Junie walked with brisk strides, putting one penny-loafered foot in front of the other with all the relentless advance of the early spring day. The flowering trees were in full fragrant bloom, surrounding the library with soft pink shade and an aroma that was almost too heady for such a crisp day; it was like the smell of magnolias kept in the refrigerator. Junie sat on a bench in the rosy shade in front of the library and lit a cigarette. She smoked menthols because she liked the sensation of cool smoke filling her lungs. Junie crossed her legs and watched the people who passed in front of the library.
She watched two fat girls walk down the street with matching armfuls of Vogue magazines. Both were wearing baggy shorts, in brightly insistent pastel colors. Their thighs were white and their calves were solid and shaved. Junie felt sorry for the fat girls with their back issues of fashion magazines. They would only get depressed.
Junie took a cool drag of the cigarette and looked to her left, where an older man in a worn but serviceable gray suit was standing a few yards away. He was looking at Junie already, and when he caught her eye he approached the wooden bench where she was sitting. He placed his nylon gym bag on the bench beside her. Junie smiled at him with her head tilted to one side.
"Could you sell me a cigarette?" asked the man.
"Of course not!" said Junie, then she winked and handed him the green cellophane package. "I'll give you one, though," she said sweetly.
The man's dry spotted hands shook as he struck a match and brought it to his face to light the cigarette. Junie waited for him to walk away to smoke it, but he stood there in front of the bench.
"So what are you doing today?" he asked her. He spoke in carefully made syllables, like a well-mannered little boy. Junie looked up and saw him grinning, showing his pinkish- gray gums where the four front teeth should have been in his mouth. His skin had the grainy look and color of sandstone. The flesh of his face made Junie think of a rock slide poised halfway down the hill.
"I'm just returning an overdue library book," she said pleasantly. He kept smiling, and Junie kept talking to fill the silence although she had nothing really to say. "I finished it before it was due," she continued, "I just didn't get around to returning it."
"Do you like to read?" the man asked. Junie nodded.
"Do you?" she asked in an encouraging voice, assuming already he did.
"No," he said. "No. I like to watch television." Junie smiled. She thought of a flickering light in a darkened room and it fit; it made sense. The darkness shrouded the waste of a life lived within a single room; full ashtrays, discarded cans still coated on the inside with the remnants of stew or chili con carne, probably eaten cold from the can. The television's artificial light flickering on the man's impassive face and his body, clad in a grayish undershirt and slacks that were slept in, motionless but for the mechanical lifting of a cheap pint of liquor to the man's dry lips. She imagined all this very easily.
"Of course," she said rather quickly. "I do, too."
The man cleared his throat and his voice rose slightly. "There are a great many good things to watch on television. Documentaries, interview shows, talk shows." He counted them off on his fingers. "There is so much to be learned from television," he concluded.
"Oh yes," said Junie. "There are lots of good things on TV." She put a bright stress on each word, smiling continuously. She was resigned to doing a kind of good deed.
The man pointed down at his gym bag, which was unzipped. "I put my coat in there because it got too warm to wear it." The sun did feel a little warmer; the breeze had died down. He tapped a brown windbreaker that was stuffed in near the top of the bag. "I just came from the YMCA. I soaked in the whirlpool, took a sauna. So my swimsuit and towel are in there, too." He raised an eyebrow.
"Well, that sounds nice," said Junie. She put out her cigarette and lit another one.
"I'm trying to get myself cleaned up in advance," said the man. "I have to model for a class on Thursday."
Junie could not keep herself from seeing the way the man would look naked, posing on a stool or standing in a classical pose. She saw the flaccid sag of his muscles and the way his thin spotted skin would hang from the unsupporting flesh.
"Have you modeled before?" Junie asked him, with the image of his naked body still fully in her mind.
"Many times," he answered.
She imagined his shame as the students scrutinized his poor battered frame. Poor thing, she thought. He probably has to sell plasma, too.
"I do that, too," she said. She rubbed the soft skin of her taut little bicep.
"Do you model for classes?" he asked. His eyes were bright and he was smiling and nodding his head.
"No," she replied. "Just one artist."
His face lit up with a secret understanding as he nodded vigorously and smiled down at Junie.
"He's just a friend," she said too quickly, putting out her cigarette. "I do it as a favor." She lit another menthol cigarette and fidgeted on the bench. "He asked me to do it," she continued. "To help him with his figure drawing."
"I've modeled for classes at the college," the man said proudly, making a circular gesture with his burning cigarette. "But this Thursday I'm modeling for a private class. They have models come in once a week, and the artists come and draw. There's no teacher. They do it for recreation." He paused and had a drag from his cigarette. His face was calm and his shoulders were square. "It's supposed to be a very comfortable atmosphere."
"That sounds very nice," said Junie. When he just stood there, silently watching her, she added, "I think the hardest part is staying still."
"Well," said the man, again making a sweeping gesture with his cigarette, "most artists would rather you took a break as often as you want. They can tell when you start to get tense. In fact, the woman from this class told me that; to take as many breaks as I want. Especially," he said, tossing his cigarette on the sidewalk and grinding it out with his heel, "because there will be a nude female model on the other side of the room when I'm there. I've never modeled with a nude lady in the same room," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. He looked Junie straight in the eye. Junie wanted him to just stop talking. She looked away.
"She told me that I could get as many breaks as I want," he continued. "If I start to get an erection I can just take a break. No matter how often it happens."
Junie lowered her head, sickened by her own thoughts. She curled her shoulders inward, and folded her arms in across her chest and belly. Then she looked back up at him, and opened her mouth slightly. She was unable to speak, though he looked at her expectantly. She took a deep breath of that sweetly scented air and closed her mouth. He was too old. It made her sick; it was ugly.
"Oh yes," he continued, chuckling. "She certainly was a very nice woman. She told me I could take as many breaks as I want."
Junie stood up without thinking. "I'm sure that will be fine," she said, in her warmest voice. "I'd better return this book now."
"I'll probably masturbate that day before I model," the man said evenly.
"That's a great idea!" said Junie, her voice a little hysterical. She backed off toward the door of the library. "Good luck," she chirped, turning away.
"And good luck to you!" the man called out behind her. Junie rushed away from
him through the library doors. She dashed through the library as though he might follow
her, heading straight to the oversized volumes of art. There was a particular thing she
needed to see to clear her mind of the old man's naked body. Her little fingers flittered
across the raised spines of the volumes. When she found the book she sank to the cool
linoleum floor, in the shade of the tall shelves of books. She held the big book in her
lap and flipped through the crisp glossy pages. She found it; the photo of the beautiful
statue, chiseled and white and flawless. It was David. She examined the noble face, the
sting graceful neck and the private parts demure against the strong unflagging thighs. She
looked and looked, then she closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
Brenda Haugaard (formerly Munroe) still toils at a natural foods store in Eugene, Oregon, selling wheat grass juice and tofu pups to people wearing patchouli oil. She is working on a novel that she started well over a year ago, and that she hopes to finish at some point.
For other stories by Brenda Munroe, click here.
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