I'm Normally Perfect (re-upload)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Alex and I went for walks every day and I took to lounging around on Alex's bed after supper. It was still cool enough to need a fire in the evenings and the quiet popping in the hearth was soothing background as I read or wrote. Our third night there I was stretched out on my stomach across her satin bedclothes reading whilst she sketched from one of the chairs near the fire. Eventually I felt her gaze on me and looked up, 'Whatcha doin'?'

She smiled, 'Drawing you. Is that all right?' I nodded, I'd figured that. 'I should like to paint you whilst we're here, if you wouldn't mind.'

'All right. Do I have to pose for you?' I wasn't sure I was crazy about that idea.

'I was going to make sketches and do it from those, this time.'

'This time? Is this going to be a habit?'

Her mouth curled, 'Perhaps.'

'What do I need to do?'

'Carry on reading. I'd like to sit closer, though.'

'All righty.' She manoeuvred her chair closer to the side of the bed and settled down again. I wasn't sure if I could pretend I wasn't being observed when I knew otherwise.

'Lie exactly parallel the edge of the bed.' I shifted a bit. 'Now move a bit toward me.' I did so. 'That's too much, go back a smidge. Now cross your ankles and lift them a bit off the bed, as if you're absentmindedly kicking your feet. You were doing it before.'

I laughed, 'I thought you said I didn't have to do anything.'

She smiled, 'You don't, except everything I ask.' She leaned forward in her chair and brushed a wisp of hair behind my ear and I suddenly didn't care if she wanted me to jump through a ring of fire.

As she was getting re-situated I asked, 'Do you have an idea of what the painting will be about, or do you just make it up as you go along?'

'A bit of both. I usually begin with an idea that evolves as I go along.'

I nodded, 'Like writing a story.'

She flipped her pad to a blank page. 'I suppose it is, though I've never written fiction.'

'You've written non-fiction?'

'My dissertation.'

'What was that about?'

'Authors as psychologists. The manifestations of psychology in early literature. How the advent of modern psychology affected the way literature was perceived by the public.'

'Do you think you did a good job?'

She smiled widely, 'They call me Professor Pristin, don't they?'

I giggled. Suddenly I was quite shy about her staring at me from a few feet away and I shifted about a bit before asking, 'So I should just go on reading?'

She nodded, 'Though when I paint you, I'll most likely paint in something other than The Russian Revolution.'

'Communist Manifesto?'

She laughed, 'There's an idea. Are you becoming a socialist on me?'

'Maybe.'

'That's all right, I'm something of a socialist myself. Though it's rather a complete turnabout from your friend Ayn Rand, isn't it?'

'I never said I agreed with everything she said.'

'Face the book, please. So it's a precise profile. You have a nice profile, you know.' I grunted, I didn't think so. She asked, 'So what of her principles don't you agree with?' Pencil scratched on paper.