Page 49 of Camera Chemistry
“Yeah.” My eyes drop to the space on my other side, and I sigh. “I just thought—”
“So did I.”
“It’s fine. Really. No big deal. It’s just a couple of questions, and we can forget the shoot ever happened.”
“Do you want to forget the shoot ever happened?” Jeremiah asks.
“No. I want Aiden to be here and I want him to be the one holding my hand, not you. Sorry. You know I love you.”
“But I can’t dick you down like he can. I get it. I’m allowed to be replaced.”
I giggle. “Stop. You’re going to make me cry and I think the makeup lady already wants to kill me for all the bags under my eyes she had to cover up.”
“You look as beautiful as always to me.” Jeremiah plants a kiss on my cheek.
“Thanks, Jer.”
“We’re live in ten,” someone calls out. Music begins to play and the set goes silent. My spine stiffens with anticipation and I sit up as straight as I can, folding my ankles over themselves.
“Welcome back, folks,” Deborah says, staring into the camera. “I’m joined now by Maggie Houston and Jeremiah Porter, who recently went viral with their strangers’ photo shoot. You might have seen the pictures floating around social media—how could you not? The images are everywhere, and rightfully so. Jeremiah, let’s start with you. Working with two people who don’t know each other. They aren’t models. It’s like picking someone off a street. Why?”
“Deborah, thank you so much for having us this morning,” Jeremiah starts. “The trend gained popularity a few years back, and there’s something so fascinating to me about watching a story unfold from behind the lens. I didn’t give any direction; I let Maggie and Aiden be who they are, and that’s where the chemistry happened. They were so dynamic, and easier to photograph than a lot of the professionals I’ve worked with, because they connected so well.”
“Do you think we could expect more of these shoots to pop up in the future?”
“I certainly hope so,” he says. “I wanted to incorporate humans you would see walking down the street or on the Metro. The industry is changing; more body types are being showcased in ads and on the runway. Our shoot proves we as photographers could also afford to get away from some of the rigidity associated with formal photo shoots, and let the models do what feels right in the moment.”
“Beautifully said.” Deborah turns to me. “Now, Maggie, this was out of your element, yes? Clearly you’re not a model.”
“Professionals don’t pose with their mouth half open?” I joke, taking the backhanded comment in stride. “I’m a neurosurgeon, actually, and I usually hate being in front of a camera.”
“Our senior prom photos are so bad,” Jeremiah adds.
“Jer is my best friend, and I could hear how passionate he was when talking about the idea. I agreed to do the shoot, and once some of the initial tension wore off, I had a great time.”
“Has there been any backlash? Any critique that, as a doctor, you shouldn’t be posing in your underwear? What kind of message do you think that sends?”
Jeremiah stiffens beside me, and my smile falls. “Women, and men, should be allowed to express themselves creatively through nonprofessional outlets. Maybe that’s a tattoo, or a new hair color. Or, in this case, photography. There are pictures on my social media of me at a beach in less clothing than what I had on at the shoot. Those are acceptable. And somehow this isn’t? What one does in their free time doesn’t impact their reliability in their career. Most of the feedback has been positive, and I love that people can see that all bodies should be celebrated on camera.”
“Wonderful. Now for the elephant in the room. Everyone wants to know about you and Aiden. Did you really not know each other before the shoot?”
“No. We met that day.”
“And a connection formed. Have you seen each other since?”
My heart hammers so loudly in my chest, I’d be surprised if the camera didn’t pick up the erratic beat. “No,” I answer. “We haven’t.”
“Is a reconciliation something you’d be open to?” Deborah presses. I feel like I’m on a shitty dating show and my baggage is being carried across the stage for all to see.
“Aiden and I knew the parameters of the shoot going in, and we’ve stuck to that. He’s a great man, and a loving father. I enjoyed our time together, and I hope he’s doing well.”
“If you could say anything to him, what would it be?”
I miss you. I think about you day and night. Do you think about me?
“I would ask when the appointment for his tattoo removal is.”
It’s a pathetic joke, an easy way out from this hell I’ve been thrust into. I don’t want to relive our intimate moments on national television without him by my side. It’s wrong, an attention I don’t deserve.
