Drawing Allegra

Are you cringing in your seat for me? I certainly would be. God this guy is nuts. I know. I went out the next day to an art supply store, buying some artist pencils and some quality paper, figuring it wouldn't be right to show up with some 8 ½ by 11 that I'd stolen from my roommate's printer. All I had to do was get through the day.

As it got closer to 7:30 I found myself talking myself in and out of my plan. First I was going. Then I wasn't. Then I was. Then I couldn't. Then I had to.

When I arrived at the studio there was no sight of Allegra. Men and women of various ages started filling in with their supplies. Settling at stations that formed a semi-circle around a platform, where presumably Allegra would be modeling.

I found the instructor, a middle-aged guy with sort of shaggy hair and round wire-rimmed glasses. I was about to ask him how Yoko was doing, but figured I was in enough trouble as it was without patronizing the instructor. Instead I set down at an easel, getting out my newly purchased materials and waited. As the minutes rolled by and the clock finally read 7:30 I started to get nervous. What if Allegra had something come up? What if I'd just invested 50 bucks in seeing an overweight fifty-year-old guy do squats in the buff for two hours. No, that's just silly.

Then I saw her. She walked into the room wearing this printed silk robe that fell just above her knees. The instructor began talking about how the class would be set up, and something about the lighting and use of contour and some other artsy shit. Allegra's eyes wandered around the classroom and finally met mine. I'd stopped listening to John Lennon's shpiel ages ago, and now not only was I going to be clueless as to how to get through the next two hours, I realized that she looked very, very upset. Fuck. I felt myself cringing inwardly as the color drained out of her face. She looked terrified and she narrowed her eyes at me in a way that made me want to crawl under the easel and die. I thought about just getting up and racing out. But eventually she looked away, and walked over to the platform and listened as the instructor coached her on the beginning gesture poses with which she would start.

Then the robe came off. This is where the night gets a little fuzzy. The instructor had Allegra doing a series of quick poses at first that only lasted a couple of minutes. I had no fucking clue what I was doing. All I could do was look at her. Eventually I started to notice the people around me actually sketching. I followed suit and started making uncertain lines on the paper. Trying to copy her form and follow the lines of her motions. Did I mention I fucking suck at drawing? My stupid lines and shading were not doing this Botticellian masterpiece in front of me any justice.

I'd always noticed her long, graceful legs, but I'd never imagined how beautiful the curve of her thigh was, and what amazing sight lay at the apex of them. She was right about one thing. This format really made you focus on every little detail of the "subject's" body. I realized that the five or so other men's eyes in the class were also locked on Allegra's body. Studying her every little curve. Every freckle and flaw. But I bet they weren't fighting off erections. This is what they did. They were artists. I sighed to myself and looked down briefly at my own crotch. "Don't even try it, Merman," I thought to myself. Who's that, you're asking? It's rather embarrassing. Hell, this whole story is embarrassing so fuck it, I'll tell you.

One day an ex-girlfriend and I were goofing around on the computer with a link she'd found on a friend's page that gave you a generated penis nickname. We browsed through the postings of people's automated names and found ourselves laughing at the various descriptions. Some of them were embarrassing, and others weren't half bad. After a little goading she got me to plug my name into the generator, and what popped back at us I will never forget for the rest of my life. This stupid fucking widget was telling me my "ultimate penis nickname" was "Ethel Merman the Unconventional Weapon of Mass Destruction." Two hours later when I picked my girlfriend off the floor and she finally stopped laughing, I decided we would never mention that name again. But all she had to do when we were in a tense mood was drop a mention of "Ethel" and I'd crack. Ironically, now, when I'm trying to prevent the threat of getting hard in embarrassing situations or when holding off when I'm too excited, usually all it takes is thinking of this goddamn nickname, and picturing Ethel Merman singing "There's No Business Like Show Business" through the streets of Baghdad, and I'm pretty much all set.

Luckily my lower half was behaving itself. Or at least I wasn't tenting my shorts in front of twelve strangers. And that's pretty much all I could ask for. She changed positions again. She was standing on the platform in the middle of the room, her hips rotated out, her arms criss crossed over her taut stomach. I quickly scribbled down the shape of her head and shoulders, tracing the lines of her long arms. I moved the side of my pencil, shading in certain areas as the light bounced off her body. Her breasts were on the smallish side. I'd already known this, but I hadn't known how much I would like them. I began begging to the gods to not get any more aroused than I already was, as I began sketching her small, upturned tits. They were just big enough that I could imagine easily covering them with my palm, cupping them. Her nipples were also smallish, but slightly puffy, like little rosebuds resting high on her chest.

I coughed out of nervous anxiety, trying to get a hold of myself. We were only twenty minutes in or so. The instructor started weaving his way behind the easels until he rested behind me. I panicked, realizing the jig was up. He was going to know I was just some jack off trying to get a look at this naked girl.

He studied the few sketches I'd done so far and put his finger on his chin, scratching at the creepy little soul patch he had going on.

"This is a really good, you really capture the lighting well. Nice use of shading," he said nodding, moving on to the next person. I tried to stifle a laugh, not knowing how the hell I was pulling this off.

The poses began getting longer and as she stretched into interesting, and seemingly simple positions I started to realize how difficult it must have been for her muscles to stay so still.

By the time the session was nearing its end I was gaining back a little confidence. My drawings weren't half bad to be honest. And I momentarily thought that if a life in academia didn't pan out, I might make an okay artist. Maybe I'd be one of those guys who sketch peoples' portraits on the street. And though Allegra hadn't exactly sent me any warm looks, she hadn't screamed at me to get the fuck out either. She would get up for occasional breaks and stretch her limbs, sometimes put her robe back on for a few minutes and sip at some water. But she didn't look at me.

I suppose if she had smiled at me I could have taken that as a universal sign for "Hey, it's okay that you followed me here to watch me get naked," but instead of smiling she was sort of staring off into the distance at no one in particular with an unreadable expression on her face. Stoic. As you'd expect from someone holding a pose for twenty minutes. The last pose of the night was rather beautiful actually. The instructor had her sitting with her legs stretched out to the side, her upper body turned toward the other side of the class, her head looking back over her shoulder. I studied the long smooth curve of her back. Her narrow shoulders. Her shapely ass. She was stunning. When the instructor told her to adjust her head and look back behind her she rested her eyes on me. Staring straight at me. For twenty fucking minutes.

If her eyes were warm and inviting this might have been nice. But they weren't. Good Lord they were not. Every time I looked back up from my pad I felt like she was stabbing me in the throat with her eyes. This girl was fucking pissed. And I think I could guess why.

At the end of the session we all clapped for Allegra and the instructor left us with some fond parting words. I'm sure most of the people would be returning. I certainly would if I knew every other model was really hot too. I saw Allegra was hurriedly getting her things together and heading into the other room, and I sheepishly gathered up my supplies, trying to catch up with her.

I'd never realized how fast she was until she was trying to escape this damn studio.

"Allegra," I called out to her, following her down the stairs into the lobby of the building. She wasn't stopping.

"Allegra, stop, I'm sorry," I followed her out onto the street. It was pouring.

She stopped and turned. People were passing us on the sidewalk. Smart people. Who carried umbrellas and didn't stalk pretty, naked girls. Nude, I mean.

"What were you doing up there Ethan?" she finally asked. I'd never heard her voice so tense.

"I don't know," I said, realizing in all my genius planning I had never thought of how I would explain this to her. I figured she would understand the implicit message of adoration and love and fall into my arms after the class. Yes, I know. I'm a fucking idiot.

"You don't know?" she asked, sounding like Kathy Bates inMisery.

"Uh, well ever since you told me about you doing this, I thought it would be kind of fun to try a class. I'd figure you'd think it was kind of funny," I said, lying through my teeth. Did I mention I'm a terrible liar?

"Are you kidding me? Ethan, that was so embarrassing. Why would you think it's okay to do that?" she asked, her hair soaked, clinging to her face.

"I don't know. I mean you're posing nude. In public, I didn't think you'd mind if I went to the class," I said, wishing I could take back the words the second I said them. She turned around and kept walking.

"Wait, Allegra, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," I yelled behind her, now actually running after her to catch up.

"Allegra it's pouring. Let me get you cab back to Cambridge," I said, trying to say anything that would make up for acting like such a douche bag.

"I don't need you to get me a cab, and I'm not going back to Cambridge. Now, leave me alone Ethan," she said, crossing the street. I watched as she hailed her own cab.

No, she wasn't going back to Cambridge. She was going to see her boyfriend. I've had some low moments, my friends. But that one: standing there in the rain, watching her cab disappear. That was one of the lowest.

***

The next few days we didn't work together. She didn't answer any of my calls. Or return any text messages. I contemplated going over to her apartment, but ruled that out for fear she'd have a restraining order put on me.

Instead I waited until Friday when I knew we were working together, hoping she wasn't going to switch her shift, or worse. Quit.

We were busy throughout the morning, but by around 11 it was starting to slow down a little. I watched as she walked in for her shift. She greeted our other co-workers smiling, asking how their nights before had been. She walked by me and not a muscle in her face moved.

I tried to get her attention for a while, but she kept walking away. I gave up, resigning myself to the fact that I was going to have to wait out this tide of anger a lot longer.

I walked into the back room and saw her struggling to reach one of the top shelves. Her shirt was riding up her midriff and I could see what box she was trying to reach, but her fingers just barely grazed it.

"Do you need help?" I asked cautiously. She swung around and glared at me, then looked around the rest of the room. Only our manager and one other guy were around and they were out front. I could see her weighing her options.

"Yeah. We need more medium cups," she sighed, pointing to the box that I already knew. I ignored the cups for a second. This was my only window of opportunity.

"Allegra, listen, I really need to talk to you."

"What could you possibly have left to say?" she asked, her mouth tightening.

"That I'm really, so very sorry. What I said the other night was so dumb. And not tru-"

"Did you go there as a joke? What do you want to do? Make fun of me? Tell the other guys we work with that you saw me naked? Tell them where they can find me?" she asked her eyes welling up with tears.

"No!" I said, quickly. Wishing I could touch her. Or hold her. Or kiss her.

"No. I didn't go there as a joke." I couldn't find the right words.

"Do you know how uncomfortable that was for me, Ethan? To have you of all people there without knowing about it. I thought you were my friend, I thought you really cared about me, I th"

"I do care about you Allegra," I said cutting her off. "In fact I'm in love with you. So in love with you that for some reason going to that class the other night somehow seemed like a good idea," I said looking down.

She laughed. Not in a good way.

"Love me, huh? Well, Ethan, you have a really funny way of showing it." She was still angry. Nothing was going to work here. And then I thought of something even dumber than my last great idea.

And what I did next I still don't really believe myself. She was still standing there staring at me with her hot, pouty lips and her scary dagger eyes as I began peeling off my t-shirt. She stared at me, confused, as I began undoing my jeans.

"Ethan, what the hell are you doing?" she asked her voice getting a little higher. I momentarily pondered taking off my sneakers, but then realized they would probably be of help in the case I had to run away naked from the police.

I ignored her, continuing to unzip my jeans, pulling them down my legs, and then pulling off my boxerbriefs, leaving my last articles of clothing in a pool at my feet.

She gaped at me. Standing there, all 6'2 of me completely bare ass naked.

"Medium cups, you said?" I asked her. Trying to play it cool. I walked over to the shelves and reached up, grabbing the large cardboard box, looking up to see that her eyes were following my crotch. I looked down, muttering under my breath,

"If you know what's good for you, Merman, you'll stay the fuck down."

"What?" she asked, looking back up at my face.

"Nothing," I said quickly, pushing past her with the box on my head like one of those sub-Saharan mothers with the baskets of food.

"Ethan, where the fuck are you going? Put some clothes on," she squealed racing up to me, as I headed towards the front.

"No!" she yelled as I passed the doors that separated the kitchen from back room.

What happened next is sort of a blur. I remember thanking the gods that we were relatively empty. Only a few patrons were sitting at tables, one woman was ordering a wrap at the counter and she shot me a look of pure disgust, and maybe a little curiosity, as I cruised up to the counter.

"Ethan, man, what the fuck?" Jeremiah, another guy who works with us asked, jumping back as if I were a leper. Well, I would've done the same thing if a strange naked man came walking up to me.

That's when I saw my manager refilling the coffee station's milk dispenser. And that's when I saw her drop the milk. I walked around the front of the counter towards her, leaving the box at her feet.

"Allegra said we needed cups," I said smiling. And this is where it got really brutal. People had stopped what they were doing. There were no conversations at any of the tables. All eyes were focused on me. I even saw some people outside who'd spied me from the sidewalk and were now watching transfixed up against the windows. Some of them had camera phones out. I wanted to die. Everyone, including Allegra, watched as my little, Italian manager blanched in horror and screamed at me to go back into the kitchen.

I'll spare you all the gory details and expletives my boss fired at me. I was afraid she was going to actually hit me. She went on and on about what could've happened if there were more people in the cafe. Or if there had been children in there. Or cops. Or anyone who'd wanted to call the cops. I tried to explain that it was a joke, a prank (more or less) that I was playing with Allegra (who at this point was nowhere to be found).

She just stared at me with her steely eyes. The woman was less than five feet tall yet I found myself wanting to curl into the fetal position in fear.

Jeremiah walked in to clock out as she was still verbally reaming me, and by this time I was just grasping at straws.

"But, but listen," I said frantically.

"Listen to what? No more listening about your pervy little prank kid, you're fired," she said finally.

"But it's National Nude day. It's practically allowed today. It's a National Holiday," I said, faintly remembering that there actually was such a thing as National Nude day.

"Um, that's not until next week," Jeremiah said, filing past us. I shot him a look.

"How the hell do you know that?"

He simply shrugged and left.

With all the dignity I could muster I handed over my apron and nametag and left. I didn't know where Allegra was. And worst of all I knew I wasn't going to see her again. I'd fucked up. Big time. And some crazy little part of my brain thought that if I put myself through enough public humiliation, she might just know how sorry I was. How much I cared about her. I went for a run. For hours. I was starting to understand how Forrest Gump felt when Jenny up and left, and was starting to contemplate how I'd look with a beard. I spent the rest of the night willing her with my mind to call me. Nothing. I went to bed realizing I had the rest of the summer without a job. But worst of all without her.

***

The next night after no word from Allegra, I finally started to realize I needed to move on. A couple of my buddies had called me, and after the onslaught of initial abuse at the fact that they now knew why I was fired, they urged me to come out to the bars with them, to maybe get my mind off everything. I politely declined. I had the apartment to myself and would rather just call it an early night. Maybe read a little My roommate hadn't been home for a couple of days. This meant he was either at his girlfriend's or in jail. With pretty much an equal chance at both.

I'd just settled into my couch and was about to pour into some 19th century German philosophy when I heard my buzzer. I tried to remember if I'd ordered any food as I walked over.

"Hello?" I asked the little box.

"Hey." I knew this voice. "It's Allegra."

I felt my heart palpitate a little. I think I said something along the lines of "Hey, come on up," but I can't really be sure. Anyway, before I knew it she was knocking. Must have said something intelligible at least.

I let her in, careful not to appear too crazy. We'd had enough of that. She was wearing a simple blank tank top and dark, skinny jeans. Her feet were exposed in her metallic flip flops and her hair was down, falling over her shoulders.

"Do you want a drink?" I asked, watching her from the corner of my eye as she wandered through my living room, touching CDs and picture frames as she went.

"Yes, what do you have?" I didn't quite know myself. I pulled my refrigerator open and gazed at the under stocked shelves.

"Uh, water. Beer. Cranberry juice," I said pausing to look at an unidentified container with a yellow colored liquid in it, "And maybe apple juice. Actually, who knows? It's my roommate's, so I wouldn't trust it. It might be some fake urine sample he's saving or something," I said, realizing she was now right next to me.

"I'll have a beer," she said softly. I took out two and handed her one, her warm knuckles grazing against mine.