She gave a heavy sigh. “I’m thirty years old; my parents can’t keep me from going out.”
I scratched my neck. “Kind of seems like they can. Worse, now if you want to go out, the media will probably come up with stories about our marriage being on the rocks, so I don’t see how we’ve really solved anything.” If my assessment was right, her being married to me wasn’t actually getting her any further ahead. Part of me wanted this whole nightmare to be over so I could go home. I couldn’t help but be drawn to her though, I wanted to understand her life and how it had led to her being married to some Canadian redneck.
“It’s…complicated.” She examined her nails and made every effort not to look at me.
I didn’t want to be an asshole and push her to spill her whole family history, but we were in this together at this point. “Explain it to me, wifey.”
“Wifey?” She tapped her chin. “Okay, I don’t actually hate that one. Do you know what boudoir is?” Her cheeks were a little pink as she asked the question.
“Uh, isn’t that what rich people call a bedroom? Like lanai for patio?”
She laughed. It was the first time I’d heard her do it, and it transformed her entire face. I’d seen her in magazines, but that smile compared to the one she wore now was phony. “Okay, so it’s that too. But I am talking about a type of photography.” Her eyes went to the picture she had hanging on the dining room wall, and my gaze followed. It was yet another nude. This time of a couple embracing behind a steamed up shower door.
I shrugged.
“It’s portrait photography, but celebrating the human body. Very sensual. Some people only want it seen by their partner.” She gestured to the wall.
“Displayed as art.” I guessed.
She nodded and continued her explanation. Her eyes lit as she talked about it, her passion for the subject was clear, and again I was struck by how different she looked versus the posed magazine pictures I had seen.
We may seem like opposites, but every conversation I had with my new wife made me want to learn more.
Chapter 4
Rosalind
“So, you’re a photographer then?”
I got up and started to pace. I’d been doing a lot of that lately. “No, I wish I had taken the pictures I have hanging around the house. Despite my family owning an entertainment business of all things, they like to keep a distinguished family image. Vegas is known for all the adult entertainment. The alcohol, strip clubs, brothels, and the showgirls. Our company doesn’t operate in that market. We are more into the shows and concerts. When I told my parents I wanted to go to school to study photography, they basically said what I wanted to do was porn only a bit fancier and they didn’t want that muddying their brand.”
He made a face like he was trying to figure out a tough math problem. “So you party instead?”
I sank back into my chair. “Yes and no. When I first talked to them about all of this, I was like twenty, so I kind of rebelled. If they thought my passion was an embarrassment, l would show them embarrassing. But then the plan evolved. I thought maybe if I was getting negative media attention anyway, they’d give in.”
“Pushed it too far?” he guessed.
“Apparently. The line between annoying them enough to give in and pissing them right off was finer than I thought.”
“So, you don’t want to ignore their expectations and get cut off. Why not do what they ask and do your thing on the side?”
“I’m not cut out for it. I’d study for hours, way longer than my sister and still I’d barely scrape by with acceptable grades.” My mind wandered back to the hours I’d spend at a desk in my room, frustrated that the concepts I was reading weren’t making sense. “When I could do something with my hands, though. See light and color working together. Pose things and capture the perfect image. That I was good at. That held my attention. God, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” I shook my head. I was used to presenting a certain persona, and vulnerability was not part of it.
He studied me for a moment. “I can relate, actually. It’s how I became a contractor. I can’t sit behind a computer all day. I need to see things come together. Build something tangible, not just numbers on a spreadsheet. I struggled my way through every subject in high school except shop class. I can’t imagine being forced into a career just to struggle.”
“Exactly!”
He understood.
I’d never had someone understand before. My parents, my friends, my guidance counselor, everyone just assumed I wasn’t studying hard enough.
Conversation flowed, and before I knew it, two hours had passed.
“Sounds like we’ve both had our share of shitty teachers and unfair expectations,” he said.
I drew my leg up onto the chair and rested my head on my knee. “It does.”
When was the last time I let my guard down like this?
