Page 14 of Camera Shy

“Ha.” She’s not wrong.

“How long has it been?”

I roll my eyes at her. “A couple months.” Three months, twelve days. Or, in other words, about one hundred body-punishing runs.

“How long is this going to go on?”

“I don’t know. Until I feel like it.” Until I stop seeing the worst in women. I’m not exactly open about it, but Nora did a number on me. After what we went through, now all I see are red flags in women. I remember one night after Nora and I ended things, I brought home a new girl I actually liked. She was a bit of a wallflower—polite and soft-spoken. Maybe I liked that she was my ex’s polar opposite. I had high hopes. But the morning after, when she thought I was sleeping, I caught her checking my phone. I didn’t say anything. I just pretended to sleep and let her scroll through my messages, my apps, and my pictures. I had absolutely nothing to hide, but I was not about to put myself through that shit again. Deal breaker. I never called her again.

I want a woman confident enough to ask me questions and believe my answers. If she’s wondering if I’m sleeping with multiple women at the same time—just ask. The answer is no. If she’s interested in something serious—just tell me. Maybe she’d be surprised to know that I am too. I’m twenty-eight. By now, I’m sick of the mind games, paranoia, and jealous fights over nothing. I want a woman who is honest, earnest, and trusts me enough to just be real…

And I am thoroughly convinced this woman doesn’t exist in Las Vegas. It’s kind of why I gave up. Once I was single again, I started being exactly the manwhore bachelor all these women assumed I was, until even that got old.

“So, why are you a visionary?” I throw my thumb over my shoulder, reminding her of the mess she made in my living room.

“Noir,” she says with a bright-eyed eager expression.

“Yeah…I’m going to need a little more of an explanation than that.”

“Film noir. With a touch of bondage.”

I take a few glugs of my water. “What?”

She squints one eye. “You know, like handcuffs…toys…lots of leather…”

An uncomfortable realization sinks in. “Is my living room full of women’s sex toys right now?”

“Nooooo.” Lennox laughs awkwardly then widens her eyes and nods empathically. “And I found some of these cool black roses at the craft store. I’m thinking all black and white. Black flowers, white sheets, a torn white wedding dress that’s ink-stained draped over a chair. Wedding lingerie in the same style.”

“Are we staging a boudoir set or a murder scene?”

She laughs. “Bold sexuality is in. I really think this could be a big moneymaker. In fact, we’ve gotten requests through the website for something more dramatic. We have to adapt to the market, Finn.” Lennox grimaces. “Business is not…great.”

She’s right again. Photography is an ebb-and-flow business. Everyone with the newest iPhone these days can take professional-looking photographs, so you have to bring more value to the table than pictures. I try to help women love their bodies and appreciate their unique beauty. No matter what size, color, or shape—every single woman is beautiful. They have to look at themselves through the right lens. Somehow through my noble plight, I also have to find a way to pay the bills. Lately, it’s been getting more difficult to find clients.

“You’re a woman...explain this to me.”

Lennox follows as I make my way into my front living room and pull a pair of fuzzy black handcuffs from a plastic shopping bag.

“Why is bondage sexy? I want to help build confidence, not tie up women and put them on display like roast chickens.”

Lennox squints one eye at me. “I think we can be more tasteful than roast chickens.” Furrowing my brows, I return a skeptical look, so she continues, “I’m not suggesting we go dark dungeon or anything like that, but we can just tease the idea. We’ll have edgier costumes but have them wear their hair in soft waves. We’ll do the entire shoot in a moody black and white, but they can smile in some pictures. It’ll be very floral but dark colors. Handcuffs—”

“But fuzzy,” I finish for her.

“Exactly.” Lennox pops her shoulders like she’s pleased with herself. She really has an eye for stage design. One day, she is going to move to Hollywood and become an acclaimed set director. I’m sure of it. For now, I’m grateful to have her help. I take great pictures, my editing is unrivaled, but without the set, I’m a fish in a barrel. I need Lennox.

“You really think it’ll bring in more business?”

She widens her eyes and nods slowly. “At this point, we have to try anything. It’s either edgy or topless clowns.”

“What?”

“Don’t ask.” She shoots me a wink, but her smile is less than innocent. I don’t want to know what websites Lennox visits. My cousin is not shy about her quirky taste…let’s leave it at that.

“So the idea is bold but feminine,” I muse.

“Right.” She nods as she points to my forehead. “That’s what we should call it. Boldly feminine. Give me a week or so to build the set, then why don’t we do a test run? We can offer a free photo shoot to someone and put new pictures up on the website. Let’s just see who bites. If it’s a bust, we’ll go back to the drawing board.” She looks around the room. “We’ve got to try something, Finn...our calendar is pretty much empty. I don’t think it’s the service. It’s a good time to be in boudoir. It’s just no one knows we exist and it’s a tough business for word-of-mouth marketing.”

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