Ensign Roger, Artist

“Admit it, if it wasn’t for me watching you, you would have blown your cover here long ago. You almost did when Lindstrom asked you to model for him.”

“I d- did say ‘yes’.”

“Yes but I saw your jaw clench. You hesitated.”

“Of course. The last thing I want to do is show myself off even more. I’m a modest girl. On South B - beach I always wore a one-piece. Anyway I d - don’t think Lindstrom n - noticed. I went back to sipping my martini.”

“Another thing, you shouldn’t drink.”

“It keeps m - me warm when I g - go out.”

“Yes, but two martinis? . . . If you’re going to walk naked through a Norwegian winter you can’t impede your circulation . . . Anyway you shouldn’t have been surprised when he asked you to pose. I’m an American artist and they assume you, the nudist, are my model.”

“Some artist. I still don’t believe you got that Community College degree.”

“Hey, that ‘midnight sun’ charcoal I did with you lying in the snow, that went over well.”

“I’m s - still not imp - pressed. . . You took your d - damn t - time having me p - pose. . . my b - butt got numb . . . and with half the t - town watching . . . all bundled up with their thermals on . . . God, I’m c - cold! P - please walk faster!”

“I told you . . . don’t rub your arms! Don’t hug yourself! You’re supposed to be welcoming the snow on your bare skin!”

“Well . . . I’m not.”