by Lexy Timms
Before I could finish, Bethany was dashing to my bedroom and shutting the door. I sighed and put my clothes back on as she was frantically pulling hers off. I sat and began eating my food.
She rushed out of my room in nothing but the second pair of prototype underwear. She struck a comical pose, but I was relieved and thrilled to see just how well she fit into them. I could see her as a model for the clothing line.
“I love how this looks and feels!” she shrieked. “This is what every plus-size woman needs! I would buy the fuck out of these! I would buy a lot of things like this! Kayla, seriously… this is a homerun, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Well, that’s what I thought too!” I said assertively. “It’s just… I’m biased. I love it because I made it. I wasn’t sure if I was convincing myself it was good, or if I it really was good. You really like them? You’re being straight with me?”
“Kayla, I’ll buy this bra and pair of panties off you right now,” she said. “My wallet’s in my pants which are next to your bed—”
“Grr,” I interjected playfully.
“So, I’ll be back with your money. How much do I owe you?”
“Bethany, I’m not going to ask you to give me money for—”
“Can I give you twenty dollars for the bra and panty set? Will that be enough?”
“Bethany, I’m not taking your money!”
“It’s not my money anymore!” She ran into my room and ran back out putting a twenty-dollar bill by my plate. “There, now I’m going to go put my clothes back on over these new amazing additions to my wardrobe!”
I chuckled, taking Bethany’s twenty and putting it in my pocket. I was humble, but I was happy to accept payment on a job I’d worked really hard on. It felt good to get paid for something that I actually made with my own two hands and skill.
“I don’t just like them,” said Bethany as she joined me at the table. “I felt better about myself almost instantly when I put them on.”
“I did too,” I admitted, laughing during a bite of potatoes.
“You really have something here, Kayla,” she said, moving her arms and legs around. “These feel terrific. I never thought I would find underwear that felt this good on my girl parts.”
“And, you felt better when you put them on,” I said, pleased at everything coming from Bethany.
“I did,” she affirmed. “I liked how I looked in the mirror! I’ve been avoiding direct eye contact with mirrors since 2013. I never thought I’d turn myself on!”
“Get the fuck out of here,” I laughed.
“Kayla, straight up,” she went. “I’ll pay you more money to make more of what I’m wearing right now. I’m dead serious. Let me hire you, please.”
“I would love to do that!” I said gleefully. “Oh Bethany, I promise if you like that, you’re going to love what I give you next!”
“I literally cannot wait,” she said with a mouthful of food. “Usually, I would have had to adjust my bra or panties after I sat down. I didn’t have to do that just now. It fits the way I always wanted.”
I feared that my emotions would get the best of me, but I kept it together. My eyes were brimming with tears, but I resisted the urge to let them fall.
“That’s so wonderful, I’m so happy you like them,” I said.
“I love them,” she repeated. “Oh, man. I could totally market the shit out of this underwear if you wanted.”
My eyes shot over to the counter where Justin’s card was.
“Actually, I was talking to the photographer Donnie hired for that shoot we had last Saturday—”
“Oh yeah, how did that go?” she asked me.
“It went well, actually,” I replied. “The photographer and I really got along. He let me have a lot of say in the matter. The models liked him too.”
“Was he cute?” she asked.
I gave her a knowing look. “He was pretty damn cute.”
“All right,” she said. “You two talk at all?”
“You could say that.”
“What does that mean?”
I debated how much I should I share with her. I knew she would want to hear everything, but I wasn’t ready to divulge too many details. I decided to stay focused on my career.
“He said he would take professional pictures of the products if I wanted to sell them,” I answered. “He’s a really good photographer, so I know the pictures would be pretty epic.”
“Girl, this is a great idea,” she went. “You get pictures taken, I handle the rest.”
“Are you serious?” I asked her.
“Are you not? What do you not understand about ‘I could marker the shit out of this’? Did I stutter? Was the guy for real or do you think it was just talk?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I mean… he gave me his number. I gave him mine. He hasn’t called yet.”
“So, you call him,” she said.
“You make it sound easy,” I said.
“Because, it is,” she insisted. “He gave you his number. One of you has to call the other, why shouldn’t it be you?”
“I guess I was sort of hoping he would call me,” I confessed.
She grinned. “Does he have an Instagram or Snapchat?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “He has a phone number and a website though. His card is over there on the counter.”
Without hesitating, she went to the counter and grabbed the card. She sat back down, picking up her phone. I had no doubt that she was going to Justin’s website.
“What’re you doing?” I asked finally.
“If you’re this hung up over whether he’s going to call you or not, then he has to be hot,” she surmised. “Oh, mama.”
She flipped her phone over, showing me the screen. The background on the site showed Justin, kneeling on one knee, taking a photo on a mountain.
“Is that him?” she asked me.
“That’s him,” I said with a nod.
“There, he has a Facebook and an Instagram,” said Bethany. “Right here on the bottom of the home page. Amateur hour, Kayla.”
“I’m not into stalking guys online,” I said judgmentally. “Why are you looking into him, anyway?”
“I want to know who’s going to be the future Mr. Kayla Reid,” she replied.
I was slightly curious about his social media presence, but I was still reveling over my own physical experiences with him. Bethany was announcing aloud whenever she saw a picture on his pages that she deemed good. She repeatedly expressed how attractive she found him.
“And, this guy said he wants to take photos… of your underwear?” she asked, putting the phone down.
“Yeah, he said he would take whatever kind of photos we wanted to push the product,” I said. “And, the idea that not every beautiful woman has to look like a skinny model. I want more larger women to feel better about their appearances.”
“Well, this would help a lot,” she stressed. “I’ll slap together a little presentation- really, all we need is the underwear and some amazing pictures of them being worn and we could really be onto something with this. This could be how the Kayla Reid Agency is born! It could be birthed from your own loins! And through the loins of many other satisfied customers.”
“That’s… beautiful, Bethany,” I chuckled. “Well, I’ll call Justin soon and set something up.”
“So, did you flirt with him at all?” she wondered.
“Actually, we both kind of flirted with each other,” I said. “He even saw me in the first prototype of that underwear. He walked into the dressing room without knocking and caught me wearing them… and nothing else.”
“Awesome,” she said. “What did he say?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘You look fucking incredible,’” I said.
“Did he really?”
“Oh yeah, and that’s not all,” I continued. “He said he wanted to go out with me. He even lives in Newark!”
“Does he really? I didn’t see where he l
ived on his pages.”
“That’s what he said. He said he’d rather go out with me than any of the models that were there that day.”
“No, he did not,” she said skeptically.
“I swear, I’m telling the truth,” I said. “Maybe he was lying, but that’s what he said.”
At that, Bethany turned her full attention to her meal, avoiding making eye contact with me. I stared at her, waiting for to voice her opinion.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said, chewing.
“You can say whatever you’re thinking, I’ve probably thought it already,” I said.
“Well… are you really sure he’s actually into you?”
I was somewhat taken aback, but I tried not to appear upset.
“No, I don’t mean… I’m not saying that as an insult,” Bethany said quickly. “I just mean… You know, there have been other good-looking guys that you’ve brought up before that you’ve been less right about.”
“I’m telling you, he said all those things,” I said firmly.
“Maybe, but you’ve been known to paraphrase from time to time,” she remarked. I couldn’t wholly deny that claim, since I did know that I was guilty of doing that unintentionally on occasion.
“What guys were you thinking of?” I wondered absentmindedly.
“Jack, Ben, that delivery guy you kept running into for like a month, Carl, and Sawyer,” she said as if she had rehearsed the list. “Just to name a few.”
I couldn’t fight any of what she said either. “Fair enough.”
“I’m just saying, you’ve been wrong before and maybe you’re a little smitten or something,” she suspected. “This guy is fine as hell, I can understand why you like him.”
“The very first thing he did when we met was mistake me for one of the models,” I said. “He later said I looked ‘just as good as the models.’ He was checking me out during the entire shoot.”
“You were the coordinator; wouldn’t he have to talk to you during the shoot?” she asked.
“He said he’d rather go out with me than any of the models he shot that day,” I stressed, growing frustrated the longer Bethany argued. Justin definitely seemed interested in me and I hated that Bethany was doubting that fact.
“Well… maybe he is into you, Kayla, who knows,” she said unconvincingly. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I won’t,” I said. “It’s purely business with him anyway. That’s how I’d like it to be. If the farthest our relationship went was him taking pictures of me in my underwear, then I’d be okay with it. If nothing else, we’ll be helping out each other’s careers.”
Chapter 7
Justin
On Wednesday afternoon, just about an hour after I delivered my photos to Donnie T. Agency, I decided to go ahead and finally call Kayla. She didn’t answer, but she returned my call a couple hours later. We had a quick, forgettable preamble before we discussed a photoshoot for her line of specialty undergarments.
I had ideas on where I wanted to take the photos, but I was worried about how she would react to them. I was used to many people not understanding or caring about my personal choices when it came to capturing the best pictures. She seemed open-minded, but I had been wrong about people before. I kept my ideas close to the chest. Instead of coming up with a conclusive place to shoot during our phone call, we agreed to meet at her house on Friday afternoon and discuss things then. She had a half-day on Friday and I didn’t have work lined up until the end of the month.
Friday came and it was off to an odd start. I didn’t wake up when I wanted, because my phone died an unnatural death in the night and silenced my alarms. So, I rushed through my morning rituals and practically tossed my equipment into my car so I could make it to Kayla’s on time (with a few minutes to spare).
But, adding on to my struggle, my phone refused to turn on when I needed it for navigating the streets of Newark. I got lost at first. When I finally found Kayla’s street, my next issue became finding the right house. I was having difficulty reading, or in some cases finding, the addresses on the houses or their mailboxes.
My phone came back to life in time for me to use it and get sent to the wrong house. I realized that Kayla’s house was next-door, so I awkwardly stumbled over. I knocked and she answered the door almost immediately.
“I’m glad this is the right house,” I said. “My phone sent me over to your neighbor’s and I went up there with my camera bag open and ready to go.”
“Why didn’t you just look at the address on the house?” she asked.
“I was having a hard time finding them,” I admitted.
She leaned her head out, lazily moving it to face a small ‘15677’ plastered on the side of the house.
“Well, and you said, ‘white house, dark roof, one car in the driveway,’” I recalled. “Your neighbor has the same setup you do.”
She looked over to her right. She confirmed that her neighbor did indeed have a house painted white with a dark roof and only had one car visible on the driveway.
“Still, you could have looked at the house,” she said. “Or, the mailbox.”
“I guess I wanted to keep embarrassing myself in front of you,” I chuckled.
“I’d say you succeeded, then,” she agreed. “Would you like to come in?”
“No, but I’m not turning back now.”
I stepped in, being greeted by a sweet aroma of blended scents. I wasn’t sure where they were coming from, but I liked them. The walls were neon pink in some places and white in others. There were fabrics strewn about with pages of design ideas for clothes scattered on many surfaces. She didn’t have a TV. Where I expected to see a TV, I instead saw a sizeable bookshelf with an eclectic range of titles for her to choose from.
“I like your place,” I said.
“Thanks, it’s a mess,” she replied.
“Well, I’m glad you called me back the other day,” I said. I considered taking a seat, but I was ready to work.
“Yeah, sorry I didn’t pick up right away,” she said. “I had… drama.”
“Hate when that happens,” I said. “I really think we could take some excellent shots with your products and get some good, excellent stuff. I’ve got countless ideas on how we could do this. It all depends on what you want.”
She shrugged. “You’re the photographer. You’ve seen me. You’ve seen my underwear. I’d like to know what you think would be best. I just want it to look good.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I said. “Especially if you’re my model.”
“Well… of course, I’m your model.”
“Then, it’s not going to look good… It’s going to look incredible. Enticing.”
“I got your text with your ideas for the clothes I wear over the underwear,” she said. “I had everything you listed except a sundress.”
“…That’s a shame,” I remarked.
“But, I had everything else, so I think we’re in business,” she said happily. “I’ve got the clothes, you’ve got the production… what about our location? Where did you have in mind?”
“A few places,” I said. “How brave do you feel?”
“I’m feeling pretty good, not going to lie,” she answered.
I chucked to myself. I went over to the front door and walked out, leaving her puzzled.
I took out my camera, taking her picture from outside the doorway. I wanted to start developing it right away in my darkroom, but I knew I was just getting started.
“Follow me,” I said to her.
I chose the roof of a small skyscraper in New York. It was a building near where a friend of mine lived. We came up here once before, drinking and making nonsense. I took a few photos of the skyline from and I always meant to return one day. I was happy that Kayla was a part of my return.
She was sorting through her stuff, messing with her hair whenever the occasional breeze came through. It wasn’t that windy wh
ere we were and that’s partly what I was counting on. Our position allowed us to avoid the fiercer winds, which were smacking into many other points of the building and the buildings around it.
I was setting up equipment, ensuring my stands were held in place with heavy sandbags. I mounted my digital and film cameras, adjusting them for the natural light and surroundings.
“You can hardly see any recognizable buildings,” she commented anxiously.
“Exactly!” I replied. “Everyone does those kinds of photos. Everyone poses with the Statue of Liberty in the background or with the Empire State Building off in the distance or with any of those other fucking New York buildings that you’ve seen over and over and over and over again.
“You’re not trying to be like everyone else. You’re selling something new, something nobody’s seen yet. So, people shouldn’t be paying attention to the buildings around you. Those skyscrapers shouldn’t even have names. The buildings should just be another part of what makes you, you. This is New York and human beings built these giant buildings, these titans. We did it. That concept alone should be inspiring enough.”
She grinned, appearing to absorb my weird series of thoughts.
“So, what made you decide you wanted to be a photographer?” she asked me.
“I just knew it’s what I wanted to do,” I replied. “I always loved taking pictures. Once I bought my first camera, it was the start of my journey. I never went back, I only moved forward with what I wanted to achieve. It’s cliché, but photography truly is my passion. I can’t imagine devoting my life to anything else.”
“So, you always knew that’s what you wanted to do?”
“Actually, not exactly,” I admitted. “I let my family and friends get in my head for a little while. I decided to earn my degree in something I now have no intention of ever using.”
“Let me guess,” she went. “Film or theater production?”
“Incorrect.”
“Something in health or fitness?”
“I promise that you’ll probably never guess it,” I laughed.
“…Liberal arts?”
“I said that you’ll never guess it, so don’t bother,” I said winking.
