Nina worked as an artists' model throughout graduate school to make ends meet. She worked part-time at her university for the fine arts department, sitting for "Painting 101" two mornings a week. Being a nude model was no big deal for her, having been on the other side as an art student. There was a space heater she could use if the room became too cold, and the instructor encouraged her to take frequent breaks to avoid getting stiff, particularly with harder poses. During these breaks, she would don her bathrobe, walk around the room, and chat with the students in the class about how their work was coming along.
One of these students was already an accomplished sculptor who had enrolled the painting class to broaden her skills. She took Nina aside one day and asked if she would be willing to sit for a painter colleague and friend of hers. "She does Georgia O'Keefe-type pieces," the student said, "except not with flowers. And she pays pretty well." Learning that this painter friend paid almost twice as much per hour as the university, Nina eagerly agreed to call her up for an interview.
"Hello?"
"Hello. My name is Nina Jameson. I got your phone number from Chloe. She mentioned that you were looking for models."
"Yes, Nina. I'm glad you called. I'm Janice Rainwater. Chloe has told me wonderful things about you! Do you have time this afternoon to stop by at my studio?"
"I can stop by after my seminar at, say, around three o'clock?"
"Perfect! Take the number five bus downtown to the 36th avenue stop. My studio is on the fifth floor of the Pillsbury Building."
When Nina arrived at the door of Janice's studio, she was greeted by the familiar, comforting aroma of oil paint. Nina knocked, and a woman who appeared to be in her early forties answered the door. The woman's impossibly thick black hair that she wore loose and long had streaks of gray here and there like ripples in a deep river, and her forehead and jawline were strong but not hard. She had the smoothest olive complexion that Nina had ever seen, and there were soft creases at the corners of her large brown eyes.
"Nina!" she beamed. "I feel like I know you already!" Janice's manner was at once friendly and energetic, and instead of shaking Nina's hand, she extended her arms for a bear hug. "How are you?"
"I'm well. And you?" Nina asked as she accepted the hug. She liked Janice immediately.
"Never been better! Come on in, come in!"
Janice's studio was an impressive, but not imposing, space. It was the airy, open penthouse suite of a building that otherwise consisted of offices. Along one wall were framed newspaper reviews and photographs of the crowd at various exhibition openings. Nina felt vaguely embarrassed that she was only learning of this accomplished painter only now. Janice poured Nina a cup of hot, soothing tea and directed her to the other part of her studio.
"This is my work-in-progress," she waved to the canvases arranged in controlled disarray, propped up along the walls. Chloe was right. They were like Georgia O'Keefe's paintings, except unlike O'Keefe, Janice made no attempt to hide the fact that her work depicted giant vulvas. There must have been at least a dozen of them, all of varying size, shape, and coloration.
