Shutter Speed
3
Showdown
“Amy” by Anneka, ID174477437 licensed from Shutterstock.com
I WAS AT THE STUDIO at nine o’clock and was setting up the camera at nine-fifteen when Christine got there. We moved the bed aside and set up a nice still life on a table in front of the red painted backdrop. At ten o’clock, I was going to start taking pictures of it. If she didn’t show up by ten-thirty, I would simply lock the door. To hell with her.
We examined the work Dad and Jim did on the darkroom the night before. They understood that I had a client in for photos and wouldn’t be back until after noon. It looked like they had the plumbing extended from the bathroom into the new darkroom space and the wires were pulled through the wall for power. What was better was that the place was spotless. Dad had told me that Jim didn’t use any power tools at all. I was impressed.
At five minutes until ten, I turned the photo lights on my still life and focused the camera. I was just about to snap a picture when the door of the studio crashed open and Amy came running in, shedding her clothes as she ran across the floor to the set.
“I’m here! It isn’t ten yet. I’m here!”
“Good,” I said. “You’re just the prop I needed to make my still life come alive. Stand right here.” She followed my direction and I put my hands on her bare shoulders. She’d lost all her clothes on the way across the room. “Turn to here. Lift your chin. Touch the figurine with your left hand. Put your right hand next to your temple. Puzzled expression now.”
She did everything until I gave her the expression. She put on the same fake smile.
“No!” I said. “A puzzled expression is not a big fake smile. I’ve seen all I need to of your pearly white perfect teeth. Don’t ruin the shot with that expression. I said ‘puzzled’.”
“I don’t understand,” she said looking at me. I clicked the camera and she looked surprised.
“Perfect! I knew you had more facial muscles than the ones that turn your lips up.”
“You took my picture? I wasn’t ready.”
“You did what I told you to. That’s what I’m looking for. Now I want you to bend forward like you are examining the statue. Don’t look at me! Focus on the statue. This is a priceless objet d’art, and you are trying to understand its hidden meaning.”
“It is?”
“Perfect!” I said as I snapped another picture. As far as I was concerned, these were just warm-up shots. I didn’t really want to dwell on them too long. “Did you sleep well last night?”
“No. Why do you care?”
“I wanted to know if today was special or if you always have those circles under your eyes,” I said. I released the camera from the tripod and pulled in close to her face. I took a picture while she still looked alarmed that she might have bags under her eyes.
“Stop! I need to check my makeup.”
“Wasn’t that why you were almost late this morning? You were trying to cover up your red eyes and bags.” I stepped back with the camera and she grabbed her bag and headed for the bathroom. I followed and motioned a surprised Chris to follow me.
“You’re in the restroom with me!”
“What difference does that make? You’re naked. You were naked with me out there and now you are naked with me in here,” I said. I took hold of her chin and turned her to face me while I examined her face carefully. “I could tell you had bags under your eyes because you overdid the makeup to compensate for it. Chris, I want to see her with less coverup and more depth to her features. Can you heighten her cheekbones a little and give me a stronger line around her eyes?”
“Sure, Nate.”
“You’re just going to do my makeup?” Amy asked. “No one ever does my makeup for me.”
“Relax and enjoy it, then. There’s no kind of pampering like having Chris do your makeup. Hold still, though. You don’t want an eyeliner in your eye.”
“Why are you doing this? Are you just being mean to me?”
“No. I have a goal of creating a work of art out of you—something we can all be proud of.”
“Like that little statue you were making me look at?”
“Just a prop. What I really wanted was to see a new range of expressions on your face that contrasted with what I saw yesterday. You did very well, by the way.”
“I did? I felt foolish.”
“You need to let go of your self-consciousness,” Chris said softly. “Let Nate reveal the goddess within you.”
“Goddess?”
“When you finish the makeup, I want you to put on your hose and a garter belt. No panties. No bra. No jewelry. Chris, please brush out her hair so it isn’t such a rat’s nest on top. I’ll go change film in the camera. While I’m gone, I want you to think about why you’re here. The real reason. You didn’t come here for any of the photos we took yesterday. Why are you here?”
I left the bathroom and Chris continued to work on Amy. She was really quite beautiful. Chris’s comment about bringing out the goddess within was a good one and made her into Amy’s ally. Just from what I’d seen of her so far and what Uncle Nate told me, I was beginning to see what could be revealed. I started selecting props. She’d stopped for a smoke break a dozen times yesterday. The ashtray was still full of cigarette butts. I ran upstairs and found an empty champagne bottle and glass I was told was called a flute. I tried to picture other things in my mind that she might have around her. I grabbed the record player and a stack of 45s. I also grabbed the old black telephone.
When Amy and Chris emerged from the bathroom, she was a different person. Her hair was brushed out, her makeup had a lighter touch most places, but highlighted her cheekbones. I motioned her to the couch without putting it in front of a backdrop. While I talked with her, I continued to take pictures.
“Who are you deep inside?” I asked. “How do you think of yourself?”
Her response was surprisingly candid.
“I’m a spoiled rich bitch who will be dead of a drug overdose before I reach twenty-one,” she said. The look on her face when she said that confirmed it was genuinely her self-impression. I took the picture.
“Why did you want to have an Attic Allure photo? Are you just collecting mementos?”
“I want to leave a picture of the real me when I commit suicide.”
I was shocked, but I knew this wasn’t the time to show weakness. I could see Chris moving toward Amy and shook my head.
“That’s easy enough,” I said. “Just about any of the photos we took yesterday would make me want to kill myself.”
“No! Not like that. No one would understand.”
“Understand what?”
“How much I hate myself!” she cried. There was a sob, but I didn’t see any tears. I threw a small rug down on the floor.
“Lie on that,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because that’s where a person with such self-loathing belongs. Lie down!”
She didn’t hesitate. While I changed film in the camera, I continued to give instructions.
“Not flat. Roll slightly to your side. Chris, bring the record player and put it there.” I pointed to a spot next to Amy’s head. “I’ll bet you’re dying for a smoke right now, aren’t you, Amy? Chris, give her the cigarettes and ashtray. Put the champagne bottle just behind the ashtray. Forget the glass. She wouldn’t need that. Put the phone in her hand.” I started moving lights and sighting what I wanted. I pulled an edge of the Visqueen over her right foot so either she was crawling out of it, or it was eating her. “Get the bottle of pills out of her purse,” I commanded.
“How did you know…”
“You’re always prepared, aren’t you? What are they? Sleeping pills? Heroin? Coke?”
“Sleeping pills. I have trouble sleeping at night.”
“So last night wasn’t all that unusual, was it?” I said.
“No.” I put the camera on the floor and looked through it at the prostrate woman.
“I see a woman who is desperate for someone to like her, but doesn’t believe anyone really could. She believes people look at her and only see her money, her beauty, her intelligence, but they never look deeply enough to see her pain.”
I motioned Chris down on the floor next to me to confirm the composition. She immediately jumped up and moved the bottle so it looked like Amy’s elbow was about to knock it over. She opened the bottle of pills and spread a small pile on the floor in front of her. Amy looked at us like we’d just stripped her in public. I could begin to see the gleam of moisture in her eyes.
“This is the critical point, Amy. This is where I reveal to the world who the real Amy Clark is. Do you want me to take this picture?” I asked softly.
“Yes.” Her voice was scarcely audible.
“What?”
“Yes,” she said louder.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I want this picture.”
“Ask for it.”
She looked at me as if she was frightened of what she’d say next.
“Please, take this picture of me.”
“What picture?”
“The picture that shows what a miserable little bitch I am.”
The tears were about to break. One more push.
“Beg me.”
Her lip quivered and the tear collected in her eye.
“Nate! Please! Please take this picture. I beg you. I can’t take any more.”
The tear broke just as I snapped the shutter. I continued to advance the film and release the shutter, moving slightly from one side to the other as the tears cascaded down her cheeks. Her mascara ran and streaked across her cheek. The smoke from her cigarette curled up in front of her and her expression changed from utter despair to one of cautious hope as I continued to take the pictures.
I set aside the camera.
“That’s it,” I said.
Amy dropped the cigarette into the ashtray and dropped her head down on her arm. I shifted around and pushed props out of the way until I was sitting next to her so I could touch her back and reassure her.
“You don’t need to keep torturing yourself, Amy,” I said softly. “It’s over. We’ll show the world what it’s really like to be you. Not just the pretty, rich, smart girl who always gets what she wants. We’ll show them the dark side. And when you look at this picture, you’ll know you’ve left it behind. It’s okay, Amy. You can come back to us now.”
Chris moved my camera up to the table. I could see tears streaming down her face as well. She smiled at me through the tears and I breathed again. It would be okay.
Amy looked up at me and scooted so she could lie across my lap. I held her and rocked her. Chris just went quietly about the business of putting away the props. She took the ashtray and emptied it, wiping it out with a cleaning rag. She carefully put the pills back in the bottle. Then she sat on the floor next to me and leaned her head against my shoulder as Amy continued to sniffle into my shirt.
She finally pushed herself up and kissed my cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Then she got up and walked slowly to the dressing room. I turned to hold Chris.
“It’s okay,” she whispered to me. “It’s over.”
“Yeah.”
“I know that was just as hard on you as on her. I can’t believe you did that. Will the picture be okay?”
“The picture will be a work of art,” I nodded.
We breathed deeply and finally got up off the floor. Amy came out of the dressing room. It had taken nearly the entire two hours to get that shot and I’d only used two rolls of film. Twenty-four exposures. I certainly hoped I got the shot.
“I’ll be seeing you,” she said. “I hope some of the other pictures aren’t too bad. When can I come to see them?”
“I’d like you to give me two weeks,” I said. “As soon as this new darkroom is finished, I’ll have a new enlarger that is much higher quality than my old one. I’d like your picture to be the first one I print with it.”
“Okay,” she said. “Call me.”
She grabbed her clothes off the rack and Chris rushed to help her with her case and the doors. Joshua was at the bottom of the stairs with the car. Dad and Jim were just pulling up. Time to change from studio to construction site.
July opened gloomy from the first day. On Tuesday, we went downtown and participated in the bicycle parade. Tony and Patricia were back in time for the parade and since they still had cans and a sign on the motorcycle, Mr. Barkley welcomed them to ride in the parade. Kat and I rode our bicycles on either side of them. After the parade, though, it was too cold to go to the beach. Mr. Evans, Chris’s father, invited our families over for a backyard cookout. They included Tony and Patricia and their families, then called up the Delaps and Grahams to invite Judy and Janice and their families. They couldn’t come because they’d already been invited to Pete’s house. So, about mid-way through the afternoon, Patricia and Tony went over there.
It seemed like it had been a long time since I saw Patricia and Tony. Only a week, I guess. But early the next morning, Tony would leave for the Chicago induction center and begin his service in the US Army. Tony’s parents, little sister, and wife would ride with him to Chicago. They’d come back alone. Patricia was putting a good face on it Tuesday afternoon. Wednesday afternoon she’d be a wreck.
Thursday, I was in the studio painting the walls Dad and Jim had erected. Everything, of course, would be flat black. I scrubbed the room thoroughly to get rid of any remaining dust and dirt, then brushed the paint on in a smooth even coat. Unlike the darkroom upstairs that just had a curtain for a door, this one had a solid door that would seal out light completely. Even if the lights were on in the studio, the darkroom would be completely dark.
While I was working, I heard a knock at the door. Seemed like the more people who knew about my third floor studio, the more people who thought it was fine to just drop in. I was going to make a sign that said something like ‘Studio sitting in progress. Come back later.’ But I wasn’t in the middle of a sitting, so I went to open the door. Patricia was there and of course I let her in. She hugged me tightly.
“How are you holding up, Mrs. Kowalski?” I asked. She giggled.
“I’m an old married woman now. You should treat me with respect or something,” she said.
“Have I ever disrespected you?” I asked.
“No. You’ve always been perfect. But after a week of living together, I really miss my husband. I won’t get to see him for four months. That’s like forever, Nate,” she said.
“It does seem like a long time.”
“Will you take my picture? I want all kinds of photos to show Tony when I see him.”
“Sure. Let’s get some good ones for him. Why don’t we use the star-spangled night backdrop? Give me a hand getting it set,” I said.
I was sure what Patricia was doing was trying to fill time that she’d normally spend with Tony. She was going to continue to live at home and continue to go to school, conveniently forgetting to tell the school that she was married. I sure wasn’t going to tell. And if she needed to stay busy, we’d take some pictures and I’d find some work for her.
“We need to put in a whole bunch of costumes up here,” she said. “I hereby appoint myself costume curator for Attic Allure. I’ll start collecting interesting clothes for models to take off in front of the camera.”
“Tell me what you’d like to be wearing?”
“I liked Chris’s Greek dress. Maybe I’d be able to wear a Roman toga.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“I think you just need to wrap a bunch of cloth around you.”
“Well, there’s a box of fabric and some strips hanging on hangers. Have at it. I’ll go get my camera.” I headed upstairs to unlock my camera and get some film. I was thinking maybe I needed to build a safe downstairs so my camera was nearer at hand.
I was thinking I might also need to upgrade my 35mm camera for non-studio work. I’d need to talk to Levi about what he recommended. If I was doing much sports photography this fall, maybe a zoom lens would be helpful. I’d read about them recently.
I returned to the studio to find Patricia looking a little like a mummy, with a strip of fabric wrapped around and around her. She even had an end of it pulled over her head.
“I like that look,” I said. “We can definitely do something with that.”
“I don’t think it looks like a toga yet,” she laughed. “I’d better start over.”
“Seriously, let me get a couple of just-for-fun shots of it like it is.” She waited while I pulled a couple of lights into position so she could pose in front of the backdrop. I put the back on the camera and advanced the film, then took the first shot. She turned around and I saw her bare butt between two layers of fabric. “You don’t have clothes on!” I said. It shouldn’t have surprised me. Patricia and most of my classmate models were happy to get to the studio and undress.
“I was putting on a toga!” she said. “Why would I wear clothes under it?”
“Good point,” I said. She spun around again and the layers had separated over her left breast, exposing it to the light. “A very good point,” I breathed as I took the picture.
“Okay, so help me wrap this thing better,” she laughed. “I want to pretend I’m Cleopatra or some other famous Roman woman.”
“I think Cleopatra was Egyptian.”
“She was Caesar’s mistress. That makes her Roman.”
“Okay. How do you want to do this?”
“Here. Take this end over my shoulder and down to my butt. Then wrap the other end around me and hand it to me. Um… Okay, once more around my waist and let me drape it over my arm here. There! I have a toga and it isn’t even pinned!”
I walked around to her front, having already said farewell to that beautiful round bottom. When I looked up at her… Well, it had the feel of a toga, sort of.
“Well? Does it look like a toga?”
“Patricia, how would anyone looking at you even care if it looks like a toga with your right breast on full display. You’re beautiful.”
“Oh, good. Then take my picture and I’ll be a famous orator addressing the senate. ‘Friends, Romans, Countrymen. Lend me your beers.’”
I was behind the camera and as she spoke, and started taking pictures as she moved and paused in her poses.
We didn’t work too long and by the time we were finished she was just dragging the strip of fabric around and tossing it in the air while she danced around naked.
“I guess that’s all for now,” I said.
“Um… I hear that maybe your favorite models might get a little hug before they go,” she said. “And a kiss. Will you hold me for a minute?”
“Of course, Patricia. I told you I’d hold you whenever you needed.”
She just dropped the strip of fabric and ran into my arms. I hadn’t really meant that I’d hold her while she was completely naked. She lifted her face and sought out my lips for a kiss that was deep enough to excite me. Coupled with the naked beauty in my arms, that was going to make things uncomfortable quickly. Especially when she pulled one of my hands up to cup her absolutely perfect tit.
“Oh, Tony, I love you,” she breathed.
Shit! She was pretending I was Tony. I let go of her breast and her butt and moved away from her lips.
“You’d better get dressed now, Patricia. We don’t want to get carried away,” I said.
“Yeah. Thank you.”
Over the next few days, I was focused on finishing the new darkroom and setting up my new equipment. It took most of the day Saturday—after I finished the laundry—to just set up the enlarger and make sure I had everything put together correctly. The first thing I printed was a proof sheet of Patricia’s toga party. I’d printed a proof of Amy’s photos on the old setup, but this was the first try with the new enlarger.
I liked what I saw. The light was clean and the lens was sharp. The pictures had brilliant contrast and definition. I wondered how significant the difference would be and pulled the negative of Avery’s streetlamp photo out to do a test print of it.
When I saw the finished product, I had my first realization of the incredible differences in the two setups. And it wasn’t all good. The photo actually lost something with the incredible sharpness of the new enlarger. The original print had a softness about it that enhanced the look of the fog and the feeling of being lost in the mist and visited by a fairy from another world. I could pick out details in the new enlargement that I’d never noticed before. I could clearly see features of Avery’s body that were merely hinted at in the original. And, surprising myself, I didn’t think that the added clarity of Avery’s nipples added to the aesthetic of the photo. I could tell I was going to need a new set of filters for creative effects, including some that would restore that “fog” effect, as well as some that could add sparkle to highlights, or increase contrast instead of decreasing it.
On Sunday afternoon, I started working with Amy’s prints. As harsh as I’d been with her, there were some photos from the first part of the session that were both usable and artistic. I could see the effect of the draping and bed as if it were a nineteenth century painting. Amy had incredibly beautiful features with naturally high cheekbones, dramatic eyes, and beautifully curly and coifed hair. I printed three that I especially liked.
The second day sitting was another matter entirely. There was really only one photo that I wanted from the two rolls I’d taken. It was in the last set. She lay on the rug, pleading with me, a tear just separating from her eye, mascara streaking down her cheek. It was perfect. And the new enlarger was perfect as well. I’d used just the right shutter speed and lens opening to bring her into sharp focus in the foreground and diminishing as we moved back toward the black Visqueen. I could see the reflection of the smoke from her cigarette in her eye. After I’d printed the first glossy, I printed an archival enlargement at the full 16x20 size that Levi had included paper for.
It took more than one try to get it right, and I felt bad about wasting a couple sheets of the expensive grade paper. I logged them in my book that Anna had set up for me so she could keep track of expenses and cost of sales. But eventually, I had a print I wanted to frame.
Both Chris and Anna were over at the studio a couple of times during the week and commented on Amy’s pictures. I desperately wanted to show the art piece, but Amy’s release was one with a five-year hold on it. Well, this piece would be in my private collection. Anna chided me for printing such a large display piece that I couldn’t show publicly. When I said I thought I’d give it to Amy, they both frowned at me.
It did give Anna an opportunity, however, to collect information regarding how many sheets of paper it took to get this one perfect print, how much time I spent making it, the cost of chemicals for developing, and finally a suggested price for a finished print of this size and quality. I was shocked when she told me this was a $50 print. Who would ever buy a photograph for $50?
I found out on Friday when Amy arrived to select her prints. We went through all the usual things and she said she didn’t think her smile looked all that fakey, but she realized it was something she did all the time. I prefaced showing her the art print by saying this one was for my collection and a print like it would cost $50. She looked at me like I was crazy.
Then I showed her the picture.
She stared at it for a long time without saying anything. She set it down on the table and walked away to try to look at it. Christine picked it up to hold so she could look straight at it. She returned to the photo and touched it, tracing the contour of her cheek. Then she turned to me with the sparkle of a tear in her eyes. She simply crushed me in a hug with her face against my chest as the tears fell and soaked the front of my shirt. It went on long enough that I picked her up and carried her to the couch so I could hold her. Chris joined me and held her hand.
Amy sniffed and I gave her my clean handkerchief. I needed to buy some more handkerchiefs. I seemed to be losing them frequently lately.
“I never cried before,” Amy whispered.
“Never?” I asked.
“Not since I was very little. My mother said tears were ugly and would ruin my beauty. She told me I always need to smile confidently and then people would do what I wanted. I think the first words I remember her saying were, ‘You’re beautiful. Don’t spoil it.’ And so, I never cried again. I wanted my mother to always think I was beautiful,” Amy said. She barely paused to wipe her nose. “I didn’t even cry when she died. Killed herself. She said she was old and no longer beautiful. She was thirty.”
“That’s terrible,” I sighed. “Such a terrible thing to do to you.”
“She was a liar. She lied to me. You made me cry. You tore down all the walls I had and made me weep. And the picture… It isn’t ugly. It’s beautiful. I’m more beautiful in that picture than in any picture that’s ever been taken of me. You made me beautiful,” she said, squeezing me harder.
“Your beauty isn’t dependent on your expression,” I said. “I know it’s a cliché. We always tell people they have an inner beauty. We’ll even say unkind things disguised as compliments, like, ‘She needs to lose fifty pounds, but she has a beautiful face.’ It’s stupid. But underlying it is a truth. You are beautiful. You have flawless complexion. You have perfect teeth. Your hair is like silk. Your breasts are perfectly symmetrical and stand out as a beacon to feminine beauty. But none of that makes you beautiful. It’s only when I saw you shining through it all that I thought you were beautiful. That’s what this work of art is. Not about the superficial beauty, but about the beauty that goes deeper than that. The beauty you let show through when you were stripped of the façade.”
“You’re so eloquent,” she snorted. “I know our agreement says that you can’t show my picture for five years. That must be painful to you to create something like this and not be able to show it. I’d like to buy two, just like this. No. I want to buy this one and one more. I’ll pay your requested $50 for each, and an additional $50 each if you will sign them for me. This one, I’ll hang with pride in my home and know that at least whoever sees this photo will see the real me. I’d like you to display the other copy on my behalf. Display it here in your gallery. Display it in any competition you want to. Display it in your exhibition of fine art photos when you have one. On my behalf. Don’t print any more of it and don’t give it to anyone. If you are displaying it on my behalf, then it isn’t in violation of our agreement.”
“That’s an interesting way to get around it,” I said. “But I find a certain pleasure in knowing that the photo is displayed on behalf of the model. I’ll agree to that.”
“Can you have this one framed for me and sent to me. I’ll pay the costs, plus a reasonable mark-up. And I’d also like regular 8x10 enlargements of the other photos I marked,” Amy said.
“I think we can handle that,” I said. “I’ll write up the order.”
I stood up, leaving Amy holding Chris’s hand on the couch. I went to my desk and took the order with the specifics she’d just described.
“I’d be happy to come back and do another sitting with you if you come up with an inspiration for something that could use a self-centered, spoiled model who promises to do whatever you say without question,” she laughed.
I turned and found her hugging Christine and whispering in her ear.
When the bill was tallied, Amy paid me $405, kissed both Christine and me on the cheek, and left to return to Chicago. I believe she was singing on the way out the door.
I collapsed on the couch and Chris fell into my arms. We just lay there a long time, recovering from the emotional strain.
I had a variety of clients over the summer. Some came from Chicago, but Judy, Janice, Patricia, Pris, and Debbie all came to the studio for photo sessions. Supposedly, these were all to expand my portfolio, and they all included at least one posed shot that I could actually display in public. But somehow, they all ended up with my model nude and doing something outrageously flirtatious. Since none of those five were eighteen yet, I had to mark the photos as practice work or educational.
Anna, who now considered herself completely at home in my studio, even when one or more of the girls were posing, snickered at the term educational when she saw the pictures.
“I’m certainly getting an education,” she said casually as she looked through the proof sheets. I looked at her. She was sitting at my desk in just her bra and panties. They seemed to have gotten lighter weight and I was sure I saw the distinct outline of her nipples beneath the bra. As the summer progressed, the weather had gotten hotter and I think all the girls came to the studio just to run around naked, or nearly so in Anna’s case. I was getting a bit of an education, too.
I had several models from Chicago, as well. I won’t go through the process of describing every photo session. Few were as dramatic as the session with Amy, but many yielded photos that might win prizes. And about half the models signed immediate releases rather than five-year holds. I wasn’t likely to get a lot of pieces of genuine artwork out of most of the photos.
When Christine was in the studio—her favorite place to hang out, as well as being helpful to me when I had a client—she dressed appropriately. She made the decision as to what was appropriate. When we had clients from Chicago, she was professionally dressed as my assistant. If it was one of our classmates in the studio or just Anna working on the books, Chris preferred to be naked. She simply told our classmates that it wasn’t fair to have a bunch of naked girls running around that I couldn’t touch, so she was the official outlet for my lustful desires. I could look at and photograph the others as much as I wanted, but I could touch her as much as I wanted.
That worked for me.
In spite of everyone running around in little or no clothing, though, we did not have sex in the studio. After a photo session, Chris and I would often slip away someplace to make love. The places along the river were pretty popular among high school lovers and we often found we were not far from another couple just beyond a bush.
The highlight of the summer, I guess, was the big yearbook party at the school on the last Saturday of July. It served two purposes. The first was so that as many students who could attend, including those just graduated and the kids in elementary school, could pick up their yearbooks and get their classmates to sign them. One big autograph party.
It was also the time when the incoming seniors could pick up their class rings. I had no idea how class rings were handled in Chicago, but I seemed to recall hearing they were ordered in the fall of the junior year instead of in the spring like we did in Tenbrook. Nonetheless, when we went to the party Saturday evening, we picked up our class rings first thing.
The party was a staged affair so that the elementary school kids and their parents could come and get their books early in the afternoon. The junior high kids were late in the afternoon. The high school kids and grads were in the evening, and the party included music and dancing. It also included a display of some thirty 8x10 glossy photos that I’d taken during the year. Some, but not all, were included in the yearbook. All of them had been displayed on the weekly bulletin board outside the office.
“Ah, Mr. Hart. I’m wondering if I could stop by to see you sometime this week,” Miss Sullivan said. “Do you have office hours?”
“I’m often in the studio during the day, but I keep the doors locked so I’m not disturbed during a studio sitting. My schedule is currently open, though, so we could set a time this week at your convenience,” I said.
“Not quite,” Chris said, beside me. “We have a model from Chicago coming on Thursday. Wednesday would be good.”
“Oh! Another assistant,” Miss Sullivan said.
“Christine helps me with clients in the studio,” I said. “She does much the same kind of thing that Anna does for yearbook photos.”
“Well, perhaps Anna should be there, too, since this may apply to both studio and yearbook photography.”
“I’ll go check with Anna,” Chris said. She took off across the room where Anna was having her yearbook signed by one of our classmates.
“You must be quite successful with two assistants,” Miss Sullivan laughed. “I thought you just had a tiny space in the attic of Center Marketplace. What do you call it? Attic Allure?”
“Well, that’s where I started. I actually have the little space in the attic plus the entire third floor of Center Marketplace. Presently, we’re scheduled with a model from Chicago every week and I often have local models who come in to shoot for portfolio and personal uses. Just for practice.”
“Hmm. I’m looking forward to seeing your setup.”
“You’ll love it, Miss Sullivan,” Lori said, holding out her book for me to sign. I’d hardly gotten any signatures in mine yet, but the evening was young. Lori had graduated this year, but she was still coming to the studio to work on her portfolio. “You’ll see some of my best photos on the wall. Nate has created a wonderful portfolio for me and an agency in Chicago has expressed an interest. I’m going into the city this week to meet with them and show the full portfolio.”
“My. You may be too expensive for our purposes,” Miss Sullivan said. “You’ve become very popular.”
“I’ll try to be fair with the rates,” I laughed. “And I’ll do the same kind of school yearbook photography as last year for the same rate.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“Ten o’clock Wednesday is a good time if it fits your calendar, Miss Sullivan,” Chris said as she and Anna returned to me.
“I believe ten o’clock will be perfect. I’ll let you get back to the party and stop talking business. Enjoy!”
We enjoyed the party. It was the first school dance since prom and Chris and I were thinking about the after prom. We danced and got people to sign our yearbooks. Several people asked me about pictures in my studio and I handed out my new Attic Allure business cards. I hoped I didn’t get too many calls. I was using our home phone number and calls were strictly limited because the line had to be kept clear for Mom. Ministering trumped photography when it came to the telephone.
We danced with lots of people besides each other. Avery and Pam, two more of the grads who had posed for me, were among those who returned for the party. Chris had cornered Avery and told her about my session with Amy. Avery danced with me and said, “You should study psychology in college. I think there is a law about practicing without a license.” She was in good humor, though, and wished me luck with a kiss as we parted.
Not so with Pam. Pam moved aggressively into my arms for a dance and growled at me. “Bastard!”
“What? I thought we were on good terms, Pam. Why am I a bastard?” I asked.
“That photograph! Why did you have to include that one? It haunts me! I try to hide it and then find it on my bedside table. I stare at it, wondering who that hag is. And I know it’s me! Why did you have to send me that photo?”
When I’d done her last photo session, one candid photo caught the real Pam. She kept herself hidden from everyone, negotiating anything she wanted in return for her favors—a flash up her skirt, a feel of her breasts, sex if the thing was extremely valuable. She’d offered me sex for my photos on every occasion. But that one photo showed what her lifestyle was costing her. It showed how it was aging her and affecting her good looks.
“I’m sorry, Pam,” I said. “I didn’t include it in your portfolio. I thought it showed the real you. It’s a piece of art.”
“So, you’ll show everyone then. You’ll exhibit it or publish it in a magazine and everyone will know what I really am,” she said. “Don’t do it, Nate. I’m begging you. Please don’t show that photo.”
“Pam, that photo is between you and me. I won’t even show it in my gallery.”
“I’ll repay you,” she said. “I promise. Do you want a blowjob? Do you want to fuck me? I’ll be your slave. What do you want?”
“I want you to be whole and happy, Pam. Nothing more.”
“Bastard. I don’t know if I have that kind of currency. But I’ll try to find it.”
“That will be enough.”
When Chris and I got ready to leave, Anna joined us.
“Um… I know I’m not exactly on your way home,” she said. “But could I walk with you toward my house a little ways?”
“Of course, you can,” Chris responded. “You aren’t out of our way. Cuddle up and let’s all walk together.”
I didn’t say anything, but when Anna leaned against me, I put an arm around her and the other around Chris. We walked the two blocks to Anna’s house and after an awkward moment on her doorstep, Chris and I both kissed her on the cheek and said goodnight.
“I think she wanted more of a kiss than that,” Chris said as we walked toward her house with our yearbooks in hand. “Did you want to kiss her again?”
“Anna has kissed me twice,” I said. “She muttered about how kissing made a girl want to do much more.”
“That’s been obvious,” Chris giggled. “She’s been wearing fewer and fewer clothes in the studio.”
“I haven’t been encouraging her to do that.”
“No. As usual, you’ve been a model of decorum. But, honey, she’s going to keep hoping that she might stumble and fall into your lap. Or your bed,” Chris said.
“I don’t think she’d do that,” I said.
“Not on purpose. It would be a complete accident. Just remember this, like with anyone else, I won’t hate you if you sleep with her or kiss her. Don’t dump me for her, though. I think Ronda would feel the same way.”
“I have a better idea and it will stop all this speculation.”
“What, go back and proposition her?”
“No. Go steady with me.”
“Anna go steady with you?”
“Don’t be silly. I’m asking you, Christine Evans, to go steady with me. Exchange class rings and show everyone we’re a couple and not to be trifled with.”
“Um… I’m okay with that, really, but Ronda…”
I sighed heavily. For a mere second or two I’d forgotten about Ronda and thought there was only Chris and me.
“Honey, I don’t know what to say. I miss her, but she isn’t here with us. We’re all we have.”
“She’ll be back. I’m good with going steady. I really love you, Nate. But we both need to have the exception of Ronda. I hope we can all three be back together, but even if we can’t, I’m not ready to lock her out of a relationship with either of us.”
“I know you’re right. If she was here, I’d be helpless to deny her anything. She became so important to us and she seems so far away right now,” I said.
“That’s the problem with some of the others we’ve talked about,” Chris said. “I promise not to fly off the handle if you get intimate with anyone else. I mean if Vicki fails with Jon and wants a rematch with you, you should fuck her little ass because that’s something you’re not likely to get from either Ronda or me. Heck, if Kelly comes back and says she’d like to finish what you started, go out with her, and see how deep her freckled cunt is. The same is true of Anna and Patricia and Lori and Judy and Janice. They are with you a lot and any one of them might need more in a crisis. I don’t consider that a betrayal. And even though I’m not likely to want any other guy to stick his dick in me, there might be a couple of girls who tickle my fancy, like Lori did or like Ronda absolutely will.”
“Are we really going steady with all those exceptions?” I asked.
“Let’s see where it goes. It’s our time to explore and find out what turns us on.”
“Christine, with all those caveats in place, will you go steady with me?”
“Um… yes, but with one more caveat.”
“What else?”
“Tomorrow. We should be able to show our parents our own class rings before we exchange them.”
“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot about that! I sure love you, Christine.”
“I love you, too, Nate. I wish there was someplace we could go tonight and make love.”
“Shall we try tomorrow afternoon? It looks like it will be another hot day.”
“Let’s do it.”
I kissed my new steady girlfriend long and hard before she went into her house and I walked home.
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
