The dark haired girl looked out of her loft window, she played with her curly hair. <Will anyone come today> she thought. She was dressed in a bright red dress and matching scarf, both of which had seen a few years. She could see the church spire in the distance; it marked the start of another country, so very differently governed to the one she found herself in today.
She turned her head away to the kitchen table, on it were two envelopes, one marked ‘Mirelle” the other “art project”. She had milked the maternal cash cow yesterday. She then made busy at tiding up her studio apartment. It was a quick task; she made herself a pot of tea and waited for the doorknock.
“Will anyone answer my advertisement?” She said to the painting on the wall.
She clutched the torn newspaper fragment for dear life as she stooped bracing herself from the cool early autumn morning’s air. <Can I really do it? > Her question to her self that chilly morning, as she tried to sidestep the legacy of yesterday’s rain shower. Avoiding the puddles, she made her way through the narrow village streets to he destination, an apartment building, recently erected in the Art Deco style. She approached the door intercom, glancing at the advertisement; she pressed the name on it. In a nervous and delightfully seductive voice said, “I-I’m here about your advertisement”
The tannoy responded with “Come on up, I am on the fourth floor”
With that Clothtilde heard a buzz and the sound of the lobby door open. The only occupant of the lobby was a newspaper reading concierge, who failed to notice the small figure passing by. She followed the gleaming white staircase to the fourth floor and knocked on the door.
The Opening Moves
Mirelle was surprised that someone had responded to her ad. She went to the ornate yellow and black door, looked outside at the small nervous figure, she pressed the nearby button and opened the door.
“Come inside” she said in her upper class voice.
“I am here about the ad that you put in the paper three days ago” Clothtilde said, she nervously passed the small paper fragment over to the apartment’s occupant, who glanced at it and read.
The ad read.
“ARTIST SEEKS SUBJECT FOR 24 HOUR ART PROJECT, BED AND MEALS PROVIDED, PAYMENT GENEROUS. NOTE DO NOT RESPOND IF MODELING OFFENDS”
Mirelle took in the vision, as is the prerogative of all artists, of the brave and nervous girl before her. She was dressed in a grey overcoat, a tan fedora hat, brown woollen scarf, long blue dress, black stockings and some old shoes, <not much to go on>. She thought.
Clothtilde handed over the newspaper advertisement and, adjusting to the relative warmth of the spacious apartment asked, “Where can I put my hat, coat and scarf”
“Over there on the piano” was Mirelles’ response. She watched the petite young girl remove the items, she was taken aback when she saw her remove her hat. It revealed a glorious cascade of wavy blonde hair, and a beautiful neck. <Now that IS something I can work with> thought the artist.
“Can I play?” the blonde haired girl asked
“Do you?” Mirelle enquired
“Yes my Father was a concert pianist, before the change of government, he is in England now working as a teacher. He taught me some things to play, are you familiar with Toccata in fugue by J.S.Bach II” with that she started to play the frenetic piece expertly, a fine sheen was developing on her healthy skin when Mirelle suggested that it might be better if she took the blouse right off. Clothtilde did just that when she finished the piece, to the applause of Mirelle. She looked around the room, and noticed a large folio on the small lounge table she picked the folio up. Inside were a few sketches for portraits she remarked that they were all good, she commented to Mirelle “But you can draw a realistic figure can’t you?” she looked to the painting on the wall that Mirelle was talking to earlier.
Mirelle looked at the painting, “Lene R. -The Mountaineer” it was called. She remembered spotting the young blonde actress on a mountain film set over a decade ago now, they agreed to spare some time for a quick drawing session. She posed the young actress naked against some rocks; the pose heightened the well-toned anatomy of the subject whose naked and vulnerable form was counter pointed against the dark rock face. “Yes, that is mine, would you like to be drawn that way?”
Without hesitation and with the eagerness of her seventeen years, Clothtilde said yes.
The couple then made for the studio proper where Clothtilde approached the model’s stand. She struggled with the buttons on her dress, Mirelle sensing some nerves from her subject offered to help her. The offer was gladly accepted by the blonde girl. It was then that Mirelle noticed the only item of jewellery on her person, a gold star that was now a forbidden ornament, she knew that this was no ordinary little modelling session, and that the money that she was paying her meant something else: freedom. Her only comment to the girl was “I know that you’re Jewish”
“You are not going to turn me in I hope” was the nervous girl’s response.
“What and lose a subject, I don’t like those ‘blackshirts’ much myself. They practically hate us artists as much as you lot ok. Your secret is safe with me,” Mirelle explained. This reassured the blonde girl who then asked Mirelle for a hand in removing her cream coloured slip. This Mirelle did without question.
However a momentary thought crossed the artists mind, a desire to kiss the young girl, she fought the growing lust within her as she watched the blonde girl remove first her shoes chemise and her bra, this revealing the most beautiful set of firm B cups that Mirelle had ever seen the stockings and garter belt were the next to go, revealing the most wonderful set of legs that the artist had ever seen. She awaited further uncoverage with a mounting tension; she could not bear to look and made busy obtaining her sketchbook and charcoal. When she returned she was amazed by the vision, <a new Venus for the age> she thought.
The view presented to Mirelle was that of a slim, not starved in any way, girl. <A change from the more generously proportioned ladies of the art schools> Mirelle thought. The legs were an unblemished study of perfection meeting at a divine pubis, lightly covered with the finest downy hair that the artist had ever witnessed. The lower torso was concave, without being shallow, the shoulders broad and obviously showed signs of a happy childhood spent at the beach swimming. The arms finely shaped and capped off with musicians fingertips, the eyes showing nervousness and determination at the same time.
“It is 9.00 we will commence. You will be my nude model for a period of twenty-four hours, during that time you must make your body available to my gaze and under my direction at all times. I will instruct you to move this way and that. I will also instruct you as to when, or indeed if you can cover yourself during that time. Do you understand” Mirelle said, the speech had been rehearsed the previous day.
“I understand, I am to be your naked girl at all times, my body is yours for twenty four hours.” Clothtilde said. Her mind was a battlefield of nerves, conflicting emotions: pride, humiliation, fear, joy, ecstasy and embarrassment, but with one overriding facet determination to be the best and determination to achieve her main goal.
“I think I’ll start like all art students start with- the back, could you turn around please” Mirelle said firmly as she sat down on her drawing stool and brought her table to rest in front of her. She watched as Clothtilde turned around. The view from the back was as equally unblemished her calves were firm and showed signs of an active life, her buttocks firm and tightly bubble shaped, the curve into her backside a delight, the spine an understatement in simplicity, the indentation an apology to the imperfection that it made upon the perfectly unblemished skin. Mirelle licked her lips and, grabbing the charcoal firmly started drawing.
This was followed, an hour later, by a kneeling pose reminiscent of a Rodin door that she saw on a visit to Paris, the left arm raised as to give a kiss to the viewer, the right hidden from the font on viewer, the legs slightly raised. Mirelle could sense that Clothtilde had gotten over the shyness that most first-time models get and saw her relax in her pose, she could sense one thing else that Clothtilde was a ‘creature of the light’, that she had an extra sense to make herself seen in the best light possible. A skill that can take years for a top model to acquire was a natural gift to her. This pose tired the girl after only half an hour, so she called a short rest break.
After the rest, a mere thirty minutes, in which Clothtilde had walked around the studio flat, once again catching the best light to be drawn by unconsciously, the couple recommenced. This time Mirelle asked Clothtilde to lay down on an old 18th Century couch turning away from her right arm draped along the top of the headrest, the left along her side, folded at the elbow. Mirelle could see the models confidence and assuredness grow with each passing hour. This pose was kept for two hours, by this time the two had decided to have lunch.
The lunch consisted of a piece of an ‘American Drink” (coffee), toast and some cheese for Mirelle, a light salad for Clothtilde, who was a lively lunchtime companion for the older girl, talking about her life, hope and dreams. She ventured a suggestion to her host. “Would it be all right if this afternoon I tried something myself? Find my own way. If you like”
“Of course you can, art is a collaborative thing you know” Mirelle replied. She could see that this girl was indeed a rare thing of beauty a ‘model of all models’. She could envision Picasso and Matisse arguing over her, Dali leaving his beloved wife for her and Lee Miller shooting countless rolls of film of her. Those visions were false as she had but one artist and one day to capture her, she reasoned that she had to get ‘the big game huntress’ out if ever she could do justice to such a divine inspiration.
After lunch was done, the duo got to work. Mirelle, sketchpad at the ready and forgoing her usual charcoal and opting for a pencil, sat patiently for what was to transpire.
The naked Clothtilde asked if she could have some music. Upon Mirelle’s nod of assent she picked out a selection to enliven up the afternoon, from some moody Greig to the modern stylings of the American Crooner “Bing” Crosby to some quite lively Jazz. Clothtilde both picked up the mood of each piece selected and the drama of each song heard. All the time she was growing unaware of the other presence in the room, sketching where and when necessary, calling a brief pause in her movements around the vast room, all the while searching for the best light. However as the day’s light started to fade she started to ‘wilt as if she were a sunflower’
The two girls called a halt to the session. Both tired and exhausted. Mirelle then offered to make some tea for them, she was conscious of her guest’s particular dietary requirements.
“You don’t need make a fuss on my account” said the naked blonde girl, “I will have what you are having”
“It’s no problem I can assure you Clothtilde. I just want to make you fell at home here, and it will be a test of my culinary skill. You can get your clothes on if you want to you know” Mirelle replied.
“Thanks but you have hired me to be a nude model and a naked girl is what I remain until the 24 hours are up” Clothtilde said.
Mirelle smiled as she laid the table out using her best china service. She then poured the two of them some fine tea. She then served the heartiest of soups; Clothtilde remarked that this was the best meal that she had in over a year. This pleased the only dressed girl in the room, though she was getting a little ‘hot’ inside at the sight of the two of them reflected in the kitchen mirror. She was again troubled by the feelings that had developed within her, she was worried about being labelled by her guest as an, ‘invert’.
Clothtilde, upon finishing the meal then offered to help clean up. Mirelle readily accepted she brought her sketchbook into the dining room and started a few quick sketches as he guest turned tis way and that, always getting her naked form in the best light. She admired such an innate gift. Clothtilde was unaware of her host’s sketching now and made herself even busier with the cleaning up.
When this was done, Mirelle suggested that Clothtilde take a warm bath and make ready for bed. She led her nude model to the spacious bathroom; Clothtilde’s eyes lit up at the opulence and was amazed that hot water can come out of a tap. Once the water was drawn she placed herself in the black and gold trimmed bathtub, Mirelle then dutifully washed her naked form as if she was an infant at first, then with slow deliberate movements she washed the ‘special’ places between her legs, Clothtilde let out an audible gasp at this, yet her body wanted more she directed Mirelles’ hand lower and harder against her clitoris the sensations were ecstatic to her as she had the first girl induced orgasm of her young life.
Mirelle recoiled in horror at what she had done. She couldn’t justify in her mind such an invasion of the naked and desperate young girl. She then excused herself and fled the room crying. Her tears were broken only upon Clothtilde’s return. She looked up and saw that the blonde girl was not naked, she had her (Mirelle’s) white dressing gown on, she felt the reassuring hand of her model on her shoulder, she turned and heard her say.
“It’s all right. I know how you felt, why not have a shower whilst I warm the bed up for you ok”
Mirelle took her models cue and went back to the bathroom, still a jumble of emotions but right enough to at least give herself a wash and dry, she looked for something to put on and saw her red silk pyjamas, a gift from some Thai ambassador friend of her father, she put them on and returned to her studio bedroom. She found the robe placed on a nearby chair. She then knew that Clothtilde must be sleeping nude tonight. She heard her words.
“Come on in it is nice and toasty”
She saw her models glorious and inviting smile beckoning her towards the bed.
The two women then snuggled up close, Mirelle against the naked Clothtilde. Mirelle found that once again her hands had a mind of their own as they explored the entirety of her naked bedmate’s body. She traced a line down that all-to-perfect stomach to rest once again between the model’s perfect legs. She started to finish what she had started in the bathroom. This time Clothtilde reciprocated by allowing her hands to traverse the clothed form of Mirelle, she lent backward to kiss the lips of the artist. This was all the encouragement that Mirelle needed.
Mirelle then proceeded to make Sapphic love to the naked Clothtilde (she did not remove on single stich but let Clothtilde have access to her own breasts and pussy thanks to unbuttoning her pyjama files and two buttons on her shirt), an action that she had only once before partaken in as a young girl in a Swiss Finishing school. When the girls had orgasmed for the third time she turned towards Clothtilde and said apologetically “I hope that you don’t consider me to be an Invert”
“No, why” Clothtilde replied, placing a kiss on Mirelles’ exposed neck, “You were aroused and I was there. I don’t consider isolated incidents an indication of one’s long term life, I have read Jung and Freud you know and I did date a University student a couple of months ago”
This reassured the artist and they drifted off to a deep sleep in each other’s arms.
Clothtilde was woken up by the smell of freshly brewed tea; she could see Mirelle holding a tray nearby.
“Wake up sleepyhead, I made you some tea and have porridge for two”
With that she got out of their lovebed, put on the only cover that she had for the last 20 hours, a white dressing gown and sat down to the best porridge that she had ever tasted. The two girls made some more small talk about art, the state of the world and boyfriends, when Mirelle suggested that they toss a coin as to which one would call the first pose of the day. They tossed a coin and Clothtilde won she just went over to the window and stretched out to greet the sun. This pose did not inspire Mirelle and it was only kept for a half an hour. They took their time for Mirelle’s choice a naked piano player; this did not suit the naked girl as the piano was in shade from the morning light.
They tried a few more then, in inspiration Clothtilde returned to the chair where she put her clothes on the day before, she turned slightly towards Mirelle her breast and downy hair visible in the morning’s light, left arm outstretched her right resting on the chair, the necklace star catching the light beautifully.
For Mirelle it was one of those ‘eureka moments’ she pinned a large sheet to a board and placed it upon the easel and started to draw, her only words to her model “That’s it! Now hold there and do not move”. She carefully omitted the star, replacing it with a cross; the only alteration to the vision splendid presented to her that early Autumn morning.
After an hour it was all over, Clothtilde glanced at the sketch as she dressed. A sight, of which, that almost brought Mirelle to tears. As the two girls said their final goodbyes Mirelle handed the envelope to Clothtilde, along with some of her hard-milked money, she said, “Use this wisely young girl ok”
Clothtilde said, glancing at the painting again “Thank you I will, you do know her name isn’t Lene but Leni”
“Artistic licence extends far and wide, my little bluebell” Mirelle joked, then thought <Bluebell no blue belle> she said “Of course the title: ‘Blue Girl With Chair’, that’s what I’ll call it” She lent forward and kissed Clothtilde a final time and said her farewells to this most wonderful model.
Mirelle looked out the window, <Could it only have been 25 hours, It felt a lifetime> she thought. She saw the small figure of Clothtilde walking down the street. She noticed that she had stopped when she saw the man in the dark coat and hat approach her. She saw her hand the envelope over; she knew with sadness that she would never see this model of all models again. She had a tear in her eyes when the man handed Clothtilde her new ticket to freedom, she saw her clutch that passport as earnestly as she had clutched the paper fragment yesterday. An elegantly dressed woman, clutching a suitcase, approached Clothtilde. A suitcase, which the woman dutifully handed over to the now-fleeing Jewess. She saw her turn towards the window and smile.
A neighbour’s child broke Mirelle’s reverie. Hans Voss (he was called) exclaiming “The British have declared war on us”. She looked at the calendar on the wall it read 3rd September 1939. She started work on a ‘secret’ painting that retained the star, a work that was not to see the light of day for seventeen years.
Afterward
Clothtilde looked at the Times; dated August 31 1977 it read ART AUCTION TODAY. She remembered the obituary printed just two months ago “Artist Killed in Paris Car Crash, Mirelle du Pont 78 was tragically killed today when she suffered a heart attack and crashed her Citrôen. Mrs Dupont (sic.) was born on 19th April 1899.etc”.
She had made an appointment to see her bank manager the day before to acquire the necessary funds, a task made easier by the inheritance that she had received from her most beloved and sadly missed Father.
The auction house, Christies, was crowded, though she could find a prominent seat. The auctioneer said.
“Lot three ‘Blue Nude with Chair’ painted in 1939, a fine early piece, I’m starting the bidding at £1000, do I hear £1000, yes to the gentleman in the third row” This continued for about three minutes until “Lot 3 now at £5,500 do I hear £5,600 yes to the woman in the fifth row, do I hear any more bids. Going once, twice, thrice, (he struck his gavel) sold to the elegantly dressed woman for £5,600”
As Clothtilde was making her final sale arrangements she heard a familiar voice from the television, “My name is Lord Clark, and this is a young colleague of mine from the BBC, Mr. Melvyn Bragg”
“Hello” Mr. Bragg said.
Lord Clark continued, “It has often fascinated us as to who was the subject of such work, would you by chance know?”
She turned to the esteemed art-journalists and said, “Yes, it was Clothtilde Rosen, that is all I know” with that she bid the pair good bye.
Later as she hung up the painting above her fireplace, she was struck by a notion. She had to see if the years had been kind to her. She placed a bedroom mirror in the lounge room and started to undress, she found after the last garment had been removed that she still had the same perfect figure. Her observation was interrupted by the arrival of her daughter, Mirelle, dressed in a ripped check shirt, that was held together by safety pins, and stovepipe denim jeans (paint speckled) her look was capped off by green spiked hair. “Mum what are you doing?” she screamed.
YOURS
RJ TAYLER
WRITTEN OCT-NOV 2007
FEEDBACK WARMLY RECIEVED