Puff, puff, puff.
When he's not working for his father, Jock Ericson likes to run. And when he's not running he likes to work out. Since there are no health clubs in Beauneville, he likes to work out in his back yard, with free weights and such.
When he runs and works out, he does so in his gym shorts only. From her bedroom, Natasha watches with great interest; she finds his Nordic athleticism, ahem, interesting, thumpety-thumpety-thump.
And now, dressed in the white sari she bought in Poona last summer, Natasha stood with her sketch book in her studio, gazing at Jock in the stark bucko. When she asked him to model, he immediately agreed; even better, from Natasha's point of view: he did not request artist's courtesy.
Natasha looked at Jock with her head cocked to one side, held her pencil at arm's length and took some mental measurements. She asked him to stand with his weight on one leg, and then the other; she asked him to hold his arms one way, and then another way; then she paused and looked at him again. Something was not quite right.
Then she realized what was missing. Last summer, on the way back from India, Natasha made a side trip to Venice with Aunt Fluffy and Uncle Moe. On a hot and humid August afternoon, Natasha, Fluffy and Moe left their lodgings in San Marco and walked toward the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, pausing on the way at the Caffe Florian for a pick-me-up. Fluffy ordered a capuccino, Moe ordered an espresso doppio, and Natasha complained about the lack of vegetarian options.
She did like the artwork on the walls of the cafe, however, and felt incredibily inspired to sit within the same four walls once inhabited by Marcel Proust. Natasha once read the first page of Proust's A la recherche du temps perdu, and while she did not understand a word of it (as she neither speaks nor reads French), she is highly confident that it is one of the finest first pages yet written.
They also had snacks at the Florian: Fluffy ordered a cheese souffle, which looked grand when removed from the oven but rather sad by the time it reached the table; Moe ate Steak Tartare (which he later found to be an unfortunate choice); and Natasha continued to whine about the lack of options, but ordered a bratwurst anyway because it didn't really look like it had meat in it and she was hungry.
Fortified with caffeine and food (and inspired by the prominently displayed painting of Enrico Dandolo, forty-first doge of Venice) Natasha, Fluffy and Moe set forth again on foot for the Peggy Guggenheim Collection. They made considerable progress in the stinking heat until they encountered a significant obstacle in the form of the Grand Canal. They paused to consider options. Swimming seemed unattractive to Natasha, as she felt her ankle bracelets might drag her to the bottom. Fluffy disagreed -- Natasha's ankle bracelets aren't that heavy -- but Moe prevailed on the two of them to settle on a compromise, and take the gondola.
The gondola trip was brief and fairly uneventful -- the gondolier managed to avoid the several vaporetti that came dangerously close. While Uncle Moe was having great difficulty digesting the Steak Tartare (the rocking of the boat wasn't helpful), it was a simple matter for him to lean over the side of the gondola and retch to his heart's content. Natasha pulled her sari about her to protect it from collateral damage, and as she gazed at the water it struck her that Uncle Moe was likely neither the first nor the last to puke in the canal.
On arrival at the other side of the Grand Canal, Natasha stepped from the gondola and was immediately transfixed by Marino Marini's Angel of the City; her jaw dropped, and she stood there, mesmerized by bronze. Fluffy impatiently headed to the garden to touch the Brancusis; Fluffy has this thing where she needs to feel and hold the art, which is kind of quaint in a way but is also problematic because she is persona non grata at a number of major museums. Moe remained on the gondola landing; he and the Steak Tartare continued to confide in the Grand Canal.
Now, in the studio, Natasha remembered those electrifying moments in Venice. Inspired by Jock and by Angel of the City, she drew Thor on Elm Street.
