Lost Wax

Page 6

SOMETHING ELSE WAS DIFFERENT about Gloria. She never mentioned the change in her appearance again. If I brought it up, she brushed it off with a comment like, “I was a late bloomer.” On the other hand, we were spending a lot more time together and I was really liking it. I had a study partner, a lunch partner, a dinner partner. We even worked in the studio at the same time and I gave her some hints on getting a good even shell on her mold. In the evenings, we’d go to my room and as soon as we got there her shirt would come off. Mine, too. We did get some studying done amidst a good make-out session every night. Not every session ended with an orgasm, but a few did and they were spectacular.

Friday night we went to Dixie’s Barbecue. It was a warm evening and the sun had shone during the day. In Seattle, they say the five stages of Winter are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and April. Gloria wore jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt with a light jacket. Apparently, I got the memo and was dressed pretty much the same. I didn’t look nearly as good, though.

We laughed and talked all through dinner.

“So, what are you going to do with your degree?” I asked. “Are you planning to become a sculptor?”

“No way. I think it’s important to get a well-rounded look at art in all dimensions, but I’m not like you. I like to work with clay most when it’s spinning on a wheel.”

“Pottery?”

“Yes. I know it’s a craft and not an art, but I really like enameled ceramics.”

“That’s not true. Ceramics are just as much an art as anything else. Sure, there is a long tradition of craftsmanship, but there is in sculpture, too. It’s what you bring to the medium that makes it an art form.”

“Okay but I’m still not going to hold up a clay pot next to a marble bust and say they are equivalent.”

“I used to think that way,” I said. “Something’s different now. I used to think everything had to be perfect and cast to last a million years. But maybe some things aren’t meant to last that long.”

“You mean like our class projects for casting?”

“Well, I guess. Ms. Brock made a good argument. And I’m beginning to understand some of what she says. It’s just contrary to my nature to try to make something that I don’t think is perfect.”

“Are you excited to pour the bronze on Monday?”

“Yeah. But, there’s something else. I’ve been working on that I want to cast, only I’ll have to go to Bellingham and pay mucho bucks to get it done. I’m going to be borrowing everything I can from my grant to hire the foundry.”

“What is it?”

“You.”

“Go away.”

“I’m serious. I’ve got the mold ready for two parts and want the third part complete if you’ll agree.”

“What’s the third part?”

“Your face.”

“I already told you you could do my face if you wanted to.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was changing you without your permission.”

“I don’t know what you think you can do to me, but knock yourself out.”

That was weird. We already had the evidence of her breasts. They were perfect. If she wanted to, her hands were so beautiful she could do hand-modeling. She hadn’t seemed to notice yet, but her lips were lush and full and not hard and narrow like they used to be. If I straightened her nose and tucked her ears a little, she would definitely look different.

The thing was, I didn’t think she needed the nose and ear work. She was beautiful. But for my bronze concept of perfection, I wanted to make the changes. Ever since the night I modeled her hands in clay and she didn’t see immediate results, it was like she didn’t acknowledge anything happening at all. Well, we’d just have to wait and see what happened next. I paid for our dinner and we walked back to the dorm. The path led by Baby Dolls, the strip club she used to work at. She pressed against my left side so I was between her and the club.

“Hey, Babe! We’ve got a job for you. Bring your boyfriend in and we’ll get him a dance while you go strip on stage.”

“Get lost, buddy,” I snarled at the guy.

“Wait a minute. That’s Haven. You don’t know what you’ve got there kid. If she hasn’t given you a lap-dance and rubbed those big sloppy titties in your face, you haven’t lived.”

“Go away, Rick. I quit. I’m not coming back.”

“Hell, come on. You know you want to get out of those clothes.” He stepped in front of me and into Gloria’s personal space. I didn’t think. I reacted. I shoved him back.

“Leave her alone,” I commanded. He didn’t answer. He slugged me in the gut.

I’m no athlete. Sure, I’m in pretty good shape, but just being in shape doesn’t mean anything when you get a fist full force in the gut. I doubled over. I heard a scream.

I should rephrase. It was like a siren going off in my ear.

“Police! Fire! Fire! Help!”

“Oh shit,” the guy who slugged me said under his breath.

I was gasping for breath—couldn’t get enough into my lungs—passed out. Flashing red and blue lights. Gentle fingers stroking my forehead.

“Fine. I’m fine,” I mumbled.

“I think you are, but you threw up and aspirated some of it,” a voice on one side of me said.

“Second time barbecue. Gah!” I said. “What a waste of a good meal.” Laughter. Arms holding me tightly.

“We’re taking you to the hospital. Better safe than sorry. He really sucker-punched you.” The voice.

“I’m going with him.” An angel. I realized the hand that was stroking my face was Gloria’s beautiful hand. It was her voice laying claim to me. I really needed to tell her it was okay, but they were moving me and I was lifted into the ambulance. I still hurt, so I wasn’t going to complain about getting checked out. Gloria was beside me as soon as the door closed. I’ve never been hit so hard in my life. Well, hell, I’ve never been hit. I’m an artist, for God’s sake! I opened my eyes.

The inside of the ambulance was dimly lit. We were bouncing along. The EMT had a blood pressure cuff on me. I suppose she had to do something. Gloria was looking at me and crying.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault,” she sobbed. “It’s all because I worked in that hateful place.”

“Shh. Shh. Sweetheart, it’s all right. It’s not your fault. You quit that life. You are free of it now.”

“Did he hurt you, miss?” the EMT asked.

“No. Yes. He grabbed my arm after he hit Jerome. I was screaming and someone dragged him off me.”

“Which arm? Let me see.” Gloria pulled her jacket off her right arm and the EMT examined it. Even I could see it was turning black and blue.

“This is 454 calling home. We’re bringing the young lady in with the man who was attacked. Her arm is severely bruised. X-rays and full test kit.”

“Roger that, 454. We’re standing by.”

“I’m so sorry, Jerome,” Gloria continued. “We never should have taken that street back to campus.”

“Hey, no matter what the business or whether you worked there at one time, no one has the right to jump someone on the sidewalk when they’re walking by,” I said. “It’s not your fault.” She leaned down and kissed me. I kept my lips together. “Gloria, maybe you should wait until I get my mouth rinsed out before you do that. I don’t even want my own tongue in there.” We laughed and I groaned. He really did a number on my gut.

Of course, at the hospital, we were preempted by two guys with knife wounds. Since they were bleeding and we were just bruised, they got treated first. They made Gloria stay in the emergency room while they wheeled me down to get my ribs x-rayed. Yep. Cracked one, the bastard. When I got back to the little cubical, Gloria was looking frightened and I held out my hand to her but they escorted her out to x-ray. I laid there waiting like an idiot for half an hour. At least I could breathe now, even though it hurt to breathe deeply. Gloria walked back in with a doctor, a nurse, and a policeman. Sounds like the start of a bad joke, and for a minute it seemed like it might be.

“You, young man, have a cracked rib. You are going to be bruised, but there isn’t anything we can do but give you a mild pain-reliever and tell you not to stress it for a couple of weeks. It will be sore for a while, but the scan shows no internal injuries that we need to be concerned with. The rib did just what it was supposed to do and protected your internal organs. Miss, your injury is largely cosmetic. A bruise and some abrasion caused by your jacket twisting on your arm. We’ll write up the paper work and you’re free to leave.”

“What was your relationship with the man who allegedly attacked you,” the policeman asked next.

“Allegedly?” I snarled.

“Just answer the question.”

“I’ve never seen him before.”

“Not you, her.” I glanced at Gloria.

“He’s my former employer.”

“That’s all? He claims you were lovers. In fact, that ‘she’d fuck anything with a dick,’ and that he’d fired you for hustling customers.” This cop was an asshole.

“Just a minute, officer,” the doctor broke in. “As is standard procedure, we did a complete rape kit on this young woman. What we found was unusual.”

“You’re going to tell me she was raped on the sidewalk?” the cop sneered.

“No. I’m going to tell you she’s a virgin.” That shut us all up. The cop stuttered for a moment then turned to leave.

“I have all your contact information from admissions. We’ll let you know if anything comes of this,” he said and walked out, followed by the doctor who was berating him for his lack of professionalism and insensitivity with a promise to report him to his superiors.

“Come on, you two,” the nurse whispered. “Let’s get you out of here and get you a taxi back to your dormitory. I have a two-day supply of your painkiller for you. Tomorrow is Saturday, so you might have trouble getting the prescription filled. I shouldn’t have to tell you this since you are under age, but do not drink alcohol while taking this medication. Now, let’s get you signed out.”

We walked to my room and Gloria stood outside as I entered. I turned to wait for her.

“Do you want me to come in?” she asked. “Even knowing what a bad person I am?”

“From what I heard tonight, you are a better person than about anyone else on campus,” I laughed. “Gloria, please come in. Please stay with me tonight. I promise I won’t do anything, but I really want to be with you.” She smiled at me. Wow! That smile is magnificent.

“Let me grab my toothbrush,” she said. She went to her room and returned a minute later with her toothbrush and a towel. “I might want to shower in the morning,” she explained. She sure wouldn’t want to use my towel. I forgot to toss it in my laundry when I did it Tuesday.

We brushed our teeth and sat together on the bed. I leaned over and kissed her softly.

“Minty fresh,” I said.

“Waste of good barbecue,” she laughed, quoting what I’d said on the sidewalk. She kissed me again. “Can we cuddle in bed and just sleep together?” she asked.

“I’d like that,” I answered. She hesitated for a moment and for the first time ever, I reached over and pulled her little sleeveless t-shirt out of her pants and over her head. She returned the favor and we pressed our naked chests together as we kissed again. I grunted a little as she squeezed me and she let up quickly.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was worth it.” We kicked off our shoes and I unbuttoned my 501s. “Uh, I’ll leave my shorts on.”

“Okay. I’ll leave my panties on.” Let me tell you that my boxer briefs covered a lot more than her panties. It wasn’t a thong, but they were cut high on the hip and the view was breath-taking. We cuddled into the single bed and kissed for a long time before we both nodded off to sleep, breathing each other’s air.

The District Attorney had been trying to shut down Baby Dolls for a long time. The club was grandfathered into a zoning ordinance that would have banned adult entertainment and liquor sales within five hundred feet of the college campus. It happened that on the opposite corner of the block the club was on, there was a building the college leased for storage of maintenance equipment. Technically, the Club was in violation. It was a political football. But the arrest of the manager gave the DA some leverage and he got a temporary injunction to close the club until the case had been heard. That assured him that the case would get to court instead of being held in an unending cycle of continuances and motions. We were deposed later that week. It turned out that just the visible bruising on Gloria’s arm was grounds for a second count of aggravated assault against the owner, instead of just one for me. Of course, the DA didn’t care about us. It was just more leverage against the club.

In the meantime, I was working on the clay model of Gloria’s face. I knew better than to do everything all at once, so each day I spent some time focused on just one little aspect of her features. We poured our bronzes and I started work on my new creations. They were a little strange. I had one breast and part of a torso, one hand, and the face I was working on. I thought I’d overdone it when Gloria met me in class with her hand covering her nose.

“Are you okay?”

“My nose itches. I think I must be allergic to something.”

“Let me see.” She moved her hand away from a perfectly straight nose, just the right size for her face. I kissed it.

“You look like a Greek goddess.”

“Don’t be silly. No. Please go ahead and be silly. I love to hear you talk about me. I think you are a little crazy, but I love it anyway.

My bronze baby-face came out pretty good. I filed off the spruing and the rough edge where the halves of the mold came together. I was happy that I managed to save the mold. If I was doing something like this, I wanted to make it count. I had three more molds that I was taking up to the foundry in Bellingham and figured I might as well take this one, too. What was another $500 or so? I just hoped the molds were good enough to yield five castings each.

Gloria had a final project to finish, so I made my way up to Bellingham on the train by myself. I was on board by 7:30 and caught a cab to the foundry at 10:00. I was a scheduled pouring, so after the guy examined my molds he set them up. The bronze was already melting.

It was a smaller place than I expected. The crucibles were large enough to pour a good-sized statue, I figured, so Gil, the owner, said he’d pour all four molds and after an hour we’d be able to open the first one. He had two assistants working with him and had me in an apron and gloves as well. I figured this was great experience for me as I put the four molds in the kiln to heat them before the pour. The molds would come out at about 1100 degrees Fahrenheit, which would still be about 600 degrees cooler than the molten bronze when it came out of the furnace. As I was pulling the ceramic molds out of the kiln, Gil was skimming the sludge off the top of the bronze. His two burly assistants were wrapped in more layers of apron and gloves than I could believe. They even had welding helmets on. Gil guided them and they lifted the crucible on its pulley and poured.

I could hear the sizzle as the bronze filled my molds and smell the heat as the bronze met the ceramic.

There was a lot of work to be done while the first casts cooled. The temperatures of the furnace and the kiln were checked, the crucible refilled with bronze shavings and the melting process repeated.

The cast of the baby-face came off fine but the casting wasn’t very good. There were a couple holes and it was rough. The bust was no problem. The four pieces of the hand were touchier, but Gil managed to pry them off without damaging the mold. Sadly, the mold for Gloria’s face broke and was not reusable. I was distraught, but it wasn’t anything Gil could have done better.

“Well, that wasn’t bad. We could get one more casting out of each of the molds except the face, of course. Or we can step back and do it correctly.”

“What?”

“It’s rare that we can get more than two casts out of a ceramic mold. It’s too hard on them and they stick to the bronze, even though you did a good job with glazing and hardening them. But they are rigid. You can’t get them off the bronze without damaging them. Look at the face you created. Which is nice, by the way. But look at the folds for the hair. The area we have to work the mold free of is smaller than the part that has to be pulled away. So, what we usually do for limited editions is make a vulcanized rubber mold. Because it’s contained in a rigid frame, it can’t bow out with the weight of the bronze, but at the same time when it’s cool, it’s flexible enough that we can pull it out of the tight places.”

“What do we need to do?”

“We take your original bronze and pour the rubber over it to make a mold, much like you did with the original wax model. The difference is that you have an original bronze to start with instead of number one of a set. Your documentation should show that this is cast from a ceramic mold and the mold was broken. Then you do the numbered edition in the rubber molds. We can change the thickness, too, so things like the little face aren’t so fragile.”

“How long will this take?”

“We can get the rubber molds done this weekend and then pour at our leisure.”

I agreed to the process and watched my bill for the art go up. Well, I could live on less this summer. If it was really good, maybe I could get approval to advance more from my materials grant.

Ms. Brock looked over my bronze originals and examined them carefully.

“And you are doing an edition?” she asked.

“I had the molds made, but I ran out of money before we could pour any. These were all cast from the original ceramics.”

She reached out and tentatively touched the hand. I saw her shiver.

“Jerome, I don’t like saying this to any student.” I froze. She was going to criticize this? Who the fuck did she think she was. The bitch was just a teacher. I started to tense up and was ready to explode when she continued. “You have to know these are extraordinary works. Beautiful. Just beautiful.” Huh? I thought… “So, what I’m going to ask will probably sound stupid, but that’s my job. Can you go without selling them for a while? And without casting the limited edition?”

“Uh… why?” Clever.

“There is a feeling that this work, taken as a whole, is not yet completed. Have you considered additional pieces in the suite?”

“Well, sure. I wasn’t going to do a full-body casting because it’s too big to sell. I was going to do a foot. A hip. Maybe…”

“Yes. Just what I meant. Here’s the thing. There are two parts to making a masterpiece. We used to say one, do the painting and two, hang the artist. But the fact illustrated is that there is the art and the business. The artist doesn’t have to be dead to make the art valuable, but complete art is much more valuable than partial. If you can wait to sell pieces until the suite is complete, the perceived value to your buyers will go up.”

“I guess I see the sense in that, but I kind of used all my living money for the summer to cast the originals. I was hoping to make that much back.”

“Your grant allows some amount of discretion to be exercised. Usually, a project would be brought before your committee prior to investing cash in the casting. But, I believe I can drive approval to get you reimbursed for this and to pay for the casting of the rest of the originals. When it comes to casting the limited edition, we might have to find some means of paying without the grant, but with the originals complete, that might be done with a subscription. The problem is, you wouldn’t get a subscription for a partial.”

“You think I could get reimbursed my expenses, though?”

“I believe I can probably even cover creating the molds as part of your class practicum.”

“I guess that would be great.”

“Now, how did you intend to display these for the gala?”

“Display?”

“Yes. They look great, but they won’t really sing if they are just lying on a table. How do you see them when you imagine them on display?”

Ms. Brock wasn’t kidding about the work not being complete after the bronze was cast. Let’s face it; I’d never considered them as separate pieces. They were all part of one beautiful woman. But putting one hand, one breast, a face, and a doll in positions where the viewer would see them as a single composition was a lot trickier. Of course, whenever I looked at them, I saw Gloria. I knew exactly how far each piece should be from the next and at exactly at what angle.

When she understood what I intended, she wasn’t that bad to work with. I packed each piece with clay and once I had them in the correct positions, I inserted a one-inch Plexiglas rod into the clay to make hole for later. Then we fired them all in the kiln. The kiln is only 1100 degrees and the bronze doesn’t lose integrity until you top 1800 degrees, so there was no danger in heating the castings. I secured the rods to a plywood base and once the castings were cool enough, I was able to push them onto the rods. When you stepped back, you could see the entire figure, almost as though certain parts were invisible.

I managed to finish just a few hours before the preview of the gala.

When I reached my room, the door was unlocked and I looked in cautiously. Gloria sat on my bed in nothing but a pair of bikini panties. God! She looked good enough to eat and the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. Of course, we hadn’t really gone past kissing and almost naked making out. We’d both had orgasms, but we never touched each other’s privates with our hands.

I entered quietly and she jumped up off my bed and into my arms. I caressed her back as her breasts pressed into my chest and we kissed.

“Do you have a tux for tonight?” she asked.

“Um… no. I couldn’t afford to rent one after I paid for the castings. Ms. Brock said I should have a reimbursement by Monday, so I won’t have to keep eating instant Ramen noodles,” I laughed.

“Did you check your closet?”

“Why would I…?” It slowly dawned on me what she was saying. I opened the closet and sure enough, there was a tux hanging in a plastic bag.

“I hope it’s all okay. I took your suit with me and they matched the sizes.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” I said.

“Yes, I did. I have a perfect dress and needed my date to look just as perfect.” There was something haunting about those words.

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