by Lexy Timms
My heart skipped for a moment. “Oh, really? Who?”
“I’m terrible with names,” Stephanie said. “He’s really cute though. I think he’s the cutest photographer I’ve ever seen, honestly.”
I worried, but didn’t want to push it.
“He had brown hair and brown eyes,” she said. “He was the only photographer I worked with yesterday. I invited him out for drinks and he said no. Then, we exchanged numbers, but he hasn’t called or texted yet.”
Justin was the photographer on Stephanie’s shoot. Knowing that he turned her down didn’t help quell my jealousy. I didn’t like that he even had her number. She was so much prettier than me.
“He might call,” I said carelessly. “A lot of guys don’t call right away.”
“I know, but I was really vibing off him,” she continued. “I thought maybe he just wasn’t feeling it yesterday or something. Guys don’t usually turn me down.”
“Guys turn me down all the time, it’s not the worst thing in the world,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “Wait till Monday, he might call then.”
“I’m not bumming out about it, I just thought it would be fun,” she shrugged. “I don’t mean to do this to you, but I really should get going.”
“Yeah, me too,” I said, fumbling for my keys.
“Hey, do you think maybe we could exchange numbers?” she asked.
We quickly exchanged contact info and then, she wrapped me into a tight hug. In that moment, I sincerely hoped that a friendship might begin to form between us.
“Text me!” she called out as she got into her car.
I planned on texting her later that weekend, even if just to have small talk.
I knew I had no reason to feel upset or jealous at the thought of Justin and Stephanie going out and ‘making trouble,’ but I couldn’t help it. Them hanging out was something fair under the guidelines of our unofficial and unorthodox arrangement. I told him that what we had was only “business with benefits” and so far, I was getting what I wanted.
While I drove home through heavy New York traffic, I began to question my decision to keep things professional with Justin. His offer to take me out was starting to sound more appealing by the second.
Chapter 15
Justin
After working in my darkroom for seven hours straight, I was greeted by the perfect interruption. Grant called the day before and suggested we go out for dinner together and I was happy to oblige. I heard Grant’s loud knocking and stopped my production. I left the darkroom and closed the door behind me.
I was working tirelessly on the photos taken for Donnie T., but I was also spending some time on the photos I took for Kayla. There were some that I set aside for her and her underwear project, but the majority of them still had no official place in the overall catalog of pictures. Each one of her photos was a work of art. I took something unique from each one. The longer I stared at photos of her proud, curvy body, the more special I felt. As far as I knew, I was the only lucky bastard getting that kind of material from her. That knowledge made me treasure each photo.
I decided to push Kayla out of my thoughts before I opened the front door. I didn’t want Grant to find out about her and ask too many questions. He could always tell when a girl was at the front of my mind, so I tried to conceal it the best I could.
I opened the door and shook Grant’s hand.
“I got to take a piss real quick before we go, you mind?” he asked.
“Nah man, go nuts,” I said, stepping aside to let him in.
I hadn’t planned on leaving abruptly anyway, but I was hungry. As he used the bathroom closest to the door, I put on my light brown leather jacket and checked myself out in the mirror.
I heard the toilet flush. The door opened a second later.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Did you wash your hands?” I asked him.
“Yes mom,” he said. “Besides, I was just pissing, who cares?”
“So, you didn’t wash your hands,” I surmised.
“No, I did,” he said shortly. “Come on, man, what do you think I am?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve seen you go without washing your hands many times in the past. You didn’t wash your hands after you vomited all over that promoter at the club that one time.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, laughing. “Oh shit, that night was wild.”
“And embarrassing,” I added. “I wasn’t as drunk as you.”
“I told you to keep up, bitch,” he said, slapping my shoulder. “We gonna bounce?”
I nodded, grabbing my keys off the counter.
“Hey, didn’t you just have that Donnie T. shoot last Friday?” he asked.
“I did,” I confirmed with a nod.
He took a step away from the front door, eyeing the darkroom with interest.
“I want to see what you’re working with,” he said. He marched straight to the room, throwing the door open.
I followed him, initially nervous about what he might find. Fortunately, I had taken down the lewdest photos of Kayla and kept the ones from our most recent shoot saved on my computer. All of the photos on wires were ones going to Donnie T., but there were some Kayla photos strewn about randomly.
“Hot damn, son,” muttered Grant as he looked at a photo of a random brunette. “Can you introduce me to any of them? Dammit.”
“I’m not sure you’d be their type,” I said.
“Are you kidding?” he scoffed. “I’ve got an epic job, an amazing car, and I’m handsome. I have money. Trust me, I’m their type.”
I didn’t want to rush him or appear nervous. I hoped he wouldn’t linger on any photos of Kayla. It wasn’t because I couldn’t handle him looking at her, but because he was always relentless when it came to women with Kayla’s body type.
As if he could read my mind, his attention shifted to one of my favorite photos of Kayla. It was one of her just standing and thinking, but it really captured her presence.
“Who’s this?” Grant eventually asked.
“That’s Kayla,” I answered.
I waited for his harsh evaluation, but he was just staring at the photo. I was surprised by his lack of candor.
“Is she a model?”
I thought about how I wanted to answer, but nothing seemed quite right. “Not for Donnie T. She’s actually an independent client. She wants her pictures taken for some clothing line she started.”
He looked up at me and then back at the photo. He raised his eyebrows. “She’s really beautiful.”
I was taken aback. “…Yeah, she is.”
“She could stand to lose a few pounds, but she’s really pretty,” he added.
I smirked and walked out into the doorway. “So, are we going?”
He gave me a suspicious look. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m hungry, that’s all.”
“You didn’t like me saying that about the fat chick?”
“Her name is Kayla,” I snapped. “And, I don’t care what you say. I’m just ready to go.”
He chuckled. He could tell he hit a nerve. “Yeah, let’s get going. Maybe we’ll run into some other decent-looking fat broads and we can take them home. I can’t even remember the last time I dumped my load into a fat chick.”
“Dude, seriously,” I snapped. “Really, why are you so brutal about larger women? I’m starting to think you got beat up by one or something.”
“Relax, I didn’t mean to get you all upset…”
“I’m not upset, I just want to eat. I’ve been working all day and I’m starving.”
He followed me out of the darkroom.
I closed the door, by back to him. “Would you stop looking at me like that?” I said. “I can feel your look.”
“I’m just wondering why you’re defending this girl so much,” he said. “You’re totally rattled—”
“Trust me man, you know what rattled is and you haven’t seen that yet,” I said with frustration.
“I’m grouchy, I need food and alcohol. Besides, the whole ‘making fun of fat girls’ thing? It’s getting kind of old. Like high school old.”
“Okay, all right—damn,” he said raising his hands defensively. “I’ll never talk about fat—plus size—people again, you have my word.”
I rolled my eyes, realizing we were likely going to have a silent ride to the restaurant.
“So, you think your career is really taking off, huh?” Grant asked me with a mouthful of guacamole.
“I don’t know, but I’d like to think so,” I replied.
We had a large pitcher of beer at the table. Next to it, we had an appetizer platter and a basket of wings. Grant planned to have an entrée, but I was full within minutes of diving into the appetizers.
“Well, if Donnie T. doesn’t call back, at least you always have weddings,” he said.
“That’s very true,” I said, recoiling at the idea of returning to a normal routine of weekly wedding shoots.
“But, I think they’ll ask you to come back,” he said with a mouthful of chicken wing. “If they keep saying they love you, they have to mean it, right?”
“Well no,” I admitted. “People do a lot of ass-kissing in the model and fashion industry. It doesn’t always mean anything.”
“True that.”
“But, I think my work speaks for itself and the appraisals seem sincere and promising. Knock on wood…”
We each took a fist and knocked on our table.
“But, I think they’ll ask me to work with them again. I can feel it.”
“That’s awesome, man,” said Grant. “And, you like doing it?”
“Yeah, I do,” I said. “I like it a hell of a lot more than weddings.”
“How much do they pay you a shoot?” he wondered.
“Dude.”
“Oh, who gives a shit,” he said. He downed the rest of his glass and filled it back up with beer from the pitcher. “I tell you what I make.”
“Despite my constant requests that you stop,” I laughed.
“I like my life and I like knowing that I’m going to live it comfortably,” he said. “I’ll be able to live in a house like my parents’ in two years, at least. You can put a lot of darkrooms in a two-story house.”
“Maybe I’ll get there one day soon,” I said, sipping my beer.
“Dude,” he said. “Franklin, Wheeler & Associates… they’ll hire you during your interview.”
“Grant.”
“Listen, if I knew anything about taking pictures, I’d expect you to offer me a job with you and the hot babes,” he said. “But…” He drank some of his beer. “But, you are amazing with numbers. You’re better than me. I’m not just kissing your ass like those people at the Donnie T. Agency.”
“Bro, come on,” I laughed.
“You have a lot of gifts, man,” he said, giving me a serious look. “I just don’t want you to go through life wondering if you should have given Franklin & Wheeler a chance. It’s not just the money. I went to college with you, dude, I watched you kill it. You would be an excellent accountant.”
I smiled. We didn’t look directly at each other, which was common whenever we said nice things about one another.
“I appreciate it, Grant, really,” I said. “And, I don’t mind you asking. I’m just not interested. Believe me, if I had any desire to put down the camera and give Franklin & Wheeler a go, I would tell you.”
“We could run the fucking place together, man,” he said hopefully.
“I know we could, but dominating the accountant world is something that you’ll have to do alone, my friend. You’re climbing up the ladder quickly. You’ll be running the place before you know it and you’ll get there without me.”
He relented, returning his attention to the food and various sports playing on the screens across the restaurant.
“So, you mentioned that a girl you were messing around with was a sexy blonde,” said Grant.
I looked over at him, noticing a sly smirk forming on his face. He clearly wanted to talk about her again.
“Right,” I said weakly.
His mouth hung open. I knew he wanted to ask me, but he was treading lightly. I was impressed that his developing intoxication wasn’t making him bolder with his curiosity.
“So, are you two still hooking up?” he asked.
I grinned. “Yeah. We hooked up almost a week ago.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah, it’s been great, actually.”
He downed the rest of his beer. He bit his lip, letting out a series of odd noises that he often made when we drank. I kept waiting for him to say something insulting or ask inappropriate questions, but he held back.
“So, have you talked to any of the other… you know, other models?” he asked. “You try anything with any of them? Some of the brunettes and redheads hanging in that darkroom were fucking stunning.”
“Nah, most women in the industry don’t push for stuff like that,” I said. “They’re there to work and look hot. I’m just there to record them working and looking hot.”
“You haven’t talked to any?” he asked bewildered.
My mind went back to the end of my workday last Friday and how forward Stephanie the Model had been with me. I was beginning to put pieces together.
“What?” Grant asked me, reading my thoughtful expression.
“Well… one model did give me her number and email and stuff,” I said.
“Yeah?” he asked, growing excited. “You hit her up?”
“Not yet,” I said. “You know, we could try and set something up though.”
“Like?”
“I could call her,” I said. “We’d all go out, have some drinks, hang out…”
“I like the sound of that,” Grant said, nodding furiously.
“She’s not really my type, but you’d like her. She’s smoking hot and she seemed really cool. I think you two might hit it off, actually.”
“Wait, are you saying you’d be my wingman?” he asked. “She’s not your type, but she’s smoking hot… I don’t get it. Why don’t you want to fuck her?”
I gave him a look, hoping he would understand and move on. He didn’t.
“I’m just not into models,” I shrugged. “Especially ones that I want to keep having a work relationship with.”
“What, does she have syphilis or something?”
“No. Well, I don’t know. I guess she could. You’d have to ask her.”
“Fuck it, I don’t care,” he said, pouring the last of our pitcher into his glass. “If she’s got an STD or something, I can always finish in her mouth or something.”
“And she’ll be a lucky lady, I’m sure,” I said sarcastically.
“Set that shit up, dude!” said Grant. “I’ve told you we need to be partying with models.”
“Alright, I’ll do it.”
“This girl you’re fucking must be special,” Grant finally said. “‘I’m not into models’. Really, how gay are you?”
We laughed and enjoyed the rest of our night together. As much fun as I had with my best friend, there was still a significant part of my mind that was devoted to ‘the special girl I was fucking.’ I hoped we would arrange another private photoshoot in the not-too-distant future.
Truthfully, I would have been okay if she invited herself over for another round of ‘benefits.’ There were still so many photos of her that I wanted to take and so many things I wanted to do with her body…
Chapter 16
Kayla
Bethany and I were at Newton’s Newark Nail Salon to get our nails done together. It had been nearly six months since either of us got a manicure or pedicure, we were long overdue. I was let out of work early by Donnie himself and Bethany decided to turn her weekend into a three-day weekend. She felt she was simply not ready to go back to work.
“So, the big boss let you have a half-day,” Bethany said happily. “Sounds like this Donnie T. might not be so bad after all.”
> “No, he’s great,” I said. “He came in like he usually does on Mondays and he went straight up to me and said, ‘Why are you working today, young lady? Get your ass out of my building and don’t come back until Wednesday.’ I’m getting paid to get my fucking nails done right now.”
“Awesome,” laughed Bethany.
Newton, the man who owned the store, was working on my nails, while Linda, his chief specialist, worked on Bethany. I felt like I was in a bubble of relaxation. Bethany was nearly there, but she kept a subtle hint of stress on her face.
“What’s up, Beth?” I asked. “Why’d you take the day off?”
“Oh you know,” said Bethany. “You know those days when you wake up and for no… I guess, no real or discernable reason, you just feel like… ‘Fuck it’?”
I turned my head to face her. I opened my eyes, but only slightly.
“What’s going on?” I asked Bethany.
She turned her face away from mine. Linda began to focus on Bethany’s toes, leaving Bethany the opportunity to nervously rub her fingers together. I knew what it was about before she answered.
“Kayla, I’m just really tired of dealing with it,” she said sadly. “I can’t handle the looks and whispering that I get in the office. I’m breaking. I… I can’t take this shit anymore. People, every day, people openly discuss how fat I am. How ‘disgusting’ I am. Do you know what Aaron said? I heard him talking about me at lunch. He said, and I quote: ‘Why doesn’t she just fucking kill herself?’”
Newton and Linda both stopped working on our nails, focusing their whole attention on Bethany’s story.
“Are you serious?” I asked in total disbelief.
“My boss was in the same room as him and he said nothing,” she continued. “I am in a hostile work environment. It’s official. What am I supposed to do? I’m lost, Kay.”
Bethany was crying, still avoiding eye contact with me. I reached up and wiped away the tears on her right cheek. She sniffed.
“We’re cursed,” she said. “Well no, you’re not cursed… But me? I am.”
I was nearly speechless. “Bethany…”
