Chapter 1: Overexposed

MAY 18, 1971

I NEVER IMAGINED that I would one day spend an entire night with Fran in my bed. She was, frankly, far more suited to a fuck in the back seat of the limo. Not that I had any difficulty having sex with her a few times that night. If anything, she was an energetic lover and kept me awake longer than I intended to be.

And pumping into her well-lubricated pussy was like scaling the Matterhorn and living to tell about it. It was both exhilarating and exhausting. I think the most disconcerting thing was lying flat on her and being held away by those artificially inflated boobs. They really didn’t move around much at all.

No matter what I might say about it, though, I genuinely liked Fran and I was excited for her success in this movie. She already had a contract to play a small but good role in an upcoming thriller, to be shot in Hollywood. It turned out that an actor I had photographed recently was also in the movie and I wondered how many strings my Fifi was pulling.

Fran had also signed an option for a sequel to Over Exposure, assuming the original was a success. She would play the same role, but it was a major part in the proposed new film. And Fran credited all this to taking her clothes off for a photographer on a first class flight to Los Angeles. She was determined to show the photographer how very much she appreciated meeting him and giving him a blow job in the lavatory.

“Every coincidence is a blessing in disguise,” she said. “A connection in the eternal web of our existence. I believe that good things happen because we put ourselves in the way of them happening.”

The clenching of her pussy muscles on my cock was definitely a good thing happening. I lost my load in the condom and she got me ready for another round.

Fran was joining several others preparing for the premiere in a spa day in Hollywood, where they would not have far to go for the limos to circle from the spa to the theater at Hollywood and Vine. A limo would pick up an actress or actor or couple at the spa and then drive them to the theater for their walk on the red carpet, then cycle back for another passenger. Not all, of course. Most were arriving in their own limos and a lot of the crew would simply be walking up to the entrance and presenting their passes.

I thought a Hollywood premiere was the opening of a new movie. Turns out that it isn’t that at all. It’s an opportunity for the glamour set in Hollywood to make an appearance and make appreciative noises in the audience. And critics sit there and prepare reviews that will run before the movie actually opens a couple of days later, probably in a different theater altogether. No one was actually buying a ticket for this event.

As usual, I’ve just jumped into the middle like you already know what’s going on. I should start back in August of 1970—nine months ago. You can’t really have a movie premiere unless it gets shot and edited and all that. We’d scarcely gotten back from Stratford and I was flying to LA to be there for the first day of filming.

Don’t ask me why. I had no idea what I could possibly contribute to a Hollywood movie production.

I’m Nate Hart. I’m a twenty-year-old photography student at Columbia College Chicago. Somehow, I’ve established a photography business with studios in Chicago and in Stratford, Ontario. We’d spent a very entertaining and profitable first summer at the Canada studio and raced back to Chicago in time for me to repack and leave for LA.

We. That would be my three girlfriends, my goddaughter, and me. Until a couple of weeks ago, I had four girlfriends, but Elizabeth had abused our mistress and I couldn’t tolerate her being around anymore. Nasty breakup, but I wasn’t sorry about it.

Ronda May is girlfriend number one, by longest continuous relationship. We shared a girlfriend in high school. Christine was the sweetest and most passionate girl I’d ever met. Ronda and I both loved her and in the course of loving Christine, we fell in love with each other, too. We thought that was going to be all there was to it—happily ever after. But Christine didn’t feel that way. She’d been harboring feelings of guilt over being a pervert for having a girlfriend and a boyfriend, and screwing around with a couple of other girls as well. As soon as she could move to college in August of ‘68, she broke up with both Ronda and me and took off for Peoria. Cut off all contact. It was pretty heartbreaking for both Ronda and me, but Chris was determined to purge herself of perversion. She got married last June. We didn’t attend.

Ronda’s a brilliant student, studying International Relations at the University of Chicago. She transferred here from Boston last year because it was just too hard carrying on our long-distance relationship. She surprises me with the depth of her love and devotion daily. She really missed her girl-girl relationship, but she came to love Patricia and Anna and lately, they’ve all found ways to comfort each other physically. I think they’re actually enjoying it, too.

Patricia Kowalski is number two. She was my best friend’s wife until he was killed in action in Vietnam. At first, I was just comforting her over the loss of her husband. We’d been close ever since I moved to Tenbrook and I’d considered Tony my best friend. We shed a lot of tears over that and I took photos of her pregnancy progress every week. Somehow, comfort became passion and we ended up boyfriend and girlfriend. Now, she and Toni live in Chicago with me and with Ronda. I’m Little Toni’s godfather. Lately, I’ve noticed the two-year-old sometimes calls me Daddy. I don’t mind.

Anna Marx is number three, though she was my first girlfriend when I moved to Tenbrook in ‘66. When she found out I was taking sexy pictures of girls in my studio, she broke up with me. But we stayed friends and worked together on the yearbook at school. She found out the condition my accounting was in and sort of moved into the studio to help get it in shape and make sure I was paying my taxes. And the more she hung around, the more like a girlfriend she became again. After our senior prom, we became lovers as well. Unfortunately, she’s going to school out in Rockford and only lives in the Chicago apartment with us on weekends.

It wouldn’t be fair of me not to mention our mistress, Adrienne. I’m still not sure how it happened, but she’d come as a model with a photo request from a guy who had paid an exorbitant amount for a couple of my pictures. She ended up a lover, but she lives in LA. And when she met the girlfriends, she became their lover, too.

That was what got Elizabeth and me into trouble. Adrienne is a submissive and gets off on a little pain. Beth took it to an extreme and beat her half to death. She’d been out of town half the time we’d been boyfriend and girlfriend, trying to make it as a comedienne. I was too mad at her to grieve over losing her as a girlfriend. Thank goodness, her parents are still friends with me.

The LA connection is convenient because I got recruited and hired as a consultant for a movie about a photographer. They wanted to pattern the photography after my style—I call it Attic Allure—but they didn’t want to tell my story—thank goodness. It’s pretty cool to get flown first class out to LA periodically to take pictures and to review the script or the shooting. In fact, I’m heading there the last week of August.

Damn! That’s today! I’m flying out Sunday, August 23 and back on August 29, just a week before my junior year in college starts on September 8, 1970. It’s going to be a busy year.

That brings you up to date on my life. We just got back to Chicago from our summer home in Stratford, Ontario, and I have to turn right around and leave again.

AUGUST 23, 1970

WE GOT TO THE APARTMENT in Chicago and were there barely long enough to air it out a little. I repacked for Los Angeles. Sunday morning, the girls took me to the airport and then went on to Tenbrook for the week. I boarded the plane and was seated in 2A. I looked, but it wasn’t Missy in the galley.

I kept the Nikon on my person as the stewardess took my hat and suitcoat. While others boarded, the stewardess offered me a mimosa, which I accepted. A guy in a business suit sat beside me and gave up his hat, but not his jacket. He passed on the mimosa and asked for a Johnny Walker. I wasn’t sure what that was, but when the little bottles arrived, I saw it was some kind of scotch whiskey. He poured it in his glass and tipped it back before it even had a chance to get cold on the ice.

He opened the second bottle and repeated the process.

“I hate this flying stuff,” he grumbled.

“I kind of enjoy the service,” I said.

“Just wait till we hit rough weather. There are storms over the Rockies and we’ll get bounced all the way to Mexico before we manage Los Angeles.”

“You must know the route pretty well,” I said.

“I watched the weather just before I boarded. Shouldn’t have. Don’t know why the company has to have me in LA for a meeting first thing Monday morning. Cuts into my weekend,” he said.

“I can appreciate that sentiment. I’m supposed to be on the soundstage at eight in the morning. I didn’t even know they worked that early in California,” I laughed.

Might as well make the best of it. It would be a long four hours if my seat companion was a nasty drunk. It seemed like his two drinks had just relaxed him, though.

“Soundstage? You’re an actor?”

“Oh, no. Just a consultant. I’m a photographer. They want production stills and character shots of the actors.”

“Really! I used to dabble in photography a little. No time these days. Too bad. We’ve been looking for a product photographer. Seems like we are always having to test out a new guy. You do product photography?” he asked.

“No. Mostly all portrait and glamour photos. I know a good product photographer in Chicago, though,” I said, thinking of Jim Lehman from my composition class.

“Really? I’d like the referral. You have his number?”

“I don’t have it with me. I can give you my card, though, and I’ll look up his info. He’s pretty new in the business and has been working out of Pro Color in Chicago while he gets established.” I dug in my pocket for a business card and handed it to him.

“Attic Allure,” he read. “Ontario, Chicago, and LA? You’ve got three studios? How many photographers do you have?”

“There are only actually studios in Ontario and Chicago,” I laughed. “LA, like I said, is soundstage work. It happens the set they’re using this week is a copy of my studio, so it will be like home. Otherwise, I’d be doing location work.”

He dug in a pocket to give me his business card and our stewardess, Candy, came around to offer us another drink. I asked for coffee, and after a pause to consider, my seatmate did the same. While we were talking, the plane had taken off and we were above the clouds. He finally found what he was looking for and handed me his card.

“Bill Harris,” he said, offering his hand.

“Nate Hart,” I answered. Candy arrived with our coffee and a sweet roll for each of us.

“You seem young to have so many irons in the fire, if I may say so,” he said.

“I am. You’re right about that. I guess I’ve just been in the right places at the right times,” I said.

“That’s a good attitude,” Bill said. “You take a professional ball player for example. He might be a Mickey Mantle, but if he doesn’t get to bat just when that fast ball is coming across the plate, he’s nobody and gets traded to the minors. People underestimate how much of success is being in the right place at the right time. But when you’re in that place, you still need the talent to capitalize on it.”

“I’ve met some pretty incredible people along the way,” I said. “An uncle showed my pictures to a camera pro. He wanted to see what I could do with a better camera. The pro showed the pictures to some people who had money and they stepped up to back me. My life is full of things like that happening to me.”

“Don’t underestimate your own role in making them happen,” Bill said. “You know that if the photos weren’t good, your uncle wouldn’t have shown them, or if he had, the camera guy wouldn’t have been interested. Even then, if you weren’t producing consistently good images, the backers wouldn’t have stepped up. It speaks well for you that you produce something that gets these people excited about it.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m just along for the ride,” I laughed. “But what a great ride!”

We had a companionable chat all the way to LA. The predicted turbulence over the Rockies proved to be pretty minor. Bill forgot about ordering another drink. The food, as always, was great. He promised to give me a call for Jim’s phone number.

When we got off the plane, I was surprised and delighted to see Adrienne waiting to pick me up. When she greeted me with a big kiss, I heard Bill breathe, “Definitely the right place at the right time.”

“What would you like this evening, my master?” Adrienne asked in the limo as we were driven to her apartment.

“It would be nice to have a relaxing night in front of the fire, but I suppose it’s a little warm in LA for a fireplace,” I laughed. I’d been trying to decide if there was a way we could add a fireplace to our home in Stratford. It would extend the pleasantness of the season by at least a month on either side.

“I could probably find a picture of a fireplace,” Adrienne laughed. “Or I could be your warm and cuddly blaze.”

“I think we hit on a solution to the problem. Can we just order something to be delivered for dinner?”

“I’ll tell Samuel to get us sandwiches from the deli. Pastrami?”

“Perfect. And if he can get it, I’d like some ice cream and chocolate syrup.”

“Oh, my dear master, I have that in my freezer just for you.”

We had a relaxing time at Adrienne’s apartment. I called my girls at Anna’s house where they were camping out for the night. Anna reminded me that I should check Adrienne’s wounds from the beating, which I intended to do as soon as I could get her undressed.

We ate and shortly thereafter, I did get her undressed. While we kissed and loved, I inspected every bit of her body.

“Master?”

“There is still a mark here that has not healed completely,” I said. “Give me your cream and let me rub it in.”

“Yes, master. It will fade. That was the deepest of the cuts and took a while to heal. It will go away. I promise,” she said anxiously.

“Honey, I don’t care about what you promise. I promised. No permanent marks. Every time I see these, I get angry.”

“Oh, master, please. I hope you can forgive Beth and continue to love her.”

“There are three different issues there, Fifi. I don’t know how to stop loving her, but that just makes what she did hurt more. We broke up. She left us with her apologies and admitted that our family just wasn’t right for her,” I said. “As to forgiveness ... Reverend Mother Superior summed it up: If you can’t forget, you can’t forgive. Maybe one day, I’ll forget what she did to you and then I won’t worry about forgiving.”

“I am so sad to have brought this on your family,” Adrienne sobbed.

“No, my Fifi. You did not bring this on us. As I have found from other breakups, the final reason isn’t usually the reason at all. It’s something else entirely. Honestly? I think Beth was feeling trapped by a decision she made in the heat of the moment. She thought she would be in college for four years and I would be her college boyfriend. She didn’t expect to have the opportunity to go on tour before her sophomore year, or to be invited back to Vegas to perform that spring, or to be opening on Broadway in two weeks before her junior year would have begun. Having even an exclusive boyfriend in Chicago would have been too much for her, let alone sharing a boyfriend with three other girlfriends and an incredibly sexy pet. Come here, my pet. I want to pet you all over.”

Adrienne let the topic drop and we spent the next hour making love before we got up to have ice cream and chocolate.

I had far more equipment on this trip than on any before. I had all three cameras, their lenses, film carriers for the 4x5, both Pan-X and Ektachrome film, and three tripods packed in a case that Dave had found for me in Stratford. I figured most of my black and white work would be with the Hasselblad, while I’d be shooting standard color transparencies with the Nikon. Standard for me now was Ektachrome. It was just too undependable to have access to enough light for Kodachrome. I loved its fine-grain characteristics, but 25ASA needed halogen or carbon arc lighting.

I’d use either black and white or Ektachrome sheets in the Linhof, depending on what was appropriate. I loved the color work I was doing with it, but I also loved the black and white prints the camera produced. Though I shot fewer photos with it than with either of the other two cameras, the photos were fantastic.

Samuel came up to help carry the equipment down to the limo at seven in the morning. This time schedule was almost like being in school again. Adrienne had packed a bag for us as well. She said I could dress down during the day because I’d be working as a professional photographer. The evening would require nicer clothes. She chose black slacks, a black T-shirt, and my gray blazer for the daytime. I wasn’t sure what she’d packed for the evening. I had visions of working around the clock.

The soundstage was a different one than we’d worked at for screen tests. It was larger and there were already two sets on it. My equipment was loaded onto a cart and I was told not to touch the cart. That was a union job and the guy followed us into the massive soundstage. The studio set, I was told, would be the primary set used during the beginning of the shoot. Interestingly, they were jumping right in with most of the nude scenes, which took place in the studio.

The other set was a kind of standard kitchen and living room like you’d see on almost any sitcom or soap opera. In fact, I wasn’t sure but what it was from a sitcom. It looked almost familiar.

There was almost nothing for me to do for the first two hours we were there. I snapped a lot of pictures with the Nikon, but the rest of my equipment remained on the trolley with the grip guarding it. It looked like that was his job assignment for the day.

The actors were still in makeup. Twenty or thirty people on cameras and lighting and sound were moving equipment around the set to determine the best angles. I got a glance at a shooting script and it looked nothing at all like the acting script.

It had several columns with the ‘shots’ numbered for Day one. Each shot had a column describing what the camera would see and/or how it would move. Then there was a column with the script/audio that would be in that shot. There was a column indicating what props were needed and a column for the setting. The most confusing thing was that the scenes weren’t in the order they’d be shown in the movie. To read the shooting script, you’d never know what the movie was about.