Page 8 of Camera Shy

It’s the absolute most tame way to explain myself. After Nora and I broke up, I’d lose myself for days at a time. All the things she accused me of while we were together, that I never did—I dove right into out of spite. I live just off the Las Vegas Strip and I took full advantage. I went on benders for days straight. I partied, binge-drank, and fucked. I fucked so much, I stopped feeling my orgasms. The only real evidence of my climax was the mess I’d leave behind. I was numb…my heart was completely numb.

It had to stop. After months of pressing the self-destruct button, I needed to stop.

“Finn, honey,” Mrs. Mattley says, pressing her palm against my cheek. “May I give you some advice, dear? From your elder.”

I nod into her hand. “Of course you can.”

“You are young, dashingly handsome, and have a body fit enough to captain a ship.”

I glance at Lennox from the corner of my eyes. Her perplexed expression tells me I’m not the only one who finds that compliment odd.

Mrs. Mattley continues, “You’re going to blink and be an old, withered mess like me. So, while you have the stamina that you do”—she flashes me a devilish smile—“stick your thing in everything you want. I mean, use a condom for goodness’ sake, but have fun, Finny.”

Lennox bursts out laughing. She wraps her arms around her ribs to try to control her heaving.

My dry mouth falls open. “Mrs. Mattley—”

“I’m serious, Finn. As long as you’re safe, what’s wrong with making as many connections as you can? You only get one life.”

Nothing, I suppose. But what happens when sex no longer feels like connecting?

“You know, I think I’ve learned more about you in this one session than I’ve learned in months of knowing you.”

Mrs. Mattley flicks her hair with sass, causing Lennox to fall into a fit of laughter, tears beginning to form at the corner of her eyes. “I…love…her…” she says between gasping chuckles.

“This is what happens when you put me in skin-tight leather,” she explains. “You get the devil.”

“All right, you randy little minx, save some of that energy, would you?” Rising, I tap my camera gently. This camera is worth half a year of car payments. I squint at the LCD display to confirm we still have the perfect lighting pouring in from the large windowpanes to the right of the studio. Then I get bossy. “All right, tilt your chin like I showed you—ah! No, stop that.”

“Stop what?” Mrs. Mattley freezes in place, startled, like I told her there was a giant spider on her head.

“What are you doing with your mouth?” I ask, watching her try to pucker her thin lips awkwardly.

“I’m told it’s called duckface. It’s supposed to be flattering.”

Palming my forehead, I shake my head adamantly. “It is not and stop that. Natural,” I remind her. “That’s what looks best. Don’t try so hard.”

“Well, are you going to fix these pictures with all your Photoshop magic when I look like a wilted, decrepit, old widow?”

Groaning, I abandon my perfect positioning and squat down so I’m level with her eyes. Without looking, I jut my thumb over my shoulder at the giant sign on the back of the studio wall. “Read it.”

Mrs. Mattley blinks at me, unimpressed.

“Out loud,” I demand. The sign is an eight-by-four-foot white canvas, with simple words scrawled in black calligraphy. It’s mounted to the back of the studio wall so that no matter where you are on the set, the client can read it clear as day. A constant reminder…

“You’re beautiful. You’re worthy,” she mumbles.

“Mhm,” I say, looking into her blue eyes. “Nowhere on that sign does it say ‘wilted’ and I’m certain I’ve never uttered the word ‘decrepit’ in here.” I brush my thumb against her cheek that’s tinted with a perfect blush, thanks to the makeup artist who was here not two hours ago. “You are beautiful. You are worthy. So act like it, Mrs. Mattley.” Standing again, I back away a few paces and raise my camera once more. “Just stare over my shoulder at that sign and give me a simple smile.”

Once her shoulder relaxes and she’s mastering the flattering poses without distorting her body, the camera becomes obsessed. I click away furiously, capturing her energy that’s growing bolder by the minute.

This is the reason I work so hard at my job. The reward is seeing a woman believe in her own magic. This certainly isn’t sex…

But it’s most definitely connecting.

3

Avery

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