Chapter 32: The Fight

I WAS NO LONGER a resident of Hunter County. Soon after my last run-in with the draft board, I’d changed my permanent address to Chicago. This was where my home was and where my family was. My mother had moved to Sage a year after I left for college. She was confident that she’d be there at least another year, even though Kat planned to leave before her senior year in high school and move to Minnesota. That plan was definitely moving forward.

Classes for my final semester in college started in full force on Monday. My senior seminars were once again each held on one day of the week for three hours. They started at nine and ended at noon. On Monday, we got our introduction to the Professional Practice class. This entire semester would be devoted to creating our professional portfolio and resumé. I didn’t think it would be too hard.

I had one lower level class to finish out my general electives. Monday and Wednesday afternoons, I had a political science class titled U.S. Foreign Policy. When I read the initial course description, I thought I was in for an entire semester of listening to some old man justify US involvement in Vietnam. I was in for a surprise. The professor was on loan from the University of Chicago and was none other than Ronda’s advisor, Dr. Leon Hernandez. And his teaching assistant was my own sweet girlfriend! I changed my view of the class in the first five minutes and decided I’d really enjoy the give and take the professor encouraged in his class.

On Tuesday morning, I had an interesting class that might be the toughest class I had this semester. It was on retouching and compositing. We’d learn a variety of techniques I’d heard about but never experimented with: airbrush, hand coloring, use of a blue screen, and compositing two or more photos into one piece. I could definitely see these as techniques I would use in art photography.

And on Wednesday, I would finally have a single class touching on my own declared specialty: Special Topics in Fine Art Photography. We’d be discussing various issues and trends in fine art photography. I noticed the name of Robert Mapplethorpe as a photographer whose works we would study in a special exhibition at the Art Institute. He was getting a controversial name for himself in New York and it sounded like his style was sort of similar to mine. I was really looking forward to this one.

My final senior seminar on Thursday was called Portraiture, Self, and Society. It also promised to be an interesting class that looked at portraiture through the ages in several mediums and would include various artists’ works of self-portraits. In fact, our final project was to be a self-portrait, and it was expected to be a work of fine art. That would be interesting. The professor asked in his introduction, “How do you see yourself?” She then challenged us to realize our vision of ourselves in our chosen medium.

It was going to be an interesting semester.

Of course, I wasn’t going to be allowed to enjoy a nice peaceful final semester to my college career with no interference. Ronda was just about to walk out the door Friday for her class at the university when Anna called her to the phone.

“No!” I heard her scream into the receiver. I came rushing from the bedroom to see what was going on. “They can’t do that! It’s stupid! Who? Well, that answers a lot of questions. I’ll be there in three hours. I love you.” She hung up the phone and began sobbing into my chest.

“What’s happened, hon? Where do we need to go?”

“The fucking county sheriff arrested my father at breakfast this morning.”

“What? What for?”

“Some vague charge of moral corruption. That fucking Clyde Warren pressured a judge to issue a warrant on charges that he was prescribing birth control to unmarried women.”

“That fucking moron!” I said. “Not your father. That asshole Warren. I’ll bet it’s the same judge that got him appointed to the draft board.”

“I need to go to Tenbrook.”

“Of course you do. I’ll drive. Put together your suitcase. I need to dress, but I can be ready to go in ten minutes.”

“You’ll go?” she asked, looking up at me.

“Of course I’ll go. I’m not letting you face this alone.”

“Nor are any of the rest of us,” Anna said from the doorway. She had an arm around Patricia.

“We’ll need five more minutes than Nate to get our little girl packed up. Can you wait that long for us to come with you?” Patricia asked.

“But ... You all have things to do! How can you just take off? Nate, you have a portrait scheduled this weekend,” Ronda cried.

“I’ll cancel it. How can I not be with you when you need us?”

“But I didn’t even come with you when your father had cancer surgery! Why would you come with me because of my father?” Ronda cried.

“You couldn’t come that day. You were there the next day. Honey, I will have to come back to Chicago on Monday for classes and I know Anna will need to be back in Rockford Monday morning. But we’re coming with you this weekend while you get things sorted out and help your family. It’s what a family does,” I said.

Inside I was seething. I wasn’t sure how a guy with so many lawsuits against him, who had been fired for racism from two jobs in the county, could suddenly announce that he was the moral police for the county and run for sheriff. I knew it was my fault.

It was all my fault. If I hadn’t launched my dad into a campaign to get rid of Warren as our town constable because he was hounding Tony about all the vandalism in town, Warren wouldn’t have been fired and subsequently appointed to the draft board. If he hadn’t been appointed to the draft board, Tony probably wouldn’t have been drafted and he wouldn’t be dead now. If I hadn’t raised holy hell about his racist manipulating of the draft call, he’d still be on the board trying to get me drafted and not be raising havoc running for county sheriff.

If it wasn’t for trying to get back at me, he’d never target my girlfriend’s father for his personal revenge. It was all so stupid. I zipped my duffle shut and threw it into the hall, narrowly missing Toni. She screeched and I rushed to pick her up.

“Did that scare you sweetie?” I asked. She nodded. “I should have looked for you before I threw my bag. I’m sorry, baby girl. Daddy’s not mad at you.”

“Daddy! Pack! We go see Gamma!”

“Yes, Toni. Let’s make sure you have all your things ready to go, okay?”

I should have held my little girl before I started going on a rampage. She petted my face as we collected toys for her to take and in fifteen minutes, we were loaded in Patricia’s car to head for Tenbrook. It was more crowded than the bus would have been, but it had more pickup and go than my 50-horsepower engine had ever produced.

I was happy that Patricia drove and Anna and I sat on either side of Toni in the back seat as we headed west.

It was soon clear after we reached Tenbrook that there was a method in the madness of arresting Dr. May on Friday morning. Everyone had to assume he couldn’t get a defense mounted to even post bail by the end of Friday and would need to stay in jail for the weekend. But Mrs. May was already at the county jail with their lawyer, fully prepared to post bail as soon as the judge spoke the charges.

What was unexpected was that Miss Ludwig also stood before the court.

“Edna Ludwig, you have been arrested on a charge of moral turpitude in child abuse and endangerment. This stems from offering sexual advice and counseling to unmarried women under the age of eighteen. How do you plead.”

“Nonsense,” replied Miss Ludwig.

“That is not a plea.”

“No, it is the request for a plea that is nonsense, as well as the charge itself. I will not enter a plea,” she said.

“Very well. The court sets bail at $5,000 while you await trial. Can you post your bail?”

“No.”

“Then I remand you to custody until such time as you can post bail or come to trial,” the judge stated. I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“I’ll post bail for Miss Ludwig, your honor,” I said, stepping into the aisle.

“And you are?”

“Nate Hart, resident of Chicago, Illinois and formerly of Tenbrook.”

“Mr. Hart, are you aware that by posting bail, you will forfeit your bond should Edna Ludwig flee the area?”

“Miss Ludwig is not a flight risk, your honor. She’s a librarian, charged by the public to curate and provide public information in the public library to the public. Of all ages.”

“You are a young man. Do you have $5,000 with which to post the bail?”

“In my bank account. I can have a certified check drawn,” I answered.

“Upon payment of $5,000 bond, Edna Ludwig will be released.”

The judge slammed his gavel down and dismissed the court. Dr. May was released as his attorney had bail ready to post. Miss Ludwig was led away by a sheriff’s deputy.

Dr. May stopped in front of me.

“Nate, that was a foolhardy thing to do,” he said. “Thank you for doing it. I’ll split the cost of a bail bond with you. I really wasn’t prepared to see Edna here.”

“I’m glad to see you were prepared for yourself.”

“I’ve known for years that it could come to this. I set the backup in motion before I started counseling young women.”

“When was that?”

“Back when Nora was getting ready to leave for college. That was when I realized how critical it was for women to have access to birth control. But, as it happens, nothing is going to come of this.”

“Why, sir?”

“The county attorney is trying to get a ruling in before a case is heard by the Supreme Court. A physician in Massachusetts was arrested for distributing contraceptives to a single woman nearly five years ago, and the Supreme Court has just agreed to hear the case. If it is supported, the laws against counseling single women regarding birth control and providing it will all be struck down. Even if it isn’t, the DA would have to prove that I prescribed contraceptives as a form of birth control rather than as a remedy or prevention of physical ailments like sexually transmitted disease, menstrual regularity, and cramps,” Dr. May said.

“Wow! You really know this stuff.”

“When you are engaged in it, you have to understand it and be aware.”

“What about Miss Ludwig?”

“A little different, but if one is struck down, it will be difficult for the county to prove that educating children is child abuse. A law passed here in Illinois in 1969 legalizes family planning services for unmarried adolescents of any age.”

“Thank you for offering to split the bail for Miss Ludwig. I have no idea what I’m doing,” I admitted.

“We make a stop just outside the courthouse at a bail bond office, get the bond issued and present it back here to the sheriff,” Ronda’s father said. Ronda was hanging on his other side, threatening to break his ribs with the force of her hug.

By four o’clock Friday afternoon, both Dr. May and Miss Ludwig were free on their own recognizance.

I didn’t actually see Miss Ludwig. The sheriff simply delivered her back to her home where he’d picked her up in the morning. Nice of him, I guess. The rest of us had dinner at the Log Cabin Restaurant in Huntertown.

“There are subtle things going on in Hunter County,” Dr. May said. “The whole discrimination lawsuit has been stalled by the same judge who issued the warrant in our cases. That was at the instigation of the county attorney, who happens to be distantly related to Clyde Warren. This case was seen to be a means of publicity for both the attorney and for Warren’s bid for County Sheriff.”

“Why not? Warren’s manipulated everything else. The draft board. The laws in Tenbrook. Of course he’d manipulate the timing of a high profile arrest to support his election. But how does it help him against the sheriff when the sheriff made the arrest?” I asked.

“Sheriff Hall isn’t a bad guy in all this,” Dr. May said. “In fact, he’s a good sheriff. He was very apologetic when making the arrest this morning. It wasn’t his idea, but he had to execute the warrant when it was given to him. I’m trying to convince him that he needs to attack Warren on the issue, but he isn’t sure what to do or how to do it.”

“Maybe Warren would be nice enough to go wrap his car around a tree and kill himself,” Patricia said from beside me. “I know that’s uncharitable, but the only thing that would please me more would be to have him convicted of the draft board manipulation first. Then he can wrap himself around a nice old oak tree.”

I understood Patricia’s venom. I shared it. Yes, I’m a pacifist and I wouldn’t raise a hand against the man physically, but I’d be pretty happy if someone else did. I suppose that makes me a hypocrite of some sort. I can’t help it. He just kept attacking people I care about.

I remembered a quote by Clarence Darrow, the attorney who defended Scopes in the monkey trials. He said, “I have never killed anyone, but I have read some obituary notices with great satisfaction.” I guess some things are just gut reactions.

The rest of the weekend passed rather peacefully. There was really no other reason for us to be there. I spent part of Saturday at my parents’ house in Sage and they were happy for the surprise visit with Toni. Dad was feeling a lot better and said he’d been offered a part-time job locally wiring speakers for a custom sound company. It sounded like a pretty simple job, but Dad was happy to be going back to work of any kind.

We stayed at the hotel in Tenbrook and found three other rooms occupied by the film crew from Photosensitive Productions. They were garnering a whole new batch of winter atmosphere shots. They had a good winter snowstorm to work with on Sunday, as I packed up my family and headed back to Chicago. This time, I drove and Ronda rode in front next to me. Anna and Patricia bracketed Toni in the back seat.

It was still a pretty slow trip back to Chicago and Anna had me just drop her at her room in Rockford. She told me to be ready to start working on my taxes the next weekend. Great. Another fun thing to do.

Ronda’s twenty-second birthday was in two weeks and she asked to be taken back to the club where we’d celebrated her twenty-first. Not only did we go there, but I surprised her further by having Adrienne join us for the weekend.

We stayed at the Blackstone and Ronda got her absolute fill of slippery pussy, sometimes running with come from my most recent deposit. Adrienne thrived on the role of being there for Ronda’s pleasure and did whatever she was told to. She even managed to get Ronda to spank her, though I don’t think Ronda was serious enough about it to get Adrienne off. I added a couple of solid well-placed swats of my own that sent Adrienne over the edge. Then I fucked her butt while Ronda ate her out.

I guess maybe Christine was right. We were perverted. We kept it bottled up until moments when we could really let it out, and our Fifi was the channel for our perversions. I even tied Ronda to the bed and Adrienne spent an hour kissing and bathing Ronda with her tongue until my girlfriend screamed with pleasure. When she’d done that, I released her bonds and then turned her over with her face between Adrienne’s legs while I pounded Ronda from behind.

I guess you get the idea. By the end of the weekend, we were all three sated and exhausted. Ronda and I went back to the apartment to deliver Valentine candy to our two girlfriends and our toddler.

Amidst all the drama in my life, I was trying to finalize my concepts for four major projects. I probably had a more extensive portfolio than any photographer in the school. The problem was that they were all the same. I don’t mean precisely the same subject, but they were art photos of beautiful women, naked in my studio. I really needed to show that I had more depth in my photography than just those shots. I could expand it with the location photos I’d taken. I had outdoor shots of beautiful naked women in England, California, Tenbrook, and Australia.

But they were still artistic photos of beautiful naked women. Professor Hyatt recommended that I broaden the scope of my portfolio with other subject matter. I was trying to figure out when I’d be able to do more product shots, fashion shots, or landscapes. It was going to be a hassle.

I hadn’t even begun to think about my self portrait. Dr. Reyes, the woman instructing that class, was still working us through a survey of portraiture through the ages and how it had changed. The big thing in that class was supposed to be a portrait of how we see ourselves, not just how we look. It required deep thinking.

So far, our retouching and compositing class, taught by Mr. Paget from Pro Color, was all lab work in class. Eventually, I’d need to come up with a concept for that, too.

The one that weighed on my mind right now was the Special Topics in Fine Art Photography, taught—or guided—by Dr. Nader. I’d had him for my photo seminar the previous semester and liked him a lot. We’d been instructed to create a themed exhibition of six to ten art photos. This would be our senior final exhibition that would be displayed in the college gallery for the next six months.

It was a toss-up between using my art makeup pieces that Leanne and I had created in Stratford and Chicago, or to follow through on my long-term goal of creating a series of music themed pieces, featuring women with their instruments. About a year plus ago, I’d taken a really nice photo of Sue Renton, a violinist who had signed a release. I figured that photo set the tone.

There had been others. I’d photographed a model in Las Vegas with a recorder. Then there was Sherry Stone, a musician who wanted to become a composer. I’d photographed her with a fencing foil stuck through a sheet of music. I could call her and get permission to use the photo in my exhibition. I was pretty sure she’d agree.

Which brought me to this weekend. I needed to photograph more musicians with their instruments in interesting compositions. I had Robyn Clark coming in on Saturday. She’d talked to some of the girls who had photos done and agreed to let me stage a nude of her with her flute. The biggest problem I had was figuring out how to put her in an unusual position with her flute. I went through every one of our drops on Friday with Rita there to help lift and open them. I didn’t find anything that really sang out to me. We marked a couple as possible and I’d use one if I needed to.

Of course, the major prop for the Attic Allure photo would be Robyn’s flute. By the time Rita and I had gone through all the drops, we were dripping sweat. It felt like the heat in the building had been turned up full blast. I checked with Levi and he said they were having a guy look at the furnace to see what was wrong.

I didn’t mind that it meant Rita had stripped off her clothes early on. What a body! She was a fashion maven and designer and had posed for me or dressed my models for me several times. We stumbled to the back of the props closet and opened the door onto the escape stairs. Then we just stood there in the refreshing, cold breeze. It was definitely still winter in Chicago with below freezing temperatures and winds gusting as much as twenty miles per hour.

I could see the effect it was having on Rita. Her nipples popped out painfully stiff and hard. I pulled the door closed and pulled Rita into my arms to rub those precious little points and get them warm. I was working shirtless and she was naked. Holding her in my arms started a chain reaction that included kissing, rubbing, undressing, and eventually fucking in front of the door to the fire escape.

Rita and I had been pretty free with touching each other for the past year or so. She’d come to me as a model from the Whore Corps, but really needed a job. It happened that I needed a new assistant and we worked well together. But it had been months before we actually had sex.

“How the hell did you last so long?” she panted. She pounded herself down on my cock as I lay on my back on the cold floor. “I’ve done just about everything I could do to tease you into making it with me and you just treat me like a nice respected employee. Now shove it in harder!”

“Do you think it’s been easy for me to resist you?” I asked. “I promised I wouldn’t cross any lines between what you wanted and what I did. If you hadn’t made this move, you’d still be going away horny and I’d be stiff until I took things in my own hands later tonight.”

“Bullshit. You have three girlfriends who would have taken things into their own hands. I just jumped the line. God, this is good. Before I managed to corner you in the darkroom, I hadn’t had sex in a year!”

“How do you go without for a year?” I asked. I hadn’t done that since I turned seventeen.

“Busy schedule, limited options, and a boss that started filling my fantasies. I have rubbed myself to a climax while thinking of you more times than I’ve probably ever actually been with a guy.”

“You know I’ve got other obligations,” I said.

“I’m not asking to be a girlfriend. We’re both going to graduate this spring and fly off in different directions. I just want to have this fantasy fulfilled. Preferably more than once before graduation in May,” she said. She clamped her pussy down on my cock and moaned as she came.

I’d had a few fantasies of my own and decided right then and there that we weren’t going to get any more work done that afternoon.

Robyn got to the studio at one on Saturday afternoon. After the exhausting afternoon on Friday with Rita, I was happy that Leanne was my assistant for the day. The afternoon with Rita, however, had given me an inspiration and Leanne and I set lights so we could move to where I wanted quickly and easily.

“Welcome to Attic Allure, Robyn. Thank you for consenting to be my model today.”