Fifty-one

VALENTINE’S DAY WAS COMING. I was informed by my family that I would take a four-day weekend and would not be painting that Saturday. They had a schedule of who would be paired with whom on each of the four days. I was to go to the studio on Thursday after I’d finished at the chapel. Melody and Lissa would be together and Kate and Wendy would be together.

“So, Friday you will be with Melody, Saturday with Lissa, Sunday with Kate, and Monday with Wendy,” Melody announced.

“Um ... but ... um, Mel, I think there’s a problem with that.” I got blank stares from everyone. “Friday is Valentine’s Day. Shouldn’t you be with your wife and I with ... um ... my fiancée.”

“Don’t be silly, Tony,” Kate said. “We’ll have a lovely day on Sunday. I have it all planned out.”

“We need a new definition,” Lissa said. “Wait right there, Tony.” She hustled Melody, Kate, and Wendy into the bedroom while I sat in the living room trying to figure out what was going on.

“Right,” Kate said when they returned. “We decided that the holiday called Valentine’s Day will no longer be celebrated in this household. This has been decided by unanimous vote of the partnership.”

“I didn’t get a vote!”

“Sure you did. The four of us agreed as your proxy,” Kate laughed.

“The holiday formerly known as Valentine’s Day will hereby be known as Virgins’ Day,” Melody proclaimed. “It will now and hereafter be the day that celebrates two virgins coming together in mutual love and admiration and will be celebrated in an appropriate consummation by said former virgins on this day forever more.”

“Amen,” Lissa and Wendy joined in. Shit! I’d gotten so wrapped up in thinking of Valentine’s Day that I’d forgotten Melody’s and my anniversary again. Well if it was going to be marked on our calendar as Virgins’ Day from now on, I should be able to remember it.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this, Kitten?” I asked.

“My darling husband-to-be, we are not just marrying each other. This gives us each a chance to be with you in the order in which we allowed Tony’s staff of life to enter our hall of joy,” Kate laughed.

“You have been hanging around Father Andrew way too much.”

After I’d talked to Ellis, I didn’t bother talking to Andy about the new piece I was working on. I had models in for various poses. I had all the women I knew and could get to the studio model for it. I even dug out old sketches I’d done of women who were no longer in town. It had only one male figure. Coach Frederickson agreed to model for me. It was a harem scene. Nothing identified the time period. Everyone was nude. And there was no convenient drape across his genitals or anyone else’s. It would have finer detail than my other frescoes—something that would be lost on people viewing from twelve or so feet away, but it would make a lovely print.

The male half reclined on a daybed, flaccid penis hanging between his legs. Kneeling at his side was a slave girl, not touching, but reaching. Two others whispered in his ears. A redhead watched hungrily while two tall amazons, both dark-skinned hovered nearby. A blonde and brunette were captivated by each other. Two Asians sat on cushions to the side, entertained by a plump woman holding her own leash. A woman sat with a lute and sang while a second buxom woman accompanied her. Another woman touched the wrist of a tall, willowy girl accompanied by a short brunette. It was so late when I finished working that I fell asleep in the studio and slept through till morning.

That would make it two nights I would sleep away from home as I was banned from the house Thursday. Adolfo and Morgan prepared a panel for me early in the morning. By eight o’clock, the cartoon was in and I set to work. Adolfo had class, but Morgan stayed to watch the drawing take shape. She mixed paints and used a step ladder next to my painting platform to fetch things for me.

“I wish I was in this piece,” she breathed as I finished the cartoon. “Can you put me in?” I laughed. Morgan who always wore the baggiest of clothes—I could just imagine her posing for a nude.

“Sure,” I said. “I need a serving girl just to the master’s left. Undress and we’ll add you in.” I figured that she’d make some smart remark and we’d drop the subject. I didn’t hear anything and when I glanced down at her, I was just in time to see her panties hit the floor. Morgan was naked in the chapel. And oh, my god! What she’d been hiding.

“How would you like me to pose?”

I lowered myself to the floor and grabbed a sketch book.

“I need you up a little with a tray and glasses. What do we have?” We scrambled around. Morgan grabbed a mortarboard—not the kind you wear at graduation, but the kind we carried plaster around on. All I had were a couple of coffee cups next to my thermos. “Up there,” I said, pointing to the chancel area. It was elevated three steps from the sanctuary floor. “No. Not right hand. Can you hold it in your left? You are serving the reclining master. The tray has to be held out, not up. Can you lean forward just a little? Good. Hold it right there.”

Without her baggy clothes or her glasses, and with her hair down, Morgan was gorgeous. She’s five or six inches shorter than Lissa, but she’d give her a run for being perfectly proportioned. I realized she was a missing element in my ethnic mix. Morgan Dennis was Tulalip Indian. Her breasts were not huge, but were full and round. A full tuft grew between her legs. Her waist-length hair was blue-black, her eyes so dark brown they looked black, as well.

“Braids, Morgan. Can we do braids?” Maybe it was a cliché, but ... well, her hair was hiding a couple of her best features.

“I have a couple of ties in my bag. Can you help?” She had joined fully into the role of a model and moved as comfortably around the room naked as she had fully clothed. She produced a comb and hair ties and together we proceeded to braid her hair. When it was finished, we moved back to the chancel. This was going to take some time away from painting, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. As she posed, I reached to position her leg and jerked my hand back.

“Uh ... could you ... uh...”

“You can touch me to move me into position, Tony. It’s not permission for anything else, but you may position me,” she said. You simply never touch a model without permission. Never. I pushed her right leg forward, placed my hand on her shoulder and turned her. God! It was beautiful! She was beautiful. I started sketching.

I was nearly finished when I heard footsteps coming up the nave. I turned to see an elderly priest coming toward me. He looked up at me and saw Morgan posing next to the altar. His mouth started working but no sound came out. He turned around and scurried back out of the sanctuary as fast as he could.

“You may be the first naked woman he’s ever seen,” I laughed.

“Well, he’s the second man who’s ever seen me naked,” Morgan said flatly. I looked up at her.

“Shit.”

“Just draw.”

I drew. It only took about five more minutes before I was finished.

“Thank you, Morgan. This is beautiful. You are beautiful. I love it.”

“May I dress now?”

“Yes. And ... just thank you. For everything.”

I went to my lift and using my new sketch as a reference, painted the outline of the new figure onto the wet plaster.

“I’m free for the day, Tony. How can I help?”

“I need a good palette of wide-ranging flesh-tones, Morgan. Everything from Asian to Black to Caucasian.”

“Including Native American,” she said. “The red woman lives.”

A very nervous Andy showed up about four in the afternoon to look at what I was working on. Surprisingly, no one else had been in the chapel all day. There was usually a stream of workers and artists in and out, and several priests who always seemed to have something to do.

“Oh my,” he said.

“Is something wrong, Andy?” I asked from my perch.

“No, no. How long before you are finished with this one?”

“Another couple of hours. It’s been a quiet day with Morgan helping me. We’re getting a lot done.”

“We never talked about having models in the sanctuary, Tony. It was a bit of a shock to Father Bartholomew. Most of us wouldn’t have minded, but he’s a bit old and a traditionalist.”

“Sorry we shocked him,” I said. What’s the big deal? It isn’t even a church until it’s dedicated. Andy told me that in one of our sessions.

“Nothing to worry about. For you. We put a sign on the door. I’ll be back in a little while. Please don’t leave without telling me the story.”

“No problem.”

It was six o’clock when I came down off the lift and Morgan and I started cleaning brushes and salvaging what paint we could. I was pleased with myself and the new piece.

We cleaned up and were ready to leave when I heard voices in the vestibule and Andy came in through the main doors. Two men in a plain black business suits and clerical collars accompanied him.