Innocent Ink (12 page)
He held out until she relaxed beneath him, her body suddenly soft and recovering from a wrenching peak that had stolen her breath and weakened her muscles. And then he held out some more, not wanting it to be over. Taking it slow, he resolved to go softly until he felt her legs wrapped tightly around his waist again, or maybe her fingernails digging into his back. Then he’d give her a third orgasm, leave her breathless all over again.
He’d go until the lure of finishing was stronger than the appeal of making what they were doing last. Because this was the last time they’d sleep together before she left for New York, and he knew the opportunity she’d earned there would broaden her horizons, show her the world that was waiting outside of Pittsburgh for someone of her skill set and tenacity. And if that world snared her heart, he couldn’t hold her back.
He’d just learned to let lost love go. What if the experience had been training, a test? It had taken him five years to fully come to terms with the fact that Alice was gone, and he might lose Karen in the span of a few days.
* * * * *
Natasha moved with a practiced grace, all long, slender limbs and cascading white silk, exactly the kind of model Karen was used to seeing in Marc St. Pierre bridal catalogs. She wore a lace stole over her shoulders and held a bouquet of deep red roses and white lilies – the effect was striking, especially in contrast to her long sable hair, which had been carefully styled, but left unbound. The winter bride look was gorgeous, and it would appear in the catalogs a few months from now, photographed by Karen. She got crazy, happy butterflies in her stomach just thinking about it.
Still, as she captured a shot that highlighted the graceful curve of Natasha’s shoulder and showed off the back of the gown, she thought of Mina in her wedding dress – a real one, for a real bride. There had been a certain charm, a certain thrill found in taking those photos, knowing she was capturing a beautiful moment in a beautiful life.
As exciting as it was to photograph a real New York fashion model in a real designer dress, the elaborate set was just an imitation of real life, and Karen was aware of that – aware of the fact that her job was to make it all look like a glamourized version of reality to the brides who’d open the Marc St. Pierre winter lookbook.
After Karen finished photographing Natasha alone, a groom walked onto the set. He was classically handsome with neat, dark hair and a trim build showcased by a perfectly-tailored tuxedo. He posed with a natural grace too, and together, he and Natasha looked beautiful.
Photographing them wasn’t like photographing a real bride and groom, though. The photos were about showing off the clothing, not the couple or their love, which of course didn’t exist. Karen kept that in mind, capturing images that would display the beautiful wedding wear to full advantage. The models were just perfect – just conventional – enough that they’d fade into the background, living canvases for high-end style.
Karen couldn’t help but think of the people she photographed most often back in Pittsburgh – the friends, the Hot Ink clients and the real-life bride and grooms – so many of whom had turned their bodies into canvases for artwork by artists like Jed and Eric.
The Marc St. Pierre winter lookbook would be a one-time publication, the fashions within fleeting. Taking the photos was a killer career opportunity, but ultimately, the images would find their way into recycling bins and garbage cans. No one would cherish them forever.
The realization stood in contrast to the highly-personal nature of the portrait sessions she often conducted back home. But hey, at least no one was peeing in the corner of the studio. Photographing fashion models might not be as meaningful as photographing tattoos or real-life people celebrating real-life occasions, but it was a heck of a lot better than trying to capture decent images of a spastic greyhound.
There were even assistants – photographer’s assistants, wardrobe assistants, the list went on – ready to primp and perfect every last little detail. They worked attentively, leaving Karen to focus on what she loved – taking photos. It definitely wouldn’t be hard to get used to that.
* * * * *
Jed’s phone rang just as he was exiting his half-booth. He pulled the door shut behind himself as he motioned for Abby to shut off the shop’s ‘open’ sign. “Hey,” he said, a wave of heat and awareness sweeping over his skin as he braced himself for the sound of Karen’s voice.
“Hey,” she replied from the other end of the connection, her tone pleasant, upbeat.
“How’s New York?” She’d texted him a few times to let him know everything was going well, but this was the first time they’d spoken. It hadn’t been long – today was day two of a three day trip, but he’d been constantly aware of her absence.
“It’s great, Jed. The shoot today was amazing. I had assistants! Not that anybody peed on anything in the studio, but it was nice having them around anyway.”
“I bet.”
He could practically hear her grinning, and it made him smile too as he leaned against the wall. Abby kept glancing his way, looking quizzical, but there was no one else in the shop, so he made no effort to seek out privacy. “You ready to fly home tomorrow, or has the Big Apple won you over?”
“Actually, that’s why I called – I’m not going to be coming home tomorrow.”
Jesus
. He’d only been teasing. His heart slammed against his chest, then slowed, succumbing to a heavy certainty. It was like his brain was telling his heart
I told you so
. “Everything all right?” He managed to think rationally enough to ask, to make sure she wasn’t stranded or hurt somehow.
“Yeah, everything’s great. I managed to change my scheduled flight, and I’m paying the difference plus the cost of another night in the hotel out of my own pocket. It’ll be worth the money – I want another day to see the city.”
“You’re only staying one extra night?”
“That’s right. I made friends with another photographer today – one who shoots regularly for Marc St. Pierre – and she invited me to spend the day with her tomorrow.”
“Sounds fun.” His shock ebbed, but a deep-seated sense of caution remained. “What are you two going to do?”
“We’re stopping by her studio, going out to lunch and to a really cool framing place in SoHo. I’m going to buy a nice frame to use for a wedding portrait of Mina and Eric – it’ll be a gift.” She sighed. “This place does
museum
quality framing jobs, Jed. I don’t have a print with me, of course, so I’ll just be buying an empty frame, but it should still be amazing.”
Despite the heavy feeling in the pit of his chest, he couldn’t help but smile a little over her passion for photo frame shopping, of all things. “Hope you have a good time. Still need a ride home from the airport day after tomorrow?”
“Only if it won’t be too much trouble for you. If you’ll be with a client, I can see if Mina’s free, or take a cab home.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there. What time does your flight come in?”
“Six-thirty.”
“I’ll see you then.”
“Thanks. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad you’ll be picking me up. I miss you, you know.” A breathy sound came from her end of the connection, and it sent a slow frisson creeping down Jed’s spine.
“Yeah. Spending the night in that big haunted house just isn’t the same without you.”
“You slept there alone?” She sounded genuinely surprised.
“Last night. Going back tonight, too.”
“Wow, you’re brave.”
“Just facing my fears.”
She laughed, but he hadn’t been joking. Spending the night alone in the place in Allegheny West had very much been about facing ghosts. Not the kind that walked through walls and whispered in your ear, but the ones in his head.
* * * * *
Karen reached out and touched one finger gently to the side of a thick picture frame, tracing the curve of a golden lily with the tip of one finger. Her grandmother would love everything about it – the way the burnished gold made it look antique, the way the ornate carvings scrolled from corner to corner in the shapes of dozens of lilies. She—
Realization hit Karen like an arrow to the heart, sharp and piercing. Her grandmother
would have
loved the picture frame. She lowered her hand and moved on, searching for something that would suit Mina and Eric’s style.
“These are gorgeous,” said Miranda, the photographer Karen had hit it off with the day before. “Very modern, but still unique, you know?”
Karen nodded. “I like this one.” She reached out and touched silver, thinking of Jed. How many times had he been hit by those sharp little arrows, those split second realizations that reminded you of a sickening truth you’d somehow forgotten?
He was strong, though, and she endeavored to be strong too as she glanced back at the lily frame and attempted to appreciate it for what it was, for what her grandmother would have liked about it. She didn’t want to stop thinking about her just because it hurt – truly forgetting her would be the worst tragedy of all, something she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for.
“It’s nice.” Miranda eyed the frame, giving it an appreciative nod. “Think the bride-to-be would like it?”
In the end, Karen decided that yes, Mina would like it. A salesperson carried it to the register, wrapped it carefully and surrendered the bag after a swipe of Karen’s credit card.
Moments later, Karen and Miranda were out the door, on their way to a place Miranda promised Karen she’d love.
Inside one of Miranda’s favorite restaurants near the frame gallery, Karen placed her shopping bag beneath the table.
“So,” Miranda eventually said, smiling over a bowl of soup, “when are you coming back to New York?
“I don’t know,” Karen said, a little wave of surprise rippling over the surface of her mind as she paused with a spoonful of French onion halfway to her mouth. “I don’t have any plans to return right now, why?”
“You want to be a fashion photographer, don’t you? That’s why you entered the contest. Well, it’s not like you’re going to make a name for yourself shooting fashion in Pittsburgh. That’d be like trying to fish in the desert – pointless.”
Karen mulled the analogy over and nodded. The Steel City was full of bridges, not runways. The fashion work was in New York. Everyone knew that.
“So, you’ve got talent,” Miranda continued. “But talented photographers are a dime a dozen. More importantly, you’ve got opportunity – give it a few months, and you’ll have Marc St. Pierre tear sheets. It’s tough to make it in fashion, in New York – but you know that. Point is, play your cards right and you’ll be a fresh – dare I say
exciting
– new arrival on the fashion scene instead of just another hopeful with a camera.”
“I guess I hadn’t looked at it that way – I hadn’t considered
moving
here.”
“Why not?”
Karen dipped her spoon back into her bowl, stirring its steaming contents as she bit down on her inner lip.
“Look,” Miranda said, “I grew up in a wide spot in the road in Georgia. I
know
how daunting the idea of striking out on your own here can be. But Marc St. Pierre – hell, I felt like I’d just discovered the Holy Grail the first time I booked a shoot with them. And it took me a long time to work my way up to landing that job. I spent years sharing an apartment the size of a postage stamp with two other women and eating peanut butter sandwiches most days.”
Karen finally lifted a spoonful of the soup to her mouth. As it slid down her throat, spicy and hot, she tried to imagine living in the city, devoting her life to shooting gazelle-like models in designer clothing – or at least, trying to land jobs where she could do just that.
“What I’m really trying to say is that if you do want to give it a real try here, I can help. You saw my studio – it doesn’t come cheap. I rent it out to other photographers on a fairly regular basis to help recoup the cost. If you move here, we can negotiate a rental agreement so that you’ll have a place to shoot indoors when needed, right off the bat. It wouldn’t be free, but I wouldn’t price-gouge you, either.” She grinned broadly from across the table. “I’d even make sure you don’t get stuck on an all peanut butter diet.”
Karen’s imagination soared at the thought of shooting inside Miranda’s studio on a regular basis. It was no wonder she rented it out – it was a dream facility in the city, with its amazing location, wide-open space, high ceiling and abundant natural lighting provided by huge windows that showcased the Manhattan skyline. And it was stocked with top of the line equipment – stuff that Karen’s own supplies back in Pittsburgh paled in comparison to.
“It’s your decision, obviously,” Miranda said, “and I’ve made my offer, so I won’t pressure you anymore. But I really think you owe it to yourself to make the most of the opportunity you’ve been granted and give New York a try.”
* * * * *
Jed’s heart beat just a little too quickly as he guided the Charger down a nighttime street, leaving the airport behind. When Karen had emerged into the baggage claim area, she’d embraced him, and when they’d slipped into the car together, she’d given him a sultry smile that had thrown him into the grip of memories of their night together in the Allegheny West house.
Now he drove, expectation tingling in his veins as a sense of apprehension weighed him down. Karen had been quiet since they’d entered the car – a rarity, for her. “How was the rest of your trip?”
She beamed. “Great. I found the perfect frame for Mina and Eric. It’s in my suitcase, but I’ll show you when we get to my place.”
When they arrived at her apartment, she invited him in first thing, then embraced him again before pulling a silver picture frame out of her luggage.
“Looks great,” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
She set it on the kitchen table, reverently re-wrapping it in several layers of paper. “There’s something I want to talk to you about, Jed,” she said when she faced him again.
