The New James Page 17   consulting days. They are all professional painters’ models, skinny and lifeless, he thinks. A couple of the girls were more voluptuous. One he had met on the train and convinced her to pose; the other was a painter friend, doing him a favor. But even though their bodies were fuller, they were so uncomfortable with their shapes. They covered themselves in shame so tightly that he felt like they were fully clothed when they posed. James places his hands at his sides and looks around his studio. He focuses on the plaster sculpture of the reclining woman with her hand on the cusp of her thigh. Arnel is so, so close to capturing the magical female substance, James thinks. He searches through his drawers for the list of goals that he had typed up six months earlier. He was writing these goals when he first conceived of the Tuscany trip. Maybe this list will give him yet another dose of inspiration. He rummages through each drawer but he cannot find it. He thinks he remembers not even saving the Word document on his computer out of excitement. James sits at his desk and flips a pen in his fingers staring down at a blank sheet of paper. He decides that from now on he will lengthen his walks of inspiration and shorten his time in classes and the studio. He will thoroughly search the streets for a celestial beauty that produces the magical substance of life, a woman that radiates it freely in public. She will be aware of her flesh, yet interested in celebrating the beauty of others. He will get a neighborhood map from city hall, and mark every block that he covers and the time of his visit. He will be so, so thorough that he will miss nothing. Eventually, he must find her, he has to find her. He knows she exists. He leaves his apartment wearing gray slacks and slippers. James is filled with calculated enthusiasm. Who knows if he will ever come back.