“Hey, Rogelio,” I called. “How have you been doing?”
“Oh, hey Mr. Dennis,” Rogelio said, looking up from his easel with an unfinished painting. “I’m still painting as usual.”
“Where have you been?” I asked. “I haven’t seen you around in two years.”
“I’ve been painting over in San Ignacio,” he said. “I started doing portraits. Pictures of just people.”
“That’s a change,” I told him. “If I recall, your strong paintings were beach scenes.”
“I still paint them,” he said, “but I just got tired of them. I want to paint people. I’ll tell you what. You sit on that anchor and I’ll do a little portrait of you. I’m pretty good at it.”
When he finished the painting he turned it to me and asked, “What do you think?”
“Rogelio, that is a great portrait,” I told him. “I’ll buy it from you right now.”
Just then a beautiful woman about thirty-five years old walked up and looked at the picture.
“My God,” she said. “You are an amazing artist, sir. Will you do a portrait of me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rogelio said. “Do you want it done in the studio or here on the beach?”
“Definitely in the studio,” she said. “I want you to paint me in the nude.”
“Naked? With no clothes?”
“Yes. I will pay you five hundred dollars.”
“I’m going to run home and talk to my wife and see if she says it’s OK,” Rogelio said. “I’ll be right back.”
He was back in three minutes.
“My wife says it will be fine,” he said. “I will do a portrait of you naked but I need to wear socks so I’ll have a place to wipe my brushes.”
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