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taste
for a strong hand pulling her hair and forcing her legs apart. The possibility
tightened my jaw, my stomach, my groin. If these jeans had been fitted at all,
the ridge of my growing curiosity would have been obvious to everyone.
    “You don’t have to sign
a release.”
    Again, in unison, Iva
and Stan chirped, “What?”
    Without looking at my
assistant, I held my hand up to silence Stan’s questions in favor of Iva’s.
    “So you will give me
Cheri’s release form,” she asked, “and all I have to do is model for you? You
won’t be able to use the photos of either of us, because you won’t have model releases for us? Right?”
    “Exactly, but we’re
talking a full photo session, not a few test shots. Makeup, costuming, a real
effort at posing. My offer will be as sincere as your performance.”
    Iva hesitated, then
shook her head no and folded her arms. “I’m not posing nude or even topless. I
work at a university. If anyone saw me—”
    “Nothing more revealing
than a swimsuit would be,” I promised. “Besides, you’re not going to sign a
model release, right? So I can’t use them. No one else will ever see them.”
    “What, you want
private….?”
    I’d have bet she meant
to say “wanking material”, before she restrained herself, and I let a little
smile flash briefly along my lips, one brow perking before dipping down
seriously again. If that’s what she wanted to think, needed to think to help
her preserve her dislike of me, I could let her have that for a bit longer.
Plus, that might have made it all the easier to take her off guard later.
    Shrugging, I said,
“That’s the deal. You model for me, one session, no model release required. At
the end, I hand over Cheri’s release to you. But heaven help you when she finds
out.”
    “Nolan,” Stan groaned.
“Why do you have to make life hard?”
    “When?” Iva whispered,
her hands twisting the newspaper tight.
    “Tonight.”
    Stan threw up his hands
and spun away from Iva and me. “Unbelievable.”
    “I’m not signing a
model release,” Iva stated again, each word issued clearly and forcefully.
    I nodded. “You said
that already. I’ll call you when I’m ready for you.”
    It seemed to take a
second for the whole conversation, the weight of it, to sink in for Iva. Then
it took a couple seconds more for her to realize the bargain was set, done, end
of discussion, business concluded. She could leave, shuffling back two steps
before pivoting toward the door in her polished Oxford heels, while I watched.
Stan opened the door, letting the thumping beat of the music in and Iva out.
All the while, he was giving me that Oliver Hardy “look what you’ve done now”
stare.
    Iva wasn’t quite gone
yet when I called out to her, “But you will sign the release.”
     
    IVA
    I must have spent ten
minutes standing at the end of the concrete walk that neatly divided the
perfectly trimmed square hedges in front of my townhouse. Today it seemed a
prosaically tidy little box. My boring, sensible shoulder bag dangled from the
curled fingertips of one hand, the other knotted in a weak fist. My clothes, my
hair, my attitude all just hung on me, feeling lank and dirty and damp. I had
no energy left, not even any anger.
    The day had been
nothing but a downhill slide from the moment The VV had landed on my desk.
Worrying all day about Cheri, pretending not to notice Mitsy’s non-stop glaring, suffering pushy or whiny students on the phone and cursing
through paper cuts while sneezing convulsively after Old Owl Eyes sent me to
the musty dusty basement for files she didn’t really need.
    Next door, past another
hedge border, the screen smacking on the frame made me look up. Pop stood at
the top of the concrete steps, motioning me over with the curl of his tanned
fingers. Only my grandfather tanned in winter, with his combination of Gallic
and Mediterranean blood. His complexion set a deep contrast to the gray sweats
he wore on his barrel-chested,