The Dove Keeper

Vivian

Vivian was one of Gerard’s models. They had met in art school, where she had been paying off her tuition by modeling for the senior art class. At first, it had been done with her clothes on, and only some sections of her body uncovered. She’d come in one day and have to extend her left leg for hours on end, so that the class could draw and get a good view of the ligaments, joints and contours of a foot, before moving onto anything else. The next class she’d roll up her sleeve and expose her delicate arm, hand, and fingers for them to ogle and draw, followed by her face, and then her entire – clothed - body; at first, anyway. She had never really been into the whole nude modeling thing before, and the teacher of the class never pressured her. But that didn’t mean Gerard wouldn’t have his say in matters. 

Apparently, he had been in that art class, hiding in the back row sketching her foot like all the other students. But he always finished his drawings before everyone else, and it was then that Gerard would move on to her other features; ones that no one paid attention to. He once spent an entire class just drawing the way her eyebrows looked, when she frowned in distress for having her foot extended for over three hours. Gerard had come up to her after that class and insisted on taking her out for coffee. Reluctant, at first, to accept the offer from the much older guy in the senior art class, Vivian had finally been convinced by Gerard’s winning smiling and attention to detail. He had shown her his pictures, and she had been swept off her feet. They talked for hours that night in the small college café, until they were kicked out and forced to go back to Gerard’s place, only five minutes off campus. Apparently, it was then and there that Gerard finally convinced her to take off her clothes. 

“He was such a little perv,” Vivian said, half serious with a smile on her face. She leaned over the kitchen table, where all three of us sat with coffee in front of our chests, only Gerard and Vivian actually drinking the warm liquid. I let mine sit in front of me, the cream I had put in it making swirled, textured patterns and turning the brown muck into a creamy caramel colour. The warm steam from the hot coffee floated in the air in front of me, penetrating my nostrils but not affecting me at all. It wasn’t that I didn’t like coffee; I was just nervous and awkward as hell. I thought it had been bad the day before when I walked in on Gerard half-naked, but fuck, was I wrong. It was way worse walking in on someone else entirely naked.

And then having coffee with them like it was nothing. 

After Vivian had gotten up off of the putrid orange couch she had been carelessly lying on, she had grabbed her robe and tied it loosely around her waist. I wasn’t sure if it was just my mind taking a longer time to react and process events, but it seemed like she was moving at a normal – almost slow pace to get herself clothed. It was as if she didn’t care that she was naked in front of a stranger, or naked in general. And when Gerard suggested that the three of us get acquainted over coffee, she leapt at the idea, almost spilling out of the soft fabric that attempted to constrict her carefree spirit. She hadn’t even bothered to put on her street clothing again, which I saw lying in a pile by Gerard’s unused canvas. She was so lighthearted and exposed – and she didn’t give a fuck. She just sat down with Gerard, took her coffee, stirring it as she leaned over, gazed into his eyes and started to laugh like old times. She didn’t even seem to notice that the teenage boy who had just seen her completely naked was sitting at the table with her, shifting in his seat, trying to distract himself from what was actually going on. 

“And that’s changed?” Gerard asked Vivian in a playful manner, referring to his perverted tendencies. He gave her one of his trademark smiles – the exact same one he gave me all the time. We were all sitting in a triangle formation at the table, with Gerard next to Vivian at the base and me folding in on myself across from them, at the side of the table closest to the door. I could have bolted if I wanted to, and there were times when I really did want to, but a part of myself dragged me to the table and sat myself down, unmoving. I wanted to stay; even if it was so awkward I thought ripping my skin off would be easier. There was something about Vivian that made me want to stay, other than her naked body filtering into my mind and bloodstream. Her character and sunny disposition made me want to pay attention to her, especially to the way she interacted with Gerard.