“Morning, Anita. Where are the models?”
“They’re in the back room, having a cup of coffee,” Anita said. She stood with her pad of paper and a pen and asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“One at a time in my office, please,” she said.
“Do you want the images too?”
“Of course,” she said, nodding. She walked into her office, turned, looked back at Richard, and frowned.
He grinned back at her. “I’m just watching.” He pointed at her office and said, “Am I a problem?”
“With the models?” She thought about it and shook her head. “Particularly if you can find out in any way, shape, or form if any of these potential models would also be potential victims?” she said in a low voice. “The last thing I want is to bring in new models and have any of them be injured.”
He very carefully didn’t remind her that injured was one thing; dead was another entirely.
She pointed to one of the bigger chairs on the side of her office and said, “Why don’t you just park yourself and pretend to be busy.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing,” he said, “and that’s keeping an eye on you and the energy around you.”
At the word energy, she froze, slowly lifting her gaze, and looked at him. “What’s that about energy?”
Just then Anita walked in. He motioned and said, “Later.”
She nodded, and he watched as the procession started. She asked the first model several questions, checked on her skin tone, got up, walked around, looking for tattoos. Of course she was looking at auras, emotions, darkness. Looking for ones she could work with.
This one asked, “Do you want me to strip down?”
But Cayce was completely nonchalant when she said, “No. I have the full front and back photos,” she said. “That’ll be fine.” She held out a tiny paintbrush and said, “I need to check the skin tone and oiliness.”
“Where?” the model asked.
“Your back. And I promise. I’ll clean it off.”
The girl looked at him nervously and then looked away.
“I can leave if you’re uncomfortable,” he offered gently.
She looked at him in surprise. “God, no,” she said. “I’m a body model. It’s what I do. I just don’t know if you’re here judging too.”
“Neither of us are judging,” Cayce said. “It’s just important that I have what I need,” she said. When she was done, she took some cream and a Kleenex, walked over to the model, snapped several photos, and then quickly wiped off the sample that she had done. She smiled at the young girl, liking her innocence and lightness. “Thanks.”
The girl looked disappointed, turned, leaving Cayce’s office, putting one foot on top of the other. “Is there any way to know when you’ll tell me?”
“Not just yet,” she said. “I have four today, and another one I have to look at.”
“So, is this just for one job you’re looking to fill?”
“Not necessarily,” Cayce said, easily, gently. “I do these types of things on a regular basis. So, it’s a matter of having a couple regular models and a couple standbys.”
The girl looked relieved. “I’d be really, really happy to work with you,” she said impulsively.
Cayce’s face split into a wonderful warm smile. “Thank you,” she said. “Now, go off have a coffee, enjoy life, and I’ll get back to you.”
The girl ran out, laughing. She left a lightness in the room. Cayce looked at Richard, a smile on her face.
“Is that what you’re looking for?” he asked curiously.
“Not necessarily for this one,” she said, “but, in certain pieces, yes. That energy will shine through.”
He nodded slowly and watched as she repeated the exercise with three other models. She quickly tested the skin on each of the models with a paint that, to him, looked like white, but he had to admit that she was right. The color was coming off differently on each of the models. He frowned, fascinated.
The fourth one caught his breath in the back of his throat. Her skin was almost caramel. She was stunning, and she knew it. Yet it came across as self-confidence, not arrogance. Cayce was not in any way looking at her face. The woman stood completely still, while Cayce walked around, did a test sample, looking at the model’s skin, asking a few questions, which the model readily answered. When she stepped back, the model looked at her and asked, “Do I pass?”
“You definitely pass,” she said. Cayce stood off to the side, tapping her lips, as she considered what she apparently wanted out of this. When she finally dismissed the model, she turned to Richard and frowned. “Some of them are close, but not one is exactly right.”
“But will one do?”
She groaned. “That’s the thing about art,” she said. “There’s no such thing as will do. It’s either good or it’s bad.” Then she stopped, frowned, and said, “But I’m out of time, so I need to choose.”
Her expression said she just remembered something. She walked over to her monitor and clicked the keyboard.
“Did you remember something?”
“One of Frankie’s friends,” she said. She brought up something on the screen, and the look on her face said she had it. She sat back at the same time as he leaned forward.
“Does this one look better?” he asked.
“Well, she’s interesting,” she said. “The thing is, my mind is caught with the planes of her face and her collarbones and the way she stands. There’s a confidence in her that would be very easy to impart into the body-paintings. The same as the last model.”
“So that’s good, right?”
“Well, it means that she, they, have something,” she said, “that’s indefinable. But I’m not sure it’s malleable. So each would work for some jobs but not likely for all jobs.”
“Maybe it’s time,” he said, “to not look for someone perfect for all
