Page 37 of Pen Me

“I can’t send him that.”

“Why not?” She side-eyed me. “You were out to impress, look at you…”

I opened my mouth to object, but I was wearing my small pumps and tight jeans less than two weeks out of surgery.

“It’s a county jail. You can’t send naked pictures to the county jail.” I paused to think on that a moment, having never attempted or inquired about such a thing. “Can you?”

She laughed and abruptly covered her mouth when I seemed a little too curious. “I don’t know, but we’re not going to find out. We’re not sending money shots. It’s just like… burlesque but with photography. They’re demure, not obscene.”

“Oh.” I nodded. “I see.”

I didn’t, and my subtle frown must have said so.

“Come on,” She tapped my arm and swung her door open.

I followed her inside and couldn’t help but smile. The place was beautiful. She had wingback, vintage style furniture. Some of it looked like it came out of a high fantasy brothel, and there were so many mirrors.

“So, I was thinking…” She started, to say, only to pause when she realized my attention was still circling the room. “Over here, crazy.”

She came over and grabbed my hand, leading me to a rack of what seemed like Halloween costumes at first glance. There were boas of every color, sequined things, and netted items.

“Oh, my—” I held out a long sleeve of fishnet that connected to a ripped-up shirt.

“I have stuff for every flavor. What color are your underwear?”

“What?” I snapped, bewildered by her question.

She tried not to laugh but couldn’t contain her smile as I bared my lace clad hip. I was wearing black-lace boy shorts. I couldn’t take anything strappy on that side yet. The bruising was gone, but it was still sensitive.

“I don’t want him to see my scars.” I started laying down boundaries.

“Trust me.” Maelyn smiled, “He won’t see them.”

I put the netted-sleeved shirt on and found a babydoll black and pleated skirt.

“Oh.” She ran into her office and came back with the fanciest gothic boots I’d ever seen. “They’re a little snug, but you were always a half-size smaller than me. So, they might fit youperfectly.” She crossed her fingers while I shoved my foot into them and nodded.

“Great, now waita sec,” She ran back into her office and came out with a boutique bag. “These are the stockings I bought to go with them. I barely got my foot in them, though, so I couldn’t wear them.”

One came to my upper thigh, the other stopped just above the knee, but had an inch of fishnet trim before the band. I hadn’t ever gone through a gothic or emo phase as a kid, but I always admired the high fashion version of such styles. Maelyn did not disappoint. She had me squat, popping, and posing all over the studio.

“Great, now… I’m going to do my magic, ready?”

“We didn’t do magic yet?” I looked back at the mirror I'd just been grabbing my ankles in front of.

“No,” she swiftly denied. “The magic is what I put into the picture. It’s a computer image, or transplanted image. I have this wall back here with the brick, and I always thought it looked like an old parking-garage wall… I was thinking we could put you over this…” she went over and began to nudge one of her odd-shaped wedges toward the brick. “I can go back later on my computer, take out the wedge and put a motorcycle with you instead.”

“Get the fuck out,” I grinned.

“It’s true.”

I leaned back on the wedge, and she instructed me to raise and drape my arm just so, as if I were grabbing some pretend handlebar.

“Now bring one leg up, like its resting on a– Yeah, like that.” Maelyn coached and snapped her pictures. “Aight, one more.”

She was all smiles as she helped me to my feet, spun me around and knocked my ankles apart.

“What the hell?” I spat, grabbing wildly for the wedge.

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