Hi folks. Last week's story drummed up a lot of controversy. That can be fun sometimes and I love hearing your opinions on stories. We all have differing views on what is and isn't morally acceptable. And it's good to have a forum to air our opinions. This week's story is shorter and more fun. I hope you enjoy the lighter tone. Next week's story will of course be far different from thie one so if you don't like it, don't worry. Thanks as always to the incredible Mikothebaby for her editing magic. SS06
As I walked up the walkway to our condo, following my wife, I shook my head. When I got to the door, she slammed it in my face. I let out a sigh and turned around to go back to my car. Just as I got to the end of the walkway, I heard her screaming again.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" she yelled. "We're not done talking about this."
"Connie, you slammed the door in my face," I said calmly. "I just thought that I'd go back to the studio and work on the photo's I shot this afternoon. That way you could calm down and I could get some work done."
"I don't need to calm down," she hissed. "I'm perfectly fucking fine. You're the one who has a problem. You let that whore lean all over you. Do you think I didn't notice her rubbing her tits on you? And you just sat there smiling. I wonder what she'd have done if I wasn't standing there. There will be no cheating in this marriage. If you cheat you're gone. No excuses; no mercy, goodbye."
"Connie, she only gave me a hug," I said. "There's no need for you to go ballistic. Everyone I work with sees my wedding ring. They all know that I'm married and very happily. Plus, there's the fact that Serena saw you standing there. If there had been anything going on between us I doubt that she'd have come over and hugged me right in front of you."
"Whores are whores," she hissed. "And you need to let yours know that you're married. And you need to let them know that your wife takes her marriage vows really seriously. I hear about and read about that shit all of the time. People in the media and the entertainment industry just think they're on a different level than the rest of the fucking world."
I squeezed past her and into the house so our neighbors didn't have to listen to the rest of her rant.
"And you need to know, that whore is as fake as they come. She probably has breast implants, butt implants, a nose job, collagen in her lips, her cheek bones re-sculpted, her teeth capped, her hair is bleached and leg extensions," she spat. "Not one thing on her is genuine. Shit, I could look that good if I'd had all of that work done on me too."
"Leg extensions?" I said, shaking my head. "I thought that was an exercise."
"Don't be stupid, Rob," she said. "You know how they do it. That whore is almost six feet tall and bone thin. She has almost no hips but she's got a bubble butt. That is not natural."
"Connie, she played volleyball and basketball in college," I said. "That's why she's tall and thin. It's all of the exercise."
Connie was staring at me like I was on a slide and she was looking at me under a microscope. This is a good time for me to pause and introduce the players in our little drama.
My name is Rob, short for Robin Delgado. I'm a photographer. I started out when I was a kid with a cheap Kodak camera that my folks had bought me as a Christmas present. I won numerous photo contests throughout my teens and knew by the time I was old enough to think about college that photography would be my major.
All during high school I didn't join any of the clubs or teams but I was at any and all big events for the school. I had to be at them so I could take pictures. It was the same at the parties I went to. I was never there with a girl or friends, but I was always there with a camera.
There was one girl, Melissa Mulligan, who thought I was cute. She often asked me why I didn't participate in anything. She thought it was kind of creepy that instead of joining in and experiencing life, I preferred to watch it from the sidelines.
I've often thought about that and it wasn't until recently that I had an answer to her question. It wasn't that I didn't participate in life. Each of us has his or her part to play in the grand drama that makes up life. My part in that drama is to photographically record events so that people who weren't present can witness great, beautiful or tragic events and see them through their own eyes.
In my particular case, I've noticed that life is gritty and ugly, even at its best. And even when you do have those truly beautiful or transcendent moments, they look better to me when focused through the lens of my camera. Everything just seems to look better through the lens.
My wife, Connie, and I have been married for only two years. I own my own agency. I have several photographers on staff and we shoot everything from fashion to magazine work. Often, models or artists who are worried about their image will let us know which parties or events they'll attend. They, or their managers, hire us to photograph them at those events because we'll take hundreds of pictures and let them have control over which shots we release to the magazines or newspapers. That way only pictures that flatter them are ever seen.
On the other hand, when stars are on the way down, magazines often hire us instead of their staff photographers to get pictures of the stars that show them in a bad light. Like pictures of Lindsay Blowhard when she's drunk or high that help the magazine or paper to sell a particular story.
Sometimes, the stars and the magazines will have a bidding war over my work. A magazine wants bad pictures, I get them and the star or their management hear about it and pay me more than the magazine has offered, to make sure the photos never see the light of day.
This morning's shoot was for a magazine ad. One of the models, Serena Vascova, a nearly six foot Russian beauty, as has been mentioned, hugged me when the shoot was done. I've worked with Serena a couple of times before and she's a very nice girl. Her heavy Russian accent makes her seem exotic. Her pale gray eyes and long legs don't hurt either.
For all that Serena calls her a whore, Serena is according to the rumors, a twenty three year old virgin. She's also on her way to becoming a bona fide supermodel. She's making all the right moves and landing a lot of covers. It also doesn't hurt that she asks for me a lot on her shoots. I seriously wouldn't mind riding her coat tails to bigger and better assignments, but that won't happen if Connie creates a scene whenever we work together.
"Just stay the fuck away from that whore," says Connie. "Promise me that?"
She's calmed down so I try to reason with her.
"Okay Connie," I said. "If you don't mind giving up the cruise I wanted us to go on for Christmas; it's fine. We'll do things your way."
"What do you mean?" she says, looking at me curiously.
"Serena asks for me a lot," I begin. "She's on her way to the top as a model. She gets paid a ridiculous amount of money and gets a lot of say as to when, where and how things are done on her shoots. If she asks for me specifically, I get paid more, which means I can buy bigger and better things for YOU. I mean you and I are married. Long after Serena's career as flavor of the month is over, we'll still be together. But if me being on a set with her, even though as you saw today there are always tons of other people there, bothers you, I'll just stop working with her."
"There were a lot of people there," she said hesitantly.
"There were three hair stylists, two make-up artists and their assistants. Her agent was there. Her representative, her personal assistant, all of my assistants, the client's representative, the clothing designer and his assistants and four other models that all had their staff as well," I said. "I think there had to be close to fifty people there and that's the way it always is."
"Well, okay," she said reluctantly. "But I don't want you to ever be around that whore alone. I'm not happy about this at all because you're too obsessed with your cameras and your career to notice the little things, but I'm a woman and I know how women think. And that whore wants you."
"I promise," I said. "I'll never let myself get put into a situation where Serena and I are alone. Now why don't you go make us a nice brunch while I get on the computer and edit the whore's photographs so I can sell them and make us some money?"
I went into my office and go onto the computer. The equipment I had at home was the same editing software I had at the office. That allowed me to work at home when I just didn't feel like going in. As I worked on the photos from the morning's shoot, a call came in on my iPhone.
"Rob, where the hell are you?" asked the caller. "I already told you that we needed test shots ASAP."
It was Friederick Bontemps, Serena's manager. I hate the shit out of him. He is as fake as they come. His French accent, which is also fake, grated on my nerves.
"I should never have allowed you to take the pictures. You aren't well known enough," he said. "You don't have enough history or body of work. Now I'll have to have the whole shoot redone."
"Fred," I said. He hated being called Fred. He preferred to have his name pronounced "Free Drick." That only proved what an idiot he was because pronounced that way, his name was German and there wasn't a lot of love between the French and the Germans. Anyway, it was all academic since it was fake. But I was tired of his shit, so I decided to let him know it.
"It is pronounced Friederick," he snapped. "I am French."
.... There is more of this story ...