Page 52 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
“You. Are. Gorgeous!”
A tall, slim woman with a western belt on her expensive jeans ran to meet me at the door of the photography studio. Her dark blonde ponytail swung as she tilted her head to greet me. Freckles spattered her upturned nose. She beamed at me with lively blue eyes, and I blushed. Ushering me in and locking the door behind me, she stuck out her hand to introduce herself. “I’m Summer. You’re Jessica?”
I nodded.
“Come sit,” she continued. “Let’s talk.” She led me to the back of the studio. As we walked, I looked around.
An old brick building, long and narrow, housed the studio, which was crammed with framed photographs everywhere, not just on the walls, but also on tables, bookcases, and counter tops. The startling effect made me not know where to look first. At least the black painted ceiling offered visual relief. Oriental rugs covered the dark hardwood floor.
Summer specialized in boudoir shots, although she also had pictures of couples, children, animals, families, and high school seniors. It would take hours to look at all of these pictures.
We went to a beat-up couch and she offered me tea, which I declined, and a bottle of water, which I took. Then she smiled.
“So, let’s talk. What kind of photographs would you like to take?”
Sexy ones. I wanted to be brave enough to show them to Mikey. This meant that I wanted him to see me in that way.
I also wanted to see what other people saw when they looked at me. Not the old, moldy thoughts I had of myself, but the light ones, the ones where I was floating. The ones where I belonged on the planet, instead of just taking up space.
And without meaning to, my tears welled up, and I was unable to answer her.
She reached over and patted my hand. “Oh, honey, it’s okay. We’ll take some hot pictures.”
I nodded, and she handed me a Kleenex.
“You’re interested in boudoir shots, right?”
I nodded, unable to speak, daubing my eyes.
This was so embarrassing.
I wanted to feel the way those pictures looked. I wanted to feel beautiful. And I was forcing myself to do this, but I think that a small part of me wanted to be there, wanted to do this.
Part of me couldn’t believe that I was allowed to do so. Couldn’t believe that I was allowed to feel good about myself. About my body.
I’d started, but I was still a work in progress.
“Do you want to show me any pictures that you like here as inspiration?”
I shyly walked up to a photograph that had caught my eye. A sepia picture of a busty, dark haired woman wearing a black lace negligee, shoulders exposed. She had curvy hips and ample thighs. Not thin by any stretch of the imagination. But so beautiful and sexy.
I wanted to look like that.
“Oh, that’s Grace. We can totally do something like that, and you’ll be so seductive.” She paused. “One of the things I like to know before I start taking pictures is what is your favorite body part?”
Swallowing my sip of water, I tried to scoot back further in the seat. “My face, I guess. Or my hair.”
She nodded. “What else, though?”
“That’s it,” I whispered.
“And your least favorite body part?”
“All the rest.” Again, my voice was barely audible.
Leaning toward me on the couch, she raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know how beautiful you are, do you? Your whole body?”
I shrugged and looked anywhere other than at her. With her long legs and blonde hair, she had no problem with being beautiful.
