Shutter Speed

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Design by Nathan Everett

Cover photo by Serg Zastavkin, ID66772744, licensed from Shutterstock.com.

First eBook Edition

ISBN 978-1-955874-55-7

Cast

Characters introduced in Full Frame who continue to have an important role in Shutter Speed.

The Hart Family

• Nate Hart, 17-yo narrator of the story. 5'12" according to his driver’s license. Brown hair, blue eyes.
• Kat Hart, Nate’s 11-yo sister. About 4'10". Brown hair, blue eyes.
• Rev. Joyce “Reverend Mother Superior” Hart, Nate’s 45-yo mother, the first female Methodist preacher in Illinois.
• Rich Hart, Nate’s 48-yo father, electrician for a local building project.
• Deborah Lindal, Nate’s 25-yo sister.
• Sergeant John Lindal, Deborah’s husband. In the army.
• Cameron Lindal, Deborah and John’s 2-yo daughter.
• Lt. Naomi Hart, Nate’s 23-yo sister, studying aircraft maintenance in the Air Force. Wants to be a pilot.
• Uncle Nate Mayer, Joyce’s 53-yo brother. Variously said to still suffer from shell-shock from WWII, and to have some kind of job with the Jewish mafia in Chicago.
• Aunt Grace Mayer, Uncle Nate’s wife.

Girlfriends and models

• Christine “Chris” Evans, 17-yo girlfriend of Nate. 5'5", medium brown hair, short in a low beehive with a curl forward on her cheek and bangs.
  • Christine’s family includes parents Ray and Darlene, 12-yo brother Brian, 13-yo sister Julie.
• Ronda May, 17-yo girlfriend of Nate. 5'1", honey blonde hair in a straight shoulder length bob.
  • Ronda’s family includes parents Dr. Joseph and Ellen, 13-yo brother Danny.
• Anna Marx, 17-yo former girlfriend and now Nate’s bookkeeper. She’s around a lot. 5'7", brown hair straight to her shoulders.
• Patricia Berg, 17-yo first Attic Allure model for Nate and girlfriend of his best friend, Tony. 5'4" pale blonde straight hair below her shoulders. Scandinavian beauty.
• Judy Delap, 17-yo member of the Attic Allure models. First photographed a week after Nate got to town. 5'5", brown hair in a low beehive with bangs.
• Janice Graham, 17-yo member of the Attic Allure models. First photographed with Judy, her best friend, a week after Nate got to town. 5'2", busty and round butt. Dark brown hair in a bob.
• Pris Anson, 17-yo member of the Attic Allure models. A late addition with friend Debbie, who often hangs around the studio. 5'7", medium brown hair in a beehive.
• Debbie Faulkner, 17-yo member of the Attic Allure models. Joined with friend Pris and often has ‘ideas’ about what to shoot next. 5'6", dark brown hair in a bob. Thinks her boobs aren’t very pretty but has a nice ass.

Friends

• Tony Kowalski, 19-yo fresh graduate and Patricia’s boyfriend. He sort of leads the local motorcycle riders.
• Andy Wright, 17-yo friend and member of Nate’s church. Nate’s first friend in Tenbrook.
• Karen Miller, 17-yo girlfriend of Andy since second grade, who is always wherever he is.
• Roxie Barnes, 17-yo, tall and stacked classmate that Nate has sometimes dated.
• Vicki McMillan, 16-yo cheerleader with odd ideas about what is sex. Nate dates her occasionally.
• Lori Reynolds, 18-yo former cheerleader and model who is headed for Chicago to become a model.
• Pam Gottschalk, 18-yo former cheerleader and model who is headed to Champaign-Urbana to catch a husband at the university.
• Avery Benton, 18-yo former cheerleader and model who is headed to Berkeley to study psychology.
• Miss Ludwig, local librarian who gets kids the books and information they are interested in or need.
• Billy Lamonte, 22-yo wounded veteran with leg and head damage. Takes care of the dogs at the Humane Society. Considered to be the town hero.
• Miss Sullivan, business teacher at Tenbrook High School and sponsor of the yearbook.
• Jim “Stoney” Stoneburner, constable of the town and former army captain.
• Mrs. Abernathy, assistant principal and guidance counselor at Tenbrook High School.
• Mr. Reichman, principal at Tenbrook Schools.

1
Moment of Truth

January 12, 1968. I’d remember that day for as long as I lived.

I sat in my room late at night—or maybe it was early in the morning—holding my draft card in one hand and a box of matches in the other. I could do it. I could just burn the damn thing. That would show them. I lit a match and held it until the flame touched my fingers and I dropped it in the ash tray.

Right. Exactly what would it show ‘them?’ They still had my name and address. Burning my draft card wouldn’t change that. I wasn’t even making a statement. I was alone in my room. I tossed the card on my desk and stretched out on my bed. I really hated those bastards.

I was still five months from graduating from high school in 1968, so I was told I ‘don’t need to worry about it until you turn nineteen’ in September. And if I was enrolled in college and was maintaining at least a C average, I could change my current deferment from I-S to I-SC or maybe II-S. The draft board didn’t seem to know for sure which classification college students could get. Gave me all kinds of faith in them. Not.

But I had time for making plans. I had my acceptance to Columbia College Chicago to study photography in their creative expression program. I’d stretch out deferments as long as I could, or perhaps investigate colleges in Canada or Europe. I was socking away as much money from my photography studio as I could get.

I went to Mom’s office and called Elizabeth. She’d talk me down.

I guess, in the interest of not just jumping into a story in the middle, I should introduce myself and tell you some of the reasons why I was so opposed to the military in general and to the draft in particular.

I’m Nate Hart. I’m the son of the first female Methodist preacher in Illinois, Rev. Joyce Hart. I call her Reverend Mother Superior. My family was moved from the South Chicago suburb, population ~45,000, to Tenbrook, Illinois, population ~750. I was going into my junior year in high school when we relocated in 1966.

The thing that excites me more than anything else is photography. I’m glad to say that I’m pretty good at it. I’ve won some awards at both County and State Fairs. When I came to Tenbrook, I was carrying an old 35mm SLR everywhere I went. That got me my first photos in Tenbrook, when I ran into Judy and Janice, two girls in my new high school class who loved to dress up in different costumes and were willing to pose for me. Their picture was one of my award winners.

I also found out gangs weren’t limited to the city when I encountered a group of motorcycle riders while I was out bicycling. Through a mixture of circumstances, bluff, and good luck, I ended up refinishing the leader’s motorcycle, which had been scratched up in an accident. Tony and his girlfriend, Patricia, became really good friends of mine, even though a lot of people in the town and in school would have nothing to do with them. Calumet High School was 85% black. When I moved to Tenbrook, I didn’t even notice that Tony had slightly darker skin than the rest of the population. I guess, like, his grandmother was black. So what?

That wasn’t true of the village constable who was a racist son of a bitch. Pardon my French. I caught him on film one night as he roughed up Tony and Patricia for no other reason than riding his bike through town. Those photos and an impassioned plea by my dad, Rich Hart, spelled the end of the constable’s employment by the village.

Unfortunately, the spate of petty thefts and vandalism in the village that the constable was trying to pin on Tony continued.

Patricia came to my garage while I was refinishing Tony’s motorcycle and posed provocatively on and around the bike while I took pictures of her. I was a little worried about how Tony would react, but he loved the photos and kept sending Patricia back to pose for me. Patricia’s was the first live human female’s nipple that I ever saw. It happened while she was posing. The photo of her on Tony’s bike—not the one with her nipple—won Best of Category for Black and White Photography at the Illinois State Fair.

After that, I showed my photos to Mr. Barkley, who owned the local grocery store, and he offered to let me use a corner of his fourth floor attic to set up my darkroom and a little studio. The rest of the attic was filled with junk he’d collected or that had been retired from when it was a full department store over the past seventy-five years. He let me use anything I found up there as a prop in my photography. Patricia, Judy, and Janice—and a really cute girl named Christine—all became regular models for me in the attic studio. It seemed like the more often they posed for me, the fewer clothes they wore.

With the photos of the girls and the props in the attic, I developed a distinct trashy glamour style that I started calling Attic Allure.

The photographer who took all the school photos really screwed up the senior photos. Nearly half the senior class came to me to retake their portrait and do an Attic Allure photo of them. That turned out to be a really profitable enterprise for me. And it landed me five more models who weren’t afraid to bare it all for my photos.

Enter my Uncle Nate from Chicago. He’s always been a fan of my photography and had given me my very first camera when I was twelve. He saw what I was doing in my new studio and figured out a way to get me a professional Hasselblad setup. I was able to take some really good photos with that and when he saw my newest work, he said he thought there were some people in Chicago who would like photos in my style and he’d start referring them to me.

To make a long story short, I ended up expanding my studio to the abandoned third floor of Mr. Barkley’s store. I got a lot of stuff from my unnamed patrons in Chicago, including backdrops, props, and photographic supplies like film, photo paper, and developing chemicals. When I started doing photos for a client in Chicago, the unnamed benefactor was so pleased that he and a few other people put together an entire new darkroom setup for me with a much better and modern enlarger and all the supplies I could possibly need. My dad and Tony’s dad, Jim Kowalski, took over building me a new darkroom on the third floor.

I had a photography mentor, Don Grossman, in Huntertown, about fifteen miles away from Tenbrook, who suggested that I should try printing some of my photos full frame instead of cropping them and told me I should be looking at the entire composition through the lens instead of just the central part. That got me started taking another look at all the photos I’d taken since arriving in Tenbrook.

What I found was not something I wanted to find. The town has a kind of hero—a guy named Billy Lamonte—who had been a basketball star in the high school and then joined up in the army. He’d been sent to Vietnam and a year later came home after he’d been wounded. He had a dent in his skull from some shrapnel, I guess. He walked with a limp and his mental faculties seemed to have been adversely affected. He spent nearly all his time taking care of the dogs at the Humane Society.

Areas I had cropped out of previous photos caught his figure, in its familiar army fatigues tucked into his boots, in several incriminating circumstances. I took them to our new town constable, Stoney Stoneburner, not really wanting to, but feeling like I had to. It turned out the constable was a really good guy and had been Billy’s captain in Vietnam. He’d come to Tenbrook after he’d been medically retired to see if there was anything he could do to help his wounded soldier.

I accompanied him as he went to visit Billy and took pictures of them as Billy took the items he had stolen back to their owners. Every single one of them gave the item back to Billy—including me, from whom he’d stolen two photos from my studio gallery. The town kind of came together to offer Billy more support. They’d been calling him the town hero, but they really hadn’t been watching out for him. Seeing them all commit to taking better care of their hero made me proud to be a resident of Tenbrook.

I guess the only other thing I should mention is that when I started my junior year in school, I almost immediately started dating Anna, a really sweet girl who liked a lot of the things I did and was happy to go out to a movie, to a school dance, or even bowling. She did a lot to help me stage photos for the yearbook, but she couldn’t cope with me having a studio where I brought people—mostly girls—and took sexy photos of them. We broke up just before Christmas. But she continued to assist me for yearbook photos and after school was out for the summer, she became my bookkeeper/accountant. That was something I hadn’t even known I needed, but I had a pretty good photography business going.

After the breakup, I was taking some pictures of Christine on New Year’s Eve and on the spur of the moment, I asked her out to a party at a neighboring community church. I was really surprised when she said yes, and later that night, a little after midnight when I took her home, we both got to experience our very first kiss. With some kind of strange caveats, she’s been my girlfriend ever since and she likes sex as much as I do.

One of those caveats was Ronda, a cheerleader who challenged me and said she’d fight me for Christine’s affection. I suggested that maybe we should share her instead of fight. The result was that now I had two girlfriends and they each had a girlfriend and a boyfriend. I loved being with either of them, but having all three of us together was just the best ever.

Unfortunately, Ronda had to leave for the summer to attend a college prep school in Colorado. That left Christine and me to grow closer and closer over the summer.

There was a lot more that got me to this point, though.

2
Putting the Pieces Together

The day my world started going to hell, in my opinion, was June 24, 1967.

It wasn’t a bad start. I had a new model from Chicago named Janna Adams. Chris was in the studio Friday afternoon to meet her and we both looked at each other to see if we thought the same thing. It was obvious that we did. Janna did not look eighteen. She looked like she might be sixteen if we stretched it. She even wore braces. But she’d driven herself from Chicago in a nice sports car.

I took her model release. She had one of the releases with a five-year delay before I could use her pictures in public. It had her birthdate as June 1, 1948, and it was notarized by my uncle. I guess she was eighteen. It’s not like I couldn’t take pictures of her if she was under eighteen. I had several model contracts from sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds. But it wasn’t wise to display any pictures of them that showed their breasts or pussy. Some of the girls I’d taken pictures of still wanted the bare look for their own personal collections, or wanted me to have them in my personal collection.

We sat to talk about what kind of pictures Janna wanted and I asked her point blank about her age.

“Yeah. I’m eighteen. I was really an undernourished street urchin when Saul found me a year ago. He took me in, got me clean and sober, protected me from my pimp, got tutors to help me finish school, got me braces, and just has been the best ever. I’d do anything at all for him and he says all he wants is a few really great photos of me. So, I want the best, sexiest, most glamorous photos you can take of me. Saul said you would know just what to do.”

“Okay, then.” I looked at Chris and she nodded. “Let’s see what you brought for us to work with.”

Janna brought several outfits and some props with her.

“Saul likes me to look like a little girl, so I guess I’m lucky I have this look. But he loves it when he thinks he’s accidentally caught me running around naked. Of course, it’s never really accidental. I try to make sure he catches me at least once a week. You’d think that as much as he likes to see me, he’d want to do some other stuff, too, but he’s never touched me in a sexy way. He just takes care of me and I just love him.”

It sounded a lot like Patricia’s dream of meeting Hugh Hefner. She imagined that he would worship her and never touch her, no matter how she teased him. He’d know she belonged to Tony. I wasn’t quite that confident of the dream.

We went straight to work. Of course, the first thing we did was work on the schoolgirl look. Patricia had done a terrific set of schoolgirl photos for Tony’s birthday a couple of months ago. I took the same kind of story approach with Janna. Chris got her made up so subtly that it looked like she was just a fresh-faced kid. Chris managed the rate of exposure, but inevitably, Janna was naked, dragging around an enormous teddy bear in front of the brick wall.

We worked all afternoon and then she went to spend the night at the Hills Motel in Huntertown. Chris and I went out to the river and fucked ourselves silly. We didn’t invite Janna along physically, but it seemed she kept cropping up in our thoughts.

“I feel like such a nasty old lady!” Chris said. “I’d swear she wasn’t more than fourteen or fifteen. Did you look at those breasts? They were like innocent little buds on her chest. I remember when my breasts were that size. I rubbed them all the time! It seems that my nipples could light a fire they were so hot.”

“And now you’ve moved from those little teacup breasts to these beautiful champagne glass breasts,” I suggested, trying to purge the image of Janna’s little tits from my mind.

“Didn’t you just want to suck on them and see if you could make her come without even touching her pussy?” Chris persisted.

“They reminded me a lot of Vicki’s. Her breasts are about that size and ultra-sensitive. The first time I made her come, it was from biting down on her nipple.” I’d dated Vicki, a sophomore cheerleader, a few times in the past year.

“Oh, that made my pussy gush. Fuck me, Nate. Right now!”

Well, you get the gist of how our evening went. Unfortunately, Chris’s first orgasm also marked the beginning of her monthly cycle. I spent the rest of our evening just holding her and comforting her.

Janna wanted to get back to Chicago on Saturday, so I skipped morning laundry, promising to get it done later in the day, and we started working at nine. I got a great photo of Janna on my rocking horse prop. She looked like a little girl, but her bare butt was showing. It was one of those extremely sexy shots—if you’re into young girls.

By noon we had all the pictures any of us wanted to take, so we bid Janna goodbye and I told her I’d send the proof sheets later in the week. Chris held together through the morning, but was in obvious pain with cramps. She went home after we’d had a few little kisses and promised she’d feel good enough to meet Sunday afternoon. I started putting the studio back together a little. I needed to get my camera put away, but Chris and I would work on tidying up the whole studio Sunday.

I was about to head upstairs to my under-desk safe when I heard a frantic knocking at the door. I thought Chris must have forgotten something and I rushed to let her in.

Instead of Chris, Patricia came crashing through the door into my arms, crying uncontrollably. She practically dragged me to the floor in her desperation. I quickly looked outside to see if she was being chased but didn’t see anyone. I still slammed the door shut and threw the deadbolt. Patricia was in a crumpled heap at my feet, sobbing.

I scooped her up and carried her to the fainting couch where I could hold her more comfortably than on the floor. I was amazed at how light she was. We sat on the couch and I held her and stroked her pale blonde hair.

“Hey, now. It’s okay. You’re safe with me. What’s going on? You know you can talk to me.”

“T-Tony,” she gasped.

I caught my breath trying not to imagine what Tony could have done to bring her to me in tears. Was he in an accident? Did he break up with her?

“What is it? Did Tony hurt you?” I asked. She shook her head vigorously.

“D-drafted! Tony’s been drafted. He has to report in two weeks.”

“Oh, shit! No. That’s not possible. He just got out of high school. They can’t draft a guy until he turns nineteen. He can’t be drafted. It’s a mistake.”

“No.” She was gasping and trying to catch her breath. I pulled out my clean handkerchief and dried her eyes. She took it and blew her nose. Well, that was why I carried two. “Tony turned nineteen on April eleventh. With the way his family always moved around, he fell behind a year in school. He’s nineteen and he’s out of school and they drafted him.”

“Damn it! Where is he now? Why aren’t you with him?”

“You know Tony. When something bad comes his way, he goes off by himself. I’m so worried about him!” Patricia cried. I was glad I hadn’t used my other handkerchief. It was beginning to look like Patricia would need it.

“What should I do, Nate? I don’t want him to go into the army! He doesn’t want to go. What should we do?”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I’d do,” I said. “I’d pack your cute ass onto the back of that motorcycle and be in Canada by tomorrow morning. Tony should refuse to go.”

“You know he won’t do that. Tony’s never backed down from anything or anyone, except you. If you talk to him… If you tell him… I’ll go home and pack what I need and be ready to leave as soon as he comes home. But he won’t do it. He’s so stubborn sometimes. He’ll face it head on and show he can be the best soldier there is. I just know it.”

“Oh, Patricia. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to tell you. Just hang on to him for all he’s worth and love him to the end of the earth. Whenever you need a shoulder, I’ll be here for you. You need to rally your support. Talk to Judith and Janice. You know they love you. I’ll talk to Chris. Chris will always support you. I wish I could get hold of Ronda. No one defends the girls in our class like she does. Patricia, we’re all here for you. I’m not one of his motorcycle buddies, but I’m here for Tony. I still consider him the best friend I have in Tenbrook.”

“He thinks the same of you, Nate. And so do I. Just… Please hold me until he comes home.”

I had no idea when Tony would come home, but I held Patricia most of the afternoon.

For the first time I could remember since it became my responsibility, I didn’t get the laundry done on Saturday. I held Patricia in my arms, just petting her hair and whispering words of comfort. She fell asleep in my arms and I thought she was the sweetest and most vulnerable girl I ever knew, in spite of her reputation of being a wild girl member of a motorcycle gang.

Sunday after church, I had to go get the laundry done before I could go to the studio. I called Chris and she agreed to meet me at four. I’d used several strips of fabric from the studio over the weekend and I’d promised Chris I’d wash the blanket we used out by the river. As a result, I had a lot of ironing to do to get the fabric ready for another client. Whenever I was called for one.

When Chris got to the studio, she wanted to know why I was running so late. I told her all about Tony and Patricia, including having held her while she slept for almost two hours.

“Wow! And she just slept?”

“Cried herself to sleep,” I agreed.

“And you didn’t like… um… take advantage of her or anything did you?” Chris was a little unsure of herself. I took her in my arms and led her to the couch to sit down.

“Honey, Patricia and Tony are two of my best friends in Tenbrook. Which, I guess, means anywhere. For their sake, I would never cross the line with Patricia. But more importantly, I would never cross that line for our sake. I love you and if Patricia and Tony are two of my best friends, you are not only my lover but also my very best friend.”

“I know I sounded jealous. I’m sorry. Having a girl come to you to sleep in your arms is almost more romantic and intimate than just making love to her. It got me for a minute. If sometime you do want to make love to Patricia, I’m okay with that. I mean, if Tony goes off to Vietnam, she might need that level of comfort.”

“I think if Tony goes off to Vietnam, the army had better make sure he has room in his bunk for Patricia. I don’t think she’d stay home.”

“You’re probably right,” she said and kissed me. That took us a few minutes. “So, what’s the next thing on our schedule for photography?”

“Well, I got a call last night from Chicago. I have an Amy Clark coming for photos on Friday and Saturday. Same kind of arrangement as for Janna. She’s spending the night at the motel and we’ll finish up on Saturday morning. She wants a series of what she called period piece portraits which will include a selection of boudoir pictures. I think I got that right,” I said.

“Wow. Anything special we need to get for it?”

“Yes. I need a bed.”

“Oh, my God!”

“That’s what I thought. I plan to go down to Mrs. Wilson’s and see what she has. I’m not going to spring for buying a mattress, though. Amy might need to recline gracefully on a piece of plywood.”

“That would definitely keep her from getting too comfortable.”

“In addition to that, Dad and Mr. Kowalski want to get started on my new darkroom construction. They’ve assured me that I don’t need to worry about anything. They have my sketches and Mr. Barkley’s go-ahead. They say they will handle the whole thing, including blocking off the area with Visqueen. I hate to have a construction site visible when I’ve got a client, but there isn’t any way around that. I guess the only other thing is getting Janna’s proof sheets printed up and shipped off to her.”

“You should take Anna with you on your buying trip so she can see how Mrs. Wilson keeps the records and start copying them.”

“That’s probably a good idea. I’ll plan it for… Oh, crap! I don’t have a car to carry stuff in. I’ll have to carry the bed on my back from Mrs. Wilson’s to the studio. That’s five-plus blocks!”

“I’ll see if I can get the wagon. I forget your dad has your wagon for work now.”

“That would be great if you could do that. Want to come home with me for ice cream and TV after we finish here?”

“That sounds so cozy. Will you rub my tummy? And will we get to kiss?”

“I’ll be your heating pad. Mom understands those things. But kissing, only when I walk you home.”

“I guess I can live with that, if you give me some good ones now.”

I did my best to keep her satisfied.

I went to the studio Monday morning to finish the proof sheets for Janna, wondering what was happening to Patricia and Tony. I wondered if he’d come back and if they’d taken my advice to run for the border. I didn’t need to wonder long as there was a knock at my door, only a little less frantic than Patricia’s on Saturday.

When I opened the door, though, it was Patricia, beaming, with Tony beside her. She came in and hugged me and a step later, Tony caught me in a hug.

“Can you take us to meet your mother?” he asked.

“My mother?” I asked, stupidly.

“The one you call Reverend Mother Superior,” Patricia laughed. “We want her to marry us.”

“Wow! That’s… so unexpected.” I looked at my watch. “If we go right now, we should catch her before her appointment in Huntertown. She doesn’t usually work on Mondays.”

We jogged down the stairs and they got on the motorcycle. I just kept jogging the three blocks home while they kept pace with me. I opened the door and called inside.

“Mom? Are you still home? Can we talk to you?”

Mom came out of the kitchen. She was not dressed professionally, meaning she wasn’t wearing a clerical collar, but she had a nice pantsuit on to go to her hair appointment.

“What on earth, Nate? Who’s with you?”

“Mom, these are two of my best friends, Patricia and Tony. They want to know if you’ll marry them.”

“Oh, my. Perhaps we should sit and talk for a few minutes.”

Mom sat in the living room with Tony and Patricia and I went to get pop and coffee in the kitchen. I think Mom was a bit surprised, not only by the request, but by me bringing them into the house on her day off. She focused all her attention on the couple, though, without even glancing to see what time it was.

“When did you want to get married? Before school starts this fall? Or are we talking after Patricia’s graduation?” Mom asked.

“We’d like to get married tomorrow,” Tony said excitedly. “We got our license this morning.” He held out the piece of paper and Mom looked it over while I gave everyone their drinks.

“Nate, perhaps I should talk to Tony and Patricia alone. I have to ask some delicate questions,” Mom said. I turned to leave but Tony interrupted.

“Please, Reverend Hart. We’d like Nate to stay with us. He’s our best friend and we want him to be our best man and to take pictures of us. Can he stay?”

“Well, if you really want him to, I can’t say no, but…”

“I’m not pregnant,” Patricia broke in. “I assume that was the delicate question you wanted to ask. Tony and I have been in love for a year and a half. We just want to be married.”

“That’s fair enough,” Mom said gently. “You’re right, that was one question. But your request is very sudden. You simply went out to get a marriage license this morning and want to get married tomorrow. Why the sudden rush?”

Tony heaved a deep breath and sat up straight.

“I’ve been drafted, Reverend Hart. I have to report for induction in two weeks. First of all, I don’t want to go into the army without showing Patricia that I love her and am committed to her in every way. It’s also something that will make it easier for me to set up things like pay and insurance to support my wife. And… well, we want to get married tomorrow so we’ll have time to go on a little honeymoon before I have to report,” Tony said.

“The draft again. I can’t tell you how much I hate that you have been drafted,” Mom sighed. “Tell me, why do you want me to do this wedding. You’re Catholic, aren’t you, Patricia? Are you, Tony?”

“I haven’t been to the Catholic Church for over a year,” Patricia said. “And Tony had only been there a few times when we first got together. Father Emory didn’t approve of us being together. He tries not to be racist, but he had a long chat with us about the hardships people go through when there is even a hint of interracial relationship.”

“That’s really another reason we want you to do this if you will,” Tony said. “When we were being bullied by the old constable, your husband—your family—stood up for us and drove the village council to replace him. Nate has been a friend almost since he moved to town and Patricia models for him when she can. That’s why we’d like you to perform the wedding instead of just appearing before a judge at the courthouse.”

“I see,” Mom said. “I wonder if you would pray with me for a minute. Sometimes, I need to seek guidance in finding the right response.”

We all bowed our heads Mom prayed a blessing on all of us and guidance in counseling Patricia and Tony. It wasn’t a long prayer. She didn’t pray for anyone’s salvation or to change anyone’s mind. I was reminded of her statement to me that she was a minister, not a judge. I hoped she would favor my friends’ request.

“Do your parents know your intention?” Mom asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Patricia said.

“When I got notice that I’d been drafted, I had to go off by myself for a day to figure out what I should do. Riding my motorcycle is like meditation for me. I guess we could have just gotten on it and rode off to Canada, but I’ve never run away from anything. My parents did that all their lives and it’s no way to start a family. I saw what it did to my mom and dad. I can’t subject Patricia to a life on the run. When I got back home last night, I got my parents to come over to Patricia’s house with me and I got down on my knees in front of them and asked her to marry me. We all talked about it and they honestly didn’t really want us to do it right now, but they promised they would be with us and back us up if that was what we decided.”

“Then let’s talk about what we need to do to get you married tomorrow afternoon.”

I wanted to stand up and cheer for my mom!

It all put a real hole in my studio production time. Tony needed a buddy to shepherd him around while Patricia went to see Judy and Janice. We went into Huntertown to get some flowers. It was my first time riding the motorcycle behind Tony. It was a little scary when I was carting a bunch of flowers and trying not to squash them between us.

Tuesday afternoon, a small group gathered in our church. Tony asked me to stand as his best man, but Eric from his motorcycle group stood with us as well. I was glad at least one of Tony’s biker buddies was with him. Eric happened to also be the son of the EUB minister in Huffington.

Judy and Janice stood with Patricia and I have no idea how those three girls managed to pull together a wedding dress and two matching bridesmaid dresses in twenty-four hours. They’d told me I could ask Chris to be with us and she was thrilled. Judy and Janice’s boyfriend Pete sat quietly on the ‘bride’s side’ of the pew. Tony’s parents and little sister were there, as were Patricia’s parents. They were surprised that Father Emory attended the little wedding party. Oh, and Dad took the day off to be with his friend, Jim Kowalski, Tony’s dad. Kat sat with him, dreamily looking at her heroine as Patricia spoke her vows.

That was everybody.

I had my good camera set up on a tripod so we could take pictures after the ceremony. Chris was carrying extra film for me. I didn’t know Tony owned a suit, but he was dressed in one. There was fresh polish on his motorcycle boots.

Mom spoke a bit about the meaning of marriage and the reasons for becoming husband and wife. I mean, she is a preacher. You had to expect she’d give a little sermon. When it came time for the closing prayer and blessing, she invited Father Emory to join her and they both put their hands on Tony and Patricia to ask God’s blessing on their marriage and to ask for Tony’s safety as he served his country. Both Tony and Patricia were crying when Mom pronounced them husband and wife and invited them to kiss each other.

I quickly took pictures of everyone, including setting the timer on the camera so I could jump into the picture myself. It’s probably the only wedding picture that included everyone who attended the wedding. After about twenty minutes of pictures and hugs and congratulations, Tony and Patricia went out the front door of the church and got on his motorcycle. Eric had tied some cans to the tail light and put a ‘Just Married’ sign on it. Tony revved the engine a couple of times and they took off up Main Street. Patricia threw her flowers over her shoulder and Janice grabbed them.

My friends were married. And in twelve days, July 5, Tony would be in the army.

I guess there is something about a wedding that makes girls feel ultra-romantic. I could see it in Judy and Janice’s eyes as they latched onto Pete after the ceremony. Then I turned and saw it in Christine’s eyes when she looked at me. It was still early in the day, but we agreed it was time to head for the river.

Dad asked for my studio key as he and Jim were going to go over and get started on the new darkroom. Wow! I guessed there was no wedding reception. Patricia and Tony had taken off and the rest of us had ‘stuff to do.’

“What were you whispering to Judy and Janice about?” I asked as Chris and I settled on our blanket out by the stream about five miles from town.

“We had to agree who was going to where to make love to our guys,” she giggled. “I think poor Pete is going to get drained by both of them. For that matter, I’m going to do my best to drain you, too.”

“I’ll do my best to make sure that takes a long time to happen,” I said as I kissed her.

“Just fill me, lover. Fill me up.”

I did my best. Sliding into Christine’s pussy was the highlight of my life. I would never get tired of this.

“When do you turn eighteen, Nate?”

“September 27th. Why? When’s your birthday?”

“January 4. I kind of didn’t make a big deal about it last January because we’d just been out one time, but we went out for Kentucky Fried the night before my birthday and you kissed me. My birthday kiss and the last one while I was still sixteen.”

“I remember that. We were so innocent. I remember how we didn’t even touch tongues. It was just our soft moist lips pressed together.” I demonstrated with a light kiss that just involved our lips and nothing else. It was still electric.

“I love that,” she sighed. “This year, right after my birthday, I’m going to see a doctor and get a prescription for birth control pills.”

“Really? I didn’t realize they had such a thing.”

“Yeah. They were approved a few years ago, but most people still aren’t aware of them. There aren’t many places unmarried women can get them because a doctor can’t prescribe birth control to an unmarried woman. But he can prescribe the same pill to help a woman regulate her period and control cramping. Miss Ludwig had information about them in her special reading section for young women.”

“Seems like that would solve a whole lot of Vicki’s issues.”

“I don’t think she wants any kind of birth control. I doubt if the pope would even allow her to get fucked in the butt or give a blow job. From what I’ve heard, he believes sex is strictly for procreation,” Chris said.

“I don’t believe that.”

“Neither do I. That’s why I’m going to get birth control pills. I want to feel you come in my pussy the way you come in my mouth—without a rubber.”

“Wow, Chris! I just got hard again.”

“Then for now, put another condom on and put your beautiful penis in my vagina where it belongs.”

When Amy Clark arrived for her photo session on Friday afternoon, she was accompanied by a guy in a black suit who insisted that he be allowed to inspect our studio before she gave me the model release. He looked behind the Visqueen barrier that blocked off the construction area, examined the gallery, and looked out the windows before demanding that the drapes be closed. He looked in the dressing rooms and the bathrooms and then went up to the attic and down to where the second floor gate was closed.

I didn’t much like his attitude, but these were people who Uncle Nate knew and I didn’t want to offend anyone, so Chris and I just sat quietly and watched. Amy did the same thing, not saying a word while he was doing his inspection. He finally finished and just said, “Okay.”

“Joshua, I need my things from the car,” Amy said. He nodded and went out the door while Amy presented the model release to me. I looked at the signatures and gave her a signed copy. Uncle Nate had notarized her signature and verified her identification, so I was all set. This one, too, had a five-year clause so I couldn’t publicly display her photos for five years.

“I have to ask you, Amy, are you here willingly to have your photos taken?”

She looked at me like I’d grown another head.

“Who do you think could force me to be here if I didn’t want to be? Yes, I’m here willingly.”

The tone of her response and the order she gave Joshua to hang her clothes and not to get anything messed up, gave us a whole new understanding of their relationship. She ordered him to leave and be back to pick her up promptly at five o’clock. It was clear that he was her employee, maybe bodyguard or servant, and not her boss.

Amy had an air about her that told us she wasn’t used to anyone telling her what to do. It took us a few shots before she finally started accepting my direction regarding how to pose. She kept insisting on a smile that just had ‘fake’ written all over it. She was self-conscious about a mole under her left arm. She wanted to pose ‘just so.’

And she didn’t treat Chris very well, either, ordering her around and telling her to fetch a particular negligee from the rack. Yes, ‘to fetch.’ That was the exact word she used. I shot a few closeup portraits and she wanted to move directly to the boudoir shots. She poofed her hair up extra high and we draped a strip of fabric from the backdrop stand over her as she stretched out on the bed that Chris had managed to bring from Mrs. Wilson’s in the back of the Belvedere.

By four o’clock, I was getting frustrated. Every direction I gave her, she ignored. Chris draped fabric artfully and she pushed it aside. I asked for her to give me a seductive look and she gave me the same fake smile. I told her to turn her shoulders one direction and she turned them the other. It was almost like she was purposely doing the opposite of anything I told her to do. At four-thirty, I put the lens cap on my camera.

“Okay, that’s it. Maybe we’ll be able to get something decent tomorrow,” I said.

“It’s only four-thirty and we haven’t done my Attic Allure photo yet. We’re not done.”

“Attic Allure photos are something that I create. They aren’t something done on demand. I don’t feel like creating anything else today.”

“But…”

“Be back here at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“That’s too early.”

I turned to stare down the woman. She was admittedly beautiful. She had perfect proportions, perfect teeth, a perfect manicure, perfect tits. Her toenails were even painted to match her fingernails and lipstick. I didn’t care. I’d never been so turned off by a woman in my life.

“I’ll start taking photos at ten o’clock tomorrow morning whether you are in them or not. They might be better if you’re not in them.”

“I’ve never been so insulted. I’m going to call Mr. Mayer.”

“You do that. Now get out of my studio.”

After Amy had stormed about, gathering her clothes, and tossing them near the rack, she slammed the door to the dressing room, presumably to let us know she was dressing. Chris crept up to me and wrapped her arms around me.

“Can I go home now?” she whispered.

“I’d appreciate it if you waited until she’s gone,” I said. “You’re the only thing keeping me from losing my temper.”

“You mean you didn’t just lose it?”

“Not even close.”

She shivered in my arms, but stayed there until Amy left the dressing room and stormed out of the studio. I kissed Christine and thanked her for all the work she’d done today. About five minutes later, Dad and Mr. Kowalski came into the studio to start working on the darkroom. Chris left and I put away my camera, then slipped out of the studio. I needed to make a phone call.

“Uncle Nate,” I said when he answered the phone, “how much do I lose if I cancel Amy Clark’s contract and release and send her away?”

“Whoa! It sounds like you’ve had a bad day,” he responded. “Has she been a problem?”

“Is there a polite way of saying she’s a royal bitch without calling her a royal bitch?” I asked. I was in Mom’s office to use the phone and saw her in the living room looking up at me.

“Okay. Let’s go over what’s happened today that has you upset so I know how to advise you,” he said.

I went through all the events of the day, including the strongman who came in to inspect the studio down to my telling her I’d start taking pictures at ten o’clock with or without her. He listened and hummed a lot.

“I understand,” he said finally. “Maybe I should have given you more information before we scheduled this shoot. Amy saw the photo album I use to promote your pictures and immediately started going through a list of the photos that she wanted of herself. She’s rich—as in able to buy and sell either one of us. And half the rest of Chicago. She’s beautiful, as I’m sure you must have noticed. And she is spoiled beyond belief. She’s never had to work for anything and never had to ask for anything. She simply demands and people do what she wants. That includes school. It might surprise you to find she is very smart—top of her class smart, and I know a couple of teachers who affirm that she really is that smart. She doesn’t just buy grades.”

“That certainly explains part of her attitude. Does she really need to be so demeaning to others and so intentionally contrary?” I asked.

“I don’t know what you are capable of, Nate. Other than fine photography. So, it will be up to you to decide whether you cancel the rest of her shoot. Unfortunately, she has a lot of pull in the school and community here. And I mean the community of rich people, not just of Forest Glen. If you decide to proceed, you need to take a firm hand with Amy. I mean you have to be more demanding than she is and refuse to budge if she doesn’t comply. The best thing you did today was kick her out of the studio and tell her ten o’clock is firm. Be sure you are there and ready to snap the first photo at ten o’clock sharp. Have a still life set up. Tell her what you want her to do and refuse to take the picture until she does it the way you want her to. That’s the best advice I can give you.”

“Well, I assume she’s checked into her motel by now. You’ll probably get a call from her as soon as I hang up. Thank you for the advice, Uncle Nate. I’ll have to get my head around it and be ready for her in the morning,” I said.

“You’re a good man, Nate. That studio and the photos taken in it are yours. No one else’s. Demand behavior that supports your work.”

I called Chris to make sure she was feeling okay after our day. She said she thought she just needed to sit with the family and watch TV tonight and I agreed that sounded like a good plan.

“About tomorrow, honey,” I said. “If you don’t want to put up with this again, I understand, but I could really use your support. I’m afraid I’m not going to be very nice to her tomorrow.”

“I’m sure she can’t tell,” Chris laughed. “I’ll be there and be ready to do anything you want me to. Anything, lover.”

“I’ll hold that in reserve for after the shooting,” I said. “It’s a good thing I only have a camera to shoot with.”

“Ooh. So much for being a pacifist.”

“There’s nothing that says a pacifist has to think peaceful thoughts all the time. I just have to not act on the violent ones.”

“What about the lustful ones?” she whispered.

“I feel completely free to act on those,” I laughed.

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.

On Sunday afternoon, I started working with Amy’s prints. As harsh as I’d been with her, there were some photos from the first part of the session that were both usable and artistic. I could see the effect of the draping and bed as if it were a nineteenth century painting. Amy had incredibly beautiful features with naturally high cheekbones, dramatic eyes, and beautifully curly and coifed hair. I printed three that I especially liked.

The second day sitting was another matter entirely. There was really only one photo that I wanted from the two rolls I’d taken. It was in the last set. She lay on the rug, pleading with me, a tear just separating from her eye, mascara streaking down her cheek. It was perfect. And the new enlarger was perfect as well. I’d used just the right shutter speed and lens opening to bring her into sharp focus in the foreground and diminishing as we moved back toward the black Visqueen. I could see the reflection of the smoke from her cigarette in her eye. After I’d printed the first glossy, I printed an archival enlargement at the full 16x20 size that Levi had included paper for.

It took more than one try to get it right, and I felt bad about wasting a couple sheets of the expensive grade paper. I logged them in my book that Anna had set up for me so she could keep track of expenses and cost of sales. But eventually, I had a print I wanted to frame.

Both Chris and Anna were over at the studio a couple of times during the week and commented on Amy’s pictures. I desperately wanted to show the art piece, but Amy’s release was one with a five-year hold on it. Well, this piece would be in my private collection. Anna chided me for printing such a large display piece that I couldn’t show publicly. When I said I thought I’d give it to Amy, they both frowned at me.

It did give Anna an opportunity, however, to collect information regarding how many sheets of paper it took to get this one perfect print, how much time I spent making it, the cost of chemicals for developing, and finally a suggested price for a finished print of this size and quality. I was shocked when she told me this was a $50 print. Who would ever buy a photograph for $50?

I found out on Friday when Amy arrived to select her prints. We went through all the usual things and she said she didn’t think her smile looked all that fakey, but she realized it was something she did all the time. I prefaced showing her the art print by saying this one was for my collection and a print like it would cost $50. She looked at me like I was crazy.

Then I showed her the picture.

She stared at it for a long time without saying anything. She set it down on the table and walked away to try to look at it. Christine picked it up to hold so she could look straight at it. She returned to the photo and touched it, tracing the contour of her cheek. Then she turned to me with the sparkle of a tear in her eyes. She simply crushed me in a hug with her face against my chest as the tears fell and soaked the front of my shirt. It went on long enough that I picked her up and carried her to the couch so I could hold her. Chris joined me and held her hand.

Amy sniffed and I gave her my clean handkerchief. I needed to buy some more handkerchiefs. I seemed to be losing them frequently lately.

“I never cried before,” Amy whispered.

“Never?” I asked.

“Not since I was very little. My mother said tears were ugly and would ruin my beauty. She told me I always need to smile confidently and then people would do what I wanted. I think the first words I remember her saying were, ‘You’re beautiful. Don’t spoil it.’ And so, I never cried again. I wanted my mother to always think I was beautiful,” Amy said. She barely paused to wipe her nose. “I didn’t even cry when she died. Killed herself. She said she was old and no longer beautiful. She was thirty.”

“That’s terrible,” I sighed. “Such a terrible thing to do to you.”

“She was a liar. She lied to me. You made me cry. You tore down all the walls I had and made me weep. And the picture… It isn’t ugly. It’s beautiful. I’m more beautiful in that picture than in any picture that’s ever been taken of me. You made me beautiful,” she said, squeezing me harder.

“Your beauty isn’t dependent on your expression,” I said. “I know it’s a cliché. We always tell people they have an inner beauty. We’ll even say unkind things disguised as compliments, like, ‘She needs to lose fifty pounds, but she has a beautiful face.’ It’s stupid. But underlying it is a truth. You are beautiful. You have flawless complexion. You have perfect teeth. Your hair is like silk. Your breasts are perfectly symmetrical and stand out as a beacon to feminine beauty. But none of that makes you beautiful. It’s only when I saw you shining through it all that I thought you were beautiful. That’s what this work of art is. Not about the superficial beauty, but about the beauty that goes deeper than that. The beauty you let show through when you were stripped of the façade.”

“You’re so eloquent,” she snorted. “I know our agreement says that you can’t show my picture for five years. That must be painful to you to create something like this and not be able to show it. I’d like to buy two, just like this. No. I want to buy this one and one more. I’ll pay your requested $50 for each, and an additional $50 each if you will sign them for me. This one, I’ll hang with pride in my home and know that at least whoever sees this photo will see the real me. I’d like you to display the other copy on my behalf. Display it here in your gallery. Display it in any competition you want to. Display it in your exhibition of fine art photos when you have one. On my behalf. Don’t print any more of it and don’t give it to anyone. If you are displaying it on my behalf, then it isn’t in violation of our agreement.”

“That’s an interesting way to get around it,” I said. “But I find a certain pleasure in knowing that the photo is displayed on behalf of the model. I’ll agree to that.”

“Can you have this one framed for me and sent to me. I’ll pay the costs, plus a reasonable mark-up. And I’d also like regular 8x10 enlargements of the other photos I marked,” Amy said.

“I think we can handle that,” I said. “I’ll write up the order.”

I stood up, leaving Amy holding Chris’s hand on the couch. I went to my desk and took the order with the specifics she’d just described.

“I’d be happy to come back and do another sitting with you if you come up with an inspiration for something that could use a self-centered, spoiled model who promises to do whatever you say without question,” she laughed.

I turned and found her hugging Christine and whispering in her ear.

When the bill was tallied, Amy paid me $405, kissed both Christine and me on the cheek, and left to return to Chicago. I believe she was singing on the way out the door.

I collapsed on the couch and Chris fell into my arms. We just lay there a long time, recovering from the emotional strain.

I had a variety of clients over the summer. Some came from Chicago, but Judy, Janice, Patricia, Pris, and Debbie all came to the studio for photo sessions. Supposedly, these were all to expand my portfolio, and they all included at least one posed shot that I could actually display in public. But somehow, they all ended up with my model nude and doing something outrageously flirtatious. Since none of those five were eighteen yet, I had to mark the photos as practice work or educational.

Anna, who now considered herself completely at home in my studio, even when one or more of the girls were posing, snickered at the term educational when she saw the pictures.

“I’m certainly getting an education,” she said casually as she looked through the proof sheets. I looked at her. She was sitting at my desk in just her bra and panties. They seemed to have gotten lighter weight and I was sure I saw the distinct outline of her nipples beneath the bra. As the summer progressed, the weather had gotten hotter and I think all the girls came to the studio just to run around naked, or nearly so in Anna’s case. I was getting a bit of an education, too.

I had several models from Chicago, as well. I won’t go through the process of describing every photo session. Few were as dramatic as the session with Amy, but many yielded photos that might win prizes. And about half the models signed immediate releases rather than five-year holds. I wasn’t likely to get a lot of pieces of genuine artwork out of most of the photos.

When Christine was in the studio—her favorite place to hang out, as well as being helpful to me when I had a client—she dressed appropriately. She made the decision as to what was appropriate. When we had clients from Chicago, she was professionally dressed as my assistant. If it was one of our classmates in the studio or just Anna working on the books, Chris preferred to be naked. She simply told our classmates that it wasn’t fair to have a bunch of naked girls running around that I couldn’t touch, so she was the official outlet for my lustful desires. I could look at and photograph the others as much as I wanted, but I could touch her as much as I wanted.

That was a preview of Shutter Speed. To read the rest purchase the book.

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