Chapter 12

The following Sunday we welcomed our neighbor home. George was obviously in no shape to be doing anything around his house but it took the four of us a long time to convince him to accept our help. I think it was Cindy's chicken noodle soup that did it.

"You kids have better things to do than play nursemaid to me!" he grumbled as we helped him out of the Jeep. Spring was around the corner and much of the snow was turning into slush.

"George, don't argue," Cindy said. "We're going to help whether you want us to or not. The only way you'll keep us out of here is to call the cops."

"Damn kids. When I was your age I listened to my elders and respected what they told me," he grumbled, but he wasn't being very vociferous about it.

"George," Beth grinned, "we're listening to you."

"Yeah, you're listening. Now how about paying attention! You kids are all in school and must have better ways to spend your time."

"Nope, can't think of a one," Greg answered.

"George, this isn't a matter of not listening to you. You're our friend and these are the sorts of things friends do for each other. Just like that call you gave us last fall about the cops coming by. Besides, Cindy's chicken noodle soup is something you don't want to miss," I added.

"Chicken noodle soup, eh? I remember my mother fixing that when I was a kid ... Okay, you win, but only until I'm back on my feet, you hear!"

We all agreed and beat a strategic retreat after Cindy promised to bring some soup over later.

That Monday my housemates were back in school so I wasn't the only one dragging my sorry butt out of bed while it was still dark out—misery really does love company.

I walked into Photography and saw Mr. Nordstrom had a painted background and the studio strobes set up for portraits. Now this was something I could get into!

An hour later I walked out feeling pretty good about myself. It turned out I already knew most of what we'd covered, but this was only the first session. There was a lot more I wanted to know, and I could barely wait for the next day.

Beth had a rehearsal that afternoon so I drove over to the campus and sat in. I was even a good boy—I didn't mention our private, late-night rehearsal the previous week.

Steve Lang again asked me to feed ideas to the cast as I'd done before. I struggled, trying to not suggest anything, well, suggestive. Finally, during a break, I asked Steve about that.

"Do audiences ever come up with anything nasty?"

"You bet they do, but don't worry about it, I'm sure Beth can handle anything they throw at her. Remember, she's not going to be up there alone and we don't use every suggestion from the audience anyway."

"Your next show is a week from Friday, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I take it you'll be there?"

"Oh, yeah. My life wouldn't be worth much if I missed it!"

After school on Tuesday I stopped at a local supply house and picked up a wig form—just a Styrofoam head with basic features. One of the things Mr. Nordstrom had suggested was using the form to learn portrait lighting techniques. For less than five bucks I got a model who never got tired and didn't complain about the results!

When I got back to the duplex I set up a light stand and, with the head impaled on it, started moving my lights around, trying different angles and head positions. I knew the basic idea of using three light sources—a key, or main, light; a fill light to, well, fill in the shadows; and a hair light to add texture to the hair and help separate the subject from the background. I used another light to illuminate the background itself.

It didn't take too long to realize I could spend a lot of time trying all the different permutations—change a position or intensity of one light and end up with a totally different look. I had experimented with varying the lighting when I was first doing portraits but never really spent a lot of time trying to figure out just what worked and why.

"Tommy, what are you doing?"

"Huh?" I turned around and saw my lady standing in the doorway trying to figure out what her crazy lover was up to.

I explained what I was trying to do and soon she was as into it as I was, hauling lights around, moving the head and changing angles on everything in sight. Eventually, we realized we were both hungry and decided it was time to visit the Palace and see what Jeanie was up to.

Wednesday I walked into Drawing and saw the posing stool up on the platform.

Ms. Adams walked in and glanced around. "Well, as you've probably guessed, today we're going to do another figure study. I want you to pay particular attention to the shadows and highlights. Remember what we covered earlier."

Ms. Adams' office door opened and the model walked out, dropped her robe, sat down on the stool and pointed her substantial chest right at me. Apparently the residents of Olympus figured I'd had it too easy lately—I could hear the gods laughing as Valery sat there, and I could just hear the gears turning in her head. I took pencil in hand and tried to concentrate on my drawing ... and how quickly I could get out of the room when class was over.

Since Ms. Adams had asked us to pay special attention to highlights and shadows I tried to do just that. Especially the shadows where Val's thighs met and the ones under her impressive breasts, not to mention the highlights on the soft skin of the upper surface of those beautiful orbs. The funny thing was I had never considered myself a boob man, however having that pair of mammaries pointed right at me caused a response I had no conscious way to control. As I watched I saw her nipples crinkle. Well, it was a little chilly in the room. At least I hoped that was the reason.

Eventually Ms. Adams called time and Valery uncoiled herself from her perch on the posing stool. A process that involved gyrations of all her two thousand parts—every one of which seemed to be aimed at me.

I was the first one out of the room and almost ran down the hall, hoping to get out of range. I was never so happy to get to my Speech class. Even when Mr. Robinson decided it was my turn in the barrel.

I was sitting at my drafting table later that afternoon, working on finishing up my drawing when Beth walked in. "Whoa, who's that?" she asked.

"Our model in Drawing today. You remember me mentioning Valery Thomas? Well, there she is," I said.

Beth looked at the sketch and I could sense some of the old, insecure girl bubble to the surface. "That's the girl who's been chasing you?" I saw her bottom lip start to tremble.

"Yes, she's the one. She's also the one that doesn't have a chance." I stood up and wrapped my arms around my lady. "I've found my princess and all the pretenders in the world can't change that."

"You're weird, Tommy," she said. She nodded toward my sketch. "Any other guy would be drooling over those, yet you sit here claiming you'd rather have these?" She glanced down at her small chest.

"Beth, I told you our first night together I wasn't interested in someone from Playboy. I'd rather have that shy bag lady who claims to love me." The next thing I knew I was on the floor being mauled by my moll.

The next day I had settled into a chair in the cafeteria, intending to spend a free hour studying, when I was grabbed from behind.

"Tommy, you ran off yesterday! You should learn you can't hide from me."

"Um, hi, Val." Oh, shit. Just when I was starting to relax. She oozed into the chair next to me and wrapped her arm around mine, pressing her chest to my shoulder.

"Tommy, when are you going to admit you belong with me? I mean, a girl can only wait so long."

"Val, I don't want to hurt you but when are YOU going to admit there's no way I'm leaving Beth. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."

I made the mistake of looking at my tormentor. Val's eyes were starting to tear up and her lower lip was quivering as if she was about to really let go. With a sigh, I put my hand on hers. "Val, forget me. Find someone who can return your affection. I'm sorry, but it's not me." I gathered all my stuff together, retrieved my arm, and stood up. As I was walking away I heard a sob and felt like a rat when I found myself wondering if it was real.

Friday after school I drove to Todd's to pick up the finished swivels and then dropped them off with Joe. "Hey, Tommy, are those your latest?" he asked as I walked in with the box.

"Yeah. What do you think?" I asked as I passed him one of the swivels.

"Hmm ... Looks good. Even better than some of the other ones I've been carrying. Tommy, you've got to send your stuff to the photo mags. Your designs are too good to not get national attention. This stuff will hit big once it gets known."

"Yeah, you keep telling me that, but the idea of having a national magazine review my stuff scares me. What if they don't like it, or say it's unnecessary?"

"Tommy, what's not to like? Think of how popular your stuff has been with no real exposure except for local word-of-mouth. As far as the mags saying it's unnecessary—have you ever seen a bigger group of gadget freaks than photographers? Send a set in and just see what happens. I know you'll be pleasantly surprised."

"Well ... I suppose it can't hurt ... Yeah, I'll do it!"

When I got home I wrote a cover letter, boxed up an extender, the extra mount, and the swivel, slapped a mailing address on the box, and drove to the campus post office. Now that I'd worked up the nerve to do it, I wanted to get the stuff in the mail before I could chicken out. All I had to do was wait for an answer—no pressure there!

I pulled into the driveway just as Beth, Cindy and Greg were getting out of Beth's Jeep.

"So where were you?" my lady asked with a grin. "Spending the afternoon in a bar somewhere?"

"Nope. Down at the post office, mailing my ego away," I responded, and told them what I'd done.

"So you finally listened to Joe, eh?" Greg said. I just nodded. Greg had been trying to convince me to submit my stuff ever since I'd first told him about Joe's comment.

"Tommy, what are you going to do if the review is a good one? Will you and Joe be able to keep up if there's a run on your stuff?" Leave it to Cindy to surprise me by being the practical one.

"I don't know." I looked at Beth. "Do you think I should call Jeff and Scott to see if they'd be able to handle a rush order?" I was half joking ... until I saw the look on my lady's face.

"Tommy, I would," she said.

The following week was a tough one—I found myself checking my email every chance I got, hoping to hear something from the magazine. I knew, or at least assumed, it wouldn't be a quick process, but that didn't stop me from getting a serious case of the twitches waiting for an answer. As for Beth—she was working herself toward a cardiac arrest. I think she was more worked up over her improv debut Friday than she'd been before her first time on stage. Maybe it was because she'd had more time to think about it, but whatever the reason, she was really getting shook up. Even our patented miracle cure for nerves didn't work.

Friday finally arrived and the four of us drove to the theatre in plenty of time for my lady to get herself psyched up ... or out.

"I know, I know, get ready and spend time with the rest of the gang. Tommy, what's going to happen if I get up there and freeze?"

"Beth, don't worry about it. Remember, everybody up there with you has been through this before. They're not going to let you fall on your face."

"Oh, I suppose. Now if you could just convince my butterflies..."

I gave her a kiss, turned her over to Steve and the rest of the cast, and walked back to Cindy and Greg.

"So how is she?" Cindy asked.

"About as nervous as you'd expect," I said as we found seats in the partially filled house.

The show started with a song from Michael Flanders and Donald Swann, an English duo who'd done a lot of comic songs in the Sixties. I was curious to see how their stuff would go over with today's college audience. Like Sondheim, their music had to be heard a couple of times to really catch everything they were up to, not to mention their sometimes strange choice of subjects. I mean, how many people would try to make the First and Second Laws of Thermodynamics funny? Beth thought it was a hoot, but then she was an Engineering student so what could you expect?

The first audience-inspired improv put Phil and Jenny in the hot seat—literally. They played a couple driving through the countryside when their heated seats went berserk. Watching Jenny squirm around in her seat, first in unexpected pleasure, then panic, followed by the pair's messy solution for shorting out the seats, had the audience howling.

Beth's first turn in the barrel came when an audience member suggested two women at an arena-style concert forced to use one of the Men's Rooms because of the impossibly long lines for the Ladies' loo. I was starting to see a pattern in the audience's suggestions. Halfway through the improvisation the audience was almost on the floor watching the girls. After mumbling to each other about finding the stalls already occupied and being forced to use the urinals, Beth was standing like a bow-legged cowboy while Jenny bent over and backed up, both trying to get the plumbing to match and not having much luck.

The crowd really lost it when Steve staggered in from stage-left, obviously planning to rid himself of a few too many beers. He looked around, did a double-take when he saw the girls, and grumbled about being in the wrong room as he stumbled off-stage.

The audience loved it. Restroom availability in some of the older venues, especially those built originally for sporting events, had a disproportionate number of facilities for men, something the women in the audience knew entirely too well, and they were very vocal in their appreciation of Beth's and Jenny's predicament.

As the show progressed I watched Beth and was amazed how she responded to the suggestions from the audience. My lady was a very organized person and improvisation seemed too much like one of the fuzzy subjects that drove her crazy. Seeing her get into the byplay with the rest of the cast without knowing exactly where it was going to end left me with a deeper appreciation for how much she'd grown.

Steve continued to take suggestions from the audience—ignoring those that were too outrageous—for the rest of the show.

They closed with another Flanders and Swann song—Madeira M'Dear? This one was the sad tale of a naive young lady and the dangers of drink. Beth pantomimed the poor girl's plight while Phil and Steve fired off the complex wordplay Flanders and Swann were known for. They were rewarded by a standing ovation.

It was too cold for a trip to the farm, so we joined Greg and Cindy at the Pizza Palace after the show. I thought I was going to have to tie a string to Beth's foot to keep her from floating off like a balloon.

"Oh God, Tommy! I did it! I mean, I really did it! I can't believe I went out there and didn't freeze!"

"I told you that you could. So you going to switch majors?"

Damn elbow!

We'd been invited to a party at one of the frat houses Saturday night. Although neither of us were avid partiers, a night with other people sounded good.

We'd been at the party for perhaps an hour and were standing off to one side of the room, my arm around Beth's waist, talking to Brad Hutchins from school. It was funny watching Brad's expression as she drew him into the conversation. My shy bag lady had really blossomed, no more hiding silently in corners for her! As for Brad, he was trying to reply intelligently to Beth's questions about school and life in general, all the while trying to remember how to breathe. I knew the feeling.

"Would you gentlemen excuse me for a minute? I'll be right back," she said, detaching herself from my hip.

"Damn, you are one lucky son of a bitch," Brad said, watching my lady walk across the room. "How did you end up with someone like her?"

"Brad, I wish I could tell you, but I really don't know." I gave him a short version of that fateful Friday night.

"So you didn't plan any of that?" was his incredulous reply.

"Brad, if I had even tried to say 'hello' to someone like her I'm sure I would have either frozen in place or blurted out something ridiculous. I never in my wildest dreams imagined somebody like her would even stoop to talk to a theatre geek like me."

"So there IS hope for us ordinary guys?" He sounded like someone who'd just been told his terminal disease was just a bad cold.

We talked about school for a couple of minutes when I saw his expression change. Then an arm slipped through mine and I felt warm flesh against my arm. Beth was obviously back. But something didn't feel quite right.