Fall semester of 2010
It was only when the professor released us from our art history class that I realized I'd spent the entire period staring at the back of that chick's head again. From my seat, I could see just enough of her profile in the dark; the sharp line of her jaw, the gentle bump in her nose, and the adorable dimple in her cheek that formed when the slide of a Baroque woman beheading some dude flipped onto the projection screen. Overhead, the lights flicked on, but I continued to watch her.
She wore a long sleeved flowy wrap dress printed with black and brown paisleys. It reminded me of something Stevie Nicks would wear, but super high-end. As she stood and gathered up her notebook, her blue eyes fluttered up and met mine for the first time.
I froze.
I couldn't even scramble and pretend to tuck my own notebook away. I apparently never bothered to take it out of my bag today.
My heart flipped when the dimple dipped into her cheek as she held my gaze for what felt like forever. At least two hundred erratic heartbeats filled the span. I wanted to say something. Anything. Hi would be a great start. But her smile started to fade as she was pulled towards the aisle by the girl who sat next to her.
I watched them disappear into the crowd of students, hurrying off to their next classes. Leaning back into my seat, I muttered a few curses at myself with a sigh and fumbled for my bag at my feet. I slung it over my shoulder and strode up the aisle. Last one out the door and soon to be late for my sculpture studio across campus. There was no point in hurrying now as I entered the hallway.
"You have beautiful bone structure."
The accented voice made me spin on my heels. Next to the bulletin board just outside of the lecture hall, the girl from class pushed away from the wall. I glanced over my shoulder just to be sure she was talking to me. But we were definitely alone.
"What?" I finally managed to say.
"Your face." She gestured with her hands to her own. It was rare that I got to see her facing forward. Instead of being symmetrical, only one dimple dotted her cheek. It made her even more attractive. "When you looked my way, the light of the projector lit your cheekbones with this, this... drama. Eyes fierce and forlorn at the same time, like you were longing for something."
"Oh?" I reached up and rubbed my cheek. I could feel it growing warm with a blush. "You probably just caught me uh, longing for lunch."
She chuckled softly and took another step towards me. "I'm looking to expand my painting portfolio with some new faces and bodies. Three hour sessions typically, maybe longer. One hundred dollars an hour. Nude, of course."
"Did you check the bulletin board? Shit, with that kinda pay, I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding someone. I can take your flier over to the studios if you want? I'm heading that way."
"Oh..." Her slender eyebrows furrowed. "I uh, was hoping you might be interested."
I stood there staring in disbelief for probably too long. "You want me?"
"Yes," she laughed again, softening the wrinkle in her brow. She tucked a lock of chestnut colored hair behind her ear. Her eyes remained fixed to mine. "I want you."
For a second, I almost thought she meant it differently. The way she stated it with such certainty practically made me melt on the spot. I did everything I could to hold myself together and act cool. Three hundred dollars just to sit around naked for this girl I'd been crushing on since the start of the semester?
No big deal.
"Consider me yours then," I answered, far too eagerly. "For the painting, I mean. And well, whatever else you want me for. Any other projects, that is. I'm all yours."
"All mine." Her blue eyes somehow sparkled in this horrible incandescent hallway. "Are you available today? Maybe four o'clock?"
I was supposed to be in my sculpture class until five.
"Four is perfect."
"Beautiful." She held out her phone to me. "Give me your number and I'll text you my address."
She had one of those expensive touchscreen phones and I tried not to look like an idiot tapping and erasing and then tapping out again the letters of my name. I was just glad she didn't ask to put her number into my cheap flip phone. After double-checking, I handed the phone back to her and she slipped it into her purse.
"I'm Artemisia, by the way."
"Artemisia," I repeated softly. "Like the chick who was cutting off that King's head?"
"Like the artist who painted Judith cutting off General Holofernes' head. You really weren't paying attention in class, were you?
"No..." I confessed with a sheepish grin. "But now I'll never forget." I held out my hand. "I'm Kirby."
The handshake was light and brief, but somehow her fingers still seemed to linger against my palm.
"I'll see you at four, Kirby."
"You are late."
Artemisia's voice carried as I stepped out of the vintage freight elevator and into her loft. Soft touches of mid-century modern mixed effortlessly with the rough industrial vibe of the warehouse. I made my way around a brick wall into the open living area, seeing her model setup near the wide north windows.
"I, uh—yeah, sorry."
"Look at the sun, look at the light here. We have lost a good hour." She waved and pointed a lit cigarette in irritation before finally looking over at me. "Don't be sorry and don't be late."
"Sorr—it won't happen again."
"You can change into your robe through there."
She aimed her cigarette towards a small bathroom in the corner. But my feet didn't move.
"I uh, didn't actually bring a robe."
"Of course you didn't." Taking a long drag with an equally long exhale, she looked me over. "You are wearing half your wardrobe right now, but no robe."
I glanced down at the bulky university hoodie that poorly hid three other layers of clothes beneath. I'd skipped out of sculpture the first moment I got to rush home and freshen up. I had no idea what to wear and for some reason my anxious brain told me to layer up. So it would take longer to undress, I guess. That maybe she'd ease me into it. Fuck was I wrong.
"You are nervous?"
I ran a hand through my wind tangled hair. "That obvious?"
Putting out her cigarette, she finally smiled. At least it was close enough to a smile that her dimple creased. "Don't be nervous."
My teeth released my bottom lip as I managed to laugh. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one—"
Before I could finish my sentence, she started unwrapping the tie of her black paisley dress. My heart began to pound as her fingers slipped beneath the fabric. She peeled the dress away from her shoulders to let it fall to the floor. Nothing underneath. I didn't know where to look. It felt rude to stare, but it felt even more rude to look away.
"We are just bodies, Kirby. Skin. Meat. Sweetbreads..." She walked right past me towards the kitchen. My head turned to follow the gentle curves of her body. "I'll make you a coffee."
My bag fell off my shoulder and hit the oak floor hard. I didn't bother going into the bathroom to change. I stripped down out of every layer of clothing before she had even put the odd little coffee pot on the stove.
And then I stood there awkward as hell, bare ass to the window breeze, realizing how much a robe would've helped in this situation.
"See?" She glanced up from the stove and over my way. "Not so bad."
"Not so bad yourself."
I cringed.
"I didn't mean that. Like that. Like I was commenting on your body. 'Cause I wouldn't say that about your body. Or anybody's body. Not that your body is bad, I mean, 'cause it's beauti—" I swallowed my words. "It was just word vomit."
"Word vomit," she repeated, brows raised. The coffee began to percolate.
I folded my hands over each other and kept them strategically placed in front of the danger zone, arms covering my nips. Clearly, this wasn't going well. "Maybe I should go. I can totally go if you want me to go."
"Sugar?"
"Huh? Oh, uh yes, please."
She scooped a spoonful into the espresso cups then poured the coffee. As she walked back over to me, I tried not to stare again, finding the blues of her eyes instead. She handed me a cup.
"We have a saying in Sicilian, 'Testa ca nun parra si chiama cucuzza.'"
The warmth of the cup and the rich aroma began to settle my nerves. "That sounds beautiful, but I have no idea what it means."
The single dimple in her cheek dipped as she took a sip, eyes fixed to mine. Her lips rubbed together to hide her smile. "It's something like, the head that doesn't speak is just a pumpkin."
I nearly spat out my coffee with a surprised laugh. "Oh?"
"I like to hear you speak, even if it is word vomit. How else will I know what you're thinking? Your eyes wander to me in class every day, but you never say anything..."
Busted.
"...I don't know if this girl is looking past me at some boy or maybe she wants to kill me or maybe baroque art just bores her which would be a shame, but I don't know. How would I know?" She finished her coffee and set her cup down on a wooden crate. Grabbing a sheer kimono from the back of the couch, she slipped her arms into it. "If you think my body is beautiful, I want you to tell me."
"I do think your body is beautiful, Artemisia. You're beautiful," I blurted out. "That's why my eyes wander."
As she went to tighten her robe, she instead let the belt hang loose. I took the last sip of my coffee and leaned closer than I needed to place my cup next to hers. Her breath caught.
"And for what it's worth, I'm learning to love baroque art. I've just been distracted lately."
She seemed pleased as her eyes slowly trailed over me. "I'll give you my notes. Now, go sit."
The setup was simple, just some neutral sheets draped over a couple pedestals with an antique red velvet chair in the middle.
"We'll do just one pose today to see how we work together. Whatever is comfortable for you." Artemisia rummaged through a caddy for some charcoal. "Stretch break in forty-five minutes, then you sit another hour. Maybe if the light is okay, we can continue."
Still a little self-conscious of my body, I tried to angle myself away from her in the chair. "You uh, don't have to pay me today since I fucked up being late. Honestly, if you just get me the notes from class this week, that'd be super." I found a comfortable position and looked up at her past her easel. "Is this okay?"
"Of course I will pay you, Kirby. Don't be ridiculous. Twist your torso towards the window."
Every bit of comfort left my body.
"And your right leg, can you elongate it?"
I had been trying to keep my legs crossed and closed, but I obliged, carefully adjusting so I wasn't on full display.
"Perfect," she murmured. "Now, the easy part, right? Don't move."
Her eyes darted over me, barely looking away to glance at the art board. The rhythmic tap of vine charcoal against paper scratched through the air. Her arm moved quickly, sizing me up with the length of her charcoal. It was interesting to be on this side of the easel.
"I should confess," Artemisia said after a few minutes, "I didn't actually take notes in class today or this week either, but I can give you my sketchbook from when I last visited the Museo Capodimonte. You'll have more than you need on my namesake."
"You've seen her paintings in person?"
"Most and many others we've covered," she answered. "I spent my childhood wandering museums with my mother all over Italy and most of Europe really. But even your Met has a decent collection of Baroque art here as well. You've never been?"
I had to laugh. "I've never been out of the state, let alone the country. I didn't even have a car until recently. Couldn't afford one until I absolutely had to when my mom passed."
Her charcoal stilled. "You're grieving?"
"No, not really. Well, sorta... So you're Italian?"
"Sicilian."
"Isn't Sicily—"
"Your leg is moving."
"Oh, sorry. Probably the espresso." I tried to adjust it back, but couldn't find the spot.
"Do you mind if I?" She motioned to come closer.
"No, of course not."
She knelt down in front of me and gingerly wrapped her fingers around my ankle. Electric heat pulsed up through me from her touch. She tucked my leg back into place, taking her time to move her hand away. Her breath on my skin left a trail of goosebumps. I couldn't tell if I was imagining the heat between us at first, but then for a fleeting second, I caught a gleam in her eyes as they roamed my body before she looked away again.
She stood up fast. "Maybe we take a break early, actually."
We hadn't even hit thirty minutes. "I'm fine to continue," I assured her, despite the ache in my ribs—and elsewhere, but she was already at the sink scrubbing the charcoal from her hands.
"Are you sure?" she asked, drying them off.
I didn't want that spark between us to burn out. "Absolutely."
When she took her place back behind her easel, she looked out at me with disapproval. "Now your shoulders—they're not right."
I glanced down at my left. I was sure they hadn't moved, but I rolled them back a little. "How's that?"
She looked between me and her drawing and scrunched her face.
I definitely hadn't moved. Did she want a different pose? Or was this a ploy to get close to me again?
"Your right shoulder—"
I took a chance. "Come show me."
Her eyes sharpened on me as she walked over to the model platform again. She knew I was onto her game and I was starting to feel this may have been her goal all along. Her touch was no longer timid, but sensual this time. Leaning over me, she ran her fingers down my shoulders to push me farther back into the chair. The sheer fabric of her kimono fell open and tickled my skin. My chest rose and fell in heavy breaths.
"Better," she whispered.
Emboldened by her, I took another chance.
"And my legs?" As I spread them wider, I watched her eyes lower, lips part. "Are they still okay?"
"Kirby..." My name was just a breath on her lips. Her eyes found mine again like she was searching for permission to make a move.
I did it for her.
Pulling her onto my lap, I sunk my fingertips into the small of her back. A soft gasp left her lips just as they crashed into mine and I couldn't help but devour her. She slid her hands into my hair and curled them around the back of my neck, just as hungry for me. My head was spinning with lust and desire, but I had no time to catch my breath.
Artemisia's mouth trailed over my chin and down my neck. Her hand cupped my breast, thumb rolling and massaging my nipple. I arched into her, giving her full rein of my chest and she greedily took advantage. Her tongue flicked against one and then the other then caught my mouth again.
At the same time, we both reached between our bodies, between our straddled legs. A shared moan rippled through us as our fingertips found the other's soft skin, wet with desire.
Through gasping breaths, Artemisia murmured something in Sicilian with my name anchored to the end. I didn't have a clue what she'd said, but I'd never been so turned on by someone in my life. Her slick fingers slowly circled my clit, then quickened, and I matched her pace. She whispered again in my ear, flicking her tongue against it. Her fingers slid lower away from my clit.
"I want to feel you inside me, Kirby."
My body twitched with pleasure before I even honored her request. Gently, I slipped inside her, watching as her head tipped back with a moan. Her hips began to roll into me while I worked her clit with my palm. I could've gotten off just watching her ride me.
She kissed me again, stroking her thumb along my center. "And can I?"
"Yes," I breathed into her ear.
As soon as her fingers dipped into me, her own body tightened around mine. We rocked against one another, gasping and fucking in rhythm. I was already so close. Her breaths sharpened. As if reading each other's mind, we slowed it down. Neither one of us wanted this to end.
"When I said I wanted you earlier," she murmured, "this is exactly what I meant."
"You're used to getting what you want, aren't you?"
"Yes, and I want to feel you come."
She continued to find new places inside me I was sure no one had ever touched. Her fingers dipped and curled and massaged and I was ready to give her what she wanted. My legs began to shake, my body started to pulsate. She tightened around me, her breaths grew sharp once again. And again, she whispered in my ear. The sounds that left my lips in response I didn't recognize as my own.
I also didn't recognize the sound of the elevator's wooden gate opening.
"You've got to be kidding me," a voice rang out.
Our bodies froze.
I might have jerked myself out of her.
Artemisia muttered 'fuck' along with a few Sicilian equivalents I assumed. I tried to get her to move off of me, out of me, but she was in no hurry. As her thumb left my clit, the pressure shifted all around and inside me. My breath caught. I tried to hold it back, but the orgasm snuck away from me just as she started to slip her fingers out.
"Did you just come?" she whispered, sinking back deeper inside me.
I gripped her wrist, trying to ignore the pleasure rippling through my body. Trying to ignore her glinting eyes that eagerly watched on. "You should have mentioned you had a roommate," I grumbled.
She eased herself out of me, bringing her fingers to her mouth to lick them clean. "She's not exactly a roommate."
Oh shit.
The girl from our art history class appeared around the corner. "Get. Out."
Artemisia pushed off my lap and stood up, leaving me exposed. "Cora, this is Kirby."
Introductions? WHY?
"I know her name," the girl spat. "She's supposed to be in my sculpture class, not in my girlfriend."
Artemisia pulled her kimono back up over her shoulders and tied it shut. My bag was all the way across the room with all my clothes stuffed inside. No way was I walking past her girlfriend like this. I grabbed the nearest sheet from the backdrop and wrapped it around my body. My knees nearly buckled as I stood up, still weak from the pose and the orgasm that still pulsed through me.
I kept my head low as I grabbed my bag and hurried past the girlfriend towards the elevator.
"Wait, Kirby." Artemisia ignored her girlfriend and rushed over to her purse, following me out. "Here." She held out five crisp hundred dollar bills. Nearly double what we agreed upon.
My pride got the better of me. "I'm not taking your money."
She looked insulted. If either of us should've been insulted it was me.
"Please, I know you need it."
"You're damn right I do, but you can't just pay me after—" I shook my head. "No."
"Goodbye, Kirby," her girlfriend called out, appearing back around the corner to watch us.
"I am so sorry, Cori."
"Cora," she corrected with a snarl.
"Right. Sorry."
"Don't be sorry, Kirby," Artemisia said quietly as I struggled embarrassingly with the wooden gate of the elevator. Finally it closed. Cora started tearing into Artemisia before the car had even left the floor. Apparently, this wasn't the first incident.
The worst part of it all, I realized later that night.
I wasn't sorry.
Next morning, I almost skipped art history because I didn't want to face Cora's wrath again. But I'd already wasted over two weeks staring at Artemisia. I couldn't afford to miss another class.
As usual, I was late, but I was relieved to see two empty seats in front of me. Then, even more surprised to find a leather bound sketchbook placed on my seat. The pages were bookmarked with post-it notes for the artists we'd discussed the past two weeks. I flipped through remarkable sketches of Caravaggio's work, all annotated with more than I'd ever need to know for our upcoming test. As I flipped to the Artemisia Gentileschi tab, I smiled in awe at her copy of Judith Slaying Holofernes.
Behind the page, an envelope with my name on it slipped out.
I counted twice just to be sure.
$5000.