F/Stop
11
Disruption
WE ALL COMPARED NOTES at dinner that evening. I absolutely loved having my family together each evening. Then I thought about how things were changing. My family was all together, but Elizabeth was in Las Vegas. I wasn’t sure I counted her anymore. But the four of us plus Toni made a nice family at the dinner table.
“I volunteered to help clean up the Institute,” Ronda said. “I know the people who trashed it thought they were striking out against the war, but I’m not studying how to make war. I’m studying how to make peace. Then there was a ruckus over by the National Guard Armory. National Guard are staging there, ‘just in case.’ After a brief confrontation, though, the commander agreed to lower the flag to half staff in honor of the students at Kent State.”
“Flag lowering was all that happened in Rockford. No one stayed out of class. No signs were carried. They lowered the flag to half staff and told us all it was a terrible thing that happened and we should all be thankful to be in a sane and sensible environment,” Anna said. “It sort of makes me want to not go back.”
“There were a lot of students in the store today,” Patricia said. “I heard them say about half were boycotting classes and there would be a vote at the University tomorrow regarding whether to strike.”
“I think there is no need for a vote downtown. Students from all four Loop schools were on the streets. Not everyone, but I’d guess most will be out tomorrow. I won’t cross picket lines,” I said. “Carrie says there’s a national strike committee being coordinated out of Brandeis in Massachusetts. I think all they’re doing, though, is collecting information about who is going to shut down what schools.”
“Well, Kent State has already said it isn’t reopening this spring,” Ronda said. “It sounds like the University of Washington has already called a general strike and has shut down.”
“I… um… I don’t do this very often. I think that’s because of my own doubts. But when faced with situations like this, Reverend Mother Superior always suggested we pray. I… uh… don’t want to force the family into something, though.”
“Would you lead us in that prayer, Nate?” Patricia asked. “It doesn’t mean we’re all religious or anything, but sometimes things seem bigger than we are. It would be nice to at least ask for guidance.”
I looked from Patricia to Ronda to Anna. All three nodded. I held out my hands and took Anna’s on one side of me and Toni’s on the other. She’d been to church enough times that she knew what was happening when we bowed our heads.
“Lord, you don’t hear from us much and we try not to be a bother. We’re not… or at least I’m not all that good a person, but I try to do right and not hurt anyone. There’s a lot of stuff going down around us and like it or not, we’re all going to be involved one way or another. We’d just like to ask two things that Mom always said. Help us make good decisions. We might not always know what’s right, so just give us a little nudge, please. And Lord, please protect our family and loved ones and keep them from harm. That’s really all we can ask. Amen.”
“Amen,” chorused my girlfriends.
“Sunny school?” Toni asked.
We all laughed and got things cleaned up and put away for the night. I sat with Toni in the beanbag chair and read Red Fish, Blue Fish one more time. My girlfriends all sat close to us, reaching out to hold hands or touch each other. We got Toni to bed and all sang to her together. That precious little girl was out like a light.
“Oh, Nate, there was mail today,” Patricia said. “You have a letter.”
“What’s this?” I said. I looked at the envelope to see it was from Photosensitive Productions. I tore it open.
“What do they want? Are we going back to Las Vegas?”
“Ah, no. They’ve started production and they’d like me to check out a few holes in the script for them.”
“Did they send it?”
“No. They just asked how soon I could come to LA and asked me to call Chrystal to make arrangements.”
“You can go,” Ronda said. “When your classes are out, I’ll still have three weeks of classes to go.”
“I’ll still have a week. You and Patricia could go.”
“I don’t think Toni would enjoy LA that much,” Patricia said. “Why don’t you just fly out, do the business, and fly back?”
“Oh, I know!” Ronda said. “I bet you could stay with Adrienne! That would be just what you need after these stressful times. She might even go to meetings with you and make the producer and writers lose track of what they are thinking.”
“Are you guys sure? I could just tell them I can’t come until June and we’ll all go,” I said. Somehow, the idea of seeing Adrienne was appealing. She was really very therapeutic.
“Call Chrystal and see what you can set up,” Anna agreed.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “I can call after I get home and it will still be early Pacific Time. Even with the time difference, it would be too late tonight.”
Besides, if all hell broke loose tomorrow, I wasn’t going to be leaving my family any time soon.
It wasn’t quite hell downtown. The doors to the school were unlocked, but no one was going in. Students were on the sidewalk out front and across the street in Grant Park. Carrie caught up with me and shoved a leaflet into my hands that proclaimed: “Strike! Stop the Invasion of Cambodia. Stop the War in Vietnam. Boycott classes and businesses that are pro-War and pro-Nixon!”
There were details. A rally would be held in Grant Park on Saturday to protest the war and the killings at Kent State.
In some ways, the whole protest reminded me of Carrie’s unfocused activism when we were freshmen. And she was definitely still a believer in all these things, but she’d gotten focused on women’s rights through my introduction of Leva Harmon to her. The flyer also declared, “Free Bobby Seale” and “Free the Chicago Seven!” There was even a nod to the high school education strikes of a year plus ago, calling for the teaching of black studies and more classes in Spanish. There was a little something for everyone.
I pulled my camera out and went on a walk around the block to see how far the protest had gone. I also pulled out my peace symbol. Since the last time I was beaten for wearing it in July, I’d worn it under my shirt unless I knew I was in friendly company. Maybe the best picture in my set that Leslie took was the one that showed the symbol against my chest as I turned to look at her.
Well, if there was a time to declare what side of things I was on, it was now.
A block away from Columbia, Roosevelt College had a sign plastered across its huge double doors that just declared “Closed until further notice.”
I got another flyer that looked like it had been hand written on a stencil and mimeographed.
WE DEMAND
- 1. That the United States government end its systematic oppression of political dissidents and release all political prisoners such as Bobby Seale and other members of the Black Panther Party.
- 2. That the United States government cease its escalation of the Vietnam War into Cambodia and Laos; That it unilaterally and immediately withdraw all forces from Southeast Asia.
- 3. That the universities end their complicity with the United States war machine by the immediate end to defense research, ROTC, counterinsurgency research, and all other such programs.
STRIKE!
It included a hand-drawn picture of a gagged Bobby Seale and a hand sketch of a picture I’d seen in the newspaper of a girl kneeling beside the body of one of the protesters at Kent State.
A block farther on, students had strung yellow tape across the entrances to the Art Institute. All along Wabash, the various buildings occupied by DePaul and the other three colleges were locked with signs that declared they were closed.
I stopped at the studio and processed the roll of film, printing pictures of the closed signs and noting on the back what each one was. I put them in an envelope and hustled up to the Trib to drop them off. Of course, a lot of photographers were out. I found out the Armory building, where students had negotiated flying the flag at half staff the day before, had been set on fire. Northwestern, up in Evanston, was on strike and students had blocked streets and set barricades on fire.
By the time I got back to Columbia, a sign had been posted on the doors that simply said, “Classes canceled.” I saw Prof. Hyatt walking among students and stopped to talk to him.
“The faculty met this morning and voted to support the student strike and lock their classrooms,” he said. “This whole thing has gotten out of control with the killings in Ohio. The only safety we have is to outnumber the pigs.”
I was surprised to hear my professor talking like a teenage revolutionary. Just then Mr. Jonas stepped up to us. I hadn’t seen him much after my photojournalism class.
“Are you getting any good pictures?” Jonas asked.
“I took a few up to the Trib an hour ago,” I said. “There are fires up at Northwestern and down at UChicago, though, so I doubt they’ll be interested in anything as tame as what’s going on downtown.”
“It’ll get livelier. There will be ten thousand people gathering here on Saturday,” Jonas said. “It might be the biggest antiwar protest in history when you count all the schools going out on strike. You were in Washington for the Moratorium. This may be bigger. We’ll see if Nixon can watch a football game through this.”
I caught the train home at four. I needed to be in the arms of my family.
“Seventy-five percent of the student body voted to strike,” Ronda said as we sat at the dinner table and caught each other up on our day. “The Law School voted complete strike and protesters burned the ROTC building. That’s the news.”
“Columbia faculty voted to join the strike, so the school is closed. I wonder if they’ll extend the school year to finish after the strike like they would in high school if we had too many snow days,” I said. “I also wonder what any of this will mean to student deferments. I’m not too worried unless Nixon decides to send another half million into Cambodia because he can’t keep sending them to Vietnam and still live up to his promise to withdraw troops.”
“And in Rockford news, nothing happened,” Anna said. “We’re an hour and a half outside of Chicago and you’d think we were in a different country. Mention Kent State and people shrug and say, ‘Well, what do you expect?’ We just went on Daylight Saving Time here and they just set their clocks back to 1944.”
“That’s one more good reason for Toni and I to have moved out of Tenbrook. As far as people there are concerned, the issues are settled. Clyde Warren is no longer on the draft board, so there’s really no problem anymore,” Patricia said.
“I think I’ll come down and take pictures at UChicago tomorrow,” I said. “Maybe I’ll get pictures of some smoking rubble. I don’t think anything will be happening downtown until Saturday’s rally.”
Thursday was a tough day, through no fault of our own. Anna took off for Rockford. Ronda and I walked with Patricia and Toni to daycare and then Patricia’s job. Then Ronda and I walked over to her campus. There were still some students ducking into classroom buildings, a little furtively.
“I hate to see people acting afraid to go to class because everyone else is out. It’s dividing everyone.”
“That’s not all,” Ronda said, pointing across the commons area.
A group was marching onto the commons with signs that disagreed with the prevailing tide. “Kill all Commie Traitors!” read one sign. “Honorable Peace Through Victory in Vietnam,” read another. I saw a couple of ROTC uniforms among them. I didn’t think they were supposed to do that, but what do I know.
“Open the school!” one person shouted.
“Open up! Open up! Open up!” the group chanted. It was hard to take them seriously as there were only twenty or thirty in the group. They stayed clustered close together and there were four or five police officers standing around them. It looked like they were expecting to be attacked.
I snapped a couple of pictures and changed to my 150mm lens so I didn’t need to get too close. There were ten times as many students off to our left holding protest signs and singing songs. They weren’t engaging with the counter protest.
Except one lone guy. He came right up to the front of the group and started handing them flyers. One of the policemen stepped between him and the group and tried to get him to leave. I took pictures of the confrontation, in which the leaflet guy was arguing with the policeman. He stepped away and reached inside his jacket. Somebody in the crowd yelled, “Gun!”
The police officer turned back to the leaflet guy and saw his hand in his jacket. He pulled his gun and shot the guy three times. The other police converged from the sides of the crowd as the mob cheered. The shooter was on his knees beside the body and opened the kid’s jacket. There was nothing there but a piece of paper.
I maneuvered in closer so I could get a straight shot of the officer over the body. Damn Chicago pigs. Now they come onto campus and shoot unarmed students.
Except this cop wasn’t one of the usual pigs. He was kneeling next to the body crying. I took the picture before I realized it was Officer Macalister. One of the good guys.
I don’t know how long I just stood there staring. The other police officers were standing between the body and the two converging crowds. Ronda grabbed my arm and dragged me back away from the commons. She pulled me behind a building and then turned and threw up. I emptied my stomach as well. We’d just seen a cop—one I thought of as a good guy—kill an unarmed protester. Just a bunch of bad circumstances. Tension. Tempers. A shouted word.
“We have to go,” Ronda sobbed. “We have to go.”
We stumbled back toward our apartment as we heard sirens approaching from a dozen different directions, it seemed. Ronda dragged me right on past the apartment and to the train station.
“What are we doing here?” I asked.
“We have to go to the studio and develop the film so you can get it to the newspaper. You have to show people what happens out here.”
“Yeah. I get it. It’s my job. I need to get pictures to the newspaper.”
We held each other on the train, crying until we reached the Loop and went into the studio.
I processed the film and printed a proof sheet. We chose four pictures that told the story. The crowd. The confrontation. The shooting. And finally, the officer kneeling over the body. I printed them and Ronda dried them. She neatly penned the description on the back of each. Circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back.
We headed down to the Trib and dropped things off. I didn’t want to stay and be interviewed. We took off and wandered among the various protesters in front of the buildings on Michigan Avenue. All the college buildings had big ‘Closed’ signs on their doors.
When we got to Columbia, I recognized several professors and some administrators passing forms out to students. I found Mr. Jonas, who handed me a letter.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“The administration is throwing its lot in with all the students,” Jonas said. “Closed for the duration of the term.”
“What do we do? Get incompletes in everything?” I asked. I started scanning through the letter.
“No. All students who have made satisfactory progress to this point will receive a P for Pass. You’ll get full credit for your classes, but no grade point.”
“Wow! That’s pretty radical.”
“Yes. I believe Roosevelt, DePaul, and The Art Institute are doing the same thing. The presidents all had a meeting last night that lasted most of the night. I understand Northwestern is doing the same thing. I don’t know about the other colleges in town.”
“Nate! Nate, I’m glad I saw you down here. We’d have covered this when I saw you in class if there was one. Your fall work-study has been approved,” Professor Hyatt called to me. “The new camera setup will be installed this summer and we’ll be taking photos for ID badges starting the last of August. Are you in?”
“Wow! I’d almost forgotten about it. Yes. I thought maybe it had been junked as an idea.”
“We’ll be doing freshman IDs starting August thirty-first. Classes start September eighth. It will be chaotic that first week or two. You might have more than the ten hours a week we anticipated,” Hyatt said.
“I can be clear for that. I think we planned to come home from Canada the week before that,” I answered. Wow! Only a month until we were leaving for Canada.
We continued to chat for a while. Occasionally, a group would get together and start a chant or sing songs. Eventually, Ronda and I headed for the train and went home to hold our loved ones.
Ronda and I needed a little extra attention from our lovers Thursday night. First of all, I had to dance with Toni. We put a stack of records on the player and just danced around the room for an hour. Sometimes I held her in my arms and sometimes I just set her on the floor and watched her dance as I danced. She was getting to be pretty good.
I loved that little girl so much! All I wanted was a safe and sane world for her to grow up in. Is that asking too much?
Our passports came in the mail that day and we all sat with them lying in front of us, thinking about where we’d like to go.
We had a nice kettle of beans and bacon on the stove for dinner. I made up a batch of cornbread from Dad’s recipe and when it was done—and not too burned on the bottom—we sat down to a dinner of comfort food.
Comfort was what it was all about. Every once in a while, I’d catch Ronda’s eye and we’d both start to cry silently until our lovers took control and comforted us. It wasn’t every day that you saw someone killed in front of you. He was just there talking one second and the next second he was lying dead on the ground.
After we got Toni settled for the night, the four of us went to bed and just held each other all night long. We didn’t make love. We just needed to hold onto each other.
I didn’t go downtown Friday. There was no reason to. No one had organized anything like pickets or specific protests until Saturday. What was to picket? The colleges had all closed for the rest of the semester. Ronda and I stayed in bed together all morning. Anna walked Patricia and Toni to work and found the two of us deep in making love. It was such an intense moment that we didn’t even hear her in the apartment until we’d both come and held each other while my cock shriveled out of her.
Only one of my pictures was printed in the paper. It was the one of the guy actually getting shot. I felt bad for Macalister. I just knew he didn’t want to kill someone. He’d responded to a perceived threat that turned out to be nothing. Still, the other guy was dead.
We all decided to join the walk into the city on Saturday. A couple thousand students, faculty, and families started the march from the UChicago campus to Grant Park at ten in the morning. We were strung out for several blocks with people carrying signs and singing protest songs. Toni started out walking, but we had the stroller for when she started to sag.
Anna and I probably covered twice the seven miles downtown from running up and down the line of marchers to take photos. When we got close to Grant Park, though, we found what crowds were really like. People had marched all the way from Northwestern in Evansville starting at six o’clock in the morning. Marchers came from the main DePaul campus five miles north. There were sections identified as University of Illinois Chicago, Loyola, Austin High School, and Bogan Jr. College.
We got situated where Ronda and Patricia felt they could hold a steady position, and Anna and I started moving around the perimeter in much the same way we’d been working at the moratorium in Washington DC. I was surprised when a woman detached herself from a group and rushed to hug me.
“Nate! I knew you’d be here. Come and take a picture of our group from Lake Forest College.”
It took me a second to recognize Amy Clark. Her hair was long and straight. She was wearing bellbottoms and a flower-print shirt with a headband. She did not look like the fashion plate I’d photographed two years before and won a State Championship with after I’d humiliated her until I got a genuine picture of her.
“Amy! It’s good to see you. I didn’t recognize you at first.”
“Good! That means I must look like a human being instead of the monster you photographed before.” She led me over to a group of about thirty students from Lake Forest. “We aren’t a very big group here today, but we shut down the college. At least for a couple of days.”
“I just hope we’re doing some good,” I said. “This is Anna. If you give her contact information, we’ll make sure you get copies of the photo.”
“Maybe I should come to have another photo session with you. It’s just so far out to Tenbrook,” Amy said.
“Oh, I don’t have a studio out there anymore. I have a studio just a couple of blocks from here on Wabash.”
“Cool! I’ll call for an appointment.”
“It might be in the fall before I have a chance. We’ll be headed to our studio in Canada in June.”
“Sounds exciting. Look, they’re setting up for the first speaker.”
Anna and I headed back to where Patricia, Toni, and Ronda were waiting. I was able to get some decent pictures of the music groups and the speakers, but as the Trib would say, “Nothing happened.” For a protest rally of around 20,000 people, it was peaceful and even kind of boring. It ended after about two hours and people just drifted away. I took my family home without bothering to go to the studio and process film from the day.
“Yes, there’s no reason I can’t come out this week,” I told Chrystal on the phone Sunday afternoon. “I’m out of school and don’t plan to leave for Canada until around the fifth or sixth of June.”
“That’s great. I’ll get your travel arrangements made and will meet you at LAX. I’ll give you a call back as soon as I have your ticket. I expect I’ll see you tomorrow evening and we’ll have meetings with the production crew on Tuesday,” Chrystal said. “Talk to you soon.”
“Yeah, ’bye,” I said to a dead line. She was already gone.
“She says I’ll fly out to Los Angeles tomorrow. Something called LAX,” I told my girlfriends.
“That’s the Los Angeles airport,” Ronda supplied. “They all use three-letter abbreviations. I suppose Chrystal deals with that kind of thing all the time.”
“Now, you need to call Adrienne,” Anna said. “You simply can’t go to Los Angeles and ignore her.”
“I haven’t talked to her in a month,” I said. “I feel guilty because I’ve ignored her.”
“Well, you can make it up to her now,” Anna laughed. I looked at the card beside the phone with all our important phone numbers on it, and dialed Adrienne’s number.
“Hello?”
“Adrienne, it’s Nate.”
“Nate! You called me! Do you want me to come out to Chicago? I can leave tonight and be there in the morning. I’ve been wanting to see you so much. Do you want me to bring anything special? I’ll pack my toys. I’m so excited to see you,” she bubbled.
“Fifi, settle down,” I commanded.
“Yes, Master. Fifi got excited. I might have peed on the floor a little.”
“I’ll deal with that when I get there.”
“Get here? Master, are you coming to visit Fifi?”
“I’d like to see you while I’m in LA, at least,” I said. “I have meetings with the movie company starting Tuesday. I’m not sure how many. Probably a couple of days anyway. Maybe you’d like to come with me and keep me from getting bored.”
“Oh, yes,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll prepare your room for you, Master. When should I pick you up at the airport?”
“Hmm. I have a PA who will collect me from the airport. I suppose she was making a hotel reservation for me. I don’t want to inconvenience you with staying at your apartment.”
“Oh, please, inconvenience me. I so want to see you and I would do anything if you’ll stay with me.”
“Anything?”
“Oh, Master, you know I’d do anything for you regardless. Please make Fifi happy and use her apartment as your own. Wherever I am is yours.”
“Uh, wow. I’ll give you a call back as soon as I find out the travel details and when I’ll get there. I’m looking forward to seeing you, my little Fifi.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll be waiting by the phone.”
My flight was scheduled at 3:15 Monday afternoon and I’d get into Los Angeles at 6:00. Chrystal was a little surprised when I told her I had a place to stay in West Hollywood but I’d need transportation for my associate and I to get to the meetings and back to her apartment.
“So, you won’t be needing any… um… company while you’re here?” Chrystal asked.
“Whatever you or the execs had in mind, please cancel it,” I said. “I can take care of my own companionship needs.”
“I wasn’t meaning to imply… I mean, I wasn’t suggesting me… I… Oh, crap. I’ll just get you a limo and you can take care of everything else. I’ll see you at the airport at six.”
“Thanks, Chrystal. See you tomorrow.”
I turned to my housemates and had the phone off the hook to dial Adrienne as I spoke.
“I can’t believe how fast a trip it is. I take off from here at 3:15 and arrive in California at 6:00. I expected it to be much longer.”
“Don’t forget there’s a two-hour time change,” Ronda reminded me.
“Oh! That means it’s like five hours instead of three. I hope I can just sleep. But it will be neat to see clouds from the top instead of the bottom.” The line connected. “Hello, Adrienne. I’ll get into Los Angeles about six o’clock tomorrow. I expect I’ll be at your place soon after.”
“I’ll expect you about seven-thirty then,” she said excitedly. “I’ll let Samuel know to expect you and he’ll show you right up.”
“It’s going to take an hour and a half to get to you?”
“Maybe two, but we’ll be watching. Unfortunately, traffic will be heavy at that time on a Monday. But don’t worry. I’ll have dinner and a nice bath waiting for you. I’m so excited to have you visit me here!”
“Okay. I’m excited, too. You know I’ve never flown before? I’m glad I got a passport!”
“You’re so funny, Nate. Kisses!” She hung up.
Ronda was giggling hysterically and we all wanted to know what was up.
“Um… California is in the United States. You don’t need a passport to fly there.”
“Oh. You don’t need one to take an airplane?”
“Only if you’re taking it to Europe.”
“Well, I must have sounded like a twit. Do I even have anything to wear? Should I wear a suit?”
Ronda was the expert on air travel, so she got to dictate what I should wear on the plane. Anna and Patricia decided it was a great opportunity to dress me up for executive meetings instead of like a hippie teen photographer.
“Not the suit, but you should take that with you. Remember these guys? You went out to fancy places to eat. They all wore ties when we had meetings. Even the assistant who came to take you to your patron was dressed in a suit and tie,” Ronda said. “What seat are you in?”
“I didn’t write it down, but I remember it because of Shakespeare. I’m in seat 2B. I’m supposed to pick up the ticket and boarding card at the gate. I think they’ll check my suitcase, too. Either that or my hands will be really full with a camera case, too.”
“Of course, you need a camera case,” Patricia laughed.
“You’re sure that was 2B?” Ronda asked.
“Yeah. Is that not okay?”
“It’s fine,” Ronda said. “You’re flying first class. I’ve never figured out why these guys treat you so well when they say the movie isn’t even about you.”
“I think they plan to use some of my photos from Las Vegas, though. It should be interesting to see how they stage things.”
By the time my girlfriends were done with me, I had a small suitcase packed with clothes for a week, including my personal things, like toothbrush and hair brush. My hair was shoulder length now, but the girls kept my beard trimmed up short, so I didn’t really look like a hippie. Not in my opinion. I wore my slacks and a dark shirt and tie with my sport coat and picked my camera case up at the studio on the way to the airport.
We all walked down to the gate where I told the agent who I was. He looked me up on a list and asked for my identification. Okay, even though I didn’t need it to fly, I still presented him with my passport. He glanced at it, smiled, and printed out a boarding card. He took my suitcase and offered to take the camera case, but I told him that traveled with me. I was carrying both my Nikon and the Hasselblad and assorted lenses. He directed me to a waiting area and said a stewardess would conduct me to my seat shortly.
Cool. My opinion of Elizabeth’s sister Valerie jumped to being about the same as an usher in a movie theater. My girlfriends gathered around me and Toni wanted a kiss before I got on the plane. As a last bit of adjustment to my appearance, Patricia pulled my peace symbol out of my shirt so it hung over my tie. Ronda put my fedora on my head, and Anna slid a pair of sunglasses on.
I thought I must look ridiculous.
“California is always sunny. You’ll need them and there’s no better place to carry them than on your face,” she said. Okay, then.
The uniformed stewardess came to collect me and waited patiently as I kissed each of my girlfriends goodbye. I followed her shapely figure out a door and down a kind of tunnel onto the plane. Wow! What a good-looking woman! She helped me put my camera case on a rack and showed me my seat.
“Let me take your hat and put it away here for safety. We wouldn’t want it to get crushed,” she said. I gave up my fedora and watched her open a compartment with hooks in it where she hung my hat.
I immediately wished I had seat 2A instead of 2B. 2A was the window seat and I was on the aisle. The first row of seats faced the back, so when a very cute woman took seat 1A, we greeted each other. She was dressed pretty fancily in a short skirt and silk blouse under a butt-length linen jacket. I wondered if maybe I should have worn the suit instead. Others in the cabin were dressed in sport coats, though, so I guessed it was okay.
People filed through down the aisle and past a curtain. I could see, when I turned my head that on the other side of the curtain, there were three seats on either side of the aisle instead of two, but it didn’t look that crowded. All the boarding passengers stopped to wait for the stewardess, though, when she carried a tray of glasses of champagne and served each of us in the forward cabin. I started to protest and then decided to just go with it as part of the experience of flying.
“To a wonderful trip,” the woman opposite me said, raising her glass.
“And to you,” I said, lacking any sophisticated comeback. We raised our glasses and touched the rim, just to hear the clink.
“I’m Fran Carter,” she giggled. “I’ve had it with shooting commercials and never getting a big break. I’m going to Hollywood and star in a movie.”
“What movie?” I asked. “Oh, I’m Nate Hart.”
“Well, I haven’t been cast in one yet, Nate. But I figured the best way to make an entrance is to go first class. What movie are you in?” she asked.
Me? In a movie? Yeah. I was going to Hollywood.
“I’m actually a photographer. I’m consulting on a new movie I don’t think they’ve named yet.”
“Maybe there’s a perfect role for me!” she said brightly. She reached across to touch my hand—quite a feat in the big seats. “I believe that good things happen because we put ourselves in the way of them happening. It could be just a coincidence that we happen to be on the same plane going the same direction to work in the movies. But that coincidence might be that we are helping each other’s careers by making contacts and providing exactly what the other person needs.”
“That’s an interesting concept,” I nodded.
“Seatbelts fastened?” the stewardess asked. “We’re closing the door to push back.”
I looked around me. There were three rows with two seats on either side of the aisle. The curtain had been drawn between our compartment and the rear. A couple occupied the third row on the other side of the aisle and they were very into each other. I was betting they were just married and heading on their honeymoon. The other three pairs of seats had only one person each in them. Men.
“Isn’t anyone sitting in this seat?” I asked, pointing next to me.
“No. If you’d prefer to move over so it’s easier to converse, please do,” the stewardess said.
“Um… Do you mind?” I asked Fran.
“Oh, no. Please come over here closer where we can talk.”
I shifted to the window seat and watched the pavement begin to move as the tunnel—uh… jetway, I was told—was moved away.
“Isn’t it exciting?” Fran asked. “I’ve actually never flown before. I specifically requested this seat. 1A. I’m going to be a 1A actress.”
“Truthfully, it’s my first time, too, but I didn’t make my own arrangements. My PA set everything up for me.”
“You already have a PA? How exciting. Now I’m sure we were fated to meet. You could take pictures of me and give them to the director of your movie. Then he’ll call me in to do a screen test and cast me in the movie that has no name so far.”
This gal was quite a dreamer. I wondered if it had been her first glass of champagne, too. The noise in the plane got louder as the engines revved up and we started moving down the runway to take off. I swallowed hard and was pressed into the back of the seat. I thought Fran might fly right out of hers into my lap. Not completely an unpleasant image.
Soon, we were climbing into the sky and both Fran and I had our faces pressed against the windows. We were both pointing out features of the skyline as the plane arced around over Lake Michigan and back to the west. Then we hit some clouds and were suddenly above and into the bright sun with the clouds beneath us.
We both accepted the glass of champagne when the stewardess brought around another. We toasted each other and laughed about our excitement to be flying.
“Well, like I said, I’m a photographer. I have a studio in Chicago and have developed a style I call Attic Allure. It’s a kind of glamour or art photography.”
“Like, you take pictures of… you know… nudes?” she whispered.
We’d finally settled back to enjoy the trip and our champagne. She asked what I really did for a living and if I always wore sunglasses. I’d forgotten about them and quickly took them off and put them in my jacket pocket.
“Yes. Many of my photos are of nudes, but artistic, not pornographic. I guess that’s what inspired this movie company to use me as a source for their movie about a photographer,” I said.
“So, if you were to take pictures of me, you’d want to take nudes?” she gasped.
Then she very deliberately pulled her jacket back and pressed her breasts forward against the silk blouse. That made it clear that she wasn’t wearing a bra under the blouse, with two very attractive nipples on large breasts poking out the fabric.
“Um… Well… That would be an option. It’s not strictly required.”
“You’d want to, though, wouldn’t you?”
“Ah… Yes. I think that would be very nice.”
“I had my boobs done last fall. I knew I’d never get cast if I had a flat chest. You don’t think I overdid it, do you?”
“No. No. Quite lovely from what I can see.”
They really were lovely and a sizable handful or more. I was amazed that they stuck out so firmly for being so big. I’d shot some enhanced breasts before, though, and they all seemed to be a little more solid than natural ones. Still, there’s nothing like cruising through the air with a glass of champagne and a nice pair of boobs in front of you.
“Of course, you can’t see them fully, but if you wanted to take pictures, I could definitely do nudes. It might even help me get cast. So, sure, you can see me naked.”
She unbuttoned two buttons of her blouse and for a moment, I thought she was going to just strip right there. She stopped, though, with just a nice valley showing.
“I hope you are enjoying yourselves,” our stewardess said as she stopped in our row. I mean actually in our row. She stepped between the aisle seats and sat next to Fran. Wow! Two pretty sets of legs in short skirts across from me. “I’m going to start making dinner soon. We have a New York Strip steak or an Atlantic Salmon as entrees. Do you have a preference?”
“Oh, I’ll have the salmon,” Fran said. “It’s so exotic.”
“Thank you, I’ll have the steak, medium rare if I may, please,” I said.
“I’ll bring around appetizers shortly. Would you like another drink?”
“I’d like a rum and Coke,” Fran said brightly. “I’m celebrating.”
“So I see,” the stewardess laughed. “And you, sir?”
“I think I’ll have coffee now. I’m going to be meeting people in LA and it’s still early in the trip.”
“Very wise, sir,” she mouthed at me.
“Oh, I’m wondering if I could get something from my case in the rack?”
“Certainly. Let me get it for you.”
I wasn’t sure, but I was beginning to think I could really get used to flying first class—especially looking at her legs as her skirt rode up when she stretched to get my case. I had no idea how much this ticket cost, but just the service, and the beautiful stewardess, were worth it. She set my case on the seat next to me and I popped the catches. I reached in to get my Nikon and checked to be sure it was loaded. Then I closed the case.
“Oh, you really are a photographer!” Fran said.
I’m not sure what she thought. I popped the 50mm lens on the camera. It would still be tight shooting from where I was, but it was the widest angle lens I had for the Nikon. Maybe it was time to add a 35mm lens. I’d have to talk to Levi. This was a fast lens, so shooting wide open at f/1.4, I’d have plenty of light in the airplane, even with the 25ASA Kodachrome I had loaded.
“I just thought I should have a camera available so I could take a few pictures of my lovely seat companion,” I said.
“Is this good?” Fran asked, arranging herself on the seat with her artificial boobs thrust out in front of her.
“Definitely,” I said, taking a shot.
“May I set your table for dinner?” the stewardess asked. I finally got my eyes up high enough to see her nametag.
“Oh, thank you, Missy,” I said. “I was just fooling around with my camera.”
“We’ll get dinner out of the way and then there will be plenty of time to fool around,” she said, winking at me.
She folded down a table between us and put a cloth on it, then set silverware, napkins, glasses, and our drinks down. She came back with a plate of broiled mushroom caps for each of us.
“These are good,” I said, savoring the one I had in my mouth.
“Yummy!” Fran said. I looked again and was sure she’d unbuttoned another button of her blouse. Maybe, two. The inner curves of the round globes of her breasts were visible top to bottom in the gap.
Dinner promised to be an entertaining affair. So to speak.
During the meal, I found out Fran was originally from Green Bay, Wisconsin, but had come to Chicago to study acting at the Goodman right out of high school. She managed to get several jobs through the school doing television commercials, but all for local companies with nothing running nationally. She’d decided to get her breasts enhanced and once they were healed to try her luck in Hollywood.
I also discovered she’d slipped her shoes off and one bare foot was up under my pants leg.
“I’m not totally naïve,” she said. “I’ve slept with directors before. I’ve fallen in love and had my heart broken. I’m not going to be homeless when I get to town. I have a friend I can stay with until I get my feet on the ground. I even understand that the whole story of becoming a waitress and having a famous director choke on his medium rare steak and the waitress saves his life and he’s so grateful he casts her in the starring role in his new movie and she becomes an overnight success and everyone loves her—is a crock. There have to be half a million waitresses in Los Angeles, and what? Fifty reputable directors? At the same time, I believe in being nice to everyone because you never know when one of them might have the key to your career hidden up his pants leg.”
She punctuated that by rubbing her foot up and down my leg.
I sipped the wine that came with my steak and mostly listened to Fran’s story. And enjoyed her attentions under the table. Missy served New York Cheesecake for dessert and brought me fresh coffee and Fran a glass of brandy.
I wondered if Fran had started drinking before she got on the plane. I wasn’t trying to keep track, but I knew she’d had two glasses of champagne, a rum and Coke, a glass of white wine with her fish, and now a glass of brandy. When our dishes were cleared, Missy brought us chocolate truffles. I reached in my pocket for my pipe and started to pack it.
“Oh, Mr. Hart,” Missy said coming up to me. “We don’t allow pipes or cigars on the plane. Only cigarettes. May I offer you a Marlborough or L&M? Miss Carter, we have Virginia Slims, if you’d like.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you,” Fran said as I stuffed my pipe in a pocket and accepted a Marlborough. I leaned forward to light Fran’s cigarette and then reached for my camera again.
“Do you mind if I photograph you again?” I asked.
“Please do! How’s this?” She held her cigarette up and blew smoke out as she gazed toward the ceiling. I took the photo and she immediately shifted positions. She curled her feet under her in the seat, which exposed the outside of her leg all the way to her panties. I carefully reached over and tugged her skirt down just enough to cover her panties.
“Panties ruin the look,” I said as I ran my hand down her leg.
“I could take them off,” she giggled. I think she was serious.
“This is good. Glance out the window. There.”
I looked around a little. The people across the aisle from us were both asleep. The couple in the last row were cuddled together kissing. I couldn’t see the person behind me. Missy was standing in the galley with a cigarette of her own. She smiled at me and I winked.
“Let’s show a little more of what first class travel is really like,” I said, reaching slowly for Fran’s blouse. She straightened her posture a little to thrust her boobs out more as I pushed the right side of her blouse over her breast to expose her nipple. I brushed against it. By that time, Fran had moved to unbutton the last two buttons of the blouse and it hung open on her right side, toward the window.
“I knew we’d get to this point,” she said while I took the picture and shifted slightly to get a different angle. “You can touch if you like. They don’t go anywhere. But I still have pretty good feeling in my nipples. Are you sure you don’t want me to take off my panties?”
“I think that would be a dangerous thing to do on the airplane.”
“Yeah. I might get something in my vagina if it wasn’t protected. That might not be so bad.”
I squeezed her tit and then pushed the other side of her blouse open so both were fully exposed. I caught her taking a last puff from her cigarette and looking like she’d just been fucked. I realized I’d stuck my cigarette in the ashtray and never lit it. I reached out to caress her boobs some more and she pushed them into my hands.
“Mr. Hart,” Missy whispered in my ear. She was carefully not looking at Fran who grabbed at her blouse to pull it closed. “We are less than an hour from landing. Perhaps you’d like to use the lavatory to… um… pull things together.” She stepped away and I told Fran what she’d said.
“That would be a good idea,” Fran said. “Stewardesses are so smart.”
She stood and stepped toward the aisle, then reached out and grabbed my hand so I’d follow her. Okay. Missy was just behind the door and closed it behind us as we stepped in. It was a small room and Fran and I were tight against each other. I had the presence of mind to reach behind and slide the bolt on the door as Fran slammed her lips against mine and probed with her tongue. I held both boobs in my hands and found the nipples to pinch.
Fran sat on the lav and unzipped my slacks, fishing my hard cock out and swallowing it right into her throat. She started bobbing up and down on me in such a way that this was not going to last more than a minute. I could feel the come boiling in my balls when she popped off and looked up at me.
“You will pass my resume on to your producers, won’t you?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“Good!” She went back to sucking and very shortly to swallowing my come.
“How would you like me to make you come?” I asked. I didn’t think I could get into a position to eat her.
“You can just owe me one,” she said. “I know you’ll call. But if you don’t mind, I really need to pee and get dressed.”
I zipped up my pants and slipped out the door. I heard it lock behind me. Missy gently pushed me into the galley and handed me a note.
“I wouldn’t mind having my photo taken sometime,” she whispered. “Call me.”
Chrystal met me at the gate and nearly choked when I asked Fran if we could drop her someplace. Fran thanked me but waved at a girl coming across the concourse.
“Call me!” she said as she ran to meet her friend.
“I want to be amazed, but somehow I’m not surprised,” Chrystal laughed. “Do you need food? Anything else on our way to your… um… friend’s house?”
“No, I’m set,” I said, settling into the back of a luxurious limousine.
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
