Chapter 30: Reverend Mother

“SOMEONE HAD FUN TODAY,” Ronda said when she joined me in the darkroom.

“Darling, you would not believe it!” I said enthusiastically. “Wait until you see these photos!”

“I could tell you were having fun by the way you had your hands all over her. Did she suck you?”

“Um ... Oh. Yeah, she did. I guess that was fun, too.”

“You guess?”

“I love getting a model so worked up that she needs release and wants me to touch her,” I sighed. “But I really don’t care if she gets me off. You know?”

“No, I didn’t know. I thought the fun was in having a new conquest you could stick your dick into,” she said. Uh oh.

“Honey? You know it’s never been about that. I just want them so turned on and in tune with me that I get a great photo. Are you upset?”

“Um ... Not really, I guess. We’ve all accepted that you are intimate with nearly all your models. It’s just that we haven’t seen it in a while. It was a surprise that an actress could step into the studio and you’d have her naked and in your hands in record time. That whole session only lasted an hour and a half. You could have taken her to the darkroom and screwed her lights out.”

“I didn’t want to screw her,” I said. I plopped down on the chair in the darkroom and Ronda sat on my lap. She kissed me.

“Saving that for your lovers?”

“My lovers. My wives are all I really want for a sexual relationship. Oh, I know you’ll remind me of Adrienne and of Jane. Even with Anita, it was almost like taking care of unfinished business from while she was here in Stratford. I had no desire at all to bring her home. I could just see red flags all over when we were finished. I might have been a little more intense in punishing Adrienne for it.”

“That won’t prevent her from setting something up again,” Ronda laughed. “She might be making a list. I guess working with you for the past nine months has given me a different view of your work. I see you in a professional situation taking photos almost every day and it’s so different than it was today.”

“I agree. Today was all about why I really love photography. I haven’t taken more than half a dozen Attic Allure photos in the eighteen months we’ve been working for the State Department. I just point the camera and click. Absolutely anyone could be taking the photos while we’re on the road.”

“You’ve always gotten good photos of the ambassadors. You talk them into interesting poses. You hand them props from their desks. It was a great photo when you had the ambassador to Romania contemplating the globe as he touched it.”

“Um ... How do you know? Do you realize I’ve taken miles of film at embassies in the past two years? I haven’t seen a single photo. We take the film to a courier and he delivers it to Washington. For all I know, they haven’t even processed it,” I said. I was a little petulant, but I couldn’t stop. “I install Polaroid cameras in the chanceries and teach technicians how to use them. Do you think any of those techs has taken a single artistic photo? They take a face shot of a person against a white background, laminate it to a green book, and hand it off. I’m not sure they even look to see if the photo turned out.”

“You really miss this,” Ronda said. “I’m so sorry, Nate.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just that a session like today—or even the session with Patricia we did on Saturday—feels right. It’s what I went to college for. I keep thinking that somewhere along the line I’ll truly get a masterpiece. I’ll have one photo that is actually worth the money my patrons invested. What some of them have paid for my images. That’s not going to happen when I’m traveling around the world locked into embassies and consulates. Taking pictures of security options and problems is important—I don’t doubt that. But it isn’t Attic Allure.”

“I won’t ask you to extend your time at State,” she said. “I wanted to, but I see how important this is. I’m afraid I’ll be out there alone.”

I let her words sink in and found tears in my eyes.

“Oh, Ronda! Please don’t break up with us. If traveling is what it takes to keep our family together, I’ll do it forever.”

“We can’t ask each other to be what we aren’t. And once the installations are finished, my traveling days may be over. I’ll get a nice comfy office job in Chicago and come home each night to my wonderful family.” She kissed me again. “Now let’s get some film developed so we can show our lovers what a brilliant artist you are.”

I kissed her desperately, and we began to loosen our clothes. Oh, I got film into the tanks to process and I printed proofs, but Ronda had worked with me in the darkroom enough that she knew when I could be enticed to kiss and pet while things developed. And eventually, we made love, like we’d done so many times in the darkroom.

The 4x5 transparencies of Patricia and Deirdre arrived Tuesday morning and Dave called me to let me know they were in. I went down and spent some time with him, looking at the photos and picking up my supplies that I’d ordered the previous week.

“You know, Nate, you could be processing and printing color negatives. I know you like using the Ektachrome and Cibachrome method, but color processing is coming into reach of the private lab. A couple of years ago, Kodak released a new process called C41. We’re getting great results with Kodacolor film,” Dave said.

“I always felt there was too much problem with color processing to get into it,” I said. “And the chemicals are still pretty toxic, need to be at just the right temperature, and are hard to dispose of.”

“All true in the old process. Here’s a brochure on the new stuff. I’d be happy to process a roll for you and look at the results. If you like what we come up with, I’ll help you set up your darkroom.”

“Thanks, Dave. Darn! This stuff came out just when I was graduating from college. I’ll bet the school is all over color processing now. I might have to go back to college.”

“Well, these transparencies you brought in are stellar work. I hope you do well with them.”

I showed the girls the transparencies and we chose a photo of Patricia and one of Deirdre to print. Anna joined me in the darkroom for a while.

“You want to retire from the State Department now?” Anna asked. Of course, if I told Ronda how I felt the other wives would know shortly.

“I have another eight-month tour of duty before I can retire,” I sighed. “But you’re right. I don’t want to keep working there like I’ve been. It’s been a great opportunity to travel, though we don’t see that much of each place. I don’t see enough of you and Patricia and the girls. And I’m not taking photos like these.”

I shut down the lights and slid the Cibachrome paper into the enlarger. Anna knew exactly how much time I needed for each step of the process and kept me busy between. Before long, I had two nice Cibachrome prints and Anna had a pussy full of my come.

“I’m sold,” Jasmine said when she came in for her appointment on Wednesday. Invalid was dark that night, and she hadn’t begun rehearsals for King John yet. “If you can get me a photo like these, I’m yours to do whatever as you please.”

“Was that a line from a play?” I asked.

“No. I’ve been so steeped in the script for King John that I’m talking in rhymed couplets and iambic pentameter,” Jasmine laughed. “But really, I love the concept of what you’ve done in these two. Are these paintings of John’s?”

“His students over the winter. He brings me backdrops in the spring. This batch happens to be among the best,” I said. “Let’s get you into makeup and take a nice portrait while you tell me about your role in King John.”

I led Jasmine to the dressing room and seated her as I worked on her makeup. I used a light touch for the portrait, but while I was working on her and brushing her long black hair back from her forehead, I thought she could have something far more dramatic when we got into it.

“Patricia, I’ll need a nice portrait blouse. Something black and nicely fitted to this beautiful shape,” I called to my assistant for the day. “We’ll use a light blue backdrop for the portrait.”

Patricia stuck her head in the dressing room to size up Jasmine and nodded. Like Deirdre, Jasmine had worn a simple sweatshirt and shorts, apparently expecting that I’d strip her immediately. Well, I wasn’t going to disappoint her. Patricia brought me a lovely sleeveless dress. It had a unique black leather harness that fit over one shoulder.

“I play Blanche, the king’s niece. She’s Spanish, which is why Jasmine Diaz was chosen for the role. He marries her off to the French Dauphin in order to secure a short-lived peace. They scarcely get back from the wedding when a new archbishop shows up. John refuses to recognize him as Archbishop of Canterbury, so the priest excommunicates him and calls on France to unseat him or suffer the same fate. We haven’t even consummated the marriage when Louis goes to war against England.”

“Tell me you become a virgin widow,” I said as I unzipped her sweatshirt and pulled it from her naked torso. Oh my, that was nice. “I hope you plan to let me take photos of these,” I sighed.

She pulled my hand to her chest and encouraged me to stroke it.

“Kathleen said you’d treat it well,” she whispered.

“I’ll try to capture its beauty in celluloid.”

I bent and placed a gentle kiss on each nipple, then dropped the dress over her head. She stood and I removed her shorts and sandals before dropping the dress down over her lush hips and bare pussy.

“Now, let me make some adjustments to your hair. Having it swept up does wonderful things for the framing of your face.”

“I should try that look for the play. I like it.”

“So, it sounds like there are all kinds of characters fighting for dear old England,” I said.

“I think they’ll color code the costumes so you can tell who is on which side and which ones are just wishy washy and will take whatever side is winning. Blue for England, red for France, and beige for the vast majority who don’t really care,” she said as I led her to the stage where Patricia had the backdrop ready and the stool. I positioned Jasmine and adjusted the lights, then started taking pictures.

“We could use a system like that in the US. Blue for the two percent on one side. Red for the two percent on the other side. Beige for the other ninety-six percent who don’t know what the hell is happening.”

“That’s kind of cynical.”

“I was a Vietnam War protester. I got drafted and am serving my alternative service working for the State Department. Sorry about the cynicism.”

I positioned her in another nice pose and then removed the leather shoulder harness from her right shoulder.

“Such beautiful shoulders should not be hidden,” I said as I stroked down her arms. I took another picture and then pushed one strap of the gown off her shoulder.

“I was afraid I’d spoiled the mood. Maybe you could massage my neck a little,” she said.

“Yes. I don’t want you tense,” I said, working on her shoulders. She leaned into my hands and I pushed the other strap down. I worked around to the front of her shoulders and pushed the dress below her breasts. “None of you should be hidden,” I said, stroking her nipples.

“I’m yours for the taking.”

“Hold that thought and that position,” I said, getting behind the camera. “Patricia, there’s a scene with a couple of pillars and an arch against a night sky. I think we’ll use that next.”

I led Jasmine back to the dressing room and had her sit down. I went to work on her makeup, raising her cheekbones, using a dark burgundy on her lips, and intensifying her black eyebrows. Of course, I left her topless while I worked, occasionally pausing long enough to caress her again.

“When we finish the shoot, I’d like you to remove this lipstick with your lips,” she panted.

“Whatever you want, dear.”

“This was in the props and looked like a match for that backdrop,” Patricia said, opening the door. She handed me a blue crown.

“Beautiful. See if we have a black cape or shawl. Something she can hold,” I said.

“Got ya.” Patricia was gone again.

“I thought she was one of your girlfriends,” Jasmine said. “She doesn’t mind you playing with your models?”

“We have one rule,” I said. “No sex in the studio. And I don’t date models.”

“This could be very frustrating.”

“I’ll take care of you.”

I positioned the crown and then led her back to the stage, set up with the fantasy background. It looked like you could walk through the arch into the sky. I worked with the lights a little and shot a couple of transparencies. Patricia brought me the piece of fabric I asked for.

“Perfect,” I said.

I handed Jasmine the fabric and then stepped behind her to push the dress over her hips so it fell to the floor. I spent a minute caressing her bottom and her abdomen, brushing over her pudenda.

“Now, let’s see a princess of Spain ready to take her new French husband to bed,” I said.

We tried several different poses. I don’t usually take so many 4x5 transparencies, but I couldn’t help searching for the perfect composition. And each time I shifted her, I caressed her.

“I can’t take much more of this teasing,” she said.

“I think we have what we want,” I answered.

I picked her up and carried her to the dressing room, pushing the door closed behind me. Then I made good on the promise to kiss all the lipstick from her lips. I made very sure it had been cleaned from inside her lips as well.

Jasmine was far gone, just letting me kiss and fondle her any way I wished. My hand glided down her body and found her legs parted as she sat on my lap. For a moment, I considered how good it would feel to stick my cock into her wet and hot center, but I let my fingers do the walking instead. She gasped and moaned into my mouth as she stiffened in climax.

“Oh! Are you sure there’s no sex?”

“Just what you’ve had, my dear.”

“If anyone had told me I would meet a guy and let him undress me, caress me, photograph me, and finger me in one afternoon, I’d have told them they were crazy. This whole experience has been intense. Shit! I didn’t do anything for you. I can feel you’re hard.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I loved making you feel good about our time together.”

“Oh, I feel good all right. Don’t you think I feel good?”

Before my answer had been accepted, she’d flooded my fingers again.

I ran the transparencies down to Dave to have them overnighted to London for processing. He promised he’d have them back in the morning. His motorcyclist was sitting on his bike in front of the store and took off as soon as he had the envelope. I went back to process the film.

Patricia pushed into the darkroom with me and was all over me, pulling off my clothes as she shed her own.

“Make love to me first. Then we can process film,” she said.

I found her channel open and ready for me. The passion of my wife was unparalleled.

“What came over you?”

“Like always. We watch you seduce a model and are completely caught up in the experience. I just want to feel your hands on me and feel your penis in my vagina again. I love you so much, Nate. You turn me on.”

I was glad to hear that, and glad to fulfill her desires. In fact, I picked her up and left the darkroom without having processed the film. I just carried her upstairs and took her to bed. Fortunately, Anna had the presence of mind to go to the church and pick up our daughters from daycare.

Thursday evening, Ronda and I went to see Love’s Labour’s Lost. The program notes said it was one of Shakespeare’s earliest comedies and was enjoying a refreshing resurgence in popularity. The director had chosen to set the play in the 1820s—a period I knew absolutely nothing about. It appeared the fashions featured empire waistlines for the ladies, top hats and tailcoats for the gentlemen, and a mishmash of rescued rags from other productions for the clowns and lower persons. The Festival might not know it, but they were really missing Judy’s touch.

Nonetheless, the play was funny if only for the language and play on words. You could always depend on the clowns for some lively repartee. It did require paying close attention so I didn’t miss a double meaning. And as to a happy ending ... I guessed you read that into it if all the nitwits survived the year-and-a-day they had to wait in celibacy before their loves would entertain their suit.

Something about watching Shakespeare makes me talk like an Elizabethan.

Friday, I had the delightful opportunity to photograph Monique Abara. She’d played the illiterate servant girl Jaquenetta the night before. Ronda whispered to me that she’d also played one of the doctors in Imaginary Invalid. For all that her name sounded either French or African, she spoke with a decided English accent. Her dark complexion spoke to me of a burning sun. I thought she might be from one of the Caribbean islands I’d visited.

“Welcome to Attic Allure, Monique,” I said. “I loved your performance last night.”

“Thank you, Nate. We women in the cast were disappointed to find you had attended the show but didn’t come to the pub afterward. Shame on you,” she laughed. What a sweet sounding voice. It had been much harsher for her character the night before.

“I wasn’t aware we were invited,” I said. “If it hadn’t been for Kathleen taking us along after Pericles, I wouldn’t have known where to go. The location seems to have changed from last year.”

“You might not have noticed, though I would think it would be hard to miss, that there aren’t many men who come to the new location. We seem to differ in our preferred after-show entertainment. The men are still going to the café. Sometimes women, too. We aren’t being overly standoffish, but there are fewer women in the company this year than in the past two or three, I’m told.”

“I thought the shows were pretty heavily weighted toward men this year,” I said.

“I think Moliere only wrote women’s roles under duress,” she laughed. “The late-season shows have a few more women’s parts, but I’ll be just as happy when King John opens. I’m doing five or six performances a week in the Festival theatre, with roles in both Invalid and Labour. That will drop to four when King John joins the rotation.”

“You’re a hard working actress,” I said.

“Actor,” she corrected me. “Actresses are in movies. On stage we try to maintain a greater equality between men and women who act. We are all actors.”

“I’d heard the term used like that. Thank you for clarifying it for me. Let’s start in makeup, shall we?” I led her to the dressing room and she sat down—dressed much like the previous two actress ... actors. I wondered if they’d had a meeting to decide what they’d wear. I started by unzipping her hoodie. Monique wore a sturdy bra with breasts that were somewhat larger than the last few I’d photographed.

“Nate, I will ... I talked to Deirdre and Jasmine in great detail after the show last night. I expect to have nude photographs amidst those we get to today, but I would prefer not to have my private parts handled. I have a husband to whom I am faithful. He is very good at taking care of my physical needs.”

“Monique, the level of intimacy we arrive at is yours to control. Frankly, providing for a model’s physical needs is rather exhausting. At the same time, I expect to connect to you on a deeper level when we are shooting. Focus on me as I will be focused on you. If anything I do makes you uncomfortable, tell me and I will stop immediately. I will always respect your wishes.”

“Kathleen said the same thing about you. Thank you.”

I finished working on her makeup—a tricky thing with a dark complected model. The tendency, as I was taught in my makeup class, was to overapply a base that changes her coloring, rather than staying with a translucent base and only touching things up to increase definition of her features.

“I like the choice of black undergarments,” I said. “Let’s put you in a colorful blouse for your portrait.”