Leandra had skin like moonlight and hair that
shimmered like the plumage of a crow. She was thin, with pointed shoulders, and
a defined collarbone. And though she had so many sharp edges to her body, she
moved with an incomprehensible fluidity. It was this ethereal quality that made
her so fascinating to look at like an exotic animal you wouldn’t dare touch but
wanted to greatly.
She was so mesmerizing she had the ability of making
anyone’s mouth have slightly more saliva. People had to be careful not to let
themselves drool in front of her. This made it difficult for anyone to speak.
They would have to swallow first and by the time they were finished swallowing
they would be discouraged from talking to her at all from fear of what she would
say back. She had eyes that would cut through you and make you feel like
nothing more than a rodent to a snake. This effect was entirely unintentional
on her part. It was the severe darkness of her eyes against the lightness of
her skin that gave people this impression.
But people still couldn’t help but stare at her and feel
guilty as they did so. You could not look at her without feeling that you were
spying on her. She somehow made everyone feel as if they were an intruder, like
you were stealing something from her with every glance you took. It was as if her image was a secret in which you had no
right in knowing or laying eyes upon. You could not look at her without feeling
aroused and ashamed because of it.
Leandra thought most people generally looked stupid and
doubted whether the average person had very much going on in their heads. But
this was because it was nearly impossible for anyone to retain their
intellectual integrity in her presence. Though not entirely aware of the effect
she had on people, she was not stupid. She knew that people stared at her and
if they were sensible enough would try to hide it. Every time she looked at
anyone they would immediately look away. And if she looked back at them a
second time they would turn their heads away again. As a result, Leandra lived
a very secluded life.
She took up writing as a hobby. She made characters that
were introverted because she had trouble writing dialogue. She read many books
and would try to learn from the masters, but this prevented her characters from
feeling contemporary. Most of the conversations Leandra had were very short
with much stuttering and stumbling from whomever she was talking to, as
well as lack of eye contact. Leandra did not have any friends. She felt far
closer to her characters than she did to anyone in real life. It had been a
long time since she had a memorable conversation with anyone. For this reason
on a particularly lonely night she pulled herself from her computer to go
to the nearest bar.
Upon arrival the place slowly quieted as if a phantom had
entered the room. She was greeted by stares, a variety of different stares, but
none of them were inviting. She stood where she was and stared back at them all
until the place had resumed its rhythm when as usual people would turn their
heads away from her. But they would always turn them back once they thought she
wasn’t looking. She became the conversation of every person in the room. No one
knew who she was.
Leandra not sure what to do with herself decided to lean over
the counter of the bar to get herself a drink. She had not a clue what she
wanted. It was not in her regimen to drink alcohol. She waited patiently but
the bartender was fully preoccupied in serving others. It wasn’t at all that
the bartender did not notice her. She did so entirely but was not looking
forward to having to speak to her. She hoped that if she waited long enough
somebody would order a drink for her.
Fortunately, to the bartender’s relief one brave young
man approached her and offered to buy her one.
“I’m not sure what I want,” Leandra answered him. It was
impossible for her to decide when she was now too busy contemplating his
physique. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, a few years older than her. He
had dark eyes, though not as dark as hers, facial hair that seemed like it
couldn’t decide if it wanted to grow longer or be shaved entirely, and a smile
that looked too embarrassed to be realized fully.
Phillip had fought with himself in order to get the courage
to approach her. Like everyone, he found her mesmerizing. She was like a
painting in a museum with a barricade at all times not to touch her. But
Phillip when no one was looking would sometimes touch the paintings he admired
most. As he did so he would feel a rush of excitement and guilt. At no other
time would he feel closer to the artist than when he touched their work.
Phillip’s fascination with art began at a young age. When
his parents would read him children’s books he would do nothing but look at the
illustrations ignoring his parents completely. As soon as he discovered the art
section in the library, he did nothing but gaze at the paintings of the
masters; Renoir, Monet, Manet, Van Gogh. It is no surprise then that he
developed a talent for it. He now had a small studio apartment in which he
spent most hours of the day painting. But Phillip had recently hit an artistic
block. He could not feel an ounce of inspiration from anything. That is until
he saw her.
“Would you like wine? Beer? A Martini?”
“I’ll take wine.”
“Red or white?”
“White,” she answered.
“One glass of chardonnay,” he called to the bartender
without looking at her.
“Sure, I’ll add it to the tab."
“Yes, thank you,” he said again without ever taking
his eyes off Leandra.
Leandra wasn’t sure what to make of this. She was beginning
to feel uncomfortable under his intense gaze. His eyes were so very probing
that she had to turn away from him.
“Can I have your name?” he asked.
“You can’t have it. But you can hear it. I dare say Leandra
would not be a very fitting name for a man.”
“It’s too beautiful to ever belong to a man,” he agreed.
“I’m Phillip.”
She forced herself to turn her face back towards him. “Do
you come to this bar often?” she asked not sure of what else to say.
“Only when I need time away from my studio.”
“Ah. An artist?”
“Painter,” he specified.
“What is it that you paint?”
“What is it that
anyone paints, but the deepest emotions of humanity, the truths that beauty
reveals…the secrets of the soul?”
Leandra began to think him pretentious. But he was a character
for certain and one that she felt hard to come by. While she didn’t feel his
lofty sense of artistry appealing she forced herself to continue talking to
him. It was good material for her to keep in mind.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to alienate you with my passion.”
“You’re not. Please continue.”
Phillip could not look at her hair without seeing
brushstrokes at the same time. He was particularly pleased with himself at this
observation and decided to share it out loud to her, thinking she would find
him intelligent.
“Then you must be
painting me in your mind as we speak."
“I can’t help it. I would be honored if you would let me
paint you in my studio some time.”
The bartender set her chardonnay down on the bar. Leandra
picked it up and brought it to her mouth. It tasted strong but not unpleasant.
She liked the calming effect it immediately had on her. She was thankful
that the wine had come when it had. It gave her time to think of how to
respond. Phillip meanwhile sipped from his large mug of beer wondering if he
had jumped the gun proposing this question so early into the night.
On one hand the idea of having her portrait done by
an artist intrigued Leandra. She admired the boldness of this man. Everyone
normally seemed so timid around her that she found his directness refreshing.
On the other hand, how could she be sure if he was even a good artist?
“I’ll tell you what,” she said as she took out a ballpoint
pen from her purse and grabbed a stray napkin on the bar. “Draw me now, and if
I like it, after I finish this drink I’ll go to your place and you can draw me
there.”
Phillip had to stifle an erection when hearing these words
come from her soft lips. He couldn’t help but congratulate himself. He was
amazed at even coming this far.
“But what I can do with a pen and a napkin is nothing
compared to what I can do with a paintbrush and a canvas.”
“You’ll have to do your best.”
Phillip slowly took the ballpoint pen from her fair
fingers. As the entire bar had on and off watched their conversation it did not
take them long to crowd behind Phillip to watch him make this drawing. He
turned his head briefly to see that he had an audience behind him. This was
contrary to how Phillip usually operated in the solitude of his studio.
The moment he put the pen to the napkin it began to shake.
“I’m sorry. I must be nervous.”
He reminded himself what was at stake. He wanted to have
Leandra to himself. She was a muse worth fighting for. He took a long swig of
beer and forced himself to calm down.
He began again, this time with even more determination.
He made the curves of her high forehead and couldn’t help
but be reminded of the indelibility of the pen. There was no room for error
when he could not erase. He had finished those incredibly dark eyes when he
realized he made a mistake. He had made them too far apart and there was no way
of correcting this. By the grace of God at that moment he had to sneeze and
quickly used the napkin he was drawing on for it.
“It’s nothing to
worry. I’ll begin again.”
However, this excuse to restart had come at a cost for
Phillip. He now had black pen stains where the napkin touched his face. Leandra
could not help but laugh.
“It was a reflex.”
“It’s not that. You have pen ink on your face.”
Phillip felt utterly humiliated. Again he was all too aware
of the crowd of people behind him. They had quickly joined Leandra in her laughter.
“Would it be all right if I leave for a moment to use the men’s room to clean
up? I won’t be long,” he excused himself.
Leandra at this point had serious doubts as to Phillip’s
ability, but it didn’t trouble her at all because she felt she could make a
good story about it. She thought of the various ways she could describe the
black that had marked Phillip’s face, underneath his nose and on his upper lip.
However, when she looked up at the audience it quickly became uncomfortable between
them. No one was sure if they should return to where they were before or wait
where they stood for Phillip to return.
“It’s the first time
anyone’s blown their nose on my face.”
The audience all laughed at her joke. Many of them
questioned why they so feared her before. They began to ask her questions: if
she had ever had her portrait drawn before, and how long she had known Phillip.
She was more than happy to answer. It was the most anyone had ever wanted to
talk to her in her life. When hearing that she had just met Phillip, they asked
if she was single in which she replied in the affirmative, followed by
what she liked to do for fun. Just as she started talking about her aspirations
to be a writer, Phillip reentered the room.
The look on his face was grim with vengeful determination.
When he was scrubbing his face in the bathroom mirror he had decided he was not
going to let anyone come between Leandra and him.
“I’m sorry, but I
need you all to leave. I cannot possibly work with all of your breaths down my
back.”
Leandra wanted to say something, but they had all dispersed
so quickly that she felt it beyond her to call for them back. In resignation
she let Phillip restart his portrait, but she told herself that it would be the
final time.
There was such dire concentration in his eyes that it made
Leandra almost fear for herself.
“Hold still,” he
directed at her sharply.
Leandra stayed frozen while he continued to draw her.
She felt a sudden sadness she could not understand. She did not like Phillip
being so assertive and it troubled her.
Within about ten minutes he had finished the task and
showed it to her. It was a perfect rendition of her face. He captured every
line of grace and essence to her beauty. The bar quickly resumed their position
as the audience. This time however Phillip turned to face them to show them the
napkin. A sudden silence broke over them as they were held in awe. This
was shortly followed by a roar of compliments to the point where it created
pandemonium. It took some time for the bar to settle down. They made a toast to
the napkin portrait. They asked for Phillip’s name in full and shouted it in
glee as they clinked their glasses together.
“To Phillip
Lawrence.”
“To this country’s
next great artist!”
“To the best thing
that’s ever been drawn on a napkin!”
Leandra’s name on the other hand was never mentioned. And
though she did not particularly like Phillip for how he gloated himself in all
their praise, she was a woman of her word and agreed to go to his studio that
night.
An incredible amount of paintings were created from
Leandra’s image. And as if the toasts at that bar were prophesies, Phillip
really did become the country’s next great artist. Her portrait could be seen
in magazines and billboards all across America. Everyone was fascinated by her
face. She became a household icon within a matter of months. That initial
napkin had sold for 13.7 million dollars.
Phillip was a smart man and when he had first hired Leandra
as a model he made her sign a contract granting him exclusive rights to her
image. She was not even allowed to post any pictures of herself on any social
media. This didn’t bother Leandra at the time because she didn’t have any
social media accounts. As she was handsomely compensated she did not protest
and she needed the money. As Phillip’s fame grew she hoped that it would at
some point benefit her own career, but he had refused to disclose the name of
his model to anyone. His reasoning was that something so beautiful was beyond
the confinement of a name and he denied anyone the right to interview her.
Leandra was so preoccupied posing for Phillip that he
eventually had her move in with him. The more she was in his sight, he felt,
the better. In addition, he did not like letting other people see her as much
as he could help it. He was very protective of his art and didn’t want anyone
stealing it.
She became so involved that she seldom had time to write.
And even when she was allotted the free time, she had trouble thinking about
what to write on. She was entirely out of touch with society having to spend so
many hours in his studio. She became so accustomed to holding still that often
she would have to remind herself to move when she wasn’t on duty.
A physical relationship had slowly ensued between
them. It was the ultimate way for Phillip to become one with his art and he
felt incredibly fulfilled by this. When he had first kissed Leandra she didn’t
object. She was so used to not moving that she just let it happen. It was an
easy thing for her to fall into. She saw Phillip so often that it ceased to
matter to her if he could also touch her and use her body on occasion.
Phillip’s relationship with Leandra made him an incredibly happy man. With
Leandra he had everything he always wanted: fame, fortune, and power.
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