Over Exposure
32
The Fight
“Robyn” by Orehova, ID315523448 licensed from Shutterstock.com.
I WAS NO LONGER a resident of Hunter County. Soon after my last run-in with the draft board, I’d changed my permanent address to Chicago. This was where my home was and where my family was. My mother had moved to Sage a year after I left for college. She was confident that she’d be there at least another year, even though Kat planned to leave before her senior year in high school and move to Minnesota. That plan was definitely moving forward.
Classes for my final semester in college started in full force on Monday. My senior seminars were once again each held on one day of the week for three hours. They started at nine and ended at noon. On Monday, we got our introduction to the Professional Practice class. This entire semester would be devoted to creating our professional portfolio and resumé. I didn’t think it would be too hard.
I had one lower level class to finish out my general electives. Monday and Wednesday afternoons, I had a political science class titled U.S. Foreign Policy. When I read the initial course description, I thought I was in for an entire semester of listening to some old man justify US involvement in Vietnam. I was in for a surprise. The professor was on loan from the University of Chicago and was none other than Ronda’s advisor, Dr. Leon Hernandez. And his teaching assistant was my own sweet girlfriend! I changed my view of the class in the first five minutes and decided I’d really enjoy the give and take the professor encouraged in his class.
On Tuesday morning, I had an interesting class that might be the toughest class I had this semester. It was on retouching and compositing. We’d learn a variety of techniques I’d heard about but never experimented with: airbrush, hand coloring, use of a blue screen, and compositing two or more photos into one piece. I could definitely see these as techniques I would use in art photography.
And on Wednesday, I would finally have a single class touching on my own declared specialty: Special Topics in Fine Art Photography. We’d be discussing various issues and trends in fine art photography. I noticed the name of Robert Mapplethorpe as a photographer whose works we would study in a special exhibition at the Art Institute. He was getting a controversial name for himself in New York and it sounded like his style was sort of similar to mine. I was really looking forward to this one.
My final senior seminar on Thursday was called Portraiture, Self, and Society. It also promised to be an interesting class that looked at portraiture through the ages in several mediums and would include various artists’ works of self-portraits. In fact, our final project was to be a self-portrait, and it was expected to be a work of fine art. That would be interesting. The professor asked in his introduction, “How do you see yourself?” She then challenged us to realize our vision of ourselves in our chosen medium.
It was going to be an interesting semester.
Of course, I wasn’t going to be allowed to enjoy a nice peaceful final semester to my college career with no interference. Ronda was just about to walk out the door Friday for her class at the university when Anna called her to the phone.
“No!” I heard her scream into the receiver. I came rushing from the bedroom to see what was going on. “They can’t do that! It’s stupid! Who? Well, that answers a lot of questions. I’ll be there in three hours. I love you.” She hung up the phone and began sobbing into my chest.
“What’s happened, hon? Where do we need to go?”
“The fucking county sheriff arrested my father at breakfast this morning.”
“What? What for?”
“Some vague charge of moral corruption. That fucking Clyde Warren pressured a judge to issue a warrant on charges that he was prescribing birth control to unmarried women.”
“That fucking moron!” I said. “Not your father. That asshole Warren. I’ll bet it’s the same judge that got him appointed to the draft board.”
“I need to go to Tenbrook.”
“Of course you do. I’ll drive. Put together your suitcase. I need to dress, but I can be ready to go in ten minutes.”
“You’ll go?” she asked, looking up at me.
“Of course I’ll go. I’m not letting you face this alone.”
“Nor are any of the rest of us,” Anna said from the doorway. She had an arm around Patricia.
“We’ll need five more minutes than Nate to get our little girl packed up. Can you wait that long for us to come with you?” Patricia asked.
“But… You all have things to do! How can you just take off? Nate, you have a portrait scheduled this weekend,” Ronda cried.
“I’ll cancel it. How can I not be with you when you need us?”
“But I didn’t even come with you when your father had cancer surgery! Why would you come with me because of my father?” Ronda cried.
“You couldn’t come that day. You were there the next day. Honey, I will have to come back to Chicago on Monday for classes and I know Anna will need to be back in Rockford Monday morning. But we’re coming with you this weekend while you get things sorted out and help your family. It’s what a family does,” I said.
Inside I was seething. I wasn’t sure how a guy with so many lawsuits against him, who had been fired for racism from two jobs in the county, could suddenly announce that he was the moral police for the county and run for sheriff. I knew it was my fault.
It was all my fault. If I hadn’t launched my dad into a campaign to get rid of Warren as our town constable because he was hounding Tony about all the vandalism in town, Warren wouldn’t have been fired and subsequently appointed to the draft board. If he hadn’t been appointed to the draft board, Tony probably wouldn’t have been drafted and he wouldn’t be dead now. If I hadn’t raised holy hell about his racist manipulating of the draft call, he’d still be on the board trying to get me drafted and not be raising havoc running for county sheriff.
If it wasn’t for trying to get back at me, he’d never target my girlfriend’s father for his personal revenge. It was all so stupid. I zipped my duffle shut and threw it into the hall, narrowly missing Toni. She screeched and I rushed to pick her up.
“Did that scare you sweetie?” I asked. She nodded. “I should have looked for you before I threw my bag. I’m sorry, baby girl. Daddy’s not mad at you.”
“Daddy! Pack! We go see Gamma!”
“Yes, Toni. Let’s make sure you have all your things ready to go, okay?”
I should have held my little girl before I started going on a rampage. She petted my face as we collected toys for her to take and in fifteen minutes, we were loaded in Patricia’s car to head for Tenbrook. It was more crowded than the bus would have been, but it had more pickup and go than my 50-horsepower engine had ever produced.
I was happy that Patricia drove and Anna and I sat on either side of Toni in the back seat as we headed west.
It was soon clear after we reached Tenbrook that there was a method in the madness of arresting Dr. May on Friday morning. Everyone had to assume he couldn’t get a defense mounted to even post bail by the end of Friday and would need to stay in jail for the weekend. But Mrs. May was already at the county jail with their lawyer, fully prepared to post bail as soon as the judge spoke the charges.
What was unexpected was that Miss Ludwig also stood before the court.
“Edna Ludwig, you have been arrested on a charge of moral turpitude in child abuse and endangerment. This stems from offering sexual advice and counseling to unmarried women under the age of eighteen. How do you plead.”
“Nonsense,” replied Miss Ludwig.
“That is not a plea.”
“No, it is the request for a plea that is nonsense, as well as the charge itself. I will not enter a plea,” she said.
“Very well. The court sets bail at $5,000 while you await trial. Can you post your bail?”
“No.”
“Then I remand you to custody until such time as you can post bail or come to trial,” the judge stated. I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“I’ll post bail for Miss Ludwig, your honor,” I said, stepping into the aisle.
“And you are?”
“Nate Hart, resident of Chicago, Illinois and formerly of Tenbrook.”
“Mr. Hart, are you aware that by posting bail, you will forfeit your bond should Edna Ludwig flee the area?”
“Miss Ludwig is not a flight risk, your honor. She’s a librarian, charged by the public to curate and provide public information in the public library to the public. Of all ages.”
“You are a young man. Do you have $5,000 with which to post the bail?”
“In my bank account. I can have a certified check drawn,” I answered.
“Upon payment of $5,000 bond, Edna Ludwig will be released.”
The judge slammed his gavel down and dismissed the court. Dr. May was released as his attorney had bail ready to post. Miss Ludwig was led away by a sheriff’s deputy.
Dr. May stopped in front of me.
“Nate, that was a foolhardy thing to do,” he said. “Thank you for doing it. I’ll split the cost of a bail bond with you. I really wasn’t prepared to see Edna here.”
“I’m glad to see you were prepared for yourself.”
“I’ve known for years that it could come to this. I set the backup in motion before I started counseling young women.”
“When was that?”
“Back when Nora was getting ready to leave for college. That was when I realized how critical it was for women to have access to birth control. But, as it happens, nothing is going to come of this.”
“Why, sir?”
“The county attorney is trying to get a ruling in before a case is heard by the Supreme Court. A physician in Massachusetts was arrested for distributing contraceptives to a single woman nearly five years ago, and the Supreme Court has just agreed to hear the case. If it is supported, the laws against counseling single women regarding birth control and providing it will all be struck down. Even if it isn’t, the DA would have to prove that I prescribed contraceptives as a form of birth control rather than as a remedy or prevention of physical ailments like sexually transmitted disease, menstrual regularity, and cramps,” Dr. May said.
“Wow! You really know this stuff.”
“When you are engaged in it, you have to understand it and be aware.”
“What about Miss Ludwig?”
“A little different, but if one is struck down, it will be difficult for the county to prove that educating children is child abuse. A law passed here in Illinois in 1969 legalizes family planning services for unmarried adolescents of any age.”
“Thank you for offering to split the bail for Miss Ludwig. I have no idea what I’m doing,” I admitted.
“We make a stop just outside the courthouse at a bail bond office, get the bond issued and present it back here to the sheriff,” Ronda’s father said. Ronda was hanging on his other side, threatening to break his ribs with the force of her hug.
By four o’clock Friday afternoon, both Dr. May and Miss Ludwig were free on their own recognizance.
I didn’t actually see Miss Ludwig. The sheriff simply delivered her back to her home where he’d picked her up in the morning. Nice of him, I guess. The rest of us had dinner at the Log Cabin Restaurant in Huntertown.
“There are subtle things going on in Hunter County,” Dr. May said. “The whole discrimination lawsuit has been stalled by the same judge who issued the warrant in our cases. That was at the instigation of the county attorney, who happens to be distantly related to Clyde Warren. This case was seen to be a means of publicity for both the attorney and for Warren’s bid for County Sheriff.”
“Why not? Warren’s manipulated everything else. The draft board. The laws in Tenbrook. Of course he’d manipulate the timing of a high profile arrest to support his election. But how does it help him against the sheriff when the sheriff made the arrest?” I asked.
“Sheriff Hall isn’t a bad guy in all this,” Dr. May said. “In fact, he’s a good sheriff. He was very apologetic when making the arrest this morning. It wasn’t his idea, but he had to execute the warrant when it was given to him. I’m trying to convince him that he needs to attack Warren on the issue, but he isn’t sure what to do or how to do it.”
“Maybe Warren would be nice enough to go wrap his car around a tree and kill himself,” Patricia said from beside me. “I know that’s uncharitable, but the only thing that would please me more would be to have him convicted of the draft board manipulation first. Then he can wrap himself around a nice old oak tree.”
I understood Patricia’s venom. I shared it. Yes, I’m a pacifist and I wouldn’t raise a hand against the man physically, but I’d be pretty happy if someone else did. I suppose that makes me a hypocrite of some sort. I can’t help it. He just kept attacking people I care about.
I remembered a quote by Clarence Darrow, the attorney who defended Scopes in the monkey trials. He said, “I have never killed anyone, but I have read some obituary notices with great satisfaction.” I guess some things are just gut reactions.
The rest of the weekend passed rather peacefully. There was really no other reason for us to be there. I spent part of Saturday at my parents’ house in Sage and they were happy for the surprise visit with Toni. Dad was feeling a lot better and said he’d been offered a part-time job locally wiring speakers for a custom sound company. It sounded like a pretty simple job, but Dad was happy to be going back to work of any kind.
We stayed at the hotel in Tenbrook and found three other rooms occupied by the film crew from Photosensitive Productions. They were garnering a whole new batch of winter atmosphere shots. They had a good winter snowstorm to work with on Sunday, as I packed up my family and headed back to Chicago. This time, I drove and Ronda rode in front next to me. Anna and Patricia bracketed Toni in the back seat.
It was still a pretty slow trip back to Chicago and Anna had me just drop her at her room in Rockford. She told me to be ready to start working on my taxes the next weekend. Great. Another fun thing to do.
Ronda’s twenty-second birthday was in two weeks and she asked to be taken back to the club where we’d celebrated her twenty-first. Not only did we go there, but I surprised her further by having Adrienne join us for the weekend.
We stayed at the Blackstone and Ronda got her absolute fill of slippery pussy, sometimes running with come from my most recent deposit. Adrienne thrived on the role of being there for Ronda’s pleasure and did whatever she was told to. She even managed to get Ronda to spank her, though I don’t think Ronda was serious enough about it to get Adrienne off. I added a couple of solid well-placed swats of my own that sent Adrienne over the edge. Then I fucked her butt while Ronda ate her out.
I guess maybe Christine was right. We were perverted. We kept it bottled up until moments when we could really let it out, and our Fifi was the channel for our perversions. I even tied Ronda to the bed and Adrienne spent an hour kissing and bathing Ronda with her tongue until my girlfriend screamed with pleasure. When she’d done that, I released her bonds and then turned her over with her face between Adrienne’s legs while I pounded Ronda from behind.
I guess you get the idea. By the end of the weekend, we were all three sated and exhausted. Ronda and I went back to the apartment to deliver Valentine candy to our two girlfriends and our toddler.
Amidst all the drama in my life, I was trying to finalize my concepts for four major projects. I probably had a more extensive portfolio than any photographer in the school. The problem was that they were all the same. I don’t mean precisely the same subject, but they were art photos of beautiful women, naked in my studio. I really needed to show that I had more depth in my photography than just those shots. I could expand it with the location photos I’d taken. I had outdoor shots of beautiful naked women in England, California, Tenbrook, and Australia.
But they were still artistic photos of beautiful naked women. Professor Hyatt recommended that I broaden the scope of my portfolio with other subject matter. I was trying to figure out when I’d be able to do more product shots, fashion shots, or landscapes. It was going to be a hassle.
I hadn’t even begun to think about my self portrait. Dr. Reyes, the woman instructing that class, was still working us through a survey of portraiture through the ages and how it had changed. The big thing in that class was supposed to be a portrait of how we see ourselves, not just how we look. It required deep thinking.
So far, our retouching and compositing class, taught by Mr. Paget from Pro Color, was all lab work in class. Eventually, I’d need to come up with a concept for that, too.
The one that weighed on my mind right now was the Special Topics in Fine Art Photography, taught—or guided—by Dr. Nader. I’d had him for my photo seminar the previous semester and liked him a lot. We’d been instructed to create a themed exhibition of six to ten art photos. This would be our senior final exhibition that would be displayed in the college gallery for the next six months.
It was a toss-up between using my art makeup pieces that Leanne and I had created in Stratford and Chicago, or to follow through on my long-term goal of creating a series of music themed pieces, featuring women with their instruments. About a year plus ago, I’d taken a really nice photo of Sue Renton, a violinist who had signed a release. I figured that photo set the tone.
There had been others. I’d photographed a model in Las Vegas with a recorder. Then there was Sherry Stone, a musician who wanted to become a composer. I’d photographed her with a fencing foil stuck through a sheet of music. I could call her and get permission to use the photo in my exhibition. I was pretty sure she’d agree.
Which brought me to this weekend. I needed to photograph more musicians with their instruments in interesting compositions. I had Robyn Clark coming in on Saturday. She’d talked to some of the girls who had photos done and agreed to let me stage a nude of her with her flute. The biggest problem I had was figuring out how to put her in an unusual position with her flute. I went through every one of our drops on Friday with Rita there to help lift and open them. I didn’t find anything that really sang out to me. We marked a couple as possible and I’d use one if I needed to.
Of course, the major prop for the Attic Allure photo would be Robyn’s flute. By the time Rita and I had gone through all the drops, we were dripping sweat. It felt like the heat in the building had been turned up full blast. I checked with Levi and he said they were having a guy look at the furnace to see what was wrong.
I didn’t mind that it meant Rita had stripped off her clothes early on. What a body! She was a fashion maven and designer and had posed for me or dressed my models for me several times. We stumbled to the back of the props closet and opened the door onto the escape stairs. Then we just stood there in the refreshing, cold breeze. It was definitely still winter in Chicago with below freezing temperatures and winds gusting as much as twenty miles per hour.
I could see the effect it was having on Rita. Her nipples popped out painfully stiff and hard. I pulled the door closed and pulled Rita into my arms to rub those precious little points and get them warm. I was working shirtless and she was naked. Holding her in my arms started a chain reaction that included kissing, rubbing, undressing, and eventually fucking in front of the door to the fire escape.
Rita and I had been pretty free with touching each other for the past year or so. She’d come to me as a model from the Whore Corps, but really needed a job. It happened that I needed a new assistant and we worked well together. But it had been months before we actually had sex.
“How the hell did you last so long?” she panted. She pounded herself down on my cock as I lay on my back on the cold floor. “I’ve done just about everything I could do to tease you into making it with me and you just treat me like a nice respected employee. Now shove it in harder!”
“Do you think it’s been easy for me to resist you?” I asked. “I promised I wouldn’t cross any lines between what you wanted and what I did. If you hadn’t made this move, you’d still be going away horny and I’d be stiff until I took things in my own hands later tonight.”
“Bullshit. You have three girlfriends who would have taken things into their own hands. I just jumped the line. God, this is good. Before I managed to corner you in the darkroom, I hadn’t had sex in a year!”
“How do you go without for a year?” I asked. I hadn’t done that since I turned seventeen.
“Busy schedule, limited options, and a boss that started filling my fantasies. I have rubbed myself to a climax while thinking of you more times than I’ve probably ever actually been with a guy.”
“You know I’ve got other obligations,” I said.
“I’m not asking to be a girlfriend. We’re both going to graduate this spring and fly off in different directions. I just want to have this fantasy fulfilled. Preferably more than once before graduation in May,” she said. She clamped her pussy down on my cock and moaned as she came.
I’d had a few fantasies of my own and decided right then and there that we weren’t going to get any more work done that afternoon.
Robyn got to the studio at one on Saturday afternoon. After the exhausting afternoon on Friday with Rita, I was happy that Leanne was my assistant for the day. The afternoon with Rita, however, had given me an inspiration and Leanne and I set lights so we could move to where I wanted quickly and easily.
“Welcome to Attic Allure, Robyn. Thank you for consenting to be my model today.”
“Thank you, Nate. I’m excited. We have a great music program at the college, but it is also small enough that we’re really just one big family. We know each other and I’ve talked to both Sue and Sherry about your photography. It was on my list of things to get done before we graduate. I know there are others in the department who also intend to have photos done before graduation. When Sherry brought your request to us, we all wanted to do it, but a lot of the girls are shy. I just decided to jump in with both feet,” Robyn said.
“I’m so glad you did,” I said. “I think we’re going to have a good time this afternoon and you’ll really like the results.”
I showed her the three photos I had of musicians with their instruments and explained that the bulk of my exhibition was supposed to be photos I took this semester, so I was looking for five more after Robyn to round out my mini orchestra.
We set right to work, making photos. I started with a typical musician’s portrait with her in a white blouse and black skirt, her flute held upright on her leg. Then we started getting crafty, by which I mean I started getting her out of her clothes.
“I’m willing to go all the way,” Robyn said as I removed her blouse. She wasn’t wearing a bra, which I fully appreciated. She held one of my hands to her bare breast.
“Um… I don’t have sex in the studio,” I said. “And I don’t date models.”
“Oh! I didn’t mean… Oh, shit! That sounded like I wanted to have sex. I mean, not that it’s a repulsive idea, but I meant all the way naked. I mean… Oh, geez! Your hand is nice on my breast. Get me naked and treat me like your lover, even if we don’t have sex.”
“That’s a lovely invitation, Robyn. I think you’re beautiful and I want that intimate connection to come through in our photo. I want to show you like a lover. Only, your flute has the most intimate relation with you,” I suggested.
“Well, I’ve certainly had my lips on it more than on any boy I’ve ever met.”
I brushed my lips along hers as her skirt fell to the floor.
“I’m so glad you can share them with me.”
She just moaned in response.
Leanne had the set ready for us and it was a beautiful pastoral scene with one of our fiberglass rocks in front of it. I led Robyn with kisses and caresses to the rock and got her seated on it.
“This summer, we had a flautist play Debussy’s ‘Syrinx’ and ‘Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun’ for a performance art piece. She played while we made up a faun in front of an audience and then I took pictures of it. I’ll show you when we’re done. Maybe I can use that one in my exhibition as well. Now this is where I want you actually playing your flute while you are all alone out on the hillside.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised when she began the haunting trills of ‘Syrinx.’ It was perfect. I could watch her breathe all morning, as she filled her diaphragm and her breasts rose and fell. I got some good shots and went back to her to thank her for the concert and to pet and praise her. She really leaned into my hands and it wasn’t much effort to slide them under her so I could pick her up and carry her. She took the opportunity to attach her lips to mine instead of the flute. I wanted to stop and just enjoy her, but I had to watch where I was going down the narrow aisle of props to the back door.
Leanne was ahead of us and opened the door wide, blocking it so it wouldn’t close on us.
“It’s chilly,” Robyn said as I set her down on the floor. “Cold!”
“I promise, I’ll do whatever is necessary to warm you up after we get these two or three shots,” I said as I arranged her where I’d imagined.
“Okay. Hurry.”
The cold draft had the same effect on Robyn as it had on Rita the day before. Her nipples popped out and gooseflesh rose all over her body. I really didn’t want to keep her in this position too long. I got behind the 4x5 and took the first shot, then came up with an inspiration. I’d never really tried tilting the camera before, other than the adjustments to get rid of foreshortening. I tilted the entire tripod head to the left and shot a second black and white. Then I rushed to Robyn and kissed her lightly.
“C-c-cold,” she whispered.
“This is it, honey. The shot that turns you into a work of art. Remember my kiss. Finger to your lip to remember it. Legs curled up. Flute in front. Such a beautiful woman. I will treat you very special. Now hold it right there.”
I got behind the camera, checked the ground glass for focus and slid color transparency film into the camera. I took the two pictures and nodded to Leanne. She rushed to get the door closed and I carried Robyn behind the privacy screen in the studio. I’d prepared a blanket there and stretched out on the couch with her. We spread the blanket over us and I resumed petting and kissing her. In a moment, as she warmed up, she joined me enthusiastically.
“I’m still willing to go all the way,” she whispered.
“Let me bring you all the way, lover,” I said. “You were fantastic. I want to smooth every bump on your body and make you feel good.”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing. I’m ready to feel really good.”
I dipped my fingers into her hot core and brought her gently to a full release, which she gasped into my mouth.
“Sue told me it would be the nearest thing to making love to my instrument that I would ever experience,” she breathed.
I was really encouraged after my session with Robyn. It looked like I’d be able to complete my series of musicians and their instruments. The week after our sitting with the beautiful flautist, Cassie took appointments with a pianist, a saxophonist, a guitarist, and a drummer.
“Um… How am I supposed to do a photo with the pianist?” I asked on Friday. I planned to shoot the guitarist on Saturday. Cassie held up a finger as she spoke to someone on the phone. When she hung up, she smiled at me.
“And a cellist,” she said.
“That’s cool. But what about the piano?”
“Oh. Glenda Cox has invited you to spend the day at her home in Kenilworth. She has a grand piano and will be happy to have you take her photos there,” Cassie said.
“Kenilworth? Something sounds familiar about that name.”
“Aside from blacks not being very welcome there, thanks to the founding by Joseph Sears, it’s a village north of Wilmette on the Lake.”
“I’m not going there if blacks aren’t welcome.”
“Oh, relax, Nate. The place was in the news about seven years ago when the first black family moved into the village, but it’s changed—at least some. No more cross burnings, at least.”
“Still…”
“Take the photo, Nate,” Cassie said. “And give me a kiss to assuage your offended white ass.”
I did give Cassie a kiss, but there was something else.
“I remember now. My history of photography class. Walker Evans lived in Kenilworth for some time when he was growing up. They always made a big deal about photographers who had any link to Chicago,” I said.
“Who is Walker Evans?” Cassie asked.
“He was a photographer who got famous with his portraits of people and places during the Great Depression. Mostly pictures of sad people. There was an exhibition at the Art Institute last year.”
“Now you have to go. Maybe she lives in the same house he did,” Cassie laughed. I kissed her again.
I had good photo sessions with the guitarist and the saxophonist. Both girls were fun and playful. And naked. They loved the idea of being photographed making love to their instruments. The guitarist was in bed with her guitar between her legs, still managing to make music with it. She said the vibrations from the body of the guitar did great things for her clit. I guess I did some pretty good things to it as well.
The saxophonist was a hard-on from the moment I started loosening her clothes. I hadn’t really done anything with an instrument that was put in the mouth. Just watching her made me think some pretty lascivious thoughts. By the end of the session, I found out that girl sure could blow.
I’d come up with a concept for the cellist that would give the portrait some special detail. When we’d been in Stratford the past summer, Leanne and I had painted Min as an Egyptian goddess, Wadjet. John had fixed up a fog machine. It did amazing things with the lighting and I envisioned the same kind of effects behind and around a naked cellist.
Before I could get to her the next Saturday, though, I got a call from Tenbrook. When I answered the phone Wednesday evening, I automatically called for Ronda since it was her father on the line.
“Wait a minute, Nate,” Dr. May said. “I want to speak to my daughter, but I need to talk to you first.”
“Really,” I said, holding a finger up to Ronda. I held the receiver out a little so we could both hear what he had to say. “What’s up? I hope there are no new developments on your case.”
“No. It seems that even though the judge postponed the initial hearing to wait for the Supreme Court decision, just having the case out there is fueling Warren’s campaign for sheriff. He’s been railing against the liberal courts for defying basic morality. But Monday, he hit a new low.”
“Oh, geez. What now?” I asked.
“He said a certain movie that had been released and acclaimed in Huntertown was an indictment against the entire town of Tenbrook, which was complicit in allowing the immorality of members of the community to thrive and prey on the youth. He said this movie, set in Tenbrook, was evidence that the community knew there was a thriving child pornography business in the town. It was aided and abetted by Miss Ludwig and I, of course, but focused on a photographer’s studio that was reputed to have naked teen orgies on a regular basis.”
“Oh, for the love of God! How can he even make claims like that? I can assure you, Dr. May, that there was never a naked teen orgy in my studio. Yes, I photographed nudes, but I didn’t do any pornography or photos of underage teens.”
“I think I’d have discovered that from my daughter if you had. You know, she is remarkably transparent. Even if she didn’t outright tell us about your relationship and the relationship of the two of you with Christine, her mother and I knew about it.”
“Oh!” Ronda exclaimed involuntarily.
“I thought you were probably listening,” Dr. May asked. “We gave you every clue we could. Did you think the condoms on your pillow just magically materialized? I finally had to have a talk with your brother about the playhouse. He was giving it quite the reputation.”
“How embarrassing.”
“We tried not to embarrass you and to let you know that you could talk to us about anything. And I did help you and your girlfriends out with contraceptives. You know, to regulate their periods.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“Now, about these latest accusations. Warren let it be known that when the time came, he could produce concrete proof that you had trafficked in child pornography. I would suggest that you review every photo and model release you have in your files and make sure none of the girls were lying about their ages. That’s just my suggestion. I won’t pretend to be a legal advisor. If I were you, though, I’d be mad enough to arrange my own press conference to combat the implications.”
“Wow! I don’t know how I’m going to do that, but I’ll get on it.”
“You have a few staunch supporters in Tenbrook. I’d bet that some of them could get a camera crew together to give you a hearing on the local TV station. You haven’t been charged with anything, so it’s obvious that Warren is using the threat as fuel for his campaign without actually being ready to move on it. He’s been losing ground to Sheriff Hall ever since our arrest.”
“Thank you, Dr. May. Dang. I wish he’d waited for spring break. I’m in my last semester. I’ll get it done.”
“Good luck, Nate. Now let me talk to my daughter.”
I handed the phone to Ronda and flopped in the beanbag chair. Just making that move meant Toni was on top of me with a pile of books to read in an instant. That was calming. I started reading Red Fish, Blue Fish and the world got back in balance.
As soon as Ronda was off the phone, Patricia was on it to her father. Tor Berg and Jim Kowalski had been primary movers in getting the lawsuit against Warren started, accusing him of abuse of power while on the draft board. Between Warren’s contacts, lawyer, and the judge who had finally and reluctantly put a hold on the case against Dr. May and Miss Ludwig, the case had been delayed time and again.
“Dad said he’d call Jim and Mayor Lechleiter and Stoney. They’d get things going and arrange a press conference for you. He said no one in Tenbrook who was anyone wanted to hear Warren’s accusations. There are a few, of course.”
“Like who?” I asked.
“Oh, the Jones family is still upset about the whole vandalism incident with Jeremy and Lyle’s Corvair. They still haven’t forgiven Billy and think the whole town is corrupt because they did. There are a few parents of younger kids who are upset that Miss Ludwig provides information for girls—but, as usual, none of their kids have been affected by it because they are too young. Now they’ve got a campaign going to have all the books in the library reviewed and anything that isn’t child friendly pulled from the shelves.”
“What a stupid idea! I can just imagine that they’ll want to pull things that are required reading in high school because their six-year-old shouldn’t read it. Before long, everyone will be reading at a first grade level,” I said.
“Well, don’t worry about the idiots. Focus on getting your files pulled together. Why don’t you give a call to Anna. She should be kept up to speed.”
That was a good idea and Anna was ready to jump in the car and come home that night. I got her calmed down and told her tomorrow after classes, like always, would be plenty adequate. She said she’d be calling Cassie and getting started on pulling all the model releases in the files. We’d need to photocopy them and I wasn’t sure how she was going to work that out. It would cost a small fortune.
When I told her I loved her and hung up the phone, another idea struck me. I called Los Angeles.
“Master! Are you calling to invite me to visit?” Adrienne squealed when she answered the phone.
“I would love to have you visit, Fifi. Would you like to join Patricia and me when we go to Canada for spring break? Or would you rather stay here in Chicago and keep Ronda company while we’re gone?”
“Oh, master! How can I choose? Please tell me what to do.”
“I will, my pet. Just make sure you have the last week of March available to be here. Now I need to talk to you about something else for a few minutes.”
I spent the next half an hour telling her about what was going on and how our nemesis the constable who also had served on the draft board was using the movie as a basis for his senseless accusations. She laughed at first, but then got very serious. We hatched a plan and she said she would contact the production company.
When Anna rolled into town on Thursday afternoon, she went directly to the studio and started organizing things. Levi had recently acquired a Xerox and consented to let us photocopy our model releases for a mere fifty cents a page. We were probably going to use up his month’s contracted usage in the weekend. We estimated that we had over five hundred model releases and receipts for unreleased photos from the past six years.
Not only were the releases photocopied, but they were numbered and entered on a columnar pad with the date, name, and age of the client or model. Rita and Leanne were both called in to work all day Friday and Saturday.
That meant that when my cellist arrived Saturday morning, I was working alone while my four assistants were photocopying and recording the data. Paulette Hughes arrived wearing a long skirt and white blouse, and carrying her cello case. And she wasn’t all that big. She was maybe five-three and weighed all of a hundred or a hundred-ten pounds. In other words, I thought she was pretty skinny. She had auburn hair, done up in a bun. I thought it would be fun to see the bun come loose as she got caught in the passion of playing. I’d heard from the other models that cellists were the most passionate with their instruments of the entire orchestra.
“Welcome to Attic Allure, Paulette,” I said, accepting her release. “As you know, I’m doing photographic art for my senior project. I’m trying to reveal the passion and connection between the player and her instrument. Would you like to see the photos that have been taken so far?”
“Yes, please. The other girls in the orchestra have been pretty forthcoming about all that was involved, but they only have copies of their portraits and not of your art project,” Paulette said.
I took her to the table where I had the small prints of each of the photos. I hadn’t started pulling the art prints. I pointed to the picture of Sue with her violin that was on the gallery wall, though, as an example of what the final prints would look like.
“Wow! I can almost feel the passion between the girl and her instrument. They’re wonderful.”
“I hope people will be able to feel your passion when they see your photo,” I said.
“Believe me, if you feel me after I’ve been playing, you’ll feel my passion.”
Okay, then.
“Let’s start with a standard portrait you can use for publicity when you are soloing in a concert. Do you always wear a long skirt?” I asked.
“Well, when you play the cello for an audience, you just about have to wear a long full skirt. We used to have a saying in high school that if you really wanted a girl who could spread her legs, you wanted either a cheerleader or a cellist. We’re both pretty good at it.”
She pulled her instrument out of the case and pulled it between her knees. I immediately understood what she meant. The cello’s body definitely spread her legs apart. I guess if you spent a few hours practicing every day, that would become a natural position. I was looking forward to seeing more of it—without the skirt.
I’d noted that the standard for an orchestra portrait was against a black background, which suited me fine. I knew how to light her and get the right highlights on her shoulders and hair. I shot a few photos with the Hasselblad and then got perfect portraits with the Linhof. Then I had her actually play a bit so I could get that natural look. I’d noticed that once a musician started bringing the sound out of her instrument that she started to lose touch with the world around her. As much as possible, I wanted to capture that feeling. Capture the rapture, I joked to myself.
As she played, I continually made small adjustments to her position and expression. I loosened the bow on her blouse and then opened a few buttons. She sighed and just kept playing as I kept undressing her. Eventually, I had to stop her playing so I could remove the blouse and camisole, revealing her luscious breasts. I was happy to see she wore no bra. While she was standing, I unzipped her skirt and revealed the tiny pair of white panties and white mid-thigh stockings she wore.
“Take me,” she whispered. “Touch me. Caress me. Make love to me if you will, but don’t come between me and my cello.”
Her invitation sounded almost like lyrics and I could sort of fit them to the music as she started playing again. I did caress her. I made sure the little nubs on her full breasts were hard and prominent as I returned to the camera.
Next, I took the panties and had her partially stand as she bowed the instrument. I used the opportunity to run my hand down her butt and between her wide open legs. The music was definitely doing its work of bringing out her passion. I took off her stockings as she continued to play and saw the temptation every audience member would have if a cellist played in the nude. The instrument blocked a direct view of her pussy, but the curve and shape of her butt and back were a reflection of the shape of the cello between her legs.
I started the fog machine I’d borrowed from the theatre department. That meant dropping the dry ice into the water and starting the fan that would blow it up and around her. I adjusted the color lights I had directed on the fog and returned to take photos. Then I switched to the Linhof and loaded two slides of Ektachrome.
I mostly wanted to have black and white photos in my exhibition, but I’d already decided to use a color photo of the flautist. With the colored lights playing off the fog, I felt this was an ideal opportunity to make good use of a color image.
I returned to her and petted her. Her playing got faster and more heated as I pinched her nipples enough to make sure they hardened. I didn’t kiss her because I didn’t want to smear her lipstick, but I did loosen her bun so that strands of red hair fluttered around her face. I returned to the camera and took the first photo. Then I went back to continue petting her, hoping to get that last inch of arousal out of her. I slid my hand down her stomach and she spread her legs even farther. As she played, I could feel the vibration of the instrument against her flesh.
I wondered how many hours a day she practiced, feeling this vibration against the inside of her thighs, all the way up into her pussy. Her breathing sped up as her playing did, and I found her clit amidst the moist heat of her pussy. It didn’t take long before her head was thrown back, her eyes barely slits, and the moan began. I rushed back to the camera and took the last picture.
Then I went back to her and continued to manipulate her as I kissed her lips and her nipples and her playing finally began to slow and come to a sighing end.
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
