A neighbour helps out
*
'Hello, Nelson how nice to see you. Come into the kitchen, I'm baking,' Stella told her young visitor.
Nelson was eighteen, yet the wiggle of Stella's hips was interesting, despite her being thirty-six. She had a slim waist, largish breasts with hips to match, which swayed seductively. He stared at her heart shaped bottom, trying to take in every muscular twitch as she walked before him. She wore sensible, everyday clothes, and he couldn't help imagining her wearing a tight skirt.
'Help yourself to a cake, go on. They're still warm so I haven't iced them yet,' she explained. 'So, to what do I owe the pleasure?' she asked.
Around a mouthful of cake he asked, 'I was wondering if you would do me a big favour, Mrs. Kendal.'
'Of course, always glad to help out. These are for the church, to raise funds for Africa. Water wells, or books, or something, I can't remember which one we're supporting this year,' she enthused. 'So, what can I do for you, young man,' she beamed at him.
'You sure you won't mind me asking? I mean, it's a bit of an imposition,' he said, hoping the rehearsed phrases would impress her.
'I will if I can, you know that Nelson. Always helping out here and there, but I'll be glad to make some time for you,' she said, looking up from a mixing bowl. 'You're a special friend, Nelson. I owe you a big favour in return for saving the carnival. You helped us raise a small fortune for famine relief. Thinking over how many people were saved from starvation, because of you, makes me weep with joy. So, whatever it is, the answer is yes,' she said, with a 'that's final', expression to her voice, and hand signals to match.
'Maybe you had better hear what it is first,' Nelson said.
'Nonsense, Nelson. I owe you a big favour, and my mind is made up. When I make a promise, I keep it,' she admonished him.
His voice sounded more level than it deserved to be. He felt guilty now. If he could have thought of something else, this was the time to change the plan. The many rehearsals had pushed him into a groove, so he had to continue. He risked a falling out with a good friend, but ground onward as though it were inevitable.
'I need a model for my drawing exam,' he stated.
He fixed his jaw tight in case he backed off with a spluttered apology. He couldn't back down now, after all the effort he'd gone to.
'That's not a problem, I can sit still. In fact I get a lot of practice just sitting these days. Usually knitting for Oxfam, or with a book in the evenings,' she smiled absently at him, while easing some butter into the bowl.
'This might be a little more than just sitting. I missed out on human figure sketching, when I went in search of fairground attractions,' he said.
'For our carnival? Oh! Nelson, I didn't know. I especially owe it to you, to help out. Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it, and my mind is made up, no arguments,' she determinedly stated.
'I'm sorry I mentioned it now. The idea was to just ask around, and go back to the tutor to tell him I couldn't find anyone,' Nelson explained.
'Nonsense, you've found me,' Stella firmly told him. 'I won't let you down, I promise. How could I do otherwise after you arranged those fairground rides to save our carnival,' she said.
'You don't understand, Mrs Kendal, it's a live art model I need,' he emphasised.
'Oh, I see. I won't do. Too old, and out of shape,' she mused.
He watched her breasts gyrate while she whisked another batch of mixture.
'No, it's definitely not that, you'd make a wonderful model. You have a good figure, and your skin tones are excellent. I just didn't think you would be brave enough to pose nude,' he pointed out.
Nelson wanted to run from the room, from being so embarrassed. As much as possible he practised these statements, until the words lost their meaning, or at least the power to shock. He watched a hand stirring the mixture, not missing a beat.
'That's nice of you to say so, Nelson. You're joking, surely!' she nervously laughed.
Her voice was almost calm and ordinary, not angry in the least.
'It would be so helpful, if you could,' he said. 'I'm late with the assignment, and didn't get to practice with the professional model in college. I've got to complete the assignment to pass this year,' he said, in a rush.
His voice was held level, not pleading, or cajoling. He wanted to remind her of the debt she owed, and that she had promised, but wisely left it at that. Mrs Kendal would, or she wouldn't, as this was not a woman to be pushed into anything. His hand was so heavy he couldn't lift another cake. Besides, he might have to use some persuasion, so needed to keep a clear mouth.
'I'm too old for that sort of thing. An artist's model?' she laughed, more seriously this time.
'You would be perfect. Besides, I can't afford a professional model. But you would be a good subject. I'm familiar with your face, so it would be a challenge to draw you as you are, rather than as I see you every day. The difference between a photograph and a drawing is so important,' he enthused.
'Well, you're right, though I'm not sure I could. It seems rather unusual. What would people think?' she softly spoke.
Placing a hand with pastry covered fingers on the edge of the bowl, she looked to be watching a distant scene. She was ready to scrape the mix into a tin, for cup cakes, but didn't make a move.
'Yes, well I didn't expect you would agree. It's a pretty hard thing to do. Of course, no one would see it was you. The tutor would mark my work, and give me back the drawings,' he explained.
'If it was a secret, maybe I could. I did promise, whatever it was, I'd repay the favour. I'd feel terribly guilty letting you down, especially after you helped us with the carnival,' she thoughtfully spoke.
'No-one except a tutor would see the drawings. It would be a secret. Give it a try, and if you can't do it, I'll have to think of something else,' Nelson said, with a sad look upon his face.
'After promising I would do you a favour, I feel bad about letting you down. What will you do?' she asked.
'I have no idea. I was hoping you would at least give it a try,' he pleaded.
'Oh!' she sadly exhaled.
'If I don't complete this assignment, I'll have to resign the course,' he lied.
Stella wiped her hands on the apron and rested them on her hips. Looking down at the cakes cooling on wire racks, it looked as though she were contemplating the request.
'I promised, and a promise must be kept,' she firmly stated. 'I'll try,' she said. 'I promise to try, Nelson. Nothing more than that,' she said, a little more firmly stated.
'I'm finished here, so, where should we try this thing out?' she asked.
The look on her face was less sure than usual, and more than a little nervous. The perpetual smile had disappeared too. They agreed to use the spare bedroom, which was well lit with natural light, he explained.
He followed her up the stairs where they separated. Her to the main bedroom, while he went into the spare bedroom. He slipped the tools of his trade out of a satchel. He rested a pad on the bed, leaving it open at a page with a sketch of a woman in a ballerina's tutu. It was genuinely one of his, only carefully copied from a book.
For the hundredth time he wondered if it would be possible, but before he could dwell on the possibility of failure, she walked in. The dressing gown was thin silk, revealing she was naked under it. He didn't say anything, or stare, but continued to select pencils.
He turned the page on the pad letting her see a glimpse of a drawing. A local bridge, not a nude. The next drawing was of a woman sitting on a chair in a dressing gown, though unlike the one she wore. He turned the page for one of a woman, again sitting, but this time naked.
