Page 5 of The Enforcer

Not likely.

Joaquin was always early. Late for him was exactly on time.

Then maybe he wasn't coming at all. Maybe he was the only one of us with some sense and decided the best thing to do was avoid this entire thing because it was going to get us both in trouble. I couldn't fault him for not showing up. Not when there was so much at stake. And yet, I couldn't help but feel my heart sink with disappointment. I wasn't quite sure why I was disappointed. It wasn't as though I was actually going to give Walter the pictures - though maybe I was. I didn't actually know - but I wanted to take them.

At that moment, Joaquin appeared at the door and pushed it open. He glanced around the nearly empty parking lot. I didn't blame him for his wariness. What would people say about me going into his studio? Houston might be a big city, but it had small town vibes. People knew each other. And people loved to gossip.

Regardless, I smoothed out my face in hopes that I had the confidence of someone who was supposed to be there. I shifted my weight as I waited for him to invite me in, which he did with a nod of his head. I stepped through some invisible threshold. Once I entered, things would be different. I had no idea why I knew that, but deep in my bones, I did. I still had time to turn around. I still had time to head back to my car and forget I ever requested this meeting in the first place. He would pretend it never happened. We could go back pretending that he was my dad's best friend and I was his best friend's daughter and there was nothing else between us.

But we didn't want that. At least, I didn't want that.

I walked into the studio, into the warmth the heater provided.

"It's nice and warm," I remarked as he shut the door behind us. I heard him lock it so we wouldn't be disturbed, something I was grateful for. The last thing I needed was someone to walk in on a shoot and interrupt us. Not that they would necessarily see what I was wearing or the type of shoot I was participating in, but at least there would be no disturbances that might make me questions being here, question what I was doing and who I was doing it with.

I didn't want a lesson. I wanted to do this. I wanted to be here.

I glanced around. The windows were tinted so I could see the parking lot from my position in the small lobby, but it was dark enough to mask my being here. There was a white coffee table that looked like it came from Ikea in the corner of the room, positioned between two chairs with a couple of photo albums placed on top. Part of me wanted to sit down and flip through it in order to take his work in.

I always remembered Joaquin as a photographer more than I remembered him as a hockey player. He always had a camera around his neck and was always snapping pictures - of people, of scenery, of inanimate objects. Joaquin had this talent to make things beautiful, either to find beauty within them that no one else could see and showcase it or to enhance something that was already deemed beautiful and have it look unique.

I had no idea what his plan was for me.

"There are a couple of options in terms of number of photos and type of album," Joaquin said. "We can talk about it in the studio. Did you want to get dressed first?"

I didn't know but I nodded my head anyway. I felt awkward standing there with a grocery bag filled with clothes.

"You nervous?" he asked, looking down at me with those big, brown eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest. There was no judgment there. If anything, his normally jagged features seemed soft and understanding. "Listen, if this isn't something you wanted to do, you can leave and it wouldn't be a problem. We can both pretend you were never here. No one would know. I wouldn't say anything."

I shook my head. "No," I said. "Well, I am nervous. I've never done anything like this before. I've never even considered doing something like this. I guess I'm just worried the pictures won't turn out the way I expect them to be, like I'm in over my head and there's no way in hell I can pull something like this off."

He frowned. "Why would you think that?" he asked.

I shrugged. It was difficult for me to look at him. I wasn't embarrassed to be here, but I suddenly got this feeling, this reminder, that I was a little girl and so many other, older, more experienced beautiful women came here every single day to do the type of shoots I requested to do. I felt like an amateur among professionals, like he was indulging a whim because he was my father's best friend. I was carrying a grocery bag filled with clothes for crying out loud. I had lingerie on - my only bra and underwear set that matched. The only makeup I was wearing was mascara. It was like I suddenly realized what a joke this was and I wasn't sure how to handle it.

"Hey," he said. He reached out and placed his hands delicately under my chin and tilted it up so I was forced to stare up at him. His eyes were heavy with concern. "You can do this. You are beautiful and creative. There aren't many women who wouldn't give their significant other a gift like this. If you want to do it, go for it. If you don't, don't. If you're uncomfortable because I'm taking these pictures -"

"No," I said, my voice firm. "No, that's not it. It has nothing to do with you." Lie. That was a lie. "Taking the pictures, I mean. It's more me being in my own head."

He nodded his head. His gaze was curious, perhaps a little confused at my answer. I couldn't blame him. It wasn't as though I was going out of my way to explain. I didn't know what to say anyway. I didn't know how he would react if I told him the whole truth.

"Here's the dressing room," he said, nodding his head at a small room in the corner of the studio. "Why don't you put your first outfit on. If you change your mind, no hard feelings."

I nodded my head and turned to the room. I appreciated the offer, but despite my feelings, there was no way in hell I was changing my mind.

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