The Woman in the Photograph by Dana Gynther

holding a black drape over her breasts. “Women have been bobbing their hair for twenty years now. But take a look at this.” She went over and picked up Jacqueline’s jungle of dark, unruly hair, exaggerating its bulk. “It has a life of its own—it makes hair seem like something new. As pretty as her face is, this hair should be the focus.”
    Man nodded. “You’re right. Let’s make a long-haired woman into a novelty. Can we do something to make it even bigger?” His hands gestured wildly around his head.
    â€œI’ll brush it upside down.” Delighted, she began bounding up the stairs to fetch her hairbrush, but stopped with a jerk at the tungsten light. She skittered it a foot to the right. “Let’s try lighting her face from the side. Or backlighting? What do you think?”
    When the photo session was over, they went into the darkroom, anxious to see how the shots had come out.
    â€œOh, I forgot to tell you,” Man said, dipping the plates into the basin. “I got a call this morning from the Sorbonne. They need some photos made before the end of term. I’d like youto take the assignment.” He’d been sending her out on jobs: less prestigious projects, ones that didn’t interest him or those with a smaller budget. Work for clients who wanted Man Ray, but would accept the work of Madame. Lee suspected it was his way of keeping a watchful eye on her, but she didn’t mind. It was an opportunity to learn new things and hone her reputation as a photographer. “It’s for the medical school. Anatomy classes, operations. I hope you can handle it.”
    â€œSounds interesting.” The macabre had always tickled Lee. “Are you sure you don’t want to do it yourself?”
    â€œI’ve got plenty to do without shooting blood and guts,” he said gruffly, then dropped his voice to an apologetic whisper. “Truth is, I’d probably faint.”
    Lee kissed his cheek. The darkroom always made them less inhibited, more honest.
    â€œThere’s something I need to tell you, too.” Nervous, she twirled a tong in the tray, making a ripple in the chemicals. “I’ve been mooching off you way too long. I’ve seen a place near the Place Vendôme and—”
    â€œWhat are you saying?” His body froze. “Are you moving out?”
    â€œWe never meant this to be permanent—”
    For weeks now, Lee had been looking for TO RENT signs on her way to Vogue and examining her friends’ available rooms; his studio had always been small for the two of them, and lately it seemed to be shrinking. She needed somewhere she could do her own work, entertain her friends, smolder after an argument, or just sit in silence.
    â€œI know, I know.” Surprise was quickly turning to anger. “But the Place Vendôme? Are you crazy? That’s on the otherside of the river! Since when have you been looking at flats? You could have said something.”
    â€œLook, we’re stepping on each other’s toes here. This new place is nice and not too—”
    â€œStop. I know living together in this shoebox was supposed to be a short-term thing, but before you go making up your mind, give me a couple of days to ask around. I’m sure we can find you something here in Montparnasse.”
    â€œGod, Man, you act like the rest of Paris doesn’t exist.” She glared at him.
    â€œI’m just thinking of you, Lee,” he said, softening his tone. “You want to live near the studio, don’t you? So we can work together. Like today.”
    They’d been collaborating more and more. And not just on outside assignments, but on his creative projects, too. Even though she had often helped set up shots when posing, she especially enjoyed working with him with other models. To see what he was seeing, to be able to alter the image before it was taken.
    â€œAll right, then.