"Oh Momma, it was hard enough to stand naked in front of Tony while he drew me, but when he touched me . . ."
"Touched you? What are you talking about, Leigh? Stop sniveling like a child and talk sensibly."
I wiped my eyes quickly and sat on the bed facing her. Then I quickly explained what Tony had been doing and why he said he was doing it. She listened attentively, her face barely changing expression. All that she really did was narrow her eyes some and pull her mouth in slightly at the corners.
"Is that all?" she asked when I was finished. She returned to her vanity table.
"All? Isn't it enough?" I cried.
"But he hasn't done anything to you, has he? You said yourself he tried to make you comfortable each time. He sounds very considerate to me," she said and started to turn back to the mirror.
"But Momma, does he have to touch me to paint me and create the model?"
"It's understandable," she said. "I once read about this blind man who sculpted beautiful things using only his sense of touch."
"But Tony isn't blind!" I protested.
"Nevertheless, he's only trying to enhance his senses," she said and put on her lipstick. "What you're doing is wonderful . . . for both of you. He seems so involved, so pleased. To tell you the truth, Leigh," she said turning back to me, "before he got involved with this project, I thought he was going to drive me mad. He was at my door night and day, demanding my attention. I never realized how possessive he was and how much he needed to be occupied. A man like T
ony could exhaust one woman to death!" she declared. Then she smiled. "Just think about the doll and what it will mean. Everyone will be talking about them and about you."
"Momma, I have been thinking about the doll and the pictures Tony has painted."
"So?"
"They're . . . they're not right."
"I can't believe that, Leigh. I know Tony's a fine artist; I've seen some of the things he's done."
"I'm not saying he's not a fine artist, Momma. He has drawn my face well and the picture really looks like me, but . . ."
"But? But what? You're not making any sense and we have to get ourselves ready for dinner," she said, her face twisting with anger.
"The rest of me doesn't look like me. It looks like you!" I cried. She stared at me a moment. Relief rushed like a wave over me. Finally she understood why I was so upset. But suddenly, she smiled.
"That's wonderful," she declared. "Absolutely marvelous."
"What?"
"How clever. He's combining both of us into this wonderful new work of art. Why, I guess it was to be expected--the man is completely obsessed with me. He has me on his mind night and day," she said playing with her hair. Then she turned back to me. "You must not blame him for it, Leigh. He simply can't help it.
"Now you can understand why I run away sometimes, why I need relief, why he must be distracted by one thing or another. It's so difficult for a woman when a man literally worships the ground she walks upon." She sighed. "Sometimes, I long for him to be more like your father."
She looked at her diamond watch. "You're not going to dinner dressed like that, are you? Put something more formal on tonight. These people are very wealthy and important. I'd like you to make a good impression." She looked at herself in the mirror again.
"Then you think everything is all right?" I asked her.
"Everything? Oh, yes, of course. Don't be a baby about this, Leigh. It's not going to be that much longer before Tony is finished and hopefully on to other things that will consume his energies just as much." She paused, looked at me a moment, and then got up and went to her jewelry box to choose her rings.
I rose slowly from the bed and started out. When I looked back, I saw her shaking her head at her first choice. She had already put our conversation to sleep.
Perhaps my mother did say something to Tony about our discussion, because when we returned to the cottage the next day, he refrained from touching me. In fact he became more and more intense about his work, at times giving me the feeling he wasn't actually looking at me; he was looking at some image in his mind and simply staring in my direction. We spoke little until we broke for lunch and even then, he was distracted, getting up often to check something on the canvas and then returning to the table.
He spent almost half a day on my feet and hands, studying and measuring, often muttering to himself as he contemplated his drawings. One afternoon, I grew bored and actually fell asleep for a few minutes. If he had noticed, he said nothing. ly the end of the first week, he had drawn and painted me from all angles.
Every night at dinner the work was the main topic of conversation, even when we had guests; although I noticed Tony and my mother left out the fact that I was posing in the nude.
I didn't complain again to my mother about posing, but I couldn't help wishing it would all soon come to an end. Then at the beginning of the second week, Tony announced he would start the actual sculpting and create the model for the doll. Since the paintings were completed I wondered why he needed me.