by Amy Cross
THIRTY YEARS AGO
“Not bad,” Mary said, leafing through the latest set of prints before coming to an image that showed Sarah clutching her own breasts in what was clearly intended to be a provocative pose. “What's this one supposed to be, exactly?”
“It's not really supposed to be anything,” Donald replied cautiously. “It's just a breast shot. Why, what do you think it's supposed to be trying to be?”
“Every image should exist for a reason,” she replied, unable to stifle a faint sigh. “Besides, the focus is wrong. Were you checking the f-numbers the way I showed you?”
“Of course.”
“Her nipples are blurry,” she continued. “Who wants to send a cheque in the mail and get blurry nipples back? You have to think about customer satisfaction, Don. How many people place repeat orders?”
“Repeat orders?” He paused, as if the idea was foreign to him. “Well... I mean, they order the photos, they get them, and then they... don't need any more, do they?”
“Of course they do,” she told him, “and if they're happy with the ones they get from you, they'll order more. How many sales have you made so far?”
“Uh, sixty-five separate customers.”
“And how many of those have come back and ordered more from your catalogue?”
“What catalogue?”
“You don't send a catalogue listing the other items you've got?”
“All I've got is photos of Sarah.”
“Oh God,” she replied, putting her head in her hands for a moment. “For a man who's so interested in setting up a business, you're not very good at...” She paused. “I'm sorry, ignore that, I was being mean. The point is, if you really insist on being a pornographer, Don, then at least try to be a good one.”
“I am,” he replied a little defensively. “Well, I thought I was.”
“Sarah's pretty,” she continued, “but some men like different types of women. You need to offer variety.”
“I'll ask her,” he said. “Maybe she knows someone else who'd be willing to pose.”
“That's a start, but you need to think bigger. Where did Andy get his girls?”
Donald shrugged. “Should I ask him? I thought about it, but I'm not sure he'd be too impressed that I nicked his idea.”
“God, no, I don't want anyone in our circle of friends knowing about this.” She stared at the images of Sarah for a moment longer. “Ask Sarah. Like Andy said, in this economy, there must be plenty of people looking to make a quick buck. You don't want to be endlessly photographing the same women, either, not unless you find one who's really exceptional. You need to offer lots of different body types and shapes to your customers. Get a black girl or two on-board, I'm sure they'd be popular, and an older woman too, forties or even fifties.”
“Why would anyone want an older woman?” Donald asked. “Most of my customers are trying to get away from older women.”
She turned to him.
“Sometimes,” she said after a moment, “I think you don't understand the world at all.”
***
“Okay,” Mary said, watching Sarah through the camera's viewfinder, “now sit up and arch your back a little. That's right, push your chest out and...”
She waited a moment before hitting the button, capturing the image perfectly. She took a couple more, just to be on the safe side.
“Now get on your hands and knees,” she continued, “and let's get a few shots like that.”
“Are you sure that's not a waste of time?” Donald asked as Sarah did as she was told. “I mean, you can't really see anything while she's in that position, can you?”
“Variation is important,” Mary told him.
“It doesn't do anything for me.”
“I think some guys might like it,” Sarah interjected. “It's, like... suggestive.”
“You'll just have to trust Sarah and me on this,” Mary continued with a faint smile as she moved away from her clueless husband and began to take several shots of Sarah's face, along with her modest breasts hanging down from her chest. “Sarah, I don't mean to be impolite, but could you hoist your bottom a little higher in the air? That's better, just to get a few shots for the men who really like that sort of thing.”
“Do some men like bottoms?” Donald asked.
At that, both Mary and Sarah turned to him.
“Could you do me a favour?” Mary asked after a moment. “Darling, could you make me a nice cup of tea?”
“But don't you need me to -”
“Please?”
“And one for me too,” Sarah added.
Clearly a little disgruntled, Donald nevertheless turned and headed out of the room, leaving Mary to turn back to Sarah with a faint smile.
“He doesn't really know what he's doing, does he?” Sarah asked.
“He's new at this,” Mary replied, taking a couple more shots before lowering the camera and starting to change the roll.
“Aren't you new at it too?”
“Yes, but I've had some education in basic photography and, well, I have an imagination.”
“I'm new at all this,” Sarah continued. “I never thought I'd end up posing in the buff, but the money's good.”
“Sometimes that's all that matters,” Mary replied, setting the new roll of film into the camera.
“It's weird to think of all them men, though,” Sarah added, “like, out there, getting these photos in the mail and then doing what they do with 'em. I mean, it's kind of a compliment but it's also kinda dirty when you think about it.”
“That's precisely why I don't think about it.”
“You don't approve?”
“I simply don't have any desire to know what people do in the privacy of their own homes,” Mary told her. “What one does behind one's own front door, in my opinion, is one's own business. On a moral basis, though, I myself have no interest in pornography.”
“So why are you helping him, then?”
“He's my husband and I love him,” she continued. “This is a means to an end. Donald might be woefully ill-prepared for life as a professional pornographer, but his calling is the political world. I think he could do great things if we can just raise the money to get his career on the right path.” A faint smile crossed her lips. “It's true,” she added finally. “He's a good man, deep down.”
“I never got a chance to thank you, by the way,” Sarah replied.
“For what?”
“For helping me that night. I don't really remember much, but your husband told me you were the one who got me home and, like, held my hair back while I was chucking up.”
“I couldn't very well leave you like that, could I?” Mary replied, poised to raise the camera but suddenly struck by a thought. “Would you be willing to move beyond these solo still photographs some time, Sarah?”
“What do you mean?”
“I was thinking of other products we could offer to the people who buy these things. Maybe shots where you're with a man, for example?”
“What would I be doing with him, exactly?”
“I'm sure I don't have to draw you a diagram.”
“Oh. Like, would he be in me?”
“That would be the general idea. I know it sound rather horrid, but I imagine that kind of thing sells like hot cakes.”
“Well...” Sarah paused for a moment, as if she was wrestling the idea in her mind, before finally she smiled. “Fine by me. I'm on the pill anyway, so... Don't matter much, does it?”
“And perhaps videos,” Mary continued. “There really is quite a market now for home movies.”
“I'll do anything,” Sarah replied. “I need the money. Just so long as I can use a stage name and my parents don't find out, I've got no problem with whatever you want.”
“We'll discuss it later,” Mary told her, “but I think diversification is hugely important. There are so many adverts for these things, and I feel that Don should shift things up a gear. He'll need more products, though, with a
better profit margin.” She paused for a moment. “Ask around among your friends. We'll pay the usual going rate to any girl you can bring to us, provided she has some kind of appeal to one of the niche groups.”
“What's a niche group?”
“Different men like different things.”
“I reckon I know loads of girls who'd be up for it.”
“Then we must get in touch with them,” Mary replied, raising the camera again and taking a moment to adjust the focus. “For now, I need you to settle back and use that rather scary-looking rubber penis you brought today.”
“Shouldn't we wait for your husband?” she asked, grabbing the dildo from the table.
“He'll be through shortly,” Mary said calmly. “He's very busy making the tea right now and I think that's probably where he's most useful. After all, everyone in the production chain must play to their strengths.” With that, she took another photo. “Excellent. Now try to look as if you're in the throes of passion!”
TODAY
“If only she knew,” Mary whispered, standing in the doorway and staring at Donald's portrait on the other side of the study. “How do you think she'd react? She worships you, you know. She thinks you were the greatest man who ever lived.”
She waited, almost as if she was expecting an answer.
“Suits,” she added sadly. “Not a bad cover story. Remember when you actually did try to sell suits for a while? God, what a mess.”
Tilting the wine glass until it was almost horizontal, she carefully began to pour from the bottle, hoping to make sure that Donald wouldn't hear and ask for a glass himself. It was an old habit, and a bad one, and it took a moment before she realized that it was completely unnecessary: Donald was gone now, she could pour away to her heart's content and not worry about him getting involved and ending up drunk. In his later years he'd become a heavier drinker and it had become necessary to moderate his consumption, but still...
Some habits were hard to break, and some couldn't be broken at all.
“What am I supposed to do about this?” she asked, taking the letter from her pocket and unfolding it to read the text for the hundredth time that day. “Who could possibly have sent it?”
Again she waited.
“You promised no-one knew,” she continued, taking another sip of wine. “You promised, Don. You said all your tracks were covered and we could never, ever be found out. Perhaps...” She paused, her mind turning over the possibilities. “I don't want to think that someone betrayed us, but the things in this letter are just too specific. No-one is supposed to know about Sarah, no-one, not even... I mean, even if someone found out about the business we were running, Sarah was... separate, in the end, wasn't she?”
She sighed.
“What's done is done. I just have to hope that this is a childish prank. For Sophie's sake as much as ours, Don... People can't find out what we did. One mustn't panic. This is probably a one-off and I shan't hear any more about it.”
Folding the letter again, she slipped it into her pocket before finishing her wine and pulling the door shut. She made her way along the hallway and then up the stairs, wincing a little as her knees reminded her that, in her sixth decade, she was no longer as limber as she'd been back in the day. By the time she reached the landing at the top, she had to stop for a moment, and that's when she heard it:
From Sophie's room, there was a faint, low moan of pleasure, followed by a man's grunt and then a whispered voice.
“Can I go on top?”
“As long as you're quiet. We don't want your Mum to hear.”
And then a giggle.
Rolling her eyes, Mary made her way to her bedroom and quietly pushed the door shut. As soon as she was asleep a short while later, she began to have the same nightmare about Sarah all over again.
THIRTY YEARS AGO
She sat on the toilet, staring at her hands.
“Oh God,” she whispered, trying to find the strength to carry on. “Please God, Donald...”
***
“Danielle is coming tomorrow morning,” Mary muttered as she pencilled the name into her diary, “and Alison is coming in the afternoon. Now, Alison is apparently a little portly, so we shall have to give special consideration to how she's photographed. It might take a little time before I know exactly how to handle her. Could be rather delicate.”
“I'm sure you'll work it out,” Donald replied quietly, sitting next to her at the kitchen table.
“And then there are three girls coming on Thursday,” she continued. “Rebecca, Elizabeth and a different Alison. Oh, and I think I've found the perfect video camera, so we shall need to pop down to the electronics shop and pick it up some time soon. If they ask what we need it for, for God's sake don't actually tell them. Say it's for filming family pursuits, that sort of thing.”
“You've got a real little cottage industry going on here,” Donald muttered.
“I'm just helping out,” she said with a faint smile. “We need to...” She paused, catching the slip. “I mean, you need to get on top of this business. If you're going to do it, do it properly so you can make money and quit as soon as possible.”
“These photos are good,” he continued, picking up the latest batch of A4 images. “They're selling like hotcakes, we've made almost eight hundred quid in a single week.”
“I told you that new advert would be worth it. One must invest in order to make a decent profit.”
“I can't believe how well this is working,” he replied. “At this rate, we'll be doing better than Andy. Hell, maybe I can get a Rolex.”
“Don't be silly,” she told him, making some more notes in the diary, “a Rolex would be a very frivolous expense at this stage.”
“We have to enjoy our success, though.”
“Delayed gratification,” she continued, not even looking up from the diary. “Keep your eyes on the prize, Don. This money has to be used to fund your political ambitions, not to buy fancy watches and expensive dinners out. If you think I'm helping you out of the kindness of my heart, think again.”
“I could never do this without you, you know.”
“I'm just helping where I can.”
“You're almost taking over.”
At this, she turned to him, clearly uncomfortable with the idea.
“I'm helping,” she stressed after a moment. “It's your business, not mine. I'm just... I'm your wife, it's natural for me to take an interest in what you're doing.”
“I suppose so,” he told her, glancing at the images again. “Still, I can't help... Do you know what I think when I look at these?”
“I hate to imagine.”
“I think that you're so good behind the camera, and I wonder how you'd be... in front of it.”
“Whatever do you mean?” She made some more notes, before turning to him. “If you're suggesting for one moment that I would pose for the catalogue, you're barking up the wrong tree, mister.”
“I don't mean for the catalogue,” he replied, “I mean... It'd just be fun if you'd let me shoot you, that's all. Now we've got the dark-room set up in the loo, no-one else would ever have to see the images, they could just be for us. Private, like. And they could be tasteful, none of this open-legged stuff.” He paused, watching her expression to see if she was coming around to the idea. “Besides, it'd help me to practice. I want to get better at taking photos.”
“Don, I -”
“Please, Mary. For me. Sometimes I think we spend so much time photographing other women, we forget about you and me. You've got a great body, and I'd really like to try capturing your tits on film.”
“I'm your wife,” she replied. “You don't need photographs of my naked body.”
“I'd like them, though,” he said, putting a hand on her knee. “Come on, what do you say? One roll of film, just for us? It might even be a turn-on.”
“Do you really want that?” she asked, clearly shocked by the idea.
“I know it sounds crazy, but yeah, I do.
” Leaning closer, he kissed her on the cheek before reaching down and starting to unbutton her blouse. “I've spent the past few months staring at so many naked women, I've almost forgotten what you look like under there.” Running his hand under the fabric, he slipped his fingers inside her bra and cupped her right breast. “What's the harm? No-one would ever know.”
Without saying anything, she gently pulled his hand out and then paused for a moment, before getting to her feet.
“I can't,” she said finally. “I've already gone very far out of my comfort zone with this project, Don, but appearing in images myself would be another thing entirely. It'd be a sure-fire way of making sure that one day, somehow, someone would be able to trace this whole business back to us, and that's the absolute last thing we can allow. I understand that perhaps the nature of our work makes you feel a certain way, but we're not doing this for titillation, we're doing it to make money.” She paused for a moment, before reaching a hand out to him. “Let's go to bed.”
“You won't just let me take a few photos?”
She shook her head.
“Not ever?”
“Not ever.” She paused again. “What I will do, however, is go to bed with you and do the things a husband and wife are supposed to do. Let's not allow business and pleasure to get mixed together. If we do that, I fear we might end up losing sight of the difference. If I posed for you, it would be a terrible mistake, and I don't like making mistakes.”
“Not even one photo?”
“Come to bed,” she told him, her voice betraying a hint of tiredness, “and for God's sake, leave all the gadgetry behind. This business has already taken over the rest of the flat, let's at least keep it out of the bedroom.”
A few minutes later, the camera sat unattended on the table in the dark kitchen, waiting to be picked up and used again. In the distance, the bed could be heard squeaking as Mary and Donald made love.
