Professor Andersen was a short, stout man who's salt and pepper hair had fled from the top of his head. His cheeks were round and slightly pink and his nose rather too large for his face. In his tweed jacket, anyone who looked at him might have guessed he was a professor. No one would have ever guessed he was an artist.
"Now, if you'll turn to page three of the course outline, you'll see the year's projects. I want four original works, one still life, one portrait, one scenery, and one nude. I'm not a stickler for when you hand them in, but they must all be in before the final marks due date April."
Most of the students thumbed through the outline, reading the marks guide intently. Mark distractedly doodled on his outline, tracing what might have been a sun, then sketching the outline of a face in the center of it, listening to the Professor elaborating on the system he'd be using for grading Fine Arts - Painting 404.
Mark had slightly wild black hair that he'd worn in a number of different styles over his six years in University. In his torn and faded jeans and black t-shirt, it wouldn't have been a stretch for anyone to see him as an artist, though he was more athletic than most of the class. Mark had worked as a bouncer at the campus club for the last two years to help pay for his books and expenses.
Mark had struggled in his first two years at the University, struggling with Economics and then bouncing to Geography. He hadn't been able to be passionate about either. Finally, at the end of his third year, he'd gathered up his courage and submitted a few samples of his paintings to the Fine Arts Facility. They were impressed enough to allow him to switch his major a third time, practically beginning all over again.
"Umm, professor..." a nervous voice said from behind Mark. He looked over his shoulder. A thin girl named Carol, with mousy brown hair back in a bun and thick black rimmed glasses, had raised her hand. "I have a question about the outline?"
"What is it Carol?" Professor Andersen replied calmly. In a faculty as small as Fine Arts, people tended to know each other.
"What if we can't find someone for the nude?" Carol began with a blush. She was shy. Mark had tried to get her to come out of her shell at a faculty party. It hadn't worked.
Andersen chuckled. "Well, Carol, there's a bunch of students in this class who need a model too. You can help each other out. You're not shy are you?"
A low rumble of chuckles was the answer. Mark smirked to himself, tapping the ends of his pencil on the outline sheet, drumming away distractedly.
"In all seriousness, I usually hire a model to sit for the class on three occasions. If you want to work independently, or if you miss those sittings, you're on your own, but we'll compare schedules and it shouldn't be a problem."
There was a general murmur of assent, and then Andersen clapped his hands together. "Well, that's all I wanted to cover. Dismissed for the day. We'll reconvene next Thursday for the seminar conversation on the Surrealists. Remember, participation does count."
With the professor's dismissal, there was the hum of motion as people began to gather their belongings and leave for the day. Mark stuffed his own outline into his bag and hopped up. He always sat near the back and with a quick step he was out for the day.
-----
The Underground, the student pub, was quiet that Friday. Mark leaned back against post, surveying the line idly as his friend Tony checked the driver's licenses of two Frat Boys to make sure that they were legal to enter. Mark looked down the line, which was remarkably sedate.
"What event is this again?" Mark asked Tony idly.
"Drama club," Tony grunted in reply as he nodded the two frat boys through. "They're celebrating the launch of their annual play."
"Oh," Mark said, looking down the line. Things were shaping up to be a dull night. "Lot of frat boys though," he remarked.
"Yeah," Tony affirmed. "I think one of the sororities has some girls in the cast, so..."
Mark shrugged. He turned slightly to peer into the club, looking over the main room. The dance floor was lifeless, except for a circle of kids in baggy clothing who were talking amongst themselves. Mark figured them for crew. A few more people were hanging around the bar.
"Hey, who's that?" Mark asked suddenly, his eyes caught on a tall blonde at the pool tables.
Tony leaned back, poking his head in the door. "Dunno," he answered. "Nice ass though."
Mark couldn't help but agree. The tall blonde did have a remarkably nice posterior. She wasn't quite thin enough to be called slender, but she was well toned with shapely legs and a narrow waist. Mark could tell she was into fitness. Her curves, on the other hand, were just short of buxom, with a chest that showed even through a loose blazer and a round rump. Her hair was pale as platinum and up in a French twist at the back of her head. She had a pert nose and full mouth, with high cheek bones illustrating piercing arctic blue eyes.
What really caught Mark's attention, though, was her style. Most of the girls around The Underground either dressed in miniskirts and knee high leather boots that screamed "Fuck me!" or else baggy sweaters and jeans or pajama pants that screamed "I just got out of bed." The platinum haired girl, on the other hand, wore nicely fitted black slacks that showed off her generous length of leg and gorgeous behind. Her white blouse was low cut enough to allow for a peek of cleavage whenever she bent over the pool table, but she had tossed on a stylish black blazer jacket that added respectability. She looked classy and sleek without being preppy.
After a moment of staring, Mark tapped Tony's shoulder. "Hey, I'm going to go over and introduce myself," Mark told his partner.
"Good hunting, bro," Tony replied. "I got your back."
Mark began to cross over to the pool table. Suddenly, a sharp smash of glass came from behind him. He turned and saw Evan, another bouncer, motioning for him to come to the side room.
A couple of the frat boys had been in a drinking competition and had smashed their beer bottles on the floor. Evan and Mark hustled them out of the pub, and then cleaned up the mess.
By the time Mark got back to the main room, the girl was gone.
-----
Mark dashed up the stairs to the Fine Arts building. He ran through the halls towards the gallery room. A couple of his classmates were coming out and leaving. Mark ducked inside, breathing heavily.
A massive man was in the center of the room. He would have towered over Mark and he was heavy with muscle. He was only wearing his jeans, but he was tugging a t-shirt on as well.
"Well, well," a voice joked to Mark. "I'm beginning to think you don't want to paint Mr. Santos."
"Professor Andersen!" Mark exclaimed. "I'm so sorry I'm late. I got caught up in a study group."
Andersen nodded sympathetically. "Well, I think you've missed this sitting as well."
Mark groaned. Between two late shifts at work and his study group, he'd missed all three sittings for the nude. "Is there any chance I can get him to stay a couple minutes more?" Mark said, jerking his thumb at Santos.
Santos hiked his gym bag over his shoulder and was striding up the aisle towards the exit. "Sorry, dude," he rumbled at Mark. "But I got to get to my practice." With that, the huge man lumbered out.
Mark groaned again. "Is there any chance I can get another sitting?" he asked Andersen desperately.
"Now, you know Mark, I've only got a limited budget for these things," Professor Andersen replied dourly. "I can hardly get enough for a fourth sitting for one student."
Mark sighed. The chronic shortage of funds suffered by the Fine Arts program was a topic that every professor had discussed as long as he'd been there. "So what am I going to do?"
"Well, if you'd like, I can pass you Mr. Santos' phone number and you can arrange something independently," Professor Andersen suggested, "Or you can try putting an ad in the school paper."
Mark winced. He really didn't want to paint Santos naked. "I'll try the paper."
-----
Getting an ad in the school paper had proved impossible. The editor had refused because of the paper's strict no adult content policy. He had only allowed Mark's ad to go in as a tiny box on the second to last page, without mentioning nudity. The few applicants he had gotten had refused the second he told them he'd need them to take off their clothes.
Mark had thought about putting up hand bills around the campus, but those needed to be approved by the Student Council. The Student Council was just as adamant about refusing adult content. It wasn't until they received a personal call from both Professor Andersen and the Dean of the Faculty of Fine Arts that they had finally grudgingly agreed to allow Mark to put up one ad sheet in the student lounge in the Fine Arts Building.
After a week, Mark's only response had been a joke e-mail from Tony and Evan. Mark was beginning to get desperate as the deadline loomed closer. He was beginning to seriously consider calling Santos.
Then, finally, he got a little note in his e-mail that read, "Hey, if you're still looking for someone, I'd be willing to help. Sam."
Mark sighed with relief as he shot back a quick response. "Sam, I'm still looking for someone. Let's meet up to talk about it. Mark."
After a brief exchange of e-mails, Sam had agreed to come over to Mark's apartment to meet him in person, and if the terms were right, sit for the painting.
-----
Mark paced about his apartment, rearranging his things and cleaning up the clutter. His apartment was a bachelor's loft. A freight elevator was the main access, aside from the locked door to the stair well. In one corner, he had set up his couch, love seat, and a small television. Near there, he had his bed. His kitchen was a small aside separated by an island. The rest of his apartment was barren except for a few of his paintings that he'd hung.
Fortunately, his loft's west wall was comprised of floor to ceiling windows. In the winter they made the place absurdly chilly. But they let in tons of light and gave Mark a view of some amazing sunsets.
Mark moved to the island, setting up a bottle of wine and two glasses. Suddenly, the intercom buzzed. He paced over to it, pressing the button. "Hello?"
"Hi, it's Sam," a tinny voice replied from the small speaker. Mark pressed the door button.
