her arm benevolently and returned to his easel.
Amanda glanced through the sketches. They were extraordinary. With their quick sure strokes of the pen, highlighted with watercolor washes of sienna or cerulean, they could easily have passed for antique studies.
“Mr. Wilde, these are amazing.” Amanda held the sketches reverently as the self-satisfied older artist retrieved them.
He dropped his eyes in an aborted attempt at a show of modesty. His shoulders gave a small shrug. “You are too kind, my dear. They are good, aren’t they?”
With a sigh, he dismissed the drawings and patted her hand. “I have held off sharing my special treasures until your arrival, which I shall do after we’ve taken a pause in the evening’s proceedings. In the meantime you must see what the others are accomplishing. Angeli is absolutely under the spell of this superb young man. Let’s peek.”
He guided Amanda over to join him behind the professor where they had a clear view of his work.
A thrilling shiver coursed through her at the sight of the brilliantly executed charcoal sketch Professor Angeli was finishing.
With a smudge of a fiber stump to blur a line and a touch of a kneaded eraser to set a highlight, the professor stepped back and surveyed the drawing and its inspiration. “Ah.” His hand darted in to thicken and darken a contour.
After a final squint, he opened his eyes and, with a satisfied smile, turned to ask, “Well, what do you think?”
Amanda was speechless. Wilde began to rave. Christine and Nathan came over to see. Angeli turned to the still-frozen model. “Thank you, my boy, you have been more than noble.” Antonio relaxed and began to stretch and shake his muscles loose.
“This incredible young man held that unbelievable pose rock-steady for at least a quarter-hour while I leisurely attempted my little drawing. There would not be a drop of blood left in my poor drained torso if I dared to attempt
