“Hey,” said a man sitting on the next bench over. Ronnie looked over and realized that he was talking to her. “Hi,” he continued. “You might think I’m crazy to ask, but I have to—hell, I’m pretty damn forward anyway. Look, I saw you earlier and I’m so jazzed I ran into you here again. You’ve got such a beautiful face, I just…”
Ronnie knew she was getting red in the cheeks and she felt embarrassed.
The guy was tall and wiry. If he were an insect he’d be a praying mantis or a stick bug. He was cute in a charming sort of way, which could have something to do with his demeanor, and the compliments—don’t forget the compliments. He talked so fast she had to focus just to get what he was saying to her.
“Look,” he said, “I’m and artist. I work in all mediums—paint, sculpting, digital—everything. One of my artistic passions is realism. I love it. When I saw you I knew I had to sculpt you. Sometimes that’s how it is, you know. I see someone and I know they have to be my model. So what do you say, you want to pose for me?”
Talk about straightforward.
“I… um.” She was lost for words. What the hell was she supposed to say to this guy?
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “And no, I’m not asking for you to pose nude or anything. I wouldn’t come out and ask for something like that. That’s crazy.” He laughed nervously.
“Um, that’s quite a compliment, but I’ll have to decline. I… have a lot going on right now.”
The man nodded. He had a grin on his face that saw no end. “I’m not asking you to come to my studio or anything, in fact we could do it right here. I don’t have to do the sculpture right this second. I start with sketches anyway. You don’t have to do much but sit there and look pretty. Would you mind if I sketched you?”
There was no denying that his flattery was getting the better of her. What would be the harm in letting the man sketch her right here, right now? Didn’t have to worry that he was some psycho killer trying to lure her to his house, and if he was, he’d never succeed, because she wasn’t going anywhere with anyone.
“That’s fine. I’ve got some time to kill before my next course. You have a name, Mr. Artist?”
His smile managed to widen, which had a look like a pale and sickly jack o’ lantern. He extended his hand. “Lance.”
They shook hands and Ronnie noticed that his grip was much stronger than it looked, considering how thin and lanky his appendages were.
Lance wasted no time before opening his bag and retrieving a sketchpad and pencil set. He went to work at a feverish pace, perhaps trying to get as much done before Ronnie had to head off to her Logic course. Soon enough she forgot about him as her thoughts prepared her for another day of logic, which was nothing more than glorified math. It was her weakest course. That she was pulling a decent grade attested to her dedication. She just didn’t get it. How it was someone could actually reduce arguments to mathematical equations was beyond her.
“Very nice,” Lance said under his breath. His right hand was moving like a damn bumblebee across the paper. He’d already changed pencils several times. Ronnie figured they must have different tips to achieve desired shading or fine lines or something.
“Coming along good?” she asked.
His eyes were wide, which almost looked comical in his super thin face. She supposed he was the epitome of the starving artist.
“You’re a great model,” he said.
“Thanks, I guess. Not really doing much but sitting here. Kind of weird knowing someone is drawing me, though.”
“You get used to it if you do it enough.”
“Let me guess, you’re majoring in artistic design or something.”
“Good guess, but no. My college days are past me. Couldn’t deal with all the general ed. shit. Naw, I take classes here and there to learn new techniques. I’m freelance all the way. I do book covers and magazine illustrations for the small press and even sell paintings from time to time. Makes ends meet.”
Ronnie looked at her phone and realized that more time had elapsed than she thought. She was going to have to head out soon.
“You have five minutes and then I have to go,” she said.
His face dropped perhaps for the first time since they met, but only for a moment before his charm kicked in full swing.
“Okay, fine, I appreciate you letting me sketch you like this. Look, I really would like to sculpt you and I understand how awkward and strange it is to have someone you hardly know ask you to pose. I wouldn’t do that to you, but would you mind if I took a few photographs of your face? It will help greatly when I’m doing the sculpture. I just didn’t have enough time to sketch you from every angle like I wanted to.”
“How about you let me see what you did?”
“Well, sure. Here, have a look.”
Lance handed over the sketchpad and Ronnie’s jaw dropped.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I can’t believe you did this in a half an hour.”
“Aw, that’s not even my best. It was rushed. That’s why I could use the pictures, you know, so I don’t have to sculpt off of memory alone.”
Ronnie pondered it a moment. She would allow him to take her picture, but she wanted to make him nervous. This may be some kind of elaborate come on, but she couldn’t deny that she was intrigued.
“On one condition,” said Ronnie. “I want to see the sculpture when you’re done.”
Lance was already pulling a camera from his pack, nodding enthusiastically. “Oh, you’ll see it, I’ll be sure of that.”
He pulled out the strangest camera Ronnie had ever seen. She vaguely remembered one like it from her childhood.
“What kind of camera is that?” she asked.
Lance put the clunky box up to his eye and snapped a photo. It made a high-pitched whine that slowly faded and then a black and white square popped out. Ronnie then recognized what it was.
“Who uses a Polaroid these days?” she said.
“I do,” said Lance. “With a subject such as you, who has time to develop film?”
“I thought everyone was using digital these days. You could send it to your phone and print it up as soon as you get home. If you have the right printer, I guess.”
“That’s just it, I don’t have that kind of printer and I don’t exactly have that kind of money. People don’t use these things anymore, so I got a huge lot of materials on eBay a while back. I don’t go anywhere without my trusty Polaroid.”
“Fair enough.”
Lance took a few photos from various angles. When he was finished, Ronnie stood. “I should get to my class,” she said. “I’m looking forward to seeing the sculpture.”
“Oh, you will.”
“See you around, Lance.”
Ronnie walked across campus to her logic class with butterflies in her stomach. It was a feeling she hadn’t had since she’d met Calvin that was warm and exiting as well as frightening, for it forced her to admit that there was something amiss between Calvin and she.
Ronnie looked back and Lance was gone.
Chapter Eighteen
After checking his messages and finding out that Ronnie had called him no less than five times, Calvin turned off his phone, deciding to ignore her.
He’d been doing a lot of thinking since leaving the Museum of Death. He walked for a while and then rode the trolley and watched all the dead folks milling about doing their daily rituals and routines, shopping for groceries and getting haircuts, and he realized that they were all alike. He hadn’t noticed before, but they were slaves to the world around them, the world created by their ancestors. The way of life that revolved around money and hard work. Some people cherished hard work, said it made a better man, but Calvin wasn’t so sure about that. Not anymore, at least.