I hadnāt done any modeling before, but the "Top dollar" caught my eye and I called. How hard could it be to smile and flip my hair?
The woman answering the phone sounded like sheād been through this drill before. The modeling was for a Life Drawing class, she told me.
"Weāre looking for well-defined muscular structure. Are you well-toned?" she asked, in her bored monotone.
"Yeah, I just told you, Iām a dancer"ä She ran down the rest of the requirements. "No sweat," I said. "So I just gotta stand there?"
"Stand or sit. Itās really up to the instructor," she said.
"Street clothes, okay?"
"Thatās fine. Theyāre coming off, anyway," she replied, matter-of-factly.
"Huh? I donāt get you."
"Life Drawing requires the students to draw a nude body. No clothes."
"Oh...yeah. I knew that."
Guyās gotta eat, right?
The drinking fountain water had that old copper penny taste, but I drank it. My stomach was bothering me and I hoped it would thin out the bile from the night before.
I stood outside the art class door, wearing a tattered blue robe, nervous and excited, the two feeling blending into each other. It was the same feeling I always have before I perform.
It was the same feeling I had two days ago, my last night with the dance company.
My knee was killing me and I was on in three hours.
I knew that a couple of pain pills this early wouldnāt affect my performance, so I took them, wrapped my knee in ice and laid back on my couch with it elevated.
It worked like a charm. The audience got everything they paid for and we got three encores.
I was the dance. I felt no pain.
And then the bastards fired me.
I took a breath, opened the door and walked in. Another week of this and Iād be on a plane back to New York -- right in time for Christmas. Back to dancing. Back to Jessica.
