I loudlessly knocked in the wooden door, painted in white, but there was no answer. I marked time for a little bit, knocked more persistent and listened carefully. From the behind of the door wafted slightly audible:

- Opened.

I took the iron-shod door hand and determinately pushed the door. It yielded easily and opened to my sight spacious room with the pretty high ceiling and big slightly narrow windows, that remained without jalousie, with wide windowsills.

The interior was painted in the ivory colors; the same color had the ceiling on which were hanged two exotic lusters. I slowly looked around the room across the perimeter and noted with interested that it was both the studio and the living place. At the wall across from me was placed wide low black bed that was casually covered with snow-white bed linen. Nearby stayed the wooden bureau all in white and few gray ottomans. Near the center of the room was located massive white piano, behind it – a few easels with fresh canvases. About one of the windows stayed the household appliances, adjacently – clothes hangers and low white sofa with gray pillows on it.

Finally, my gaze rushed to the middle of the room, cluttered with the easels, near which laid fresh and painted canvases, brushes of different size and the set of paints.  At one of the easels hid the artist, sitting on a high black socle. From my point of view all I could see was his legs, set on the socle’s crossbar and dressed in the tight black trousers and high snickers.

- Ghm-hm, - I coughed, letting him know about my existence.

The artist grudgingly left his work and peeped from the big canvas, waving the brush, sandwiched between his long fingers, beautified with rings. All my decidedness suddenly evaporated. In front of me was seated the asian-faced man of 25 years old. His almond-shaped honey colored eyes attentively looked at me, eyebrows cocked up, but lips tightly pressed together.

- I came regarding the ad, - mumbled I, trying to stop my gaze on the bright-red jacket of the artist, - this one.

I pulled forward a hand that tightly squeezed the A5 sized list, that I torn forty minutes ago not far away from the entrance to the Charles Bridge. My hand was trembling nervously and I hurried to snuggle it closer to the chest, adjusting my scarf by chance.

- Okay, - answered the artist with his low voice that made me feel the goose bumps wander everywhere, - Undress.

He barely said the last word, as I rouse frightened. Have I got the right address and what have the artist meant by the “undress” word?

- Sorry? – Perhaps I should insensibly move towards the exit, so that in the case of a danger I can quickly slip thought the door.

The Asian turned to me his slanting eyes, bewilderment and irritation could be read in them. More likely I am not the first to ask him a question like this, and it made me feel uneasy.

- I am an artist that is working with the models. If something is bothering You – the door is behind Your back. If not – undress.

I glanced at the flyer again and once more re-read the information, mentioned in it.  $100 for one hour of posing is the only thing I pay attention at at first.  Now I could see that downward was a postscript – “the artist works with models”. I confusedly rub the bridge of the nose. $100 for an hour – it is tolerable, isn’t it?

Especially when today till 9 o’clock you should make a payment for the flat for the next months, or what waits you at best is the Main Railway Station of Prague. In front of me appeared the difficult dilemma that demanded the fastest solution.

- Umm… - my voice hoarse from the nervousness. – But… the other services are not included in the price, right? – I tried to veil the slippery question, that worried me the most.

The artist stood up and now I could estimate his height: no less than 180 centimeters. I am curious where is he from? How long has he been staying in Prague? His Czech is pretty confident. The man took the canvas of the easel and without looking at me replied:

- ual favors are not included. And not envisaged at all.

He was astoundingly calm, but I still hesitated. The major of maniacs looks absolutely normal or even attractive.  So why wouldn’t he be a maniac?

- And is it okay that my legs aren’t shaved? – mumbled I, clutching for the last chance: before my eyes already stood crunchy one hundred dollar note.

- I will include this work in the series “People Ugliness’”; - peremptorily claim the Asian, leaving to the windowsill. I stayed silent, watching him take big narrow glass from the sill and drink a sip of contents. The room became filled with the tart aroma of strong coffee.

Macchiato.

Seemingly everything was decided.  I looked around, searching for a place to fold my clothes. The artist noticed it and with a finger pointed to the white sofa near the window. I came to it awkwardly and put my bag on the seat. From the window opened an astonishing sight at the Charles Bridge and Vltava River. The life in the city was boiling: the tourists with the cameras were wandering everywhere, the masters touted pedestrians to buy goods, and street musicians entertained walking people with their lively music. While I was wistfully taking off my clothes, Asian left to his work place and started to prepare the belongings. My cheeks flushed when I was left standing in the lingerie, not dare to take it off.

- Sorry, should I fully undress? – asked I the totally silly question.

- Yes, - the calm but slightly sharp answer was heard.

My fingers hardly managed with the bra’s clap, and pulling the down with awkward hands I longingly thought that I should have taken care of my body earlier. One thing is to stand in front of the doctor mother- and totally another – in front of the young stranger. Left absolutely I felt with the skin the blowing of the wind, sinking through the gaps in the windows, and shivered. I was standing half sided to the man and waiting for his further commands.

- Come to the center of the room and stop one meter to the left.

I pattered to the middle of the room, shamingly covering myself with the hands, hunched and looking down at the floor. Not dare to raise my head I felt that the Asian is looking at me, making me didder even more.
He sight and slowly stood up from his seat and in a few seconds put a high chair, that I didn’t manage to notice at first, near me. Feeling his perfume, mixed with the coffee aroma I somehow panicked. I instantly wanted to throw myself to my clothes, take it and jump out of this damn studio.

- Seat down. Turn your head to the side and look into the window. And relax for God’s sake.

Relax? How is it possible to relax when you are sitting in front of a man, whose sight is sliding across your body, evoking the waves of shiver, making it cover in goose bumps. My body absolutely rejected listening to me, so I was sitting tense as a string, feeling the bumps wandering through all over my skin.
I managed to distract myself for nearly fifteen minutes: I examined the windows and everything that could be seen through them. On the sixteen’s minute my back started to ache, my legs stiffened and buttocks became numb from sitting on the solid surface. I wanted to ask the permission to change my pose a bit, but the artist forbade me to talk:

- Don’t move, - commanded he with his low voice, that disturbed me with the new power, drawing in my imagination who knows what pictures.

Few times Asian left the easel and came to the window, peering into the distance, sipping long ago cooled macchiato, and I used these moments to stretch my numbed body. To tell that I was cold is to tell nothing at all. Finally my nose began to sob and I could bet that tomorrow morning I will be laid up with temperature. Damn hour lasted for too long and I was pretty tired from this torture, not sure from which one more – physical or moral.

Finally, when persistent and distracting rumble could be heard from my belly, the artist stood up, laying aside colors and brushes.

- You can stand up. Thanks for the work. The payment is near Your belongings.

I slightly went all abroad that everything came up to be so easy. Rising my numb body I waddled to the sofa and firstly clutched my honestly earned $100. Hastily dressing in the lingerie, I glanced at the man. He was standing, relying on the curb with his loin, arms folded. His long fingers and thin wrists, that were beautified with the bracelets of stones and beads, were drabbles with paints. His honey-colored eyes were looking at me and I felt that my cheeks are gaining pink color and ears start to flush.

- Um, can I take a look at the final picture?  - asked I for not to dress in the awkward silence.

- No, - cut the Asian.

Better this way. I fastened to finish putting the clothes on me, trying not to look in the easels’ direction, notwithstanding the fact that my inner voice begged me to. Rolling up into the scarf and picking the beg up, I straightened.

- Thank You, - I mumbled.

The artist slightly nodded as the goodbye gesture. I glanced at him once more and reluctantly plodded to the entrance door. I was eaten by a strange feeling that should be taken care of urgently.  Touching the door knob and not turning back I asked with trembling voice:

- Can I come once more?

- If You are brave enough.

I could swear that the curves of his plum lips cunningly crept up in that moment. My heart instantly filled with sweet bliss, and when I jumped out on the street Prague became covered with the thick October twilight.