Glamour Photography

Andreas's photography business was hours from closing when his landlord Roberta knocked on his studio door.

"Time to pay the rent, Andreas. I know times are tough, but I have obligations, too. I let you slide for three months, but no more. So, pay up, big fella."

Andreas pushed his hand through his shaggy brown hair. "There's a moratorium for tenants, no? I don't have to pay you."

"The rent is still owed. You are creating a huge bill, my friend. Look. I don't want to toss you out on your ear, with all your fancy photography equipment. Nobody wants that. So, why don't you just make some kind of small payment?"

Andreas scratched his ear. The pandemic had put an end to his lucrative wedding business, the burgeoning christening and bar mitzvah ceremonies, the bread-and-butter grade school pictures and high school pictures. His own creditors had been put off as long as possible. But as the end of the year approached, Andreas was afraid that it was the end of his chosen occupation and successful business. And now, Roberta was demanding payment or she'd throw him out.

"You can't evict me. The courts won't let you." Andreas was in his thirties, slim, and kept himself in good shape so that he could clamber around sets and locations for the photo shoots. He looked Roberta over carefully. He swallowed his pride and asked, "Isn't there some kind of accommodation we could come to?"

Roberta looked twice his age. She was single and maybe divorced. She was a powerful real estate agent in the city, and dressed the part, flashing gold and jewels on her wrists. Still she looked twice his age.

"Well," she said, her long red fingernails tapping her teeth. Andreas had never noticed how sharp those teeth were. "I may have an idea that might do the trick."

Andreas gulped and said a quick prayer of thanks that none of his regular models was around to see his embarrassment and degradation. "Whatever shall we do?"

"I belong to many clubs and groups, including a monthly book club. The members are mostly elderly women, but they claim to have a vigorous sex life. I believe them."

Andreas grimaced. This might be much worse than he thought. Still, if the alternative was getting thrown out of his studio, he would have to play along. "Yes?"

"Since the pandemic, the women have continued to read the recommended books, but they met to discuss them only over the internet. All their holiday shopping was done over the internet, too, and they weren't too happy at the gifts they gave. Their recipients were not crazy about the gifts, either. The women had all been stumped by the lockdowns imposed during the holidays, and were unsure what to do about St. Valentine's Day. Do you see where I'm going with this, Andreas?"

"St. Valentine's Day? Hearts and flowers? I'm not quite sure..."

"So, I see the perfect combination of two opportunities. I'll convince my book club to come and get their pictures taken, and you'll take glamor shots of them for their husbands, boyfriends, whatever." Roberta had a smug smile on her face as she told Andreas her idea.

Andreas burst out with a long hearty laugh. The image of the older women posing was funny, yes, but the laugh was also because he was relieved. He felt he had dodged a bullet.

"Come on, Roberta. These are older women, yes? They will be difficult to light properly, and may not be entirely pleased with the results."

"They can't be any more demanding than neurotic brides or crazy fashion models, can they?"

Andreas admitted she had a point.

"You've got the facility to provide boudoir photos, glamour photos for these women, right? Well, I guarantee that they will love the opportunity to pose for you. After all, this isn't a calendar shoot, although that may be the next opportunity for us. What do you say?"

Andreas looked around his studio. Dust was gathering on some of his equipment right now. He needed to work. "Okay, but what's in it for you? Do you think you'll get your rent faster?"

"Of course I'll get my rent faster! I'm not getting any rent now and you're not getting any clients. So, this is a win-win for us, Andreas. Agreed?"

Andreas watched Roberta carefully. She was brilliant, tricky, and cheated at cards when they'd played together. Therefore, he suspected there was more to her offer than she was disclosing. Before he agreed and bumped elbows with her, he waited for Roberta to make her last demand. "What else are you proposing, Roberta?"

"I love dealing with knowledgeable businessmen!" Roberta called out, her head tilted back to project her enthusiasm. "Andreas, I'll be your agent, your broker, your procurer, whatever you like. I'll take the standard fee--15%--of the transaction. That's not a reduction in your rent either. Just a little something on top. So, whaddaya say? Deal?"

Andreas laughed again, opened his arms wide. It wasn't a perfect answer but it was better than any idea he had. They gave each other a big hug. No measly elbow bumps for Roberta.

She started for the door, still talking over her shoulder. "There's only six weeks until St. Valentine's Day. Can you have the portraits ready in time? I'll get the old bags here, don't you worry. Don't you worry! What can I tell them? A discount from your usual price?"

Oh yes, Andreas thought, Roberta was good. So he offered the group a discount and the opportunity to use their imaginations in creating the photographs.

He had no idea how creative the woman would turn out to be.

The older women were satisfied with the props Andreas used for wedding shoots--the lace, the flowers, the soft lights. He showed them how to avert their eyes, give a small inviting smile, and position their shoulders. He used his green screens and blue screens to create artificial but lifelike backgrounds from Venice to Paris to the Grand Canyon. After taking the shots, he used computer programs to enhance the effects. The women had plenty of money from pensions, social security, insurance on deceased husbands, and trust funds to pay for the pictures they wanted. They paid quickly, too, which made both Andreas and Roberta very happy.

Then, an amazing thing happened. The women who were very happy with the results brought other friends to Andreas's studio. But it didn't stop there. Those clients told their younger friends, who also wanted to be photographed in glamour poses. But it was only when they began to recommend him to their daughters and nieces that his business started to boom.

These new, younger women were in their twenties for the most part. After being locked down away from bars and football games and baseball parks, they were ready to cut loose. They came in small groups, probably to protect each other from an unknown man taking intimate pictures of them, but soon found themselves comfortable with him. Andreas focused on the shots. Besides getting paid, he cared mostly about light and the way it fell on his subjects. He wasn't interested in pushing them beyond their comfort zones. So, the young women trusted him.

The young women were more aggressive than their grandmothers, mothers, and he in their choice of photography subjects. They wanted to tantalize and titillate their lovers, especially the lovers who themselves were locked down in their own cities and countries. The young ladies favored lace, see-through clothes, provocative poses, and sometimes no clothing whatsoever.

"Can't you shoot this outside? I want my boyfriend to be jealous that the world might have seen me." The slim blond woman was turned away from the camera, with her shoulders and back bare, wearing a thong bikini. She had her long thin leg atop a small barrel, creating a nice angle and a provocative view of the underside of her thigh. In the background was a bright sunlit beach scene.

"It's freezing outside. I don't want to risk an indecency citation. But perhaps I can come up with another idea."

The shapely blond who wanted to be photographed outside was disappointed, but she agreed to come back the next week for a new session. "Are you opposed to shooting your subjects in the nude?" she asked, her lips pouted a bit.

"Sorry, I always wear clothes." Andreas smiled.

The blond laughed and forgot she was topless. She ran to Andreas and kissed what she could find of his cheek that was not covered by a mask. Her breasts were perky and pointy and she had no qualms about her own near-nudity. With a quick wave, she ran to the changing room.

Roberta had let herself into the studio and saw the little scene that had just played out. She clapped slowly and silently. "Has she paid you?"

Andreas nodded and handed over her 15%. Roberta fanned the bills and put them into her clutch.

"I think you should charge her another fee next week as well. Agreed?"

"Whatever you think, Roberta. But I have a problem."

"What is your problem, Andreas? Too many pretty girls want their pictures taken? Too many crazy poses? Too little clothing on your subjects? I bet I could find plenty of photographers who would love to trade places with you. Unfortunately, none of them are my tenants. But you are replaceable, you know."

"No, I love the work and the subjects. But the clock is ticking. Time is running out. St. Valentine's Day is in three weeks. I don't think I can accommodate everyone who wants to have their pictures taken. Plus, the younger girls want more variety and more attention."

"Pshaw. Just get them to pose naked with soft lighting and exotic backgrounds and they will be happy."

Andreas shook his head. "No, Roberta. This is the Age of the iPhone camera. If they just wanted to be nude, they could take selfies and send email blasts to their friends. Most of them already have, I bet. No, they want to be given a real glamour treatment. But I'm a photographer, not a makeup artist. I won't have the time to accommodate everyone."

"Look," Roberta said, "it's not unusual for some businesses to be entirely seasonal. Seventy-five per cent of brick-and-mortar businesses do their most profitable business in the month before Christmas. They plan for it and they execute their plan. Your profitable time is right now. Will it come later in the year, too? Who can say? But you have to get the most out of these last three weeks that you can. Whaddaya say?"

"I say I need help." Andreas ran his fingers through his brown wavy hair then collapsed into a chair. He had been sleeping only five hours a night for the past three weeks and maybe longer. He had lost track. He needed a shower, too.

Roberta walked around him in her high-heeled shoes and short pencil skirt. It was business sexy, like she was. She tapped her long fingernail to her teeth again. "I've got an idea, Andreas." She took out her phone and made a call.

"Dante? This is Roberta. You remember, I'm the landlord you've been avoiding for the past few months--don't hang up!--I have a proposition for you." Roberta and Dante talked for a few minutes while Andreas closed his eyes. He didn't sleep, but it was heaven just to relax until the next appointment arrived.

Roberta touched Andreas on the shoulder. "Dante said he'll help. He's a computer expert and an artist. He designs video games usually, or something. He needs the money, too. He's coming over tonight."

She hesitated before tapping her phone again. Then she decided and punched in a number. "Sally? This is Roberta. How are you feeling? I have some good news for you, dear. You might be able to help me and help yourself. I have a friend whose business needs a makeup artist with the skills you have. I know you're a tatto artist, but the skills are similar. I'd like you to come over tonight and meet him. It's a paying gig, of course, it is. Are you in? Good, good. See you tonight, dear."

"Sally?" Andreas said.

"She's a talented ink artist, and she has a great eye and can make anyone and anything look fabulous. She's not in my fan club. She's going through a bit of a thing right now, so this helps her on a couple of levels. I would just ask that you be sensitive to her. She's a bit suicidal."

"Suicidal? You want me to work with a demented person?"

"Oh, like you've never worked with anorexic, bulimic, self-destructive women before. Don't worry about it. I'll do the negotiating for you. With these two helpers, you should at least double the amount of work you can take."

"I'm not sure I can afford the expense of two additional employees."

"Not employees. These will be independent contractors. I'll handle the negotiations. My usual 15% fee will be taken out of their earnings. Now how fair is that? Whaddaya say?"

Andreas had to chuckle. Roberta was a force of nature, a glacier moving down the valley, collecting debris and pushing it to her desires.

"Let's try it," he said.

Roberta smiled and patted him on the cheek. "Wonderful. Now, go take a shower and clean up before your next appointment shows up. If you want to take a nap, I'll stay here and wake you up when Sally arrives."

"Bless you." Andreas shambled off to the formerly much-used shower in the studio. He could already feel the warm splash of water on his back and was afraid he might fall asleep standing up in the shower.

"I'll put on the coffee before I leave," Roberta called to him. She thought of everything.

Dante and Sally were in the studio talking with Roberta when Robert woke up. Dante looked like a street gang member, somebody who might rob Macy's or the Apple Store to protest a grievance. His hair was uncut, but that was everyone's problem. He swayed and swaggered even when he was not walking. His eyes picked out all the equipment in the studio. Andreas made a note to himself to be sure that his theft insurance premium had been paid.

The woman Sally surprised Andreas. She was thin, only a little shorter than he was but taller than Dante. She wore white painter's overalls, together with a yellow t-shirt underneath the braces. She had a touch of bright yellow paint on her left cheek. In the dark shadows of the studio, it struck Andreas as if she had been touched by the sun itself. Her blue eyes were even sharper than Dante's as they gauged the studio. Her hair was short, but thick. She was a human paintbrush, Andreas thought to himself, and smiled.

"Why are you smiling?" Sally demanded.

"I expected to see a woman with tats all over her body. I can't see any on your arms, shoulders, neck,..." In fact, Andreas saw white shoulders with delicate freckles sprinkled on her soft curving shoulders. The splash of paint on her left cheek fascinated Andreas. It looked less like a splash of bright yellow paint, and more like a star burst, almost two inches wide, right on the left cheek bone. The more he looked at it, he noticed that it looked like a six-pointed star.

"Are you asking if I have tattoos in places that you can't see?"

Andreas stopped to consider her question. Luckily she continued before he had to answer.

"Because if you are, you might already be guilty of sexual harassment. Not a good way to start out." She shook her head and found a chair to sit in, her long legs crossed at the thigh, but covered by the painter's coveralls.

Roberta stepped up. "Knock it off, Sally. He's not your employer and you're not his employee. You are an independent contractor. This is a short-term gig, lasting until February 14. Can you handle that?"

"February 14? St. Valentine's Day?" Sally let her leg pump up and down a bit.

Andreas studied both Roberta and Sally. Neither would look into the eyes of the other. They seemed embarrassed to be in the same room. Luckily, Roberta would not be present while Sally was working with him.

They were interrupted by the next appointment. The woman was only 20 years old, with dark hair about shoulder length and bangs. She was alone and looked out of place. She was dressed in slacks, a sweatshirt that read "Arkansas Hogs," and calf-high boots. Andreas went to her, and confirmed her appointment.

As usual, he checked the appointment book for the kind of photograph she wanted. It read, "private." He needed to take better notes when women called.

"What kind of photo would you like, Mandy?" Andreas asked. "What does 'private' mean?"

"It means I'm not sure. I know what kind my boyfriend would like. He has a fantasy of me flashing the crowd at a baseball game. I don't find that particularly exciting, but he does. Is he sick?" She had a charming Southern accent that softened the vowels just a bit.

Dante opened the green screen computer and found the University of Arkansas Football stadium, the Donald W. Reynolds Razorback Stadium in Fayetteville, Arkansas. He pushed it onto the screen to simulate a colorful background with a crowd.

"Hmm," Dante said, "just a bunch of red jerseys. Looks like every other college stadium in the country."

"Oh, my Lord," Mandy exclaimed. "Not the Razorback stadium. My Boo wants a picture at a baseball stadium. He's a big Cubs fan. I don't know why."

Dante dialed up Wrigley Field, the home of the Chicago Cubs. The crowd was closer, giving the striking illusion that the woman was standing among the fans. "How's this, Mandy?"

Mandy studied the background screen. She shrugged her shoulders. "It's okay, I guess. I would have brought my boo so he could pick out a picture, but then it wouldn't be much of a surprise, would it now?" She took a deep breath, shrugged her shoulders again, and said, "Now what? Do I just stand here, or pull up my shirt, or what?"

Sally shook her head and jumped up from her chair. "You might as well just stand in the bathroom naked and take a selfie in the mirror. I think you want something more. Let me help you."

Sally took Mandy by the arm and directed her into the changing area. They took long enough that the next appointment showed up. There were three young women. Dante talked with them to determine what their preferences might be. He pulled up a street scene of New Orleans during Mardi Gras on his computer screen. The streets were teeming with boisterous drunk people, shoulder to shoulder, at night, with harsh lights and garish colors of gold, green, and purple prevalent.

Sally led Mandy back to the studio proper. There had been a transformation. She was no longer wearing slacks, but cut off jeans that displayed her entire rounded thigh below the cut fringe. She wore a Cubbie blue shirt that Andreas had around the changing room. As she walked, it was obvious that she was no longer wearing a bra. Her bodacious boobs rocked gently under the shirt. Her dark bangs poked out from a Chicago baseball cap, pushed back on her head, the bill sticking nearly straight up. The rest of her dark hair fell prettily to her shoulders.

Andreas pointed to a spot where Mandy should stand. He arranged the lights and the reflectors while Sally helped Mandy to get comfortable. Sally peeked under Mandy's shirt.

"You got nice tits--round and full and all--but where are your nipples?" Sally turned to Dante. "Can you find me some ice? We need to make a point."

Dante guffawed. "'Make a point.' I get it."

Mandy put her hand out to Sally. "No, don't do that. I don't want ice on my tits. It seems so...artificial. My boo likes my ta-tas the way they are. At least that's what he tells me."

Sally shrugged and walked behind the camera sight lines.

Andreas focused through the viewfinder. Nothing special here. "Okay, when you're ready, lift up your shirt. Remember. You're at a raucous ballpark, surrounded by 40,000 beer guzzling fans, and you're going to give them the thrill of their lives. Ready? On three you'll lift up, arch your back, and push those babies to the sky. Got it?"

Mandy licked her lips nervously but nodded her head. She gathered the hem of her blue shirt into her hands, waiting for Andreas signal.

"Ready? One. Two. Three. Up we go!"

Andreas shot a quick succession of shots, but didn't like what he was seeing. The young woman was not comfortable. Her mouth was not smiling but grimacing. It was as if someone had a gun to her back and forcing her to reveal herself. He looked at Dante, who avoided his eyes. He looked at Sally, who shook her head and stepped forward. "Let me talk to her."