lines, but he looked every bit the type of
man one would expect to see alongside a woman like Eva’s mother. How very
beautiful their family must have been, like the picture that came with the
frame. But so very wrong behind the façade.
“She seems happy,” he said to Drew when Eva darted across the
room to greet an influential critic. “Not just tonight, I mean.” He stopped
short of saying she seemed happy with Drew in particular, but Drew still felt a
flare of relief and joy at the implication.
“I think she’s enjoying her work. Tonight especially. I know
she’s always happy to give friends an opportunity to show.”
Godfrey nodded, his gaze flicking to the closest blown-up
photo and then back to the plastic cup of white wine he held. “Interesting
subject matter tonight. I understand some of this is your work?”
Sheepish, Drew shrugged. “Not the photography part. I just
help with the setup.”
“Uh-huh.”
There was a wealth of meaning in those two syllables, none
of which Drew wanted to address with the father of the girl he was sleeping
with and, as it happened, tying up. He thought it was probably safest to focus
on the photography exhibit as art, and treat it as an educational opportunity.
“Would you like a walk-through? There’s sort of a method to
the way the exhibit is laid out.”
They began with the perimeter of the smaller room at the
front of the gallery, which was filled primarily with what Danny and Sheila
called “technical” shots. These were the detailed pictures that would accompany
specific techniques in the book, showing ties in varying stages of completion.
Many of them were of Sheila, from the first few shoots, and several showed her
face. After the third or fourth one, recognition began to dawn on Bob Godfrey’s
face.
“Isn’t that…” he said, scanning around the room for Sheila,
who was nowhere to be seen.
“Sheila, yes. She was the model for a lot of these. I think
she and Danny are in the next room where the bigger photos are.”
“I had no idea she was that…flexible.”
Drew couldn’t stop a snicker from erupting, and he had to
admire Godfrey’s iron control because he could tell the man was fighting
mightily to keep a straight face. “You’re a good sport, Mr. Godfrey.”
“Bob. Call me Bob. What’s this one called again?” He pointed
to the picture, the final in a set of half a dozen shots depicting a body-stockinged
Sheila becoming a rope-bound human pretzel.
“ Ebi . The shrimp tie,” Drew translated. “The book’s
main focus is on traditional Japanese techniques, then there’s a section at the
end that discusses extensions and variations. Safety concerns and basic principles
to follow if you’re going to try to create new ties.”
“Safety?”
“That’s probably the most important consideration.”
A flicker of amusement crossed the older man’s face, and he
leaned in to study the photo more closely. “Good thing, too. You kids today,
with your complicated shenanigans. Holy mother of God, did I already mention
she’s flexible?”
Clearing his throat, Drew gestured to the wide, open archway
leading to the main room of the gallery. “In here we have the real heart of the
exhibit. The art shots, basically. They’re window dressing for the book, but of
course for the photographers this is the real fun.”
Eva returned to Drew’s side as he and her father rounded the
corner and saw the first of the larger photos. She steered them pointedly to the
left, knowing that a clockwise tour of the room would mean the maximum amount
of time before her father saw the photo with her face. The room’s large central
display panel would provide cover until he was at that last, all-important
wall.
“These are really something, peanut. You have some talented
friends.”
“They really are. I know it’s a bit…well, you know. But they
really are such beautiful photos. I was so glad you could make it, Dad. Has
Drew been explaining about the
man one would expect to see alongside a woman like Eva’s mother. How very
beautiful their family must have been, like the picture that came with the
frame. But so very wrong behind the façade.
“She seems happy,” he said to Drew when Eva darted across the
room to greet an influential critic. “Not just tonight, I mean.” He stopped
short of saying she seemed happy with Drew in particular, but Drew still felt a
flare of relief and joy at the implication.
“I think she’s enjoying her work. Tonight especially. I know
she’s always happy to give friends an opportunity to show.”
Godfrey nodded, his gaze flicking to the closest blown-up
photo and then back to the plastic cup of white wine he held. “Interesting
subject matter tonight. I understand some of this is your work?”
Sheepish, Drew shrugged. “Not the photography part. I just
help with the setup.”
“Uh-huh.”
There was a wealth of meaning in those two syllables, none
of which Drew wanted to address with the father of the girl he was sleeping
with and, as it happened, tying up. He thought it was probably safest to focus
on the photography exhibit as art, and treat it as an educational opportunity.
“Would you like a walk-through? There’s sort of a method to
the way the exhibit is laid out.”
They began with the perimeter of the smaller room at the
front of the gallery, which was filled primarily with what Danny and Sheila
called “technical” shots. These were the detailed pictures that would accompany
specific techniques in the book, showing ties in varying stages of completion.
Many of them were of Sheila, from the first few shoots, and several showed her
face. After the third or fourth one, recognition began to dawn on Bob Godfrey’s
face.
“Isn’t that…” he said, scanning around the room for Sheila,
who was nowhere to be seen.
“Sheila, yes. She was the model for a lot of these. I think
she and Danny are in the next room where the bigger photos are.”
“I had no idea she was that…flexible.”
Drew couldn’t stop a snicker from erupting, and he had to
admire Godfrey’s iron control because he could tell the man was fighting
mightily to keep a straight face. “You’re a good sport, Mr. Godfrey.”
“Bob. Call me Bob. What’s this one called again?” He pointed
to the picture, the final in a set of half a dozen shots depicting a body-stockinged
Sheila becoming a rope-bound human pretzel.
“ Ebi . The shrimp tie,” Drew translated. “The book’s
main focus is on traditional Japanese techniques, then there’s a section at the
end that discusses extensions and variations. Safety concerns and basic principles
to follow if you’re going to try to create new ties.”
“Safety?”
“That’s probably the most important consideration.”
A flicker of amusement crossed the older man’s face, and he
leaned in to study the photo more closely. “Good thing, too. You kids today,
with your complicated shenanigans. Holy mother of God, did I already mention
she’s flexible?”
Clearing his throat, Drew gestured to the wide, open archway
leading to the main room of the gallery. “In here we have the real heart of the
exhibit. The art shots, basically. They’re window dressing for the book, but of
course for the photographers this is the real fun.”
Eva returned to Drew’s side as he and her father rounded the
corner and saw the first of the larger photos. She steered them pointedly to the
left, knowing that a clockwise tour of the room would mean the maximum amount
of time before her father saw the photo with her face. The room’s large central
display panel would provide cover until he was at that last, all-important
wall.
“These are really something, peanut. You have some talented
friends.”
“They really are. I know it’s a bit…well, you know. But they
really are such beautiful photos. I was so glad you could make it, Dad. Has
Drew been explaining about the
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