Our plans were to drop by her parent’s house, make a run out to Golden to her favorite little Mexican restaurant, and then I would finally get to show her the studio where I worked. My landlord was spraying apartments for bugs all weekend forcing me to stay at a friend’s house, so I wouldn’t be able to show her the apartment until Monday.
I wasn’t sure she’d recognize me. I had a new hair cut, my clothes were a step closer toward stylish, since I was around models all day, and on the lonely nights when I didn’t have anyone to talk to I had put on some muscle in the gym.
I parked the Cougar in the short stay lot, climbed out and went in to find the international arrivals gate. The new copy of Photo District News had arrived that morning so I flipped through the pages of photography articles and camera gear listings while I sat and waited. A bundle of roses sat in the seat next to me.
One cloud of people came through the gate after another, then another and another. Nothing. I tried to scan every face as it came past the darkened glass doors, but none of them were the one I was looking for. I started reading my magazine again. Then I heard that familiar voice that plucked a single heartstring when I heard it.
“Hey good lookin’. You going my way?”
I looked up.
Standing in front of me was not the Jo I had put on the plane, with her thick-rimmed glasses, long curly hair, skinny jeans and flats, but a woman of culture made taller by her designer heals and her confidence. She wore a spring-white dress stopping just above her knees; large Dolce-Gabanna sunglasses held back her short-cut hair and a handbag with the crossing C monogram of Coach hung on her arm.
“Hey,” I said laughing and picking her up in my arms. We squeezed each other for a long minute. She smelled different. What was intrinsically her smell was still in there somewhere, buried deep beneath something else…something less vanilla and more expensive.
“Wow, you look really great,” I told her, holding her at arms length to get a better look.
“You don’t look so bad yourself. Have you been in the gym?” she asked with a big smile, running her hand up my arm. “And, I love the hair!”
“You got your ears pierced.”
“Do you like them? I wanted to surprise you. I wasn’t really interested before, but Hannah kept letting me borrow her clothes and taking me out shopping, and I decided one afternoon, what the hell, I can always take them out…and you know what? I really like having my ears pierced.”
“These are for you,” I said handing her the bunch of roses.
“Ah, babe, thanks. I’ve missed you so much.”
“Did you get any sleep on the plane?” I asked taking her carry-on and heading to the luggage carousel.
“I slept the entire way home.”
“So you don’t need any down-time?”
“Are you kidding? I am so ready to spend the rest of the day with you. It’s better that I stay awake now until bedtime anyways–to help me get back on track.”
We picked her luggage from the lineup and made our way home.
“So tell me about London. You were there the last two nights you were in England right?”
“The last three. London is just amazing. Hannah and I had gone in a couple of times for the day, to catch a show, but I didn’t really get a chance to explore any of it until Wednesday. Let’s see. I saw the changing of the guard, Tower Bridge, Big Ben and I wandered around a couple of the villages, like Soho, and on Wednesday night I went and saw ‘Twelfth Night’ at Shakespeare’s Globe, which was amazing. Thursday I bounced around museums, and I had to get in one last proper pub visit so I spent an hour or two at a pub across Whitehall where members of parliament regularly drink. I had wanted to see the special documents room at the British library for a while also, so I did that Friday morning. Then I got on the plane, and here I am.”
“Wow, it sounds like a whirlwind visit.”
“So much of London is for the tourists anyways. What I really loved was getting to be at Oxford, and for three months! We should really save up and take a trip out there together sometime. Hannah’s parents take trips to Florida every few years, so I might fly down and see her the next time she does that. How about you? How are things at the studio?”
“They’re good. Really good in fact. I’m doing more studio management stuff for Mike now, on top of editing photos and assisting with shoots.”
“Like what kind of management stuff?”
“Designing some of his ad material, answering phone calls, keeping his appointments in order. That sort of stuff.”
“And it’s only been three months?”
“Yeah, but Mike is so disorganized. He’s a crazy good photographer, but I have no idea how he kept appointments before I came along. He even gave me a key to the studio last week, which is really cool because now he lets me do some of my own shooting in the studio after hours. I thought we could go by there, maybe after dinner and I could show you around. Mike’s in Japan all week so not much is going on.”
“Oh, I’d love to see the place.”
“What about you? Did you take any photos while you were globetrotting?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve got forty-five rolls of film I’m bringing back with me.”
“Forty-five? Wow, that’s going to take some time to develop.”
“Yeah, I even got Hannah to model for me a little the last couple weeks.”
“You should really think about going digital,” I said as we pulled up her street. “I know you’re not a fan, but technology has really come a long way, and digital cameras are starting to produce some high quality images.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “I know I know. It’s just not the same. I want to be able to feel my images come alive in front of me. I’ve seen photographers with their digital cameras and they move so fast. Knowing I have to develop each and every frame slows me down and forces me to think more carefully about every shot.”
“I guess we will just have to agree to disagree. You do know that digital is where everything is going right?”
“Whatever,” she said shaking her head. Then she got out of the car.
I helped her unload her luggage and we went inside. Susan, who couldn’t go with me to the airport because she was working, came running out of the house and both girls screeched when they saw each other.
During the summer Susan had gotten engaged to the guy she had been dating since freshman year.
They looked each other over, Susan showed Jo her ring, they hugged again and then went into the house. I finished unloading the luggage.
Jo’s parents were both away to some teachers’ conference and wouldn’t be home for another three days, so we chatted with Susan and I waited while Jo gave her a bracelet she had bought her in Oxford. About an hour later Jo and I left and went to dinner.
We drove into Golden, and I requested a table for two at the family owned Mexican restaurant.
“I haven’t been here since I was here with you,” I told her as we took our seat.
A plate of Fajitas sizzled and smoked at the table next to us, and I could smell the cooked cheese and chili powder from dishes being prepared in the kitchen just twenty-feet away.
“So, I’ve made a decision about school,” I said feeling confident as a portly Latino lady set a basket of warm tortilla chips and a small pot of salsa down in front of us.
“Oh?”
“I’m going to take a semester off.”
“Just a semester?”
“For now. Things are really good at the studio, and I don’t want to mess anything up by filling my schedule with classes.”
“But, what kind of future is there in working at a photographer’s studio? I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s great right now, but you can’t exactly stay an assistant making ten-bucks-an-hour for the rest of your life.”
Ouch!
“Well I don’t know. Maybe I can start doing more of my own work on the side and open my own studio down the road.”
“But you want
to be a journalist. You don’t want to be stuck in a studio all day. Journalism is what you’re good at.”
“I want to make a living, and no matter how hard I try, journalism is just not paying off right now.”
“Maybe we should talk more about this another time.”
Why? There’s nothing else to talk about, I thought, but I didn’t respond. Instead we ordered food.
“How are things between you and your mom?”
I sighed.
“Not good,” I replied with a shake of the head as I looked out the window. “We haven’t even spoken since the fourth. I don’t understand what would have possessed her to get married without even letting me be at the wedding, or the ceremony or whatever the hell it was.”
“You said this Peter guy is really manipulative. Maybe he convinced her to get married quickly because he was worried that you would be able to talk her out of it.”
“I damn sure would have tried.”
Then Jo reached across the table and took my hand.
“Your mom is a grown woman Alex, and …”
I pulled my hand away.
“You don’t understand. It’s always been just her and me.”
Jo held up her hand and looked upset.
“I’m sorry okay. I’m just trying to say that it’s not just you two anymore.”
I was a bit harsh.
“I’m sorry. I’m not upset at you, and you’re right. It just feels like she up and shut me out of her life when he came along, that’s all.”
We ordered our food and Jo tried to change the subject by talking about what she needed to do to get ready to start classes in a week. Then we ate, I paid the bill and we headed downtown.
“Sorry I can’t show you the apartment till Monday.”
“That’s fine. How is it going staying with Colin anyway?”
“Meh, his apartment is smaller than mine, if that’s possible, and all he has is a love seat for me to sleep on, so my legs are either cramping up or hanging over the edge of the stupid chair all night. A couple of times I’ve thought about just crashing in the studio while Mike is away. We’ve been doing some lifestyle stuff and he had a full bedroom set set up in the loft. I don’t know though. I guess at least it’s somewhere to stay.”
“You don’t think you could just stay with your mom?”
“Three months ago, no problem, but I’m not sleeping in the same house with that guy. I’d rather sleep in a box in the backyard.”
“I’m sorry things are so rough between you two.”
I just squeezed her hand.
We pulled up, and I parked the Cougar in front of the bay doors. Then I got out of the car, opened Jo’s door and we went in.
I always loved the feel of that studio. The vast creative space dedicated to photography, and it always had the aroma of concrete and old plastic. Probably from the days when it was used to fill orders of who-knows-what being shipped to god-knows-where.
Purple and orange light from the evening sky poured like water through the windows in the ceiling while I walked over and turned on two modeling-lights to give us a bit more light.
I turned and watched her eyes scan each corner and crevice of the room, and a small smile rose from the edge of her lips.
“Oh Alex,” she said setting her sunglasses and purse down on the couch. “I could live in a place like this.”
“I know right.”
She looked at the prints of Michael’s work hanging large on one wall and ran her finger gently along the edge of the desk. Then she explored the kitchen and bathroom and walked up the wooden stairs to the loft.
“Do you want to see my favorite part?” I hollered up to her.
“There’s more?” She asked leaning over the railing.
“Oh yes.”
I went up the stars to the loft, took her hand and led her further up the to what looked like one of the windows along the edge of the ceiling. I then lifted a small latch, pushed it open and we both stepped out onto the roof. The sky was now the deepest of autumn fire. We both walked to the brick ledge where we could see down onto the street and out over downtown Denver as she wrapped her arms around me.
We didn’t say anything. We just held each other and watched the sun finish its descent behind the distant Rocky Mountains and one-by-one lights flick on in buildings across the city.
“I’m getting cold,” she told me finally breaking the silence. So we went back down to the studio floor.
“So this is where the geniuses work?” She said slowly removing her high-heels and stepping onto the white, seamless-background paper.
I watched the paper crease beneath her every step.
She looked so good.
She lifted her hands above her head and slowly turned, basking in the warmth of the two bright studio lights shining on her.
I reached for my camera, which was sitting on the corner of the desk, made sure it was turned on and aimed the lens. Click click.
She was so shy before. Now she closed her eyes and swayed to a song only she could hear.
With her eyes closed, I had no inhibition to take her fully in. Her bare feet. Her ankles, thin and sculpted. The lines of her amazing legs up just past the knee. Her slender arms. Her neck. Her lips softly painted.
She turned with her back toward me.
Click…Memory Card Full.
I looked down at the back of the camera. I had run out of memory. I dropped the card into my pocket and reached for another on the desk. When I turned, I saw her begin to unzip the back of her dress. Then she let it slowly fall to the floor. Then I swallowed. She was wearing lace.
I lifted the camera and clicked off another frame.
She looked over her shoulder and smiled.
I didn’t know what to do, so I just stood there…watching her through my lens.
She turned and faced me.
Now she wasn’t smiling. She was just so calm.
I wasn’t. I could actually hear my heart trying to break free from my chest.
“I’m ready,” she told me.
I woke before she did early the next morning as rain drummed on the windows above our head. She was so warm, she smelled so soft and amazing. I pulled the covers up over her shoulder as she pressed herself closer to me.
I’m going to marry this girl.
I looked up and watched water streak down the wavy panes of glass.
How am I going to ask her? She knows I love her. She loves me. I know she’ll say yes, but how am I going to ask her?
Images ran through my mind of her moving into my apartment, us having breakfast together every morning, showering together, falling asleep together every night. I imagined finding her socks in my laundry, what she’d look like pregnant, us raising kids together.
I turned to look at her again and saw her beautiful eyes watching me.
“Good morning,” she whispered.
“Good morning.”
“What are you thinking about?”
Marrying you.
“Just how in love with you I am.”
She smiled and I kissed her.
Twenty-Four
I had finally found a routine. As snow began falling across Denver, work at the studio slowed. On Mondays, Tuesdays, Fridays and Saturdays I woke at 8:30 jumped in the shower, grabbed a latte and usually made it to the studio by 9:15. Once there, I would chat with Mike for a few minutes about whatever party he had been to the night before, and he would ask how Jo was doing while I opened the folder on my computer where he saved every email he wanted me to deal with. Then I would spend the next hour or so filling his calendar with would-be models who needed head shots or follow up test shoots. 11:00 would either be the first shoot of the day or I would get started on the backlog of image editing that forever needed to be done. Somewhere between Noon and 2 we would break for lunch and grab a burrito at Illegal Pete’s, then we would head back to the studio. Afternoons and evenings were always spent with Jo, unless her homework load just didn’t allow ti
me for flirtation. In which case I might still drop by to say hi and give her a sandwich or just grab a drink with Colin and call it a night.
I still wasn’t talking to my mother, but rather than think about it, I focused on the small overnight bag that was now living on the floor next to my dresser. In it was a clean pair of ladies underwear, pajama bottoms, a dainty little tee shirt, a tooth brush, toothpaste, a stick of Glide deodorant, fragrance: lavender and a small bottle of floral perfume. Jo was still living at her parents so overnights didn’t happen often, but when they did, they dramatically tinted the color of my entire week. Life seemed more beautiful now than ever.
I had begun socking away a little money here and there when I could afford it in an old laptop box under my bed. I knew having the cash on hand wasn’t the safest option, but something about being able to take the box out and count the cash once in a while helped encourage me to fill it faster. I was hoping that within a few months, maybe after the New Year, I might have enough to buy Jo a ring. It wouldn’t be huge, but I could always add to it later. Then one Friday, in early December, Mike told me he wanted to take me out to breakfast. This was unusual because his idea of breakfast was three cups of coffee and half a pack of smokes. I didn’t even know where a breakfast restaurant was on this side of town.
I got in his dirty truck and we drove to a 24-hour diner a few blocks north of the studio. I could hear the clatter-clatter and smell the exhaust of a coal train as it trundled down the tracks right across the street.
“Have you had any callbacks on your book in the last few weeks?” he asked as we sat down.
I flipped open the syrup stained menu, and he ordered a cup of coffee.
“No. I set up a website last month hoping that would help, but I’m just not getting any feedback.”
“How about the online mag?”
“Eh, that was alright, but I had to quit. They literally weren’t paying me enough to cover the gas it took to get out to some of the places they were sending me. I guess it at least gives me some more clips.”
If I Lose Her Page 15
