Casteel 05 Web of Dreams (24 page)

The moment he left, Momma sat back in her chair, looking more matriarchal than ever.
"Really Leigh, I'm surprised and disappointed in you. You saw how excited, how electrified Tony is with this new idea and how big and important it will be to the Tatterton Toys empire, and he wants to make you the center of it all, yet you sat there looking ungrateful, indifferent, whining, 'What do I have to do?' like some immature child."
" But Momma, pose naked?"
"What of it? You heard him--this is art. Look in any museum. Did the man who modeled for Michelangelo's
David
wear clothes, or the women who posed to be Venus?
"When he came in here all excited and proposed the idea to me, I thought you would be thrilled and flattered. I thought you had matured enough not to be giggly and silly about serious art. Believe me," she said, "if I were only young enough, your age, and a man like Tony came along and offered me such an opportunity, do you think I would hesitate one moment as you did? Absolutely not."
"But why can't you be the model, Momma? You're so beautiful and young looking."
Like lightning Momma's face changed, growing hard arid cold. "Tony explained that he wants this to be for girls your age," she snapped. "Can you imagine my photograph next to a Tatterton portrait doll in the window, a doll made for teenagers? I'm young looking, Leigh, but I don't look like a teenager, do I? Well . . . do I?" I shook my head, weakly, unsure whether to agree or disagree.
"Maybe you can paint me and do the sculpture," I said quickly. "You're an artist."
"I don't have that kind of time, Leigh. I have social obligations, very important ones. Plus, I do fantasy artwork.
"You won't even have to go anywhere to have it done," she continued. "It's all going to be done here at Farthy, and it will give you something else to do this summer. Tony has decided to set up a small studio in the cottage so you and he won't be disturbed."
"The cottage?"
"Isn't that a good idea?"
I nodded.
"All right then. I'll tell him you want to do it," she said standing. "Isn't it exciting? I can't wait for it to be finished," she said and left me.
I ran to my rooms to take off my bathing suit, shower, and dress for dinner I felt dazed and confused, my mind filled with contradictions and tugged this way and that by different emotions. I couldn't help but be excited about the idea of my portrait in Tatterton store windows beside a precious doll that was created in my likeness, making me seem like some goddess. My guess was that most of my friends, especially members of the "special club," would have jumped at this opportunity.
But Tony was Momma's new husband, young and handsome, and to stand for hours before him stark naked!
I stripped off my bathing suit and preened before my full-length mirror gazing at myself, studying my every curve. The veins around my emerging breasts were close to the surface, stretching and growing every day. Would Tony concentrate on such detail? There was a tiny birthmark just under my right breast, would that be on the doll as well? I was sure the doll would be dressed in the store windows, but anyone could strip it and gaze upon its torso. Wasn't it like undressing in the storefront window or on a stage for everyone to see?
How did women become professional artists' models? Did they just sit there or stand there thinking of other things and pretending it wasn't going on?
I put on my robe and went back to the mirror to imagine I was about to pose for Tony. I conjured him before me, paint brush in hand. He had his palette set up, the canvas prepared. Now he turned his intense blue eyes on me and smiled. He gestured with the brush and I began to untie my robe. My heart pounded, raced, even with this fantasy. I began to pull the material away from my body and then, .
"LEIGH!" I heard Troy shout from my sitting room and I pulled my robe closed. He came running in, more exuberant than I had seen him in weeks. "Tony told me; Tony told me! He's making a doll of you, a Tatterton doll, and someday I might even have one on my shelf?"
"Oh Troy," I said, "you don't want to have a little girl's doll, do you?"
"It's not a little girl's doll," he said firmly. "It's a Tatterton toy doll and that's special, isn't it?" He nodded, expecting my agreement.
"I suppose it is," 1 said and he smiled.
"But Tony says I can't come see him make the doll with you. He can't be disturbed," he said sadly. "But I can be one of the first to see it when it's made.
"It will be the best doll in the world!" he proclaimed. And then after a moment's thought he said, "I'm going to tell Rye Whiskey." He rushed out of my bedroom again.
I turned back to the mirror and my own image again. Could I do it? Would I do it? Momma thought I should, but Momma wanted me to do anything to keep Tony occupied and spare her from his constant demands and need for attention.
What would Daddy say? I wondered.
He wouldn't like it; he couldn't like it, not Waddy. How I wished he were home already so I could ask him. But he wasn't home, he was still busy in Europe with his business and with . . Mildred Pierce.
Mildred Pierce, I thought angrily. He let someone steal away his attention and love, let someone keep him from me longer and maybe even forever.
I untied my robe and let the garment fall to my feet. I would be a Tatterton doll. I might even give Daddy one on his new wedding day.

Tony spent the next week with his marketing people planning out the production and sale of portrait dolls. Every evening at dinner he had something new and exciting to tell us about the project. Momma was more interested in this than she had been in anything else Tony did. I felt myself being swept up in the tide of excitement that rushed over us. Finally, one evening he announced that the cottage had been prepared and he was ready to begin after breakfast the following morning. I felt heat rush to my cheeks and my heart flutter. Momma smiled broadly and Tony proposed a toast to the project.

"And to Leigh," he said gazing at me with his cerulean eyes burning brightly. "The first Tatterton model."

"To Leigh," Momma said and followed it with a thin laugh. They drank their wine quickly, like two conspirators who had embarked on a venture from which they had sworn they would never turn back.

"What do I have to wear? How should I brush my hair?" I asked, sounding a bit frantic.
"Just be yourself," Tony said. "Don't do anything special. You're special enough," he added. When I looked at Momma, I saw she was gazing at him with a soft, but contented smile on her face. I knew why she was so happy Tony was engrossed in this enterprise. While he was, he wasn't making any demands upon her.
But I couldn't fall asleep that night, thinking about what it was going to be like posing for Tony. I wanted to talk to Momma about it some more, but she went to a bridge game and when she returned, she made it clear that she was exhausted and had to go right to sleep. Tony looked as disappointed as I did about that.
After breakfast the next morning, he and I set out for the cottage. He had decided to walk through the maze. It was a beautiful, warm morning, the fluffy, cotton-ball clouds just gliding lazily across the turquoise sky.
"It's a wonderful day to begin something new and significant," he said. He seemed so energized, so full of enthusiasm, that I felt foolish still having butterflies in my stomach. He saw how pensive and nervous I was. "Relax. This will be easy and once we get into it, you'll actually enjoy it. I know; I've worked with many models before."
"You have?"--
"Of course. I took many art courses at college and had special training here at Earthy." He leaned toward me and lowered his voice as if he were telling secrets. "I began when I was eleven."
"Eleven?" At eleven he was drawing and painting nude people?
"Uh-huh. So you see, you're with a man of great experience."
He smiled and we entered the maze. Tony moved through it with assurance, never hesitating at any turn, never questioning any choice.
"To other people," he explained, "all these hedges look alike, but growing up with them as I have, I notice subtle differences. These corridors are as different to me as night and day. After a while, it will become the same for you," he assured me.
The cottage looked the same from the outside, except all the shades had been drawn in all the windows. Inside, Tony had set up his easel and paints, pencils and pens. He had brought in a long, metal worktable. Materials for the sculpture were there, as well as all sorts of carving tools. The furniture had been moved about so as to provide as much free space as possible. There were two large pole lamps, one on each side of the easel, their bulbs directed toward the small couch.
"We'll begin with having you sit there," he said pointing to the couch. "Relax and think of pleasant thoughts. It will take me a few moments to set everything up," he added. He began to organize his materials. I sat on the couch and watched him as he worked, seeing in his face the same creative purpose and concentration I had often seen in little Troy's face.
I was wearing a plain white, short-sleeve cotton blouse and a light blue skirt. My bangs were cut short, but the rest of my hair was long enough to reach the middle of my shoulder blades and lay softly against my neck and shoulders. I hadn't put on any lipstick.
"Okay," Tony said turning to me. "I'm going to begin with your face. Just gaze at me with a slight smile on your face. I don't want the doll to have the wide, clownish smile some toy dolls have. I want this doll to reflect your natural beauty, your soft and lovely expression."
I didn't know what to say. Was all that true? Was I soft and lovely? Surely, if Tony wanted me for such an important project, he must see these things in me and not be simply flattering me to make me feel good.
He took a long look at me, drinking me in. I fixed my eyes on him as he had instructed and saw the way he measured the features of my face and planned his first lines. I did begin to feel as if I were part of something artistic and soon lost the trembling and quickened heartbeat. Tony looked at me, drew, looked at me, nodded to himself, and drew. I tried to keep perfectly still, but it was hard not to fidget.
"You can move about a little," he said smiling. "I don't want to turn you into stone," he added. "Loosen up until you feel comfortable." I did loosen up. "Feeling better?"
"Yes."
"I knew you would. We'll work for a while and take breaks. I have the kitchen stocked with great food for lunch," he said enthusiastically.
"How long will we work every day?"
"We'll work awhile in the morning, have a leisurely lunch, and then work a few hours in the afternoon. Whenever you get tired, just holler and we'll take a break."
I was surprised at how quickly the first hour went by. Tony looked at his watch and announced it had and then invited me to look at what he had done. I got up and gazed at the canvas. He had outlined my face, drawn in the lines and shaped my lips, eyes and nose. He had just begun to do my hair and neck. Of course, it was too early to make any judgments, but I decided quickly that he did have talent.
"It's nothing yet," he said, "but I think I'm getting a good start."
"Oh yes, it's very good."
"It's a wonderful experience, doing something artistic," he said staring at the canvas, his eyes dark and intent. "It gives you a sense of accomplishment when you bring something to life out of a blank canvas. This drawing is like the first stages in the making of a baby . . seeds in my imagination merge with reality and take form, just the way a man's seed attaches itself to a woman's egg and begins the creation of a newborn baby. You and I," he said turning to me, "we're giving birth to something beautiful here, together," he added, his voice in a whisper.
I didn't know what to say. The way he looked at me, his eyes small but bright as coals, his voice so soft, made me tremble inside. He quickly changed expression back to that tight, amused smile and then laughed.
"You look terrified. I'm only speaking in metaphors, making comparisons," he said and then he tilted his head a bit. "Tell me, Leigh, did you have a boyfriend while you were at Winterhaven?"
"Boyfriend? How could I? Momma wanted me to come home each and every weekend. You know we spent a lot of time together, skiing, horseback riding . . ."
"Yes, yes, but I thought . . . boys do come to visit there, don't they?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and smiling.
"No. Miss Mallory has prohibited boys from the building unless it's a properly chaperoned dance. There were a few dances, but I never got to go to them," I said bitterly.
"I see. Well, next year, you'll stay more often and get to meet boys. You're interested in boys now, aren't you? What about at your old school? Did you have a boyfriend there?"
"Not really."
"Not a steady one, huh? Just someone," he said and nodded as though I had admitted it. "How about a cool drink? Coke?"
"Okay." He went into the kitchen and brought out two glasses of soda. While he drank, he stared at me. I thought he might be still thinking about how to draw this or that, but he was thinking of other things.
"This boy who wasn't really a boyfriend," he began again, "I'm sure you kissed him, didn't you?"
"No," I said quickly. His question made my face redden and he smiled.
"Don't worry. I won't tell your mother."
"There's nothing to tell her," I insisted.
"Girls still kiss boys, don't they," he asked laughing, "or is that against the new rules? You just rock and roll nowadays?"
"Boys still kiss girls," I replied, although I wasn't speaking from experience.
"Did you ever French-kiss?" He sat on the couch and looked up at me, eager for my answer. I hadn't known what French kissing was until I joined the "special club" at Winterhaven and heard Marie Johnson describe it.
"No," I said more firmly.
"You do know what that is, don't you?"
"Yes."
"But you've never done it. How wonderful. You really are as innocent as you look. You mean when you didn't kiss this boy who wasn't really a boyfriend, you didn't press your tongue against his or he press his against yours?"
"I said no," I replied. Why was he teasing me so much?
He laughed. "It's not as bad as it sounds, Leigh, although your mother has come to think so, as well as thinking the rest of it is as bad," he added, suddenly angry. He stared down at the floor for a long moment and then those blue eyes swung my way, suddenly totally void of expression, as if he wasn't looking at me or didn't see me. It bothered me how empty he could make his eyes, as if he knew how to turn his emotions on and off. Then he blinked rapidly and focused on me again.
"You strike me as a very precocious young girl, Leigh. It's why I thought you would be wonderful as a model. Sometimes, you have a very knowing, very grown-up look in your eyes. I bet you're heads and shoulders above other girls your age, aren't you?"
I shrugged. Sometimes I felt that I was, but sometimes, when all the girls got together and began to tell their experiences, I felt as though I had lived in another world.
"I know you were very upset about your parents getting divorced and for a while you hated me, right? You blamed me for it? You don't have to answer. I understand. In your shoes, I would have felt the same way. I hope the time we spent together skiing and horseback riding has been good for you and maybe helped to have you hate me less," he said sadly.
"I don't hate you, Tony," I proclaimed. I really didn't hate him, not now, not anymore.
"No? Well, I'm glad. I want us to be friends, to be more than friends." I didn't say anything. When he gazed up at me now, there was a different look in his eyes from the look he had while he had been drawing me. This gaze went deeper and made me very selfconscious. I allowed my eyes to meet his briefly and then I felt myself blush again and looked away quickly. "Well," he said slapping his knees, "time to go back to work."
He got up and went to his canvas. I went back to the couch.
"I'm going to draw you from the top down, working slowly, capturing the details," he explained. "I'm glad you wore that kind of blouse. I want to see you gradually. It gives me the sense that you're emerging from the canvas, rising up out of the blank page like Venus rising from the sea.
"I want to do an outline of your torso now. Just stand, with your arms at your sides, please," he instructed. I did. "Yes, that's it," he said excitedly, as if I had done something significant or difficult. "Yes, yes . . ."
He drew lines rapidly.
"Now, just unbutton your blouse enough to bring it down over your shoulders. Go on," he said when I didn't move. "It's all right. Just over your shoulders," he repeated in a soft voice.
I raised my fingers to my first button and undid it.
"Good. Go on. Fine," he coaxed. "Now another." I did it. "And another. Go on, one more. There, now lower the blouse over your shoulders softly. Yes, yes."
His eyes widened and he looked at me longer before turning back to the canvas each time.
"Another button," he said gazing at what he had drawn so far. I undid it. Then he glanced my way, looked at his drawing and nodded. "Just pull your arms out of the blouse and hold it slightly above your . . . your breasts," he said.
I understood and appreciated what he had said about Venus rising from the sea, but it felt so odd to undress this slowly. It was almost as if I were doing a striptease.
I brought my arms out and held the blouse from falling back and down. Tony looked at me for a very long time and then shook his head.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I'm not getting your shoulders right . . . something . . ." He approached me and squeezed his chin with the fingers of his right hand as he stared down at me. Then he reached out and peeled the thin straps of my bra off my shoulders. He stepped back again, stared for a moment, went back to the canvas, gazed at it and nodded. "Just turn around," he said.
"Around? All the way around?"
"Yes, please."
I did it and waited.
"Now, let your blouse go." I released it and it fell to my feet. "Yes," he said in a loud whisper. "The lines in your neck and shoulders . ."
"What about them?" I asked quickly.
"Nothing bad," he replied with a slight laugh. "They threw me for a moment." I heard him come up behind me and then I felt the tips of his fingers trace the curve of my neck and shoulders. I jumped when I felt him. "Try to relax," he whispered in my ear. "Sometimes, an artist has to make contact with his subject so he truly absorbs the lines and curves in his consciousness. At least, I do."
"It tickled," I said. I couldn't see him, but his breath felt so hot on the back of my neck, it made me think his lips were only inches away.
"Do you mind if I do this now?" he asked. He had his fingers on the clasp of my bra. For a moment I couldn't speak. My heart thumped against my chest. "I want an unobstructed view of your back at this point, okay?" he asked again. I just nodded and then felt the clasp undone, the elastic material snap away, and the undergarment loosen. With the shoulder straps already down, my bra fell clear of my budding breasts. I started to pull it back up, but Tony seized my wrists, quickly and roughly at first and then immediately softening his grasp. "No, just keep your arms at your sides," he said. He stepped back to the easel.
I stood as still as I could, my heart racing so fast, it took my breath away. It seemed I was standing this way for hours before he spoke again.
"This is coming along fine," he said. "Perfect."
I didn't move. What would he want me to do next? Suddenly, I felt him drape a white sheet over my shoulders. He pinned it around my neck like a cape.
"I know you're nervous," he said in that voice that was barely above a whisper, "but I'm not unhappy about that. I want to use it to my advantage, and as I told you, capture you as I would capture Venus rising out of the sea. Take off the rest of your clothing now, but keep this wrapped around you. You'll lower it as we go along, okay? I'll be right back. I want to check on what we have for lunch. It's almost time and I've worked up an appetite."
Why was he asking me to take off all my clothes if we were going to stop for lunch shortly? I wondered. Perhaps he thought it would be easier for me afterward. Although I was still quite nervous and embarrassed, I felt a warm, pleasing tingle wash over me as I slipped my skirt down and stepped out of it. When I lowered my panties and then pressed the cool sheet against my body, I felt an undulating warmth climb up my ankles, making it seem as if I were stepping into a tepid bath. I saw that the small valley between my breasts had reddened. I wrapped the sheet snugly around my chest and waited for Tony to return.
He called me from the kitchen.
"I have everything ready, Leigh."
I went into the kitchen. He had made a platter of finger sandwiches and uncorked a bottle of red wine. He poured me a glass and then he poured one for himself. When I didn't move, he pulled out my chair like a waiter in a fancy restaurant.