Chapter 3: Showdown

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.