"And our female model tonight will be... Megan."
At the sound of her own name, Megan Millar felt as though a gigantic chasm had opened beneath her feet and swallowed her whole. All the students who'd turned for that particular Thursday evening's art class had been persuaded -- eventually -- to put themselves forward as replacements for their scheduled life model, whose car battery had apparently died twenty miles down the motorway, but Megan never really believed Lady Luck would desert her so spectacularly.
Nor was she the only one. Moments earlier, their tutor -- an attractive brunette in her late thirties who dismissed any address more formal than "Janice" -- had reached into the cardboard box hastily pressed into service as a tombola and extracted a tiny shred of paper bearing the words "Simon Layne". Despite her own bombshell, Megan still felt a tiny pang of sympathy for the poor guy: he'd missed the first two classes and had been press-ganged into this lottery within minutes of walking through the double-doors.
Her initial shock gradually receding, the twenty year-old redhead's mind began to race through her options. She could simply refuse and walk out, obviously, but that would merely pass the grenade on to one of her fellow students and scupper any chance Megan had of completing the course. Plus, as Janice pointed out when she proposed everyone throw their name into the box, it would be pretty hypocritical for any artist to balk at posing nude when they all expected the models she booked each week to shed their clothes without a second thought. To make it ever fairer, her own name would go in with the rest and there'd be one "volunteer" selected from each gender.
It was only as Megan walked over to join Simon by the entrance to the annexe which doubled as stock cupboard and models' changing room that it dawned upon her this final twist had doubled the odds she'd spend the evening displaying virtually every intimate inch of her body to the other students. The fact she'd kept it reasonably well toned that summer as a member of her local swimming club came as scant consolation: Megan was certain she'd put on a few pounds since the holidays and had never felt all that confident about her appearance even before then.
"Simon, Megan, please follow me." Their tutor's tone was warm, but with a steel undercurrent which left no room for argument. Once all three were in the storeroom and out of their classmates' earshot, Janice smiled and gestured for her new models to make use of the two wooden stools stacked in the nearest corner. Megan welcomed the opportunity to sit down: her legs were feeling more and more like jelly as the weight of her predicament sank in. Heaven knows what her brother Jack -- let alone their parents - would say if he knew his kid sister was moments away from parading stark naked in front of a bunch of relative strangers.
Janice continued: "Look, I know this has all come as a bolt from the blue, but you're really helping me out and I'll make sure everyone knows not to mention anything that happens tonight outside these four walls. Not that you'll have any reason to be embarrassed..." For a moment, the older woman's smile grew more wistful, as though her thoughts were far distant. "When I was about your age, I did a bit of modelling myself -- a few sessions for a photographer I knew, and some for an art class just like this -- and I have to say the money I made proved bloody helpful when the rent was due."
"So, are
we
getting paid?" Hearing Simon's East Coast accent for the first time momentarily startled Megan -- she hadn't realised he was American -- but she was relieved to detect from its slight tremor that he was as nervous as she. His question also provided an excuse to take a longer account of the newcomer: a couple of inches taller than either woman, with shoulder-length auburn hair, general good looks and a light tan. Not exactly a
Baywatch
physique, Megan decided, but he definitely wouldn't be out of place fronting one of those boy bands whose posters were regularly plastered all over her cousin Kylie's bedroom.
Simon's interjection obviously caught Janice by surprise, too, and she responded with a gentle laugh. "I don't see why not. I'll simply split the fee I was going to pay our original model. Twenty quid each okay with you two?"
Megan and Simon both nodded, neither having any true idea if this was a fair rate, but each reckoning the extra cash might go some way to making themselves feel better about the position they'd been landed in. If nothing else, Simon thought, he could head down the pub afterwards and drown those brain cells containing any memory of the evening's events.
Janice moved back towards the doorway, but turned one last time before disappearing from view. "Our models usually bring their own dressing-gown, but that won't be a problem, will it? Oh, and look in the drawer behind the spare easels. See you in ten minutes." With that, they were alone.
Intrigued by Janice's departing remarks, Simon shifted the easels to one side, opened the drawer and lifted a half-full bottle of scotch into view. "I guess even professionals need a little Dutch courage once in a while. Care to join me in a shot before the show begins?" he chuckled, waving the bottle at Megan. "Lucky I'm not still back home. I'd be underage."
For the first time since their names had been pulled out of the box, his classmate smiled. "Good job we're in England, then. Are there any glasses?"
"None I can see, but I'm sure I read somewhere that alcohol kills all known germs." Simon unscrewed the cap, took a hefty swallow and fought to avoid choking as he passed the bottle to Megan, who managed half a mouthful before she felt her throat burn and hurriedly handed the whisky back.
