Chapter 1

When I tell you what I do for a living it may sound seedy, or cheap, but it really isn’t what you first may think. I photograph pretty girls in their bathing suits. Not in a studio, but on beaches up and down the East Coast. I do it mostly without their permission, unless I shoot their faces. Still sound seedy? Well, if you go to the page 3 or page 6 features of a certain tabloid syndicate, you’ll see my photos almost every day in summer months, and even sometimes in the Sunday color sections, only then we re-color the apparel, just to be sure no one can positively identify someone. We aren’t looking to embarrass anyone; we just show young ladies “better” sides as they appear on a nice beach. A favorite seems to be two young ladies, or a man with his girl standing facing the ocean. Why is beyond me, but they seem to draw the most response.

On occasion we do shoot fronts and faces for which they receive $50 and sign a release. If we use the photo in print they get another $100. In recent years with so many girls sporting tattoos, which identify them, it has cut down the number of photo’s I can take. I won’t photo-shop out a tattoo, it takes away from the genuine-ness of the picture.

Also, the loss of my long time live-in girlfriend has curbed my travel as I am just getting over her untimely death in an accident when she was home visiting her family in Missouri.

I was at a condo/hotel in the lower Maine seacoast where we had went for 9 years solid the last 2 weeks in August every year. Seeing old acquaintances and explaining the details as to why my Piper Lee wasn’t with me was opening old wounds and extending the depression I seemed to have beaten.

As usual I brought my camera, beach chair, and umbrella to the sands below the condo building and set up just behind the magnificent body of a young woman sunbathing. With her head propped up on a towel over a large rock, she had her arms at her side and the dark blue and white striped bikini bottom made her derriere most deliciously prominent. I was hoping to get her walking to the water to get a better picture of her lovely curves.

She would readjust her position every now and then and when she did she would scan the general area and caught me staring each time. After a few of these incidents I decided to go back in so as not to spook her. The following morning as I set up my chair and umbrella in roughly the same spot and from the corner of my eye I saw her emerge from the same building where I was staying, in the same bikini, and set up just in front of me again. It was then I realized her target was an angled, smooth rock, which when she placed a rolled terry towel, provided a perfect angle prop for her head.

She pranced down to the water, giving me 3 good shots, and came back and I watched her apply sun lotion all over herself, quite deftly I might add. I wondered if she were putting on a bit of a show for me, but one angry scowl when she saw me watching told me “no, don’t let your imagination get away from you”.

With her head resting on its side and her arms perfectly placed at her sides, she sunned her little body while I kept an eye on the perfect swell and slope of the well displayed bottom halves that protected her most private places. I quietly took a few more candid angles of her and once again hid my Canon.

Three more times she readjusted the side and angle of her head, looking my way and catching me staring each time. I was truly fixated, but she was not amused finally springing up to her elbows and snarling, “Why don’t you just take a picture?”

I had been waiting for an opening to display my camera so I could take other pictures, so this seemed as good a time as any.

“I already have,” I said as I reached into my beach bag and pulled out my camera.

Right away I went into my spiel about what I did and produced a flyer with sample shots and the explanation of the how and circumstance of the publication of the photos and how they were anonymous and not identifiable and legally non-obtrusive. Nine times in ten my subjects never know they were photographed and even when they see them don’t readily recognize themselves. These are not sex shots, and they are barely voyeur shots. They are primarily mood shots to take peoples mind off the rigors and depressing news of the day. You read about the war, turn the page and see a pretty girl or couple at play or contemplative at the beach. You don’t see their face and it’s not a close-up. They are just pictures of happy lives among the drudgery of the day. Mood breakers, as my agent calls them. A handsome couple seeming alone at the beach, arm in arm or embracing, staring out at the forever of the ocean. However, the couple would have incredible bodies, sure to catch the eye of all who see. Yes, there are the women, and sometimes men, who willingly accept our small fee for posed photos, but they are always done in public with no hanky-panky. Up until this point, my girlfriend was always with me, and nothing slippery ever happened.

This young woman heard my spiel, looked at my flyer, and heard my mea culpa as to the reason I was caught looking so often. Wordlessly she looked at me, shook her head, folded the flyer and tucked it under her towel. She assumed her prior position and acted as if she had never challenged me or heard a word I said. I’ve had similar situations and found it always best to leave it be and not pursue anything further, because that made it look as if I WERE trying to push the envelope. I was simply a free lance photographer who took a simple one time assignment and turned it into a nice little syndication piece for which I was paid enough to get by on plus expenses. The balance of my work was assignments in or near the locales I worked for the syndicate. I also sold my scenic photos for calendar and postcard companies, and even sold some to LIFE for one of their special issues. (If only I could have done that in the 60’s when LIFE was a weekly household staple.)

I decided to put my camera away and let this situation be. This particular spot was one of favorites and we regularly came here for more vacation than work. My subject was staying in the same condo building as me and I really didn’t want trouble. Tomorrow I would set up my umbrella and such further down the beach and leave her be. I zipped up my bag and pushed it under my chair to show her I had no intention to stalk her or cause problems. I put my ball cap back on, pulled the bill down and slumped a bit in my chaise, hoping to nap a bit.

I felt myself nodding off, little by little, until I heard the breath sucking and choking back of tears each time the low tide ocean waves ebbed to their low. I pushed up the bill on my cap and saw my subject in the blue and white striped bikini was crying into her towel and the hands she was trying to hide her tears with.

I felt awful in that I saw myself as the reason for her tears and upset mood. I stood and walked the few steps to where she lay and knelt to speak to her.

“I am so sorry if I have upset you so. I do not mean any harm in what I do and I know how much this beach and setting means to so many people. I am not taking any more pictures today and I will avoid snapping you and erase what I’ve taken. Please don’t be so upset, I’ve meant no harm, you can watch while I delete them. You have my word.”

“Please go away. I can deal with this myself. You are the least of my worries. Get lost!” She said as she looked up to me in her red, tear stained face.

While I has estimated her age to be 21-25, it was clear with the tears and redness negating any make-up or creams, she was definitely 30-35, but her body in that bikini was still a young supple one. I chided myself for making such assessments at such a troubled time, but it was the nature of my work.

“Are you sure, because if something I did or said brought this on, I’m truly...” I started to say again when she angrily rose up on her elbows and spat out,

“Don’t flatter yourself! I’m upset I’m here the first time without my husband. I lost him before Christmas and coming here was a big mistake!” She said before falling to her forearms and hands to grieve to herself.

I didn’t move for a few moments and contemplated touching her to show comfort, but thought the better of it. Instead I leaned down to almost whisper.

“I know you think no one knows how you feel, but my fiancé, who lived with me for 10 years, was killed New Years in an accident while she visited her family. We traveled a lot of beaches for my work, but Wells Beach was very special, where we spent 2 weeks every summer and made our time here special.” I said fighting back my own tears.

She propped up again and reached out to pat my leg. “I’m so sorry for your loss as well. I didn’t mean to burden you, or shout at you.”

“I just wanted you to know that someone knows how you feel, the emptiness and helplessness. Your friends try to help and say the right thing; there is a hurt only we know.” I said as I fell to my side so we could hear each other over the waves.

“Why do we torture ourselves by coming to these places?” She asked, somewhat rhetorically.

“Because of the memories and happiness they remind us of. A wise person I know once told me, long before I ever thought I might need the advice, that the day will come when we’ll think of our lost loves and smile and only recall the happy times. The pain will go away. I was actually getting towards that plateau until just now. You’ve reminded me of the horror of it all.” I told her.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Oh God, don’t apologize. It was going to rear its ugly head later. Tonight I’m going to Mikes to sit at the bar like we used to and drink until I have to take the trolley or cab home.”

For the first time I saw her smile a bit as she nodded and said, “I may see you there, I was planning on doing the same thing. I was just worried about the ride back. I was thinking about wearing a sign with my address on it, as in “please return to”. Last night lasted forever and I have to do something to allay the self pity and boredom.”

I was able to give her a knowing smile and I moved to get up. “Well, be careful. If you end up passed out on the floor I know where you go.”

“Thanks uh... ?”

“Bart, Bart Stocklas, and you’re?”

“Melody. Call me Mel. Melody Ostin. Maybe I’ll see you up there, Bart. Thank you for being so understanding.”

“No, I should apologize to you for upsetting you so.” I said and she waved me off and lowered her head back to her towel to soak in more sun.

I decided to pack up my stuff, go to my room to use the bathroom and go for a long walk with the tide out. It was over 2 hours later when I got back and didn’t notice if Melody (what a dreadful name for an adult, her parents must have been hippies) was still out or not. I showered and hit the bed for a quick nap and before I knew it the ocean air knocked the hell out of me. I woke up just before 6 pm.

I didn’t feel real hungry, but thirsty I was and I was going to let beer quench that at Mikes. I got dressed in a local bar tee and sweat-shorts with just my ID, room key, a plastic pouch with B complex vitamins, and 2 $100 bills and a few ones for the trolley.

The trolley ran a run each evening from 4:30 until 1:00 a.m. from the two big night spots and restaurants, to the 3 larger hotels on the main drag and then down in to Wells Beach where locals and condo renters could take advantage. The whole run took about 20 minutes around. It was $2 a trip and well worth it. The walk from the place I was staying to the Trolley Stop was no more than 100 yards. When I turned the corner to the sheltered stop I saw Melody sitting there waiting.

“If I may be so bold, Hello uh, Mel? Headed to Mikes?” I asked.

“Yes. I asked about the trolley and you have a great idea, not having to drive. Please don’t feel uncomfortable calling me Mel. I really hate my name now that I’ve over 14, but my parents were hippies (I knew it!) and they told me it was either that or Poppy. My middle name is after my Grandma, and that’s Harriet. So, Mel it is.” She said shaking her head.

“I suppose it could have been worse. I’m Bartholomew and my grandparents always called me that, but besides that I’ve always been Bart, and of course in school I was always Black Bart. Being white, I never understood it but...”

Just then we heard the bell and the trolley was pulling up. I got on and sat on the front bench and Mel sat across from me. I made a point of getting on first so I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable asking if I could sit next to her. I wanted her to have the option. I didn’t want her think I thought this was any sort of date. I think we were both far from that restart, besides I was 15 or more years older than she.

Neither of us said anything on the ride as we watched the marsh go by and then let a bunch of people off at one popular restaurant before they pulled into Mikes.

We bypassed the crowd waiting for dinner tables and made our way into the bar where she grabbed my elbow.

“Bart, would you mind much if I sat beside you? I don’t need anyone hitting on me. Don’t worry I won’t burden you with my problems. I just want to drink and get the edge off and get a bite later. There’s two people going to eat, I’ll bet I can get those 2 stools.” She said shyly

Just as she went for the two stools at the bar 2 younger guys cut in front of her.

She suddenly put the sweetest smile on her face and leaned in to say something to them with her arm on one of the stools and she said a few words and they backed away, almost apologizing. She motioned me up and I sat down.

“What did you say to them?” I asked.

“I told them we’ve been waiting for 2 stools for a long time and our table was going to be called in a few minutes.” And then she blushed and brought her shoulders in pressing her breasts together making some nice cleavage as the front of her scoop tee opened as she said “Young boys are impressionable.” as I chuckled. (But the size and shape of her tits did not escape me, mourning or not.)

The bartender came and Mel told him before anything was ordered that it was separate checks and she ordered a Jack and Coke and clams casino trio, I got a large Sam’s Summer Ale and garlic knots. Neither of us said much for the next 15-20 minutes while we watched the TV and nibbled, reading the closed captioning (it was so loud they couldn’t possibly have the sound on), and then checking out the people. At one point Mel saw a shooting gallery type game open up in the back corner and asked me to watch her drink and change while she went back and played. I continued to watch the TV which just changed over to a Red Sox game. I glanced back to the corner and saw Mel talking to a guy while she shook her head and he turned away, but when I looked back again the same guy was there seeming to confront her about something, his hand on her shoulder. I could see she was upset and this guy at least looked like he was being persistent.

The bartender came by and I said that we were staying, but playing a game and not to give our seats up. Between the two of us, we had already pushed 4 or 5 dollars into the bar gutter for him, so he just nodded.

I went back to the corner I heard this guy saying “C’mon it’s only fair.”, as she pushed his hand off her shoulder a second time that I saw. So I just walked up and asked, “Honey, is there a problem?”

Mel looked to me with a half smile and said “This gentleman wants to challenge me to a game of pairs for a drink. I prefer to play alone.”

“You heard the lady, she doesn’t want to play you. And honey, our food is there now.” I said hopefully convincing him that she was not alone here.

I went back to my stool and when she finished the game she came back to the bar.

“You didn’t have to do that. I can handle myself. I would have taken great pleasure in beating the shit out of him if he touched me.” She said full of bravado.

“You both would have been arrested and also charged with inciting. Don’t do something stupid to satisfy your inner aggressions. He didn’t take your husband away from you.” I deadpanned staring straight at the TV as I was actually pissed at her for saying something so stupid.

I heard her choke back tears and then take her unfinished drink and down it and place the glass on the bar, pushing it to the edge for refill. After the bartender refilled her she leaned toward me. I took it as her wanting to say something private to me as I saw her in the bar mirror below the TV we were sitting in front of.

“I have my wedding ring on and the guy didn’t even care. He thought I was looking for it.” She said as an excuse for making her tough gal threat.

“I think he wanted to play the game more than anything, not pick you up. Once you sent him away the first time, he was wrong to persist. I still wear MY ring too and I had held my hand up behind you to show him, in case he needed convincing about his walking away.” I told her without looking at her directly, but into the mirror. She wasn’t aware I was watching her reaction in the mirror and probably thought I was aloof.