"Listen, that's your real name." Jack's voice trailed off.
I rolled my eyes. "I may be a little whore, but I'm not a fake." I crossed my arms over my chest, offended.
Jack touched my arm. "Okay, that was a stupid thing for me to say, I'm sorry. But you can't be too careful around here. Lots of bad things could happen, sweetheart." He called me that as though I were a child, innocent, inexperienced, silly.
I stomped my foot. "I think I'm pretty well-versed in the ways of the world, thank you very much." Jack cocked his head to one side, his eyes smiling.
"Perhaps you are well-versed, as you say, in the way of sex, but of real life.I don't know about that, Celeste." He grinned, knowing that he had insulted me. I was getting bored.
"All right, Jack, I'll bite. Why do you want me to pose for you? Like the breasts?" I thrust them in his face. He turned away, distancing himself from me a bit.
"Not particularly." His comment stung. I had never been turned down by a man Jack was quite interesting.
"Well," he continued, "You are quite beautiful, but there is someone else." I couldn't help feeling a little jealous. I thought he noticed from the smirk on his face. "I wanted to paint you not only because you intrigue because I think you could learn something, make something of yourself. I'll pay you. Seven dollars an hour." My ears perked up at that, but still, I shrugged my shoulders,unsure. Jack moved closer to me, and I could make out his face under the pale moonlight. Dark eyes, and shaggy hair, a sort of reddish-brown. Like a true artist, I thought.
"Okay," I mumbled, keeping my eyes on the ground.
"What was that?" Jack asked loudly. I shook. His voice was so deep.
"I said yes, I'll pose for you." Jack smiled slowly.
"Wonderful." And he sauntered off. I suddenly thought of something.
"Jack!" I called after him. He turned. "What will my boss think of all this?"
"Just tell him that you're pleasing me," Jack replied, "that we have a deal. And if he wants to know more, he can call me." Jack didn't give her a number. She figured that he wouldn't.
"Meet me here tomorrow night at seven," Jack said, making it sound almost like a command, "We'll get started."
Why here, I wanted to ask. Why would he want to paint me in a dance hall? It seemed silly, strange. But artists did all sorts of crazy things, so I would just play along.
"All right," I replied, "Seven. Oh, here's your coat." I walked over to give it to him. He smirked.
"Keep it, you'll freeze." I nodded.
"Thank you." And then he was gone. Until seven.