No More Beautiful Words

Even after Lana had been replaced by Rayanne, the oldest of the group with streaming red hair that flowed across alabaster breasts, Scott found himself constantly glancing toward the inner office door in hope of again catching another look at the woman who had so captured his attention. In fact, he almost totally ignored the redhead, despite her enthusiasm in showing off her naked body, happily assuming any pose Mark requested.

The final set of the day featured Rachel, a buxom Latina who also proudly paraded her assets before the camera, going far beyond any of the previous models. Despite their unsuitability, Mark made no attempt to discourage her, leading Scott to believe that, if the shots proved too raunchy for the magazine, the photographer would just save them for his private collection.

Then, just as Mark was finishing up the last few shots, one which had included Rachel squeezing her left breast while she placed the fingers of her other hand in her pussy, Lana reappeared. She paused for a second to glance at the display being put on by the olive-skinned woman in front of the camera, registering a look of disapproval. Then she quickly headed for the door, reaching it just as Scott finally noticed her -- too late to get more than a glance of his own.

Rachel finally finished up her set and, after quickly tossing on her clothes, left as well, leaving Scott and Mark to the task of restoring the offices to their original appearances. They had already taken down and packed up the lights and backdrops when Melissa emerged from the inner room, a large suitcase sized carryall with all her wares in her hands.

"You can finish up here, can't you, Scott?" Mark said as he first looked at his assistant, then shifted his attention to Melissa, who seemed to be waiting for him.

"I guess so," Scott replied, making the connection and realizing that Mark had never intended to stay and help.

"Great, I really appreciate it," Mark said as he flashed a smile in the make-up artist's direction.

Mark started to step away when Scott made a loud coughing sound, a reminder that the older man was forgetting something.

"Oh yeah," he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "How much did we say again?"

"A hundred dollars," Scott replied in a clear voice.

"Right," Mark acknowledged, pausing for a moment as if he wanted to question the amount.

A thought that quickly faded as, glancing again at Melissa, he noted the look of impatience on her face. Quickly taking five twenty dollar bills out of the billfold, he handed them to Scott.

"Just leave everything up by the door when you're done," he quickly said. "I'll swing by later and pick it all up."

He was already halfway across the room, his mind now totally focused on Melissa, when Scott called his name, prompting him to pause.

"Maybe you want to take these with you now," Scott said, holding out a small clear zippered bag that contained the film canisters with the day's efforts.

"Oh yeah, I guess I should," Mark awkwardly agreed.

Securing the canisters in his small carry bag, Mark stepped over to Melissa and slipped his arm around her, leading her toward the door. Once they had exited into the corridor, a curious Scott stuck his head out into the hall and watched as they approached the freight elevator. As they waited for the door to open, he could see Mark's hand drop down to the cheeks of Melissa's ass, squeezing them softly. The redhead giggled at his touch, tilting her head toward his until, just before they stepped into the lift, their lips connected.

'God, Mark is really an asshole,' Scott thought as he stepped back into the office to complete the packing, 'but then again, he's an asshole that's probably getting laid tonight -- which is more than I can say.'

-=-=-=-

It only took another twenty minutes for Scott to finish, but even so, it was closer to three than the two o'clock finishing time that he'd been promised. He checked one last time to be sure he hadn't missed anything, then closed the self-locking door behind him. As he waited for the freight elevator to come back up to his level -- they were notoriously slow due to the heavy loads they were designed to carry -- he thought about what an interesting day it had been.

If nothing else, he would never look at older women again in quite the same manner. It was one thing to see girls his age, or even a bit older, as sexual beings, but until today he never imagined doing so with women his mother's age -- Mrs. Petroski notwithstanding.

As the elevator finally arrived, Scott's thoughts shifted to a more practical consideration, what to do with his new found windfall. Somehow, it didn't seem right to spend it on something practical like paying bills -- at least not all of it. By the time he stepped inside and the elevator began to drop, he'd decided to only put half of it towards that. That would still leave fifty dollars to have fun with.

'A pity that Wendy dumped me last night,' he thought as he walked out of the warehouse and onto the empty street. 'I could've taken her somewhere really nice.'

As he started in the direction where he'd parked his car, Scott further considered that if he went to his favorite dance club with that much money in his pocket, he certainly wouldn't lack for female companionship. But then, just as quickly, he dismissed that thought. It was one thing to spend money on someone you brought there, but quite another to use it to try and buy someone's attention. That was too much like simply paying for sex for his taste.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice the figure stepping out of the bodega a few stores down until he'd almost collided with her, avoiding doing so at the last second only by pivoting so hard that he nearly lost his balance. Even so, it took a few seconds for his head to stop spinning.

"Well, hello there," the woman said as she also recognized the young man who had almost knocked her over. "We meet again."

"What?" Scott said as he turned to see the grey-haired woman from before standing just a few feet away, now wearing a dark blue skirt and a short-sleeved beige top.

"Please tell me that Mark is still upstairs," Lana said, glancing past Scott in the direction of the warehouse offices.

"No, I'm afraid he left about a half-hour ago," a still slightly stunned Scott replied.

"Damn, I was so hoping that he was still around," she said.

"Is something wrong?" Scott asked, picking up on a slight tremble in her voice.

"I was hoping that he might be able to give me a ride home," Lana said, "or at least to someplace where I could get a cab or something."

"He left with Melissa," Scott said, wondering why even as he did so, he felt the need to say it.

"Ah, the little redhead," the older woman grinned, "I thought there was something going on there."

She paused for a breath, then explained her predicament. Her neighbor, Peggy, had dropped her off earlier and was supposed to come back around two and pick her up. But two o'clock came and went, but no Peggy, leaving her stranded. She had used the pay phone in the small convenience store to try and call her to see what happened, but hadn't gotten through until just a few minutes ago. Peggy, it turned out, had car trouble, serious enough to need to have it towed to a nearby repair shop. They said it would only be a minor repair, but they couldn't get the part it needed until Monday.

"I tried the car services in the area, but most of them are only interested in local runs," she concluded. "The only one that said they could take me home also said they'd have to charge me for the return trip as well."

Car services were a great asset in areas where yellow cabs didn't venture, Scott knew, especially since that meant just about anywhere outside of Manhattan. But they did have their limitations, as Lana had just stated. It also didn't help that Red Hook was a transit desert, containing few options and those only after a long walk.

"Where do you have to go?" Scott asked.

"Ocean Parkway and Quentin Road," she replied.

Scott had a friend who lived only a few blocks from there, over on Kings Highway, so he was pretty familiar with the area. If Lana caught the F train up on Smith and Ninth Street, he thought, it would get her home in less than an hour. Of course, that wasn't counting the half hour it would take to get to the station on foot.

"I could drop you off by the F train," he heard himself say. "That stops a couple of blocks from where you want to go."

"That would definitely make you my hero of the day," Lana quickly replied, flashing him a broad smile as she did.

"It's no problem," Scott said as she returned the smile.

It took longer to walk to where he'd left the car than it did to drive to the train station. Aside from a further thank you once they'd arrived, nothing had passed between them during the short five-minute drive. At least not until they saw the large makeshift sign in front of the subway stop that stated that the F train was temporarily out of service due to signal problems.

"Fuck, what do I do now?" Lana asked, more to herself than to Scott.

Scott thought about it a few moments and remembered that the BMT lines ran parallel to the IND, so he could just as easily put her on the N train as the F. The only problem with that was that he'd have to go downtown to DeKalb Avenue to reach the closest connection. That would take at least fifteen minutes under ideal conditions, which, this being Saturday afternoon traffic, he doubted he'd find.

"I supposed the easiest thing for me to do is just drive you all the way," Scott said, a slight exasperation in his voice. He'd already gone this far, so he'd have to see it through.

"Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that," Lana said.

"You didn't ask, I offered," Scott clarified, adding to himself that he really didn't have anything else to do at the moment.

-=-=-=-

The traffic heading up toward Ocean Parkway proved just as substantial as what he had envisioned if he'd headed downtown, making the trip much longer than he'd hoped. Even if it hadn't, it was quickly clear that he couldn't spend the entire six miles ignoring his passenger. The thing was, what did he say to a woman he'd seen totally naked only a few hours before?

A few years back, Scott had seen a funny movie on cable called "What do you say to a naked lady?" It had been made by the man who did Candid Camera and explored situations where people were confronted by a nude woman in everyday situations. Lana wasn't naked now, of course, but each time Scott looked at her, he couldn't help but remember how she had looked when she was. He just couldn't think what to say. Thankfully, Lana didn't have the same problem as she broke the silence once they were halfway to Prospect Park.

"So, seen any good movies lately?" she unexpectedly asked Scott.

"Excuse me?" he replied.

"I asked if you've seen any good movies," Lana repeated. "It's a safe enough question to break the ice and get a conversation started, or at least better than, what did you think of my boobs?"

Lana's easygoing candor took Scott by surprise, causing him to need a few moments to answer her question.

"I actually saw Grease last night," he finally replied.

"On a date?" she asked.

"What makes you ask that?" he inquired.

"Well, it's not really a guy film, so I can't imagine you going to see it with a bunch of your buddies," she explained. "So..."

"Yeah, it was a date," Scott admitted.

"You get lucky afterwards?" Lana asked.

Scott didn't give an answer.

"I'm going to take that as a no," she smiled. "Not really any of my business, but I was just curious. I saw Grease the week it came out with one of my neighbors. I didn't really like it."

"Really, why not?" Scott asked, thinking it hadn't been bad.

"I just thought most of the actors looked too old to be playing high school students," Lana explained. "Oh, I know it's common to use performers older than the roles they play, but just about everyone in that movie looked to be pushing thirty. I did enjoy the music though."

Scott hadn't really given any thought to the ages of the actors; all of his attention had been focused on Wendy, rather than what was going on up on the screen. But now that he did think about it, they really hadn't looked like real high schoolers and he had to agree with Lana.

The conversation paused as Scott made the turn onto Ninth Avenue where he would run along the length of the park to Prospect Park Southwest. But Lana started it back up again once that had been made, and with a question he wasn't prepared for.

"Well, now that the ice is broken," she said, "what did you think of my boobs? Not bad for an old lady, right?"

"I... I guess I thought they were pretty nice," Scott finally said after careful consideration.

"Only nice?" Lana inquired with a grin. "Did you think that any of the other women at the shoot had better ones?"

"No, I thought yours were the best," Scott said, thinking there was no other answer that he could give that she wouldn't be insulted by.

"Damn straight," Lana laughed. "I've still got great tits!"

From Prospect Park Southwest they made their way onto Ocean Parkway, where the traffic again began to bog down. Much to Scott's relief, more innocuous topics dominated their chat, although Lana still managed to slip in a few personal questions that he only felt comfortable answering because he was never going to see her again. Anonymity, it seemed, bred honesty.

They were nearing the point where Scott needed to move over to the service road so he could turn off the Parkway, when he decided to ask a personal question of his own. Yet, even though he had already shared some of his own secrets, Scott felt the need to ask her if it was okay to ask.

"Lana, can I ask you a question?" he said. "It's a bit personal."

"Honey, considering that you've seen all of me that there is to see," she laughed, "I think we're long past personal. Fire away."

Scott paused as he made the lane change, then, without taking his eyes off the road, he asked what made her decide to pose in the nude.

"Hmm, that is a good question," Lana replied, taking a breath to consider her response. "I guess I could just say the money. It's not a lot, but it's a hell of a lot more than I'd make with a part time job at McDonald's."

Scott didn't have any idea what the models had been paid, but he'd assumed that it was a lot, based on what Mark had paid him -- and he hadn't taken his clothes off. Then again, if the photographer hadn't been in dire straits as far as getting an assistant for the day, it was doubtful he'd have been so generous.

"But it wasn't just the money," Lana continued after taking another breath. "Having men still look at my body is, well, a bit of a turn on."

"And you don't feel self-conscious about it?" Scott asked.

"Sugar, I didn't feel self-conscious about it when I was not much older than you," she grinned. "So, I'm hardly going to feel that way now that I'm three times that."

Lana went on to explain that, back in the forties, she'd posed in a few of what were euphemistically called, 'pin-up magazines,' -- the more daring of which had included semi or total nudity. Some of the models in those books also posed for private photographs that depicted sexual activity, she added, but she had never been one of those women.

"Showing off the body God gave me was one thing," Lana expounded, "but getting paid to have sex would've made me something other than just a model. Not that I've ever minded giving it away -- to the right guy, of course."

Scott wasn't sure how to respond to that, and thankfully he didn't have to as the traffic light turned green and he was able to make the right-hand turn onto Quentin Road. The house that Lana had given him the address of was actually on East 7th Street and, following her instructions, he pulled his car into the empty driveway.

The two-story brick house was similar to others on the block, semi-attached with a single driveway separating it from the next building. It was simple in design, but to someone who had lived in apartments all his life as Scott had, it might as well have been a mansion.

"Now it's time for us to say goodbye to all our company," Lana remarked as Scott put the car in park and turned off the ignition.

"What?" he said, not understanding the reference.

"I guess that was a bit before your time," Lana smiled before again saying that she wished he'd let her compensate him for his trouble.

"That's not necessary," Scott insisted.

"Well, at least I hope that I didn't embarrass you too much with my questions," Lana said. "My husband used to say that I had been born without a filter and..."

"You're married?" Scott interrupted, not having seen a ring on her hand.

"My late husband," Lana corrected herself. "He's been gone almost twelve years now, but sometimes I talk about him as if he's still here."

Scott nodded his head in understanding; his grandmother constantly referenced his grandfather the same way.

Lana reached for the door handle, then paused, turning her head back toward Scott. Saying it was going to be just as long a ride back, she asked if he needed to use the bathroom before he started.

A moment ago, that would've been the furthest thing from Scott's mind, but once the question had been asked, it would prey on his mind all the way home, until he would actually have to go. He had been that way almost his whole life, as his mother was wont to ask every time they left the house, no matter how short the trip.

Seemingly pleased that she was at least able to offer him that, Lana led Scott down the driveway and through the side door of the first-floor kitchen, directing him to a phone booth sized half-bathroom just off it. When he emerged a few minutes later, however, she was nowhere to be seen.

He was about to call out her name, but then hesitated because he didn't know if they were alone in the house. All things considered, calling attention to his presence might not be the best thing. So, he simply waited there until, a few minutes later, Lana appeared from behind the door which he later learned led down to the basement. In her hand were two old magazines which she laid down on the Formica kitchen table.

"I suddenly remembered that I still had these down in the basement and thought you might find them interesting," Lana said to explain her absence, inviting Scott to sit down and take a look at them. "My husband spent quite an amount of time tracking these down years ago, and it was pretty amazing that he found even one of them, much less two."

Curious, Scott accepted the invitation and once he'd slid into the chair, examined the magazines. One was called "Gentleman's Delight" and the other "Summer Nights," neither of which he'd ever heard of. Still, their format and the photos of the women within them bore a striking resemblance to an old copy of Playboy that his uncle once gave him as a sixteenth-birthday present. It had been the issue from the month he'd been born. He'd misplaced it somewhere over the last few years, but if he closed his eyes, he could still see the centerfold in his memory.

Scott had a pretty good idea why Lana had thought he might be interested in the old magazines, an assumption that was confirmed when he came to the pictorial on page nine of "Summer Nights." There, wearing nothing that she hadn't come into the world with, was a younger version of Lana. The hair was much darker and done up in a long-outdated hairstyle, plus she'd gained some weight over the decades, but it was unmistakably her.

The photographs were mostly black and white and of mixed quality, nothing like what one might expect to see in even the cheapest magazines today. Still, they were riveting, and Scott couldn't take his eyes off of them.