I gave him my most charming smile. “I'd love to, Lennie. When do you want to start?”
It wasn't until I let myself in to the building on Tenth Street the next morning that I began to have misgivings. It was a long warehouselike structure, housing many artists' studios, and the inside hallway felt damp and cold after the muggy heat outside. My feet echoed up stone stairs. Not a sound in the whole building. No hint that it was occupied. “Saw RO with LC.” Paddy's words flashed through my mind. Lennie might look pudgy and benevolent, but I would have to watch every word I said. As I tapped on Lennie's front door, I reminded myself to watch my tongue. If he was the L.C. in Paddy's book, then he mustn't know that I was in any way connected to Paddy.
In contrast to the cold, dark hallway, the studio itself was bathed in light from tall windows. It was a big room, half living area, half studio by the looks of it. On my left were a bare wood table holding the remains of a breakfast, a gas ring and sink and an unmade bed. On my right it was uncarpeted and unfurnished except for an easel with a new canvas on it, a table containing paints and a palette, a stool and another stool backed by cloth drapery.
“Hi, Molly. Ready to get started then?” Lennie greeted me as I came in.
“Indeed I am.” I looked around for a place to put my purse.
“I hope it's warm enough in here,” he said. “You can go behind the screen to take off your clothes.”
“Pardon me?”
He pointed casually to the far corner, behind the bed, where there was a wooden screen. “You can go over there to get undressed.”
“Now just a minute.” I heard my voice rising. “What kind of girl do you think I am? You lure me here on the pretext of wanting to paint me and then you start making indecent suggestions the moment I step in the door. Fm not staying another second.”
He came across and grabbed my arm. “But I do want to paint you, you silly goose,” he said. “I want to paint you in the nude.”
“In the nude? With no clothes on, you mean?”
“Of course. I told you I wanted to practice life studies. That's what life study means—painting nudes.”
“I couldn't possibly …” I began, but he started laughing. “You'll be perfectly safe, you know. I'm not at all interested in young women like yourself, except as models. And I'm a very trustworthy kind of guy. Ask anyone around the Village. Good old reliable Lennie. Come on, Molly, what do you say? How is an artist supposed to improve if he can't work with live models? And everyone else has posed for me—Sid, Gus, even Ryan.”
“All right,” I said. I had forced myself to take a good many chances recently. One more could hardly matter. I went behind the screen and unbuttoned my blouse with trembling fingers. Was it my imagination or was it very cold in that studio? My eye fell on my straw hat, lying on the chair. Swiftly I pulled out the hat pin that held the silk rose in place and wrapped my fingers around it. If he had been spinning me a yarn and he tried anything indecent, then I was going to be ready.
I came out feeling horribly self-conseious. Lennie was standing at the little table mixing colors. “Go and sit on the stool, please. Watch out how you step on the velvet, won't you. It was horribly expensive.”
I perched on the stool, wishing myself anywhere else but here. Lennie picked up his palette and stood behind the easel, eyeing me critically. “Swing to your left a little. Good. And let your hair fall over that shoulder, and maybe put your hand on your thigh. And don't look as if you're a Christian about to be fed to the lions. I don't see you as a woman, I see you as a design. You can chat away quite normally, only don't move.”
I can't tell you how strange it felt to be sitting in the nude on a cold hard stool talking about the weather and how seasonable it was for the time of year. I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. But gradually I did relax, and remembered the point of my mission.
“So tell me about Ryan O'Hare,” I said. “I find him fascinating.”
“You and half the population of New York,” Lennie said.
“You two are good friends, aren't you?”
“I'm not sure Ryan has good friends. I don't think anyone knows the real Ryan,” he said. “Ryan plays the part that is expected of him wherever he goes. But I suppose I am as close to him as he lets anyone get.”
“And you spend a lot of time together, don't you? You go to theaters and bars together?”
“Sometimes,” Lennie said. “When he doesn't have anyone better to take him out. What Ryan really likes is to be whisked into the whirl of high society by the rich and the beautiful. Since I am neither rich nor beautiful, I am usually the last resort.”
“Is Ryan often with the rich and the beautiful then?”
“Whenever he finds a suitable love interest.” Lennie jabbed at his canvas.