I considered the matter dropped and the next day I worked up the courage to tell Victor. It was still all but impossible to find him alone. He was always surrounded by so many damn people. I made my way over to him and did the impossible. I waited for a lull in the conversation, which with four people never seemed to happen. But some of them noticed that I was hovering and pointed out my presence. “Hey, Vic. Do you know that weird guy? He keeps looking at you.”

“Oh, that's John!” Victor said and waved over. “What're ya doing over there? Sit down.”

I did as the man directed. His two friends looked at me and introduced themselves, hesitantly. “Hi, I'm Henry.”

“I'm Madalyn.”

“John. Nice to meet you.”

“So, what department are you in, John?” Madalyn asked, politely.

“Uh, accounting,” I said. It did not occur to me for a full moment to return the question. I was too busy rehearsing how I was going to get out of the double date. “Um, what about you guys?”

They started chattering about their own departments. I listened as best I could, but honestly, I did not care and only learned that there was a lot of drama in other departments. I was the only accountant, so no one really cared what I did as long as the numbers were right. I was very grateful for that now. After a while, Victor excused himself to take a call and I was stuck politely nodding and feigning interest in what they had to say. They really did not address me again, mostly talking to each other.

Eventually, I excused myself, saying that my lunch hour was over. I had not gotten the chance to eat, so I went back to my desk and scarfed something down really quick then went to find Victor, but another salesperson said that he had gone home for the day. Damn it!

When I got home, I found Lona sitting on a three-legged stool in front of an easel, flipping through pages. I rushed over and pushed the pages down. “What are you doing?”

“Oh! You're home.” Lona said with a smile. “I found this in your closet. You didn't tell me you painted!”

“I don't! Not anymore.” I said with a growl.

“Oh?” She pushed my hand out of the way and started to flip through the pages again. “Why not? You're pretty good.”

“Because I'm not good at it and I need to focus on things I can do, not things I want to do.”

“That's stupid.” She said simply, not taking her eyes off the paintings, slowly taking in one painting, then moving on. There were all kinds in there. Some failed landscapes, still-lifes. Mostly people. Well, mostly just models I found on the internet and tried my hand. My shading was all wrong. The eyes were never right. The hair always looked flat. Everything was too flat. My perspective was always wrong.

“Oh! I had an idea 'bout the doll!” She exclaimed.

“Doll? What doll?”

“The sex doll, silly.” She said, standing up. She walked through the easel and sat on the couch. “I found out that you can make custom dolls! They have all kinds of options. You just upload a picture and they make it for you. How rad is that?”

“Okay, but I figured we would just drop it.”

“Did you talk to Victor?”

“Well, no, I didn't get a chance to. But I will tomorrow.”

“I think we should do it.” She said. “With this, we can get me a body that looks better. A little more . . . realistic.”

“Oh? Did you find a model that you like?”

“No.”

“Oh. Then I don't see what's changed.” I said, simply.

“I'll be the model.”

“We can't take a picture of you,” I said, slowly. I had read myths about the Camera Obscura and other related media about how cameras supposedly stole your soul, but it was nonsense.

“No, but you could paint me.”

“I . . . I really couldn't. I wouldn't do you justice.” I said quietly.

“Sure you can. Those are really good. And we can get it really good.”

“I haven't practiced in ages. I'm really rusty and I wasn't that good, to begin with.”

“Psh. It'll be like riding a bike.” I hesitated and started shaking my head. “You're doing this. I want to talk to more people.”

“I . . . How would you talk to them?”

“Oh, I started studying sign language.” She said, signing . . . Something. “You're doing it. Your paints and pencils and stuff are right there.”

I looked back to the easel for a moment and then back at her. Then gaped. She was naked. Entirely naked. And in good lighting. I could see . . . Well, everything. She grinned at me. “Well, how do you want me?”

“I-uh . . .” I closed my mouth and shook my head, focusing on my breathing. Damn woman. Damn ghosts. Damn Victor. When I opened my eyes again, she was still naked, just standing there, waiting. “Why are you naked? I could . . . You know. You could wear clothes.”

“We're making a sex doll. I think, like, I have to be naked.” She said, nonchalantly, eyes cast down a little bit. “Now, how do you want me?”

This is . . . This is nuts. But . . . She seems okay with this. And I've never had a live model before. I could . . . I could do whatever I wanted. My mind flashed with several possibilities. There were several times when I had thought about hiring a model to get positions I could not find anywhere online. Not in that way. Well . . . They would be naked . . . But still. Everything would be above board. This is not something you get to do every day.

I stepped up to her. She had to look slightly up. I am a little short of 5'10. Short for a man, but I had widely grown used to it. She was a little shorter than me. Maybe 5'6 or 5'7. I gripped her waist and maneuvered her to the table. I sat her down and pulled one leg up onto the table and rested her foot on it. Then I pushed her back a little bit. She offered no resistance. Her breath seemed to catch a little when I brushed her chest, as I got her into position. I laid her arm on the leg that was up on the table and had her support herself with the other. Her opposite leg stretched out.

I went back to the easel and started sketching with a pencil. It took a while to get the angles right. I was so bad at angles. I was so bad at drawing in general. My eyes kept tracing her curves. All the way up the leg that was down. The way the shadows partially obscured her pussy. The way her opposite leg stretched up. The subtle curve of her stomach. Her fingernails were painted a lovely shade of red. Her breast rising and falling slowly. Her collar bone was pronounced. The muscles of her neck stretched out. Her chin was slightly turned down. Her tongue nervously poked out of her lips occasionally to lick her lips. The way her hair fell down her head and back and framed her face. The way her eyes stared directly at me.

I was enamored. I stopped thinking about how much I was going to fuck it up and just focused on her. On all of the little details that I might take for granted were a pencil not in my hand. Were an easel not in front of me. At some point, I came back to my senses. I had finished the sketching aspect of it. I had even added shading. I did not usually. I was going to paint over it, after all. Looking at it, I frowned. It was not too bad. When I stopped, she walked over and around the easel and leaned against me.

“Wow. That's beautiful.” Then she laughed and took the pencil from me. “You totally made my boobs bigger than they actually are, perv.”

I glanced at the sketch then at her . . . Well, her breasts. She brought it up. I had made them a little bit bigger than they actually were. Maybe half a cup or so. But again, I was bad with bra sizes. She squeezed them as I was staring. She also compared her butt to what I had drawn, grinning. “This is really good, though.”

“I'll . . . I'll fix the chest. Sorry about that.” I said, reaching for the pencil again. She held it away from me.

“No, leave it. Get to painting. Do you need me to sit over there again?”

“Uh . . . Yeah,” I said. I looked at the pencil in her hand. She is so confusing. I took out my phone and took a picture of the easel. I was kind of proud of the sketch. I was also sure that the longer I looked at it, the less I would like it. That is just how art works for me.

I busted out my paint set and started working at mixing the colors. I started with her eyes. They were usually dark green. The fact that she was somewhat translucent caused the light to hit them weird sometimes making them seem to glow. She adjusted herself a little and continued to watch me. It took a couple of hours, but I got her painting done. Getting the skin tone right was the hardest thing. Ghosts are a little washed out, but in life, I think she would have been, while not exactly tan, at least darker than me. Which is to say darker than the whitest of all paper.