Can't Put a Leash on That

The exterior of Leland Blake University is a sight to behold. Its architectural roots lie in the French Baroque style, but the result is much more modest and inviting, especially due to the stature of the trees on the property that are likely as old or older than the building itself. The most striking part is its height, well worth pausing to take it in and feel for a moment, that one has stepped into a period film rather than onto a university campus.

Everything looks blue-grey and diffused today, but still bright. Lillian looks away from the building, watching from beside her car as two blonde students about her age climb the grand front steps. She brushes her own blonde hair back off her face, utterly at ease with being completely unremarkable here.

It starts to rain when she’s halfway to the front entrance, and though it’s light, Lillian rushes the rest of the way inside to avoid getting wet.

Finding the main office is easier than she expects. The secretary is on the phone, allowing her another moment to people watch. Students and staff walk the halls behind her, engaged in conversation, intently reading, or seeming to consult with each other about some common class material. There’s a sense of community here that is foreign and very inviting to her.

“Sorry for the wait,” says the secretary, dropping the phone back into its cradle.

“No worries,” Lillian replies, stepping up to her desk and briefly rocking onto her toes. “I was told to check in at the main office…”

“Are you a new student?”

Lillian shakes her head. “No, staff. I need my badge. Art department.”

“Oh,” she seems surprised, but it’s brief. “Can I have your name?”

“Lillian Adler.”

She types something into her computer. “Gotcha right here.”

The secretary pulls a badge on a lanyard from a nearby drawer.

“You filled everything out online, right?”

“Yep.”

“Great, you can head straight to your department from now on.”

“Okay, thanks.”

She leaves the office, slipping on the lanyard and getting a look at her staff photo, vaguely unimpressed with her rather gaunt rendering, despite having provided the photos herself. Lillian fumbles for her phone and starts walking, trying to find a staircase to take her to the third floor as she pulls up the document that listed what room she needed to go to. Despite muttering the wing and room number to herself on the drive here, it evaporated from her brain.

3.A.47

The heavy door clangs, echoing through the stairwell as she finds herself in C-wing, accidentally wandering deeper, before realizing her mistake and turning back in the opposite direction.

She finally finds A-wing and Studio 47 open. She can hear water running somewhere further inside.

She weaves through the student workstations, coming to stand in front of a simple staging area. Pale curtains have been erected as a backdrop around a plain brown leather convertible futon, with improvised furniture placed around it, covered in sheets. There is a basket with simple props and another with more sheets in it off to the side, near some light fixtures.

“Hey! Can I help you?”

Lillian turns around, gaze landing on a sturdy-looking young man with rich brown skin and a soft face, peeking out of a doorway to another room she cannot see.

“I’m the new art model.” She heads over to him, standing in the doorway. He’s cleaning paintbrushes in a colourful industrial-sized sink.

“I’m Leo, Professor Randall’s TA.” He offers his hand to shake but it’s wet and smeared with paint so he quickly pulls it back.

“Lillian.”

“I left a copy of your schedule on the desk with the mushroom lamp. There’s a legend on the second page so you know what class code corresponds to what type of modeling you’ll be doing.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Lillian goes over to the desk, finding the schedule and meanders back over to where Leo is cleaning the brushes.

“What does the asterisk mean?”

Leo chuckles. “Themed classes. Professor Randall convinced the theatre department to let us borrow some costumes and props. You’ll get to vote with the students on what you pose with.”

Lillian grins. “Are we talking, like, gowns and swords?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll say something if I’m ever uncomfortable.”

Leo finishes with the brushes and cleans his hands, motioning for her to go ahead.

“Lemme help you get situated,” he says.

A curtain separates the rest of the studio from a small lounge area, where a few offices are located.

“You can change here, there’ll be an office for you to change and take breaks in by tomorrow— we just haven’t located the key yet.”

“Wow, my own office,” Lillian laughs.

“It’s kind of just a closet with a window,” Leo says lightheartedly, looking at his watch. “Students should start arriving soon, and the Prof will be here any minute.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll leave you to it. You have a robe?”

Lillian nods.

Leo tugs the curtain completely closed, making sure Lillian has enough privacy. Once he steps away she puts down her bag and starts getting undressed, folding her clothes up and leaving them in the basket she’d been provided. After consulting her schedule again she changes into a seamless thong that matches her skin tone, completely at ease with her required state of undress.

She takes out her robe, hugging it to her chest as she steps over to a wall full of framed ink illustrations. The subjects vary from portraits to animals to urban infrastructure. Lillian tosses her hair over her shoulder as she gets a closer look at a drawing of a playground, beautifully rendered with crosshatching.

“Morning, Leo.”

The new voice is startlingly familiar to Lillian.

Footsteps approach and she hears a chair screech against the floor.

“Wait! Professor—”

The professor strolls right past the curtain, coming to an abrupt halt when he sees Lillian hastily putting on her robe.

“Oh—” he slams his hand over his eyes. “I am so sorry I completely forgot we were getting a new art model today.”

“Arthur?” Lillian looks at him wide-eyed, blindly tying the sash of her robe.

He lowers his hand, knowing her voice immediately.

“Lil?”

“Oh my god,” she says in disbelief, face breaking into a grin.

He laughs dazedly, hesitating for a heartbeat before she moves toward him and he gathers her into a hug.

“I barely recognized you,” he breathes, pulling away and touching her hair. “You’re blonde.”

She smiles. “It’s really different from the brown, huh?”

“I can’t tell which is your natural colour,” he laughs.

“That’s the point.”

He looks bewilderedly at her. “How did you…?”

“Preston helped me, after the fire.”

Arthur’s face falls and he steps away from Lillian. “I am so sorry I didn’t get back in touch after the fire. With everything going on…”

“It’s okay, Art— hey, look at you, you’re a professor now!” she says encouragingly.

He laughs, a little solemnly. “It was a little touch and go for a while there.”

Lillian glances behind him into the studio where she can see Leo scratching his head awkwardly, not sure what to do with the unexpected familiarity between the prof and the art model.

“That’s kind of why I didn’t reach out,” he says, stepping over to his office and unlocking the door. “I fell off the wagon just when it all went to shit. I was ashamed of myself.”

“Oh.” Lillian wrings her hands.

Arthur steps into his office, taking a seat in the nearest chair in front of his desk. She steps over to him, gently brushing some of his butterscotch hair off his face. He gives her a soft smile.

“I haven’t had a drink in almost four years.”

Lillian grins. “That’s amazing.”

He looks her over, and she knows he’s finding all the details that have changed in her appearance since they last saw each other. He’d find the most familiarity in her grey-brown eyes.

“What about you?” he asks.

Lillian clears her throat. “I stayed with Preston for a while. It was good… until Rick got out on good behaviour.”

“No.”

“Yep.”

“Motherfucker,” Art says under his breath.

“He had some of my stuff in storage, stuff that he could track us down with.”

“He held onto it for that long?”

Lillian nods. “Guess who topped up his commissary and paid for his lawyers while he was locked up.”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

“Dammit.” He sighs. “Your mom really doesn’t quit.”

“A quality I inherited.” She moves from beside him, leaning against the wall instead, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What do they even want at this point?” he says, voice more hushed as he hears students entering the studio chattily.

“It’s always been about control.” She shrugs. “He’s playing her game.”

“The man is a shark, Lil, your mother can’t put a leash on that.”

A barred-teeth grin earned the comparison when he and Lillian first met. Everything Rick ever did was cunning and intentional, including the traditional linework shark tattoo he’d had done across his palms.

“Well he’s certainly getting his pound of flesh,” Lillian replies.

They share a quiet, contemplative pause.

“How’d you end up here, Lillian?”

She searches his face for any hint of reservations or fear over her presence.

“Preston suggested the area,” she says.

“Funny you say that.” A smile twitches at his lips.

Lillian raises a brow at him. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I can’t believe he remembered,” Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “On our third date, I told him I wanted to teach here if I ever got my Ph.D. What was he thinking?”

“He believed you’d be here, for one,” Lillian says earnestly.

“His foresight is truly remarkable then, ‘cause I spent fifteen months at the bottom of a bottle after I left. I’m still surprised I have a functioning liver.”

Lillian’s expression sobers a little. “He still trusts you, Art.”

“It’s a bit misplaced, isn’t it?”

“Not really. In our case, leaving on a whim is fairly negligible as far as betrayals go.”

Arthur rubs the back of his neck, looking like he wants to argue, but choosing not to.

“You’re still punishing yourself for what happened, aren’t you?” she says.

Art drops his hand. “You still know me that well, huh?”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“You almost died!” he whispers forcefully. “If I hadn’t been wasted, if I hadn’t picked a fight at that bar…”

“They were working for Rick,” she argues, her voice hushed.

“Doesn’t mean they deserved what I did to them.”

“First of all, they almost killed me,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “Second of all, I contributed to some of their condition.”

He laughs exasperatedly.

“And third of all,” Lillian says, stepping over to him and taking hold of his chin, looking imploringly into his slate-blue eyes. “You still stopped them from killing me.”

He sighs, gaze flickering to her mouth before returning to her eyes.

“Class is starting soon,” he says.

“Damn right it is.” She drops her hand and steps over to the door.

“Might’ve asked to make you dinner before seeing you naked again,” he mutters.

Lillian chuckles. “You’re a terrible cook.”

“Buy you dinner then?”

Lillian gives him a wink, stepping out of the office.

“You’ll have to tell me where the good spots are to eat,” she says, now at normal volume. She sees Leo glance back at them from the front of the studio.

Arthur follows her.

“Leo, this is just the funniest coincidence,” Lillian says, her tone is casual, friendly. “The professor and I used to live together.”

“Neighbours,” Arthur corrects good-naturedly. “She lived down the hall from me.”

“Small world,” Leo replies, watching them weave through the studio to the leather futon where Lillian would be posed.

Lillian glances at Arthur knowingly.

“And it’s our oyster.”

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— Rooney