Free Model Home by Eric Puchner Page A

heeltap of liquid. There was a square of downy white on the bottle where the label had been peeled off. And two mornings ago she’d found a strange note in the top drawer of her desk: YOU ARE BEAUTYFUL, it read, followed by a string of words she couldn’t decipher. She’d hired Mikolaj out of charity and felt betrayed by these developments.
    In her office, one last time, Camille went over the script to Earth to My Body: What’s Happening?, skimming carefully through each scene, which she’d storyboarded in colored pencil next to an accompanying narrative.She slowed down for the section titled “Conception, or What a Long Strange Trip.” This was the part the committee had objected to the first time around. She’d planned on using actual stock footage of sperm invading an egg, filmed under a microscope, but several PTA members andFather Gladstone from the Roman Catholic archdiocese had protested. They were concerned about the footage having been taken in a lab. “This is the miracle of life,” Father Gladstone said. “We don’t want these kids thinking they can duplicate it in their basement.”
    Camille’s brilliant idea was this: she’d get actual children to participate, dressing them in T-shirts that said SPERM and EGG on them. She’d videotape them on the old soccer field behind the art department. The sperm—ten of them—would run across the field and “invade” the egg, which would consist of five girls holding hands in a circle. Only one of them, the Chosen Sperm, would be let in. It would be fun, and the kids would be able to relate to it.
    When she explained all this later, however, standing behind the podium and addressing the “concerned citizens” of the advisory committee—including several representatives from different faiths—she was met with a disconcerting hush. The auditorium was large and windowless, which only amplified the silence. Camille’s eyes drifted to Rabbi Silverberg, who was staring at her rather than the Xeroxed script in his lap. He liked to sit in the fourth row and scowl at her ominously through his beard. In front of him sat Wendy Felsher, a community educator from Planned Parenthood. Camille tried to imagine Rabbi Silverberg in his underwear, as someone had once advised her to do, but picturing the religious dignitary in his briefs made her feel indecent.
    â€œWhich kids do you plan on using?” This came from one of the teachers, Narmada Khan, normally an outspoken defender of Camille’s work. The committee was supposed to be a perfect cross section of the public but in fact had been more or less randomly appointed by the school board.
    â€œI thought we’d use the ACCESS kids,” Camille said, adjusting the microphone. “I talked to Sue Kaufman already, who’s running the summer program. We’ll need permissions, of course.”
    â€œIsn’t that the gifted program?”
    One of the other teachers snorted. “Hoo, boy. Good luck.”
    â€œI’m worried about exposing these kids on videotape,” Carl Boufis said. He was the only father in the PTA and most people believed he was gay. “Who’s going to be doing the filming?”
    â€œMikolaj Czarnecki,” Camille mumbled. “My cameraman.”
    Mikolaj stood up from the front row and did a Shakespearean bow, rolling his hand in a long flourish of gestures, as thoughhe were shaking out a sprain. He seemed a bit lost afterward and sat down in a different seat than before. Camille smiled at the audience.
    â€œWhat’s going to happen to this so-called egg?” Father Gladstone said, squinting at the Xerox in his lap.
    â€œNothing,” Camille said. “I mean, it’s just a demonstration.”
    â€œCould we follow up with a birth scenario somehow? Just, um, thinking out loud here, tell me if I’m overstepping, but could the girls in the egg hold up a banner