He nodded, as if making a note for himself, then went back to demonstrating the best ways to stand without messing up my joints. It was strangely moving how casual he was acting.
“Is that something that happens with a lot of models?” I asked. “The ... erection thing.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s natural.” He smiled at me. “Sounds like you’ve nothing to worry about. Are you cold at all?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
Once he indicated I should, I climbed off the platform and got dressed. Even though this was only the second time we’d met, I felt weirdly comfortable with him—maybe it was because I’d just been naked, or because he was so clearly worried about Lucas.
“I know I sound like a broken record—” Armand clasped his hands, suddenly making strong eye contact “—but if you ever feel out of sorts, or want to back out ... believe me when I say I know how vulnerable this experience is. You’re, well, literally and figuratively naked. It can be rough ...”
His earnestness was appreciated, and as he spoke, I remembered something he’d said to me before, about having done something like this in the past. “Can I get your advice? It’s related but, um, personal I guess?”
Armand broke off, eyebrows high with surprise, but he nodded.
“So ... I know you said it was important to set the tone, or boundaries or whatever, and how this isn’t sexual.” I leaned back against the desk, letting my arms cross against my chest. Was it weird to be asking him this? I checked in with Armand, hoping I hadn’t overstepped our professional relationship, but he simply inclined his head in encouragement. “But I’m worried I won’t be able to tell if things become sexual, because I don’t usually feel that kind of thing. Attraction or, um, drive. What if ... what if I give off the wrong vibe?”
Armand’s shoulders unclenched.“You’re not responsible for how other people react to you. I’ll boot their arse if they don’t follow your lead.”
And he would too, I could tell. I let myself smile a little, even though I still prickled with nerves.
“And I don’t know if I need to tell you this,” he continued, “but there’s no wrong way to have emotions.”
He left me the opening; I had to push through. “Okay, but, um, what if you can be wrong? Or like, hypothetically, you had accepted that you don’t feel romantic or sexual things, but then one day you do, and it’s really weird and unexpected, but it hasn’t happened again so it must be a fluke, right? Or I just never knew myself in the first place, or I’m lying or—”
“Do you know why I hired a life model?” He dropped his hands to his hips, still making more eye contact with me than he’d managed the entire afternoon. “Rather than having the kids trace stock images?”
I shook my head.
“Because nothing stands still, not really. And that’s life, innit? Changing, fluid, never static? Good art captures that. In the same way, you don’t always have to stay in one pose, in oneshape.”
Only someone like Armand could successfully equate my sexuality crisis to his art class. “I guess. Still feels jarring, though. You sure that not being sure doesn’t make me strange?”
Armand looked confused for a moment, then his dark eyes cleared. He smiled at me. “No more than anyone else, mate.” For a moment he hesitated, as if he were contemplating the pros and cons of patting me on the shoulder before deciding against it. “But if you wanted to talk ...” he continued, his large hands spread to either side.
“Thanks.” Somehow, I’d relaxed having verbalized all this: labels, identities, or whatever. My vulnerability felt safe here with him. He’d seen me naked, after all. “This was really helpful. Sorry if I made things weird.”
“I think we already established that being weird is not weird.” Armand loosened a little, giving that sad, lopsided smile and scratching at his scruff. “All right. Er. See you tomorrow. Don’t forget your sheet.”
I was almost to the door when Armand said, “Hey, Skyler?”
“Yeah?”
He was looking tortured again. “If you see Lucas—” He shook his head. “Never mind. Forget it.”
I raised a friendly eyebrow but didn’t push. “It was an honor doing business with you, Mothman. I’m a big fan.”
“Get out.”
July 24th
My phone gave an obnoxious little chime, and I grabbed for it, careful to read the text preview so I wouldn’t have to open it.
I cringed and put my phone away.
When I looked up, Maggie was glaring at me. We were supposed to be running lines ... That was, she’d generously agreed to help me practice my part, but I’d been acting like a distracted jerk all day.
“Okay, who are you texting?” she asked, folding her arms and leaning back against her book bag. We were sitting on the grass outside the Volcanology building, annoying the occasional graduate student by giving them the Vulcan Salute. It was one of the few prime locations that was also as far as humanely possible from the law school. Terri had no reason to be anywhere near rock nerds.
