Picture Me Naked (Stoddard Art School Series) Read online

  “Jagger? Is that you? How are you?”

  “Just wanted to check in. Let you know I’m still alive.”

  “Did you call you-know-who?”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Yep. Soon as she heard my voice, she hung up.”

  “She’s still upset.”

  Jagger shook his head. “I get it. She’s madder than a cut snake. I understand. But…”

  “You need to give her a little more time. You broke her heart, but she loves you, you know that. Just give her some more time.”

  He stood listening. His frustration swelled. “How many times do I need to apologize to her? It’s been three damn years!” His shout echoed off the high ceilings. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you, ducky. She just makes me crazy. Did she get the birthday card I sent?”

  “Yes, last week. Saw the airmail stamp, called you a lopsided bull bollock and tossed it straight in the bin.” Her giggle tinkled through the phone line. He forced a laugh for both their sakes.

  “Well, she didn’t throw it in the fire this time. The trash bin could be a sign she’s thawing.” He tried to laugh again, but hearing her voice on the line was starting to make him homesick. He missed her. He missed them both…so much.

  After a silent pause, she asked gently, “So, how are things going?”

  “Things are good. I’m working two gigs now. With any luck, I’ll be moving on in three or four months, tops.”

  “I can’t keep up with you. Where are you this time?”

  “Little town called Stoddard, New Hampshire.”

  “Your last email said you were trying for a lifeguard job.”

  “That didn’t pan out. Got here too early for the beach crowd. There’s still a bit of snow here. I’m a model.” He took a breath, and waited for the inevitable fall out. He heard her snort. Here it comes.

  “What? You? A model? That’s hysterical.”

  “Don’t be laughing at me, girlie. There’s an art school here. Get to be bare as a gorilla’s butt, too.”

  “You’re posing naked!” She choked.

  “It’s good money.” Jagger had to raise his voice so she could hear him over her raucous laughter. “And hell, it kills two birds. I can run tunes in my head and work on my songs while I’m sittin’ there having my arse drawn by some very cool artists.” Z.Z. Lambert’s face flashed in his mind. She could sketch him all she wanted.

  The grandfather clock in the corner chimed the half hour. “Hey, I—”

  His sister was still tittering on about his modeling. How she wasn’t surprised. How he used to torture their mum by running about the back garden in his all together and strip off his clothes every chance he got. How his balls must be made of solid brass. “Hey, Mick, I gotta hang up now. This is the boss’s dime. I just wanted to tell you where I was.”

  “Okay, Lady Godiva. You didn’t answer my last email. You promised you’d keep in touch no matter what. Too busy forgetting how to fasten your fly?”

  “You’re so bloody funny. No, my laptop died, and I’m not buying another one. Not yet. I can probably find a computer at the school I can use. Don’t worry, I’ll write and tell you all about it. If you need to reach me in a hurry, call me here or leave me a message at the Stoddard School of Art.”

  “I’d like to hear from you more now that you’re settled again, okay? I can’t wait to hear all about this new job.” He heard her take a deep sigh. “I miss you so much.”

  “I know. I miss you, too.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, sis. Bye.”

  Jagger hung up the phone and moved back to the window. Never failed. Just hearing her voice dragged up the last three years and dumped it all on his head again. His leaving had hurt her. He’d hurt them all; more than some were willing to forgive. Even after all this time.

  He closed his eyes and sighed. He pictured his da’s face, heard his voice. A man’s word is all he has. When you make a promise, you bloody well best be prepared to keep it.

  “At what cost, Da?” He spoke to no one. Should it cost him everything? His family—his home? His future? “Not sure who was more bonkers. You…or me.”

  Jagger left the study in search of Ellie Jackson, the head of domestic affairs at the Harding estate. It was a self-imposed title. She hated the word housekeeper, and insisted her staff refer to her in the proper regard. To the rest of the staff she was a stern taskmaster, but not to him. He found her wiping at nonexistent dust in the spotless foyer.

  “Hey, Ms. Ellie, make sure you tell me how much that phone call just cost, and I’ll give you some money.”

  She swatted at him with her rag. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Mr. Harding doesn’t mind the occasional long distance call.”

  “Might when the call’s to Australia. I’ll feel better paying for it. Keeps me honest.”

  “Whatever you want, Jagger. That’s very considerate of you. Are you hungry?”

  “I’m always hungry.”

  “Didn’t you have a proper breakfast before you headed off this morning?”

  He shook his head. “Had me a dingo’s breakfast.”

  “I just love your sayings. What’s a dingo’s breakfast?”

  “You know—a yawn, a scratch, and a good look ’round.” Jagger smiled and winked.

  She swatted at him again, laughing. “That’s no breakfast.”

  “No worries. I grabbed an apple or two for the road.”

  Ellie tsked at him and took his arm. “Come, I’ll fix you something.”

  “You do know the way to a man’s heart, don’t you? If I was a little younger, I’d be fighting Mr. Jackson and begging you to run off with me instead.” He tugged on the tails of her apron bow and watched as she blushed all the way to the roots of her blue rinsed hair.

  “You’re just a rascal, you know it?” She retied her apron around her generous middle. “What do you want to eat? I’ve got some casserole left over from last night, or I could whip you up some eggs.”

  Jagger took a seat at a wide oak worktable that stretched through the middle of the huge kitchen. Ellie stood with her hand on the handle of a twin-door, stainless fridge that was bigger than his van. “I wouldn’t say no to one of your sandwiches.”

  “I’ll make you two.” She smiled.

  “Throw in one of those brownies.” He nodded toward the pan cooling on the table. The smell of chocolate was making his mouth water. “And you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  ****

  By the time he got back to the caretaker’s cabin, Jagger was full to bursting and carrying a sack of goodies from Ellie’s kitchen. The woman kept telling him he needed more meat on his bones. At least he wouldn’t go hungry working here. Ellie Jackson was good people.

  Jagger pulled a small beat-up suitcase from beneath his bed. Flipping the thumb latches on either side and opening the lid, he laid a gentle hand on an inlaid wooden box tucked inside before grabbing a bundle of notebooks, and worn manila envelopes. He made a notation in a ledger of sorts and pulled a $20 bill from one envelope that read FOOD and slipped it into an envelope that read PHONE. Both calls together hadn’t lasted more than ten minutes. That should cover it. And Ellie just slimmed his grocery budget by at least that much. Good deal. He may just be ahead.

  Opening up a calendar, Jagger counted weeks, and scribbled some figures in a corner. If he could cut back more on food, he’d make it to France by early fall. He might hit it right for the vineyard harvests and buy himself an extra week in Paris. That might just work. He packed everything back into the suitcase and gave the inlaid box another pat before latching the satchel closed and sliding it under his bed once more.

  Jagger wiped at a smudge of dirt on his hand. The black smudged cheek of Z.Z. Lambert flashed in his mind making him smile. He’d been real lucky since he’d struck out on his own. He’d met some great folks along the way. Now look at him, he was rubbin’ elbows with artists. Hell, he couldn’t draw a straight line to save himself, but that Zee had some real talent. />
  Okay, so she was a bit chilly round the edges, but she had a great mouth. Her lower lip had this sexy little dip. Very nice. Nice ass, too. Jagger smiled to himself. Wouldn’t say no to spending time getting to know her better. Then he remembered what she’d done to his sketch.

  What was it with him and thawing out women who’d rather see him tossed into the trash bin?

  Chapter Four

  Friday morning Zee stood at the counter of her tiny kitchen drinking tea and eating a slice of wheat toast with a whisper of peanut butter. The early sun spilled through the windows over the sink. She liked her bright, itty-bitty kitchen. Everything about her apartment was itty-bitty, including the rent. The big selling point according to the rental agent, after she recovered from a near-coronary climbing five flights of stairs, was the roof. The roof? She couldn’t be serious.

  Looking out on it now as the sun rose, Zee still couldn’t see its value. In the summer, it was blistering out there. Any plants she placed out on its black tarred surface shriveled and died within a week. It was a desert. No shade. In the winter months, it was just another place to hold snow. It reminded her of an empty parking lot.

  Isabella rubbed around Zee’s legs in her usual morning greeting before she leapt up, sat prettily on the windowsill and gave herself a bath in a sunbeam. Mid-lick of one paw, she looked up, blinked her round green eyes and meowed. Zee followed the direction of the cat’s stare, just as she caught a whiff of Chanel No.5.

  “Morning, Nana.”

  “You need to eat more than that. How about some juice? Or a piece of fruit?”

  “No thanks, Nan. I’m not hungry. Besides, I’m trying to lose a few pounds.”

  “Nonsense, you’re skin and bones.”

  “Have you seen my ass?” After the other day, she’d given her rear end way too much thought. Damn Jagger. Twice she’d caught herself trying to catch a reflection of her butt in a mirror. Zee set her dirty plate into the sink and brushed the crumbs from her fingers.

  “Don’t say ass to your grandmother.”

  “Sorry, Nan.”

  “How are your drawings coming?”

  Zee shrugged. “Pretty good.” Wednesday’s class had been great. Jagger inspired some amazing sketches. His body was just so…so fine. Leah’s new word was scrumptious. He still made Zee feel like she was standing on shifting sand. That smile of his made certain parts of her body pulse yes while her head shouted a definite NO!

  After witnessing the scene with Ed, Jagger seemed even more interested. He was a huge flirt. When she packed up her things at the end of the day on Wednesday, she found he’d left her one of his apples as a treat. If he started leaving chocolate, she was in trouble.

  “I peeked at your sketch pad,” Nana continued. “They’re excellent.”

  “You were always prejudiced.” But Nan was right. Jagger made the work easy. It was as if his body was built just for her, as if she’d meant to draw him her whole life.

  Zee left the kitchen and gathered her things as well as her thoughts. She hated that Jagger made her so distracted. She needed to focus. Living five flights up was the perfect incentive for not being forgetful. She looked over the small pile by the door. “What am I missing? Oh, yes, my water bottle.” She snagged one from the fridge as she slipped a huge black sweatshirt over her head.

  “Are you off to class again this morning?” Nana followed her.

  “You know I am.”

  “Is that what you’re wearing? Why don’t you wear something pretty? You’re such a lovely girl, if you’d only try a little harder, you could be a real beauty. At least wear something that tells people you’re a girl.”

  Zee stuck out her foot and revealed her pink high top sneaker. “See the pink? Girl.”

  “Oh, Zee,” Nan said with disappointment. “I left you money so you could buy yourself some nice things, and live in a nice place. You should get out there and live a little.”

  “What do you mean? I live. I’m just trying to be frugal. Don’t worry. Someday I’ll buy a tiny little island so I can be the happy recluse I’m meant to be.”

  “Sounds terribly lonely to me. How about a little company?”

  Zee shook her head. “I have Isabella…and you. And there’s always Mom. Plus, I have my work. What more do I need?”

  “I was talking about male company.”

  Zee pulled her riotous hair back into a loose knot at her nape. “I knew what you were talking about. You can save your breath.”

  “What about the hunky boy?”

  “Hunky boy? You mean Jagger Jones?”

  “Is that his name? I like him.”

  “How do you know Jagger?”

  “I told you, I peeked at your sketch pad. Great ass.”

  You can say that again. Zee’s body and her brain bickered again. She shook her head. “Hey, if I can’t say ass, neither can you.”

  “But he has a nice one. At least you’ve drawn him one.”

  If you think that’s good, you should see his… Whoa. “I can’t have this discussion with my grandmother. I need to get to class.” Zee slipped the strap of her book bag over one shoulder, closed the door to the apartment, and trotted down the deep square spiral of stairs. Nana always had a way of cutting to the chase. Annoying, but Zee still loved her. She would love her forever.

  Zee waved good morning to her first-floor neighbor, Mrs. Oglethorpe and her ancient poodle, Casanova. Shocking how much green glitter eye shadow one woman could wear before eight o’clock in the morning. It was almost as if Mrs. O. painted in her heavy black eyebrows to give the eye shadow a place to stop.

  Zee smiled as she went to the car. She’d left herself extra time to coerce George into starting, and made it to the second-floor studio with oodles of time to spare. Yeah. Her favorite easel spot was hers for the taking this morning.

  Big wide windows gave her a great view of the old church next door, letting warm sunshine caress her back as she worked. And, she didn’t have to listen to the drip drip drip of that gross rinse sink. Perfection. Zee set up the easel.

  Closing her eyes, she breathed air deep into her lungs. Ah, she love that smell. All art schools smelled alike. It was the smell of creativity. Someone should sell a candle with this scent. It was a blend of linseed oil and paint and sweat and hope. It mixed the aromas of experimentation, and emotions and gesso on canvas. It always brought Zee back to the days when she was little. Ghosts of art schools past.

  Her mother had been dating some New Age, surrealistic artist. Wasn’t his name Neville? He had talked Mom into sending her off to Saturday morning art lessons at the local high school. Zee knew it was just an excuse to get rid of her for a few hours, but she hadn’t cared. She fell in love with painting and creating her own little worlds where everything was beautiful and colorful and safe.

  Art became her best friend and her escape. She looked forward to those carefree hours of painting when she didn’t have to be the grown up for once. When she didn’t have to remind her mother to buy food for dinner or pay the light bill or be a parent.

  One by one, the other artists arrived for class. Zee respected their set-up rituals and didn’t bother them with more than a good morning smile. Emily arrived first. It was early for her, wasn’t it? She usually flew into the studio at the last minute. She looked adorable today with her short, spiky pixie hair decorated with a little bow. Was she wearing makeup? Odd. Not her usual style. Jessica arrived next, wearing a long skirt and sweater. She looked great, too. Even Geoffrey came in looking very dressed up. What the hell was going on? Did Zee miss some email? Was it class picture day?

  Leah arrived in a mini skirt, boots and a Wonder Woman tee shirt that looked airbrushed on.

  “Morning, Zee.”

  “Look at you. Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A miniskirt and heels? Hot date?”

  “Oh, this old thing? I don’t know, I just felt like wearing something cute today.” Leah smoothed the
front of her skirt.

  “You and everyone else it seems. Look around.” Madeline walked in and Zee choked on a fog cloud of gardenia. “Okay, Madeline’s perfume could knock someone out. What is with all of you today?”

  Leah just gave a little shrug, opened her eyes wide, looking innocent. Zee scanned the room once more. Realization dawned on her like a brick to the head as Genevieve tottered into the classroom wearing red patent leather, peep-toe stilettos. Zee tugged Leah close and whispered, “This is all for our pretty boy Jones, isn’t it?” Leah gave her the same wide-eyed shrug. Zee’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t believe this! What’s wrong with all of you?”

  “Nothing is wrong with any of it. So we tidied up a bit.”

  “Tidied up?” Zee pointed, “Look at Genevieve’s shoes. She’s going to kill herself.”

  “I think they look nice.”

  “You’re not serious. And for what? So Aussie boy will spill some of his 24-carat charm on you? Incredible.” Zee planted her hands on her hips.

  “So what?” Leah fluffed the back of her hair. “It’s not doing anyone any harm. There’s nothing wrong with trying to look pretty every once in a while. You know, you could—”

  Gasping, she held up her hand. “Don’t even go there, Leah. Say it and I swear I’ll never speak to you again.”

  Smoldered, Zee couldn’t believe Leah and the rest of them were jumping through hoops to impress Jagger Jones. They were all crazy! She tried taking a deep, calming breath, but Madeline’s perfume got in the way.

  She checked her watch. Jonesie was ten minutes late…again. Zee forced herself to unclench her jaw and tipped her head from one side to the other to loosen the wooden two by four that had become her neck. She shouldn’t be angry at him for what was happening, but she couldn’t help herself.

  Arms crossed, she checked her watch and stood tapping the toe of her high top. She tried not to glance around the room at the barnyard of feathered chickens all vying for the attention of the new rooster and his handsome you know what.

  Zee unfolded her arms and jerked down the frayed hem of her paint-smeared sweatshirt. She was not jealous. For a split second, she considered that maybe Nana and Leah had a point. If she… No! Anger flashed as common sense regained its hold in her brain. What the hell? Were they piping some invisible gas into the room that made everyone lose their minds? Zee set her jaw, yanked her zipper up tight, and crossed her arms again.