TangledTruth

by Delphine Dryden

  “Well, in that case, I’m glad you like it. I’m going to have to kill Sheila, and for that I apologize in advance. But I’m glad you like it.”

  “Sheila knew what she was doing. Look, they signed and numbered it. One of one, it’s a unique print.”

  Eva smiled and skimmed her fingers over the inked signatures in the lower right corner of the picture. “I like the processing. I was planning for it to be black and white. The one I meant to give you, I mean. It’s one that’s also in the book.”

  “This is better. I guess it’s intended for both of us.”

  “They’re not being very subtle, are they?”

  Drew grinned. “Nope.”

  Eva crumpled the wrapping paper in her hands, forming it into a tightly compressed ball as she seemed to gather her thoughts. “I’m still not sure what I’m doing. What we’re doing. I don’t know if that’s who I want to be.”

  Drew shrugged, sounding more nonchalant than he felt. “It doesn’t have to be. It’s not like it’s an either-or thing. You can still be you, you’re just you plus a little kinky stuff behind closed doors.”

  Eva looked skeptical. “Maybe it’s because I know so many people in that lifestyle.”

  “And that’s one way to do it, but it doesn’t have to be a lifestyle. It never has been for me.” Drew realized he was starting to panic at the idea Eva might be pulling away from him. He was on the verge of promising to give up ropes for good, as he’d once promised he wasn’t into the lifestyle at all. But he couldn’t this time. By now, she meant too much. By now, he knew the ropes weren’t the real issue. “I don’t go to clubs, except on very rare occasions to do exhibitions or classes. I don’t do scene parties. For all anybody knows, I’m only in it to help Danny out because I’ve known him since we were kids.”

  “I know that. But you’re talking about whether or not to be open about doing it. I’m still working on whether I can imagine myself in a relationship that…well, let me show you something.”

  She pulled him to the back room of the gallery, where Danny and Sheila had started delivering the canvases for their showing at the gallery’s New Year’s Eve party. Flipping through a leaning stack of photographs, Eva found the canvas she sought and gripped the top edge tightly for a moment before turning to Drew.

  “They want to know if they can include this in the show.”

  Slowly, she pulled the mounted photo into view and waited with obvious anxiety for Drew’s reaction.

  His first reaction was that he had to have a copy for himself. The photo was not among the proofs he had reviewed for the book, and he could see why. Eva’s face was recognizable in profile, each delicate feature etched in sharp contrast against the black backdrop. She was quite obviously naked, or at least topless. Her back was completely bare. With her arms pulled back by the elaborate dragonfly tie, and her head and torso turned just slightly, the rounded edge of one breast was visible.

  He had used, for the highly decorative tie, a wide red ribbon that matched the color of the silk robe swathing Eva’s hips; the bow at her wrists flowed into the fabric, making it look almost as though the robe itself were rising up in ribbons to bind her. Her hair was pulled back in a long braid that Sheila had cleverly worked to echo the pattern of the dragonfly binding. They had shot this series near the end, with promotional material or possibly even the cover in mind. The rope work was beautiful, the simple color scheme of the photo visually arresting.

  But it was the look on Eva’s face that took Drew’s breath away. She had settled into the binding fully, spacing out to something like a trance state, and in the picture he could read every detail of bliss on her face as clearly as if he were still standing there admiring his handiwork. She looked as though a soul-deep contentment had overtaken her. One sleek strand of hair had slipped free of the braid, and it described a curve from her temple to her shoulder. The one element out of place might have marred the whole shot, but instead that single imperfect note somehow enhanced the beauty of the rest.

  “It’s a masterpiece,” Drew said at last. “It would be a crime not to show it.”

  “I know.” Eva had pulled the picture to the front of the stack, and she stood contemplating it with a closed expression. “I think it’s the best thing they’ve ever done. But.”

  “But,” he agreed.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready to be outed, Drew. I don’t even know if I want to label myself that way, much less hear it from other people.”

  He couldn’t argue with her on that score. A few of their mutual friends knew Eva was standing in for Sheila as a model for the book, but nobody knew which shots were which. Nobody knew how far Eva had gone with it.

  But anybody who knew the lifestyle, who knew Eva, would know at a glance that her participation in this photo had not been a mere favor to a friend. She had come alive within the binding, and the photograph glowed with her willing and joyful submission to that restraint. If it was part of the New Year’s Eve show, she would indeed be outed. Not only within the BDSM and art communities, but to anybody else who happened to attend what would likely be a fairly large gathering.

  “You have six days to decide, I guess.”

  Eva nodded and threw him a brief smile, but Drew’s heart sank as he contemplated the possible outcome of her decision. She knew he couldn’t do without the ropes, and from the sound of things, she might not be as ready as he’d hoped to embrace that side of her nature. He worried that this would not just be a decision about a photograph, but a decision about him.

  * * * * *

  “No, the food will all need to be set up along the very back wall, by the bar. Besides, cold as it is, stuff’s going to congeal if it’s sitting in this front room.”

  Drew leaned on the reception counter, watching Eva as she ran briskly through the final arrangements for that evening’s festivities at the gallery. It was chilly indeed in the nearly empty space. But when the crowd arrived, he knew, the temperature would rise pretty quickly to something much more temperate.

  Not wanting to distract her, he stifled a sigh along with the urge to play with the long curl of hair that had drifted over her shoulder. Still, Eva seemed to catch his impatience. She finished her phone call in short order and slid her cell into the tiny red satin pouch that served as her purse for the evening.

  “I’m sorry I have to be dealing with all this last-minute stuff. The storm threw things off. You really don’t have to hang around, you can go do something more entertaining for a bit if you’d rather. I know this must be boring, and it’s another thirty minutes at least before people start to show up.” She had pulled her phone out to check the time but slid it firmly back into the bag as if reminding herself to leave it there. That was a concession to him, Drew knew; normally at show time minus half an hour, she’d have the cell glued to her ear and her omnipresent clipboard tacked to her hand as she multitasked her way through the final preparations.

  “Am I distracting you?” he asked with a grin that was only slightly wicked and suggestive.

  “Always.” But she didn’t sound particularly upset about that.

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Not so much since my dad said he probably wouldn’t be able to make it.” Her smile was rueful. “Don’t tell Danny and Sheila, they’d roll their eyes so hard about this, but I never even worked up the nerve to tell him about my part in the photo shoot. I figured I would find time, but when is the right time to tell your dad you’ve posed for naked bondage pictures?”

  She stretched like a cat, the crocheted shawl she wore slipped off her shoulders, and Drew briefly lost his ability to think as he stared at the lean lines of her body, highlighted beautifully by the soft, snug fabric of her dress. The front molded to her skin, so form-fitting it didn’t need a low neckline to be daring. The back was better still, he saw as she bent to pick up the shawl. A simple network of spaghetti straps crisscrossed from neck to waist. They seemed to hold the whole thing together like magic.

  “Fire e
ngine red,” he said with obvious appreciation. “That has got to be the best dress I have ever seen. I’ve never seen you wear anything like that.”

  “It’s carnelian,” Eva corrected him, “and thank you. I may have to put my coat back on until it warms up in here though.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “I was feeling a little more daring in the store than I am at the moment, actually. I don’t want to look skanky.”

  With a considering frown, Drew stood and rounded the counter, taking Eva’s hands in his and holding them wide to reveal the dress again. He pondered her as seriously as if he weren’t just taking the opportunity to ogle her again. He thought about the fact that all the other men in the room would also be ogling her, for how could they do otherwise? But on balance, he decided he was all right with that if it meant he got to look at her in the dress all night then take her home and do deliciously naughty things to her with the dress pushed up around her waist.

  “Not skanky at all. Very tasteful. Classy, but sexy as hell.”

  She giggled as he stole the predictable kiss. Giggles turned to sighs as he lingered, letting his lips brush against hers, savoring her.

  “Get a room, you guys,” Danny said from the back of the room. He had come through the service entrance, and now joined them at the desk. He had apparently conned the bartender out of some wine, because he set a plastic glass down next to Eva before sipping at his own.

  “We’re in a room. A room with nice, sturdy exposed rafters too. Great for suspensions…” Drew cocked his head, scanning the high ceiling as though scouting for the best location to mount a pulley.

  “Enough!” Eva was laughing with the guys, but with a nervous edge. “I’m anxious enough about the picture. Stop talking about that stuff, you’ll make it worse.” She swigged some wine and tried to look stern, which Drew found adorable.

  “Actually,” Danny said, “I came over here to say a toast to your bravery. I really can’t thank you enough, Evie. That photo will be the making of the show.”

  He raised his glass and she tapped hers against it, just as the caterers arrived.

  Drew sneaked in one last hug for reassurance before Eva started up her usual whirlwind of organizing, greeting and mingling. He gave her an unmistakably possessive boyfriend kiss, and was unable to resist slipping one hand under the shawl to stroke the expanse of exposed skin at her waist.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  And she was.

  Right up until her cell phone rang again an hour later, and her eyes found Drew’s over a tight knot of revelers who were all exclaiming over the very picture in question. She had to mouth it twice before he could make out the words. “My dad is coming.”

  * * * * *

  Bob Godfrey was of average height and average build, with thinning hair of pure white that was obviously once as blond as Eva’s, a slight gut, and a dark suit with a red paisley tie. In short, he looked wholly unremarkable. But when he walked across the room to greet his daughter, Drew could feel her react as though all the air had been sucked from the room. Her slender hand froze on his upper arm, gripping almost hard enough to hurt, and her tension telegraphed itself so clearly that he had an urge to step between her and the encroaching danger.

  But there was no monster, no horror, only a middle-aged man with a genial handshake. He greeted Drew with the careful civility of any man who knows he’s meeting the guy his grown daughter is most likely having sex with. The slightly too firm, lingering grip with its implicit promise to crush Drew like a bug if his little girl came to any harm. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Close up, Drew could see the man Mr. Godfrey must have been in his prime. Trim, blond, with ice-chip blue eyes and features so sharp they looked etched. Age had softened his lines, but he looked every bit the type of man one would expect to see alongside a woman like Eva’s mother. How very beautiful their family must have been, like the picture that came with the frame. But so very wrong behind the façade.

  “She seems happy,” he said to Drew when Eva darted across the room to greet an influential critic. “Not just tonight, I mean.” He stopped short of saying she seemed happy with Drew in particular, but Drew still felt a flare of relief and joy at the implication.

  “I think she’s enjoying her work. Tonight especially. I know she’s always happy to give friends an opportunity to show.”

  Godfrey nodded, his gaze flicking to the closest blown-up photo and then back to the plastic cup of white wine he held. “Interesting subject matter tonight. I understand some of this is your work?”

  Sheepish, Drew shrugged. “Not the photography part. I just help with the setup.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  There was a wealth of meaning in those two syllables, none of which Drew wanted to address with the father of the girl he was sleeping with and, as it happened, tying up. He thought it was probably safest to focus on the photography exhibit as art, and treat it as an educational opportunity.

  “Would you like a walk-through? There’s sort of a method to the way the exhibit is laid out.”

  They began with the perimeter of the smaller room at the front of the gallery, which was filled primarily with what Danny and Sheila called “technical” shots. These were the detailed pictures that would accompany specific techniques in the book, showing ties in varying stages of completion. Many of them were of Sheila, from the first few shoots, and several showed her face. After the third or fourth one, recognition began to dawn on Bob Godfrey’s face.

  “Isn’t that…” he said, scanning around the room for Sheila, who was nowhere to be seen.

  “Sheila, yes. She was the model for a lot of these. I think she and Danny are in the next room where the bigger photos are.”

  “I had no idea she was that…flexible.”

  Drew couldn’t stop a snicker from erupting, and he had to admire Godfrey’s iron control because he could tell the man was fighting mightily to keep a straight face. “You’re a good sport, Mr. Godfrey.”

  “Bob. Call me Bob. What’s this one called again?” He pointed to the picture, the final in a set of half a dozen shots depicting a body-stockinged Sheila becoming a rope-bound human pretzel.

  “Ebi. The shrimp tie,” Drew translated. “The book’s main focus is on traditional Japanese techniques, then there’s a section at the end that discusses extensions and variations. Safety concerns and basic principles to follow if you’re going to try to create new ties.”

  “Safety?”

  “That’s probably the most important consideration.”

  A flicker of amusement crossed the older man’s face, and he leaned in to study the photo more closely. “Good thing, too. You kids today, with your complicated shenanigans. Holy mother of God, did I already mention she’s flexible?”

  Clearing his throat, Drew gestured to the wide, open archway leading to the main room of the gallery. “In here we have the real heart of the exhibit. The art shots, basically. They’re window dressing for the book, but of course for the photographers this is the real fun.”

  Eva returned to Drew’s side as he and her father rounded the corner and saw the first of the larger photos. She steered them pointedly to the left, knowing that a clockwise tour of the room would mean the maximum amount of time before her father saw the photo with her face. The room’s large central display panel would provide cover until he was at that last, all-important wall.

  “These are really something, peanut. You have some talented friends.”

  “They really are. I know it’s a bit…well, you know. But they really are such beautiful photos. I was so glad you could make it, Dad. Has Drew been explaining about the rope work?”

  If not for the slightly high pitch to her voice, Drew wouldn’t have known Eva was strung taut as a bowstring. She must have also gotten her ability to keep a straight face from her father, he decided. Certainly her mother was no good at hiding what she was thinking. The more he tried to picture the easygoing, straightforward Bob Godfrey with the woman
he’d struggled to charm at dinner so recently, the more Drew marveled that they had ever been a couple. Visually, they were a perfect match. But emotionally, they must have driven each other to sheer insanity.

  “Yeah, I’ve been trying not to bore him by getting my shibari geek on, though. Like I promised.”

  He stopped their little group of three in front of the centerpiece of the exhibit, a photo from the same series as the one Eva was so worried about. For a moment they all simply looked, drinking in the piece, absorbing the clean lines and subtle curves, the intricacy of the rope work in the dragonfly weave contrasting with the porcelain-smooth skin of the model’s back. This one was taken straight from the back, and was nearly symmetrical with not a hair out of place. The only variance was at the hands; one of the model’s pinkies was extended slightly, as though she were just about to move her hand or resist the restraint.

  Drew had to breathe out slowly and force himself to think about baseball scores until the heat left his groin and he was steady on his feet again. This picture always hit him that way, because he knew she had been reaching for him with that delicate gesture. Not wanting him to leave her side, even for the few minutes it took to take the series of photos. She had given a frustrated little whimper right at that second, and he could hear it again every time he looked at the photo. But it wasn’t only the sexuality, it was the artistry in it too, the sheer beauty of the thing that caught him every time. The way it captured the moment and spoke of all that had come before it, all that might follow. The tension inherent in every line.