Glamour Photography

Sally brought a makeup brush and some dark powder. She made Mandy pull up her shirt while she talked to her and powdered the shadow between her breasts. Andreas didn't think it was necessary, but it allowed Sally to talk to Mandy about the shoot. It took a little while, but when Sally walked back, Mandy was a different woman under the lights.

Mandy stood with her back arched, a engaging smile on her pursed lips, and her blue shirt lifted to her shoulders. The most remarkable transformation was her breasts. It was more than just the makeup that had been applied. Her nipples were taut, light brown circles, with points that looked like they could poke out an eye. Andreas flashed his camera and the lights. Mandy moved a bit, making the pose seem even sexier. A shiver went through Andreas just looking at her, and that never happened when he was shooting models. It was unprofessional. Still, Andreas made a note of Mandy's contact information. She was a natural in front of the camera.

After she left, he talked to Sally. "I don't know what you said to that woman, but she was a different person after you talked with her. Thank you."

Sally sighed. "You just have to know what they want. Even Mandy didn't know what she wanted at first. She thought she wanted to pose for her 'Boo.' What kind of a name is that for a lover? No wonder she wasn't excited about posing for him."

"So what was your secret? What did you tell her?"

Sally smirked. "I had a feeling about her. So, I asked to her to pretend that she was posing not for her 'Boo' but for her boyfriend's best friend."

Andreas laughed out loud while Sally continued.

"You saw her eyes light up. When she was posing for her current boyfriend, there was no excitement. Once she thought about his best friend checking her out, she became electric. I think her 'Boo' will be bye-bye before long."

"Nice job," Andreas said.

The last appointment was the one with the three friends. Dante had set up the Mardi Gras background. The girls had brought their own sets of beads.

"We snagged these last year when we were in 'Nawlins.' It was so exciting! Right, girls? We're not usually like that, but it was SO FUN!"

"The Hurricanes helped," the second girl said.

"Some of us like it more than the others, I think." The third girl looked like she had been forced to come to the photo shoot, and probably to Mardi Gras last year, too.

"We're wearing the same clothes we wore last year. Good memories, you know? Where do you want us to stand?"

The third girl was standing back a little while the first two fairly skipped into the spotlights.

"Just the tops or will you drop your panties, too?" Andreas asked.

"Everything!" the first two girls shouted.

"No!" the third girl said emphatically.

"Oh, come on, Bethany. It took you awhile last year before you flashed, but once you did, you liked it. Remember? Come on, Bethany."

Sally caught Andreas's eye. "Let me talk to her."

Sally and Bethany spent some time talking together. A few tears trickled down Bethany's apple cheeks but were quickly wiped away before her friends could see. The other two had already stripped to the waist and were twisting side to side to test the lighting. Neither of them were particularly endowed, but their breasts were young and firm and eminently photographable.

When Bethany joined the other two, she sheepishly hung her head. When Andreas called "Three. Two. One. Up!" they all lifted their shirts, but Bethany put her fingertips over her nipples.

"Hold it right there," Andreas said. The first two girls did not only hold it, but dropped their panties so that the camera could see they were entirely shaved. "Smile for the camera now. Say Cheese!"

Sally interrupted. "Don't say, 'Cheese.' Say, 'Sorry, Daddy!'"

At that, all three girls broke up laughing. Dante threw beads to their outstretched hands. And even Bethany was grasping for the beads, letting her breasts float free in the simulated New Orleans atmosphere.

After a long night, Andreas woke early with a sore back. Too much squatting and leaning over the camera was the reason, he decided. Dante and Sally had spent the night somewhere in the studio, but not together, as far as Andreas could tell. He heard the studio shower running and knocked on the door. No one answered. Outside the shower room door, bundled on a straight-backed chair, a dozen or more folded towels of various colors were stacked. Andreas didn't have that many towels, and hadn't had time to do any laundry. He silently thanked the elves that had supplied them, suspecting it was Dante's handiwork.

The morning sun was breaking through clouds and his studio's windows. He made the last of the coffee and wrote himself a note to buy more. He left the note on the counter, hoping Dante would find it and supply more coffee like he had supplied the towels.

Andreas checked his watch. The first few clients were due in less than an hour. He considered it bad form to greet anyone who might decide to pay for his services in his pajamas. He walked to the shower room door and knocked again.

"Dante, I need to use the shower. Can you hurry up in there?"

There was no answer and no other sound but the splash of the water.

He knocked again and listened, but nothing greeted him. Now Andreas began to worry. It wouldn't be the first time that someone had OD'd in his studio. It was a procedural nightmare to answer the questions from the police and tolerate their disruptive search of his premises. He began to worry.

Andreas opened the door, but hot water steam and condensation filled the shower room. The good news was that someone was moving in the shower stall. He saw the indistinct outline of a form soaping legs, back, and wringing water from thick dark hair. The movements were graceful and enticing. Andreas smiled. It wasn't Dante in the shower, but Sally.

Andreas considered using the straight-backed chair to out-wait her. Sally was an artist, a tattoo artist, but she had to be familiar with the human figure. She was pretty enough to be a model herself and probably had posed for figure classes. A womanly body held no real fascination for him. He'd seen so many, in so many different poses, in so many different states of dress and undress, that he had no burning desire to spy on a bathing beauty. But there was something different about this woman that attracted him. Perhaps it was the fact that she was an artist, like himself, and possessed a creative mind. She had worked some creative solutions with the women who had posed for him yesterday. He had an intense desire to know her better.

A loud pounding at the front entrance echoed through the studio. The battering was accompanied by bellowing, demanding to be let in. Andreas went to the front door, aware that he was still wearing pajamas and feeling vulnerable. He pulled open the door.

The guy had to be a football player. He was big as a wall and wide as the doorway. His teeth were gritted and and his eyes narrowed. He huffed as he spoke, and not just from the effort of pounding on the studio's steel door.

"Are you the pervert who took those pictures of Mandy?" The guy's shoulders heaved while his tree stump neck had bulging veins on either side. "I'm gonna smash your face. And if I don't get every one of the those photos and their negatives or images or whatever, I'll smash your place. You got that?"

Andreas nodded. "Of course. There must have been some misunderstanding. Come on in while I locate the material you want." His brain was racing. First he had to remember which one was Mandy. The big guy's athletic shirt helped Andreas narrow the field. It read "Property of the University of Arkansas Athletic Department."

"Come on, come on. No stallin'."

Andreas fired up his computer where he accessed the files. All his pictures were stored on a secure server in the cloud but he used the computer as a gateway to the pictures.

The big guy's fingers were clenching and unclenching repeatedly, as though he were strangling a couple of chickens. "You know the pictures I mean. She was naked at Wrigley Field in front of a packed house of Cubs fans. I didn't recognize any of the fans, either."

"Ah, here they are. I'll print out the ones you want." Andreas recognized the 20-year-old with dark hair about shoulder length and bangs. She was the one with the blue Cubs shirt, who wanted to be photographed at the ball park. Sally had helped with the set-up. While they waited, Andreas stuck out his hand. "I'm Andreas. You are...?"

"I'm pissed! But my friends call me Bubba. What I want to know before I smash your face is how you took those pictures. Nobody can go to the ball parks now-a-days. Was this before the pandemic? Was this something from Mandy's wild days, before she settled down with me?" Bubba looked around for something to destroy and settled on a selfie-stick, bending it like a pretzel.

"Who's your friend?" Sally's voice rang from near the shower room. She was half-naked, a towel wrapped precariously around her hips below her navel, and another towel wrapped to look like an ice cream cone on her head. In between, a sprinkle of freckles splashed across her white shoulders, her thin arms, her proud bosom, and her tiny middle. She walked past them to the kitchen, following the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She displayed no nervousness or concern that she was so exposed to Andreas and this new person. "Anybody want some coffee?" she asked.

"I'll have some," Andreas said. He turned to Bubba with an inquiring look, but Bubba, confused by the situation, shook his head.

Sally brought Andreas his mug of coffee and peeked over his shoulder at the array of photos on the screen. "Mandy, right?" she said. "Beautiful girl. She could easily be a model. You must be proud to have such a beautiful woman, and a woman who is not afraid to be open sexually with you."

"Open sexually?" Bubba repeated, the words distasteful in his mouth. He kept his eyes on Sally, having trouble because her nipples were bouncing in random circles on her ample ta-ta's. "When did you take those pictures? Who are all those people?"

"Oh, we took them yesterday, at Mandy's request. It was supposed to be a surprise for you--you are her Boo, aren't you?--for St. Valentine's Day. I guess she couldn't wait to show you. Doesn't she look hot?" Sally gave him a conspiratorial smile. Bubba blushed.

"Just a minute. It was too cold to take pictures at Wrigley field yesterday. You must think I was born yesterday. I want some answers, and I want some answers right now." Bubba's fists were clenching again.

Sally sidled closer to Bubba and spoke directly into his ear. If she had any fear from the big lug, she hid it well. "She could be a star, Bubba, and she loves you!"

Bubba's head shot back in surprise. "Then why would she act like this, show herself off so brazenly. She's not a slut! She's a good girl from a small town."

"I know, you big lug. You have a treasure there. Don't mess it up. Mandy didn't appear in public or at any ball park. See that big old green screen against that wall? Watch what it can do." She nodded to Andreas, who had caught the drift of what she was doing. With the stroke of a few keys, he brought up the scenes of the ball park, on a sunny day in June or July, with thousands of enthusiastic fans. It was the same background used in Mandy's photo.

"Notice the difference?" Sally walked to the green screen and assumed the same body pose that Mandy had used, pulling up an imaginary blue Cubbie shirt to flash the crowd. "Everything the same, but no Mandy. It's me. Of course, I don't mind you seeing me, because like Mandy, I too have a beautiful body."

"Mandy's body is beautiful-er. No offense," Bubba mumbled. "I'm sorry, lady. I'm sorry, Andreas. I'll pay for the picture stick I pretzeled up."

"That's okay," Andreas said. "You still want those pictures of Mandy, or should I keep them safe in case she ever decides she wants to be a model?"

Bubba blushed again. "You can keep them," he said, his bull-sized head lowered as he looked at his shoes. Then he perked up. "Could I have one of those of you, Missy, just to show everyone that Mandy was not at the ball park? It's all photo magic."

Sally walked to the big guy, pulled his head lower, and kissed him on the forehead. "Do you really think Mandy would appreciate that? She wanted to give you something special, something that no other girl would ever give you. I would hate to wreck her gift. Don't you think?"

Bubba nodded sheepishly and walked to the door. "Sorry. Sorry. Hey, I kind of get it, how you photographers can not be affected by all the pretty girls." He looked menacingly at Andreas again. "You aren't affected by the beautiful girls you see, are you?"

Andreas shook his head vigorously.

"Yeah, I thought not. Hey, I've got nothing against gays. Heck, I've even gotten used to see the little lady prancing around with hardly a stitch on. Never thought I'd see that day. But, hey, little lady, what's that yellow mark on your cheek?"

Sally walked him to the exit before answering. As he was leaving, she said, "Old paint, I guess. Toodle-oo." She pushed him out the door. The last thing Bubba saw before the steel door shut was Sally letting the towel around her hips slip to the floor, while she adjusted the towel on her head.

Andreas caught his breath at the sight of the naked woman. "You look cold."

Sally glared at him before dressing. She picked up her breasts a little. The nipples were hard. There were goosebumps on her thighs and arms. She shrugged.

"I have to take a shower," he said, his voice thick and his throat dry. "You're welcome to join me. It might warm you up."

"No, thanks," she said. She rummaged through the painter's pants and t-shirt she wore yesterday, and slipped the shirt over her head. She turned to him to continue talking. He noticed that she was clean shaven. "I'm not paying any 15% to Roberta. I just want you to know. I need the money more than she does, any way. You okay with that?"

Andreas remembered how wonderful Sally had been with the customers yesterday, bringing out their innermost dreams and fantasies, and helping him translate them into sexy pictures. He had just witnessed how easily she had distracted Bubba and saved Andreas from having his face smashed. She was a valuable asset, and a necessary member of his team for the next few weeks until St. Valentine's Day. He couldn't let her go. He realized she was using her manipulative, psychological skills to twist him around her finger, too. But he didn't care. She had to stay with his business.

"I'll handle Roberta," he said.

Dante entered from outside just as Sally pulled on her pants. He looked at Sally and Andreas. Neither of them looked at the other.

"What did I miss?" Dante said.

Andreas thought he was immune from the bags of flesh and collection of bones that posed for him. He had seen them starving themselves, sucking in their cheeks, asking dentists to remove teeth, and yet paying big bucks to plastic surgeons to change their bodies. They packed on silicone where their breasts were too small, augmented cheeks and chins, trimmed thighs and butts. They were as artificial as a Christmas tree.

But Sally was different. She was true, he felt. She was honest. Hadn't she just told him that she wouldn't pay Roberta? She was open about her sexuality, but not about her personality. Occasionally he saw the depths of her green blue eyes but she never allowed him the time to plumb those depths entirely. She always left him wanting more.

She had glowed while dealing with Mandy's boo, Bubba. It was an image impossible to forget. As frequently as he brought it to mind, though, he could not recall seeing a tattoo on the creamy skin of the tattoo artist. Perhaps Sally had been putting him on. After all, Andreas was convinced he had now become familiar with every inch of her skin. Of course, so had Bubba.

He knew he was falling for her, a girl that Roberta had told him was suicidal. Roberta obviously had some problem with her. He talked to Roberta, who still wanted her share of Sally's paycheck. Andreas agreed to let her take it out of his share of the payments, leaving Sally's paycheck untouched. Roberta laughed at the arrangement, but accepted Andreas's extra contribution.

One day before St. Valentine's, Roberta caught up to Andreas in the studio. She was both excited by the money they had collected and aggravated that it wasn't more. "This can't last forever, can it, Andreas? After St. Valentine's Day, your business will drop off precipitously. Then what?"

"Well, perhaps Easter parades or Spring flings, or Spring breaks..."

Roberta shook her head. "Pie in the sky, my friend. I've been giving this a lot of thought, and I've come to a conclusion. The term of the lease expires in a few days, and I'm not going to renew it. I'm sorry, but this is business. So, you need to move out. Whaddasay?"

"You can't evict me. The rent is current! I've got all my stuff here? Where can I go? You tricked me into paying."

"Pshaw." Roberta shook her head again. "You should thank me. Without my ideas you would have sat on your ass these past six weeks. No money in for you, for Dante, for Sally, no beautiful pictures created for your clients. You should thank me. But play time is over. I have a paying tenant for this space, someone who doesn't rely on the vagaries of the consuming public. So, it's been fun, Andreas, but it's time we go."

Andreas took a slow look at the space and the photographic equipment, computers, screens, lights, props, and paints. The space had been perfect. The drawback was that Roberta owned it, not he, and so he was always subject to her whims. That had come back to bite him. He should have anticipated that as the economy recovered.

He finished the last photos that day without speaking to either Dante or Sally. The last picture was a group shot of eight young women, posing on a nude beach before roiling surf and towering cliffs. The young women had their arms around each other, their backs arched, their bottoms newly waxed, and their makeup adjusted by Sally. They felt good about themselves. Sally helped them to fantasize about the men who would be drooling over their pictures. Sure, their current boyfriends would see a girlfriend, but each girl would also be seen by every other boyfriend. These were men they knew, but for the most part had never slept with. Those men had never even peeked down blouse at them. Now here the women were, completely exposed.

They loved it, as they thought about it. They left the studio, giggling and bumping into each other and promising to take other pictures every few months. Sally helped them to imagine new sites--a subway station, an airport lobby, the exterior elevator of a highrise hotel. They were limited only by their imaginations.

After they left, Andreas sat alone in the kitchen area, mulling his limited options. Sally walked in on him.

"What's the problem, boss?" she asked.

"Roberta refuses to renew my lease. This space, this wonderful space, will be going to some other company. I have to find a new place. I have to think this through."

"That bitch," she grumbled.

He thought she would leave him be. Instead, she stood behind him, and began to knead the tightness in his neck. She didn't try to talk with him. He had nothing to say, and neither did she. The longer she massaged his neck, the closer he felt to her. Nothing was said, but he allowed himself to be vulnerable for her. He never before had allowed that kind of intimacy with any woman.

Sally led him to a high-backed stuffed armchair, the kind that models liked to sprawl over, one long leg on the arm rest, their arms akimbo over their heads. She let him sit, his head resting on the high back. She massaged his shoulders, his thighs, and knelt on the floor before him to squeeze his calf muscles and his feet.