Providence

by Leigh Hays

  Rebekiah shrugged. “I’m sure you already do. The camera’s less intrusive than you think.”

  Lindsey stared. With Rebekiah behind it, she had no doubt that it was. She represented an interesting mix of bravado and genuine confidence, and if Lindsey could figure out which one was real, she might actually have said yes. Instead she said, “Why don’t you tell me why you want to give your money away?”

  “Let me show you.” She walked across the studio and flipped through a few frames along the wall. She pulled one out and set it on the floor. “Here.”

  Lindsey stared at the photograph in front of them. The woman in the frame lay bare amid white and blue fabric, her eyes open and her mouth twisted in a grimace of pleasure. Her hands covered the V of her legs, the edge of her fingers drawing across her pubic hair, her vulva exposed, and her clit centered in the curl between her thumb and index finger. The shot was made starker by the subtle use of color; without the blue fabric and her hazel eyes, the picture would seem to be black and white. The effect was striking, the woman’s vulnerability in that moment captured and encapsulated. But this picture was different from the pictures around the room, rawer, with less technique, almost a candid. Without knowing how, Lindsey knew Rebekiah loved this woman.

  Lindsey’s hand ghosted along her face. “She’s beautiful.”

  Rebekiah’s body brushed up beside her. “She was.” She slid the picture back into place and pulled out another slightly smaller frame.

  The same woman stared out, her eyes open and her features slack. She was dead. The black and white hues enhanced the effect, but the framing, the blue fabric, even her hazel eyes called back to the other photo, but it was a pale echo. The same sensual care appeared in both photographs, but this one lacked the warmth of Rebekiah’s other shots.

  “She wanted me to take that shot. She made me promise to do it. It’s her money, not mine.” Rebekiah tucked the photo away and stared at the wall.

  Lindsey stepped back. So that was Emma. There was no doubt in her mind that they were lovers. She wondered what it took for Rebekiah to take that picture. Pose those limbs, stare into those eyes, press the button. She’d dealt with people’s grief as they worked through their inherited wealth but nothing so vivid and visceral as that photograph. So voyeuristic and open. Every fiber of her professional body said to walk away. This money was a hot mess wrapped up in an emotional landmine.

  “I think I can help you.” The words left her mouth before she realized it.

  Rebekiah turned toward her with a look that said she doubted it.

  Lindsey held up her hand. She had no idea what to expect when she’d showed up. She’d been hoping to buy a little more time to diversify Rebekiah’s investments and get a longer commitment from her, but now that she was here and knowing what she did, she knew which way to go. “Hear me out. I get it. I know you’d still like to give it away, but I think we can carve out a sizable portion of this money and turn it into a foundation.” She pulled back, but her eyes stayed connected to Rebekiah. Keeping her as a client was no longer the goal. She was hurting, and Lindsey knew how to fix that.

  Rebekiah frowned. “I don’t want to manage that kind of business.”

  “It would be self-sustaining.” She paused and chose her next words carefully. “You loved her enough to watch her die. Now you have a chance to create a lasting legacy for her. Let me show you how.”

  Rebekiah folded her arms. “You’re asking me to trust you with something very personal.”

  Lindsey knew what she was going to say before she even said it. “You can take pictures of me.” She didn’t need to meet her halfway. She’d already signed the contracts. But she wanted her trust. The brief vulnerability opened the door. No harm in it as long as she controlled the terms. Her stomach fluttered. She could do this.

  Rebekiah moved closer. “Are you sure?”

  Lindsey knew what she was asking. She’d never done anything like this in her professional life, even when she was drinking. It was risky and exciting. But she wanted it. More than the contract itself, she wanted to feel like those women on Rebekiah’s walls. “I’m sure. How about you?”

  “I’m in your hands.”

  Lindsey was pretty sure it was the other way around, or at least it would be, but for now, she said, “Are you up for some trips?”

  Chapter Six

  Rebekiah parked her white Lexus on a side street off North Main. She opened the back door, and Sera scrambled out, the blanket covering the leather falling on the floor in her wake. They walked past an upscale framing shop and into a recessed entryway. Etched in black letters and accompanying a thin solid vertical line were the words Cohen Gallery. She pressed the doorbell and waited. Seconds ticked by, and she shoved her hands in her pockets to keep from fidgeting. Did she get the time right? After a month of deliberation, she had finally sent Aldina a couple of mock-ups only to wake up to a terse email: 11 a.m. tomorrow.

  The door buzzed, and Rebekiah headed upstairs.

  Sunlight poured in through the windows and bounced off the white interior. Subtle hints of color—gray, cream, and a splash of red—added warmth to the bright white. An unoccupied desk sat in the far right corner, and a white oak table dominated the front half of the room. Aldina Cohen, a small wiry woman in her mid-fifties, leaned over the table, resting her elbows on it and staring at the photos strewn across her workspace. She stood, and her bracelets jingled together. Her smile softened her severe looks as she took in her two guests.

  She crouched, designer dress and all. Sera’s wagging tail slapped Rebekiah’s leg on the way by. “Come here, beautiful. I can’t believe Dahlia left you behind.” She ran both hands up and down Sera’s flanks and scratched right behind the ears. Sera soaked it all in, leaning toward each touch. Aldina stood, and Sera cleaved to her leg. She petted her one last time before she said, “Go lie down.” Then she turned to Rebekiah and wiggled her hands. “Come here.”

  Rebekiah laughed and stepped into the hug. Something tight inside her relaxed. “You give the best hugs.”

  “So I’ve been told.” Aldina pulled back and kissed her cheek. She maneuvered around Sera and motioned toward the table. “I was looking through your portfolio.”

  Rebekiah was mildly surprised to see several of her pictures on display. She spun one of them toward her. Taken several years ago, it was a shot of Emma and Elena shortly after college. “She looks so young.”

  Aldina leaned over and hummed agreement.

  Rebekiah brushed Emma’s features. Nostalgia flowed through her, quickly consumed by something bittersweet and hollow. She pushed it away along with her emotions. “I forgot she looked like that.”

  “That’s because seventy percent of your pictures show her dying a slow and agonizing death.” Aldina had never liked Emma. Among the many terms she used to describe her, vapid and self-centered were her favorites. She tolerated her for Rebekiah’s sake. Even in the end, Aldina couldn’t muster a shred of empathy for the woman who’d dominated Rebekiah’s last four years. She narrowed her eyes. “She never should have asked you to take those pictures. You still have the last one tucked away, don’t you?”

  Rebekiah ducked her head. It was an answer by omission. It had surprised and stung her when Aldina had rejected her show for Emma. She’d never brought it up again, but now she wanted to know. Even if she didn’t like the answer. “Why wouldn’t you show it? Because she’s dead?”

  “Like that matters. Have you seen some of these shows?” She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “I’ve got one guy who molds shit into sculpture and then shellacs it. You think a corpse is going to shock my clientele? No. I’m not showing it under your name because it’s not your work. That’s her vision. Her style.” She swiped her finger across her chest. “Not in my gallery.”

  Rebekiah’s mouth dropped, and her anger flared. Sera’s head popped up, and she made a guttural noise—not a growl and not a bark—but a noise of attentiveness. “How come you never told me that?”

&
nbsp; “Like you’d listen to me. You were grieving. Nothing gets through in that state.” She rummaged through the photos, collected them, and spun them toward Rebekiah in slow motion. “These are you.”

  Rebekiah stared at the photos one by one, aware that even if she didn’t remember taking them—which with a few she didn’t—stylistically, they were all hers.

  Aldina walked to her desk and shook the mouse to wake her computer. She opened a preview pane and scrolled through the images of Nicole, Renee and Dawn, and Meghan: her flower portraits. Pointing, she said, “I want more of that. This is you. A different you, a deeper you. But this is what I’ve been waiting for. When do you want to show them?”

  “I wasn’t…I’m not really ready to show.” She’d sent them to Aldina to critique them, not show them.

  Aldina tilted her head and put her hands on her hips. “It’s been five years. I’ll give you six months to finish the idea that’s starting here. Then we’ll set up a showing. I think two or three more subjects, and you’ll be good to go. I might have a model or two that you could use.” She turned around and wrote a note to herself. “I’ll send them to you. You decide.”

  Rebekiah just stared. She’d been prepared to talk technique, not a show. She wasn’t sure she could do it. The deadlines, the pressure. Her creative drive had been dormant for so long that she was worried she couldn’t access it on demand. What if she pushed too hard, and it went silent again?

  Aldina smiled and stepped forward. Cupping her cheeks, she held Rebekiah’s stare. “Why do you think I called you? You’re ready. Come back.”

  Rebekiah left with a few more details in hand and led Sera to the car. She was going to have a show. The same woman who’d given her first show was going to get her back up and into the scene again. She chirped the key fob and ushered Sera into the back seat, forgetting to put the blanket up. What did it matter? It was Emma’s car, and she was dead.

  Four years. She promised Emma that she’d make those pictures count, but she just couldn’t do it. Aldina would never show those pictures, and knowing why made it clear to her that no one else would. Aldina was right; those pictures were not hers. She was done trying to make it work. She’d lost the will to create once, and now that the spark was back, she didn’t want to lose it again.

  But there was another promise she could keep, the money. Emma’s final request, both verbal and written, said the same thing: Do something good with it. Live off it. But don’t let them squander it on stupid shit. Rebekiah had been about to give up on that promise, too, but then Lindsey had stepped into that room, telling her she could do something more. And for the first time, when she thought about Emma and the money, she felt hope. This time she’d keep her word.

  Chapter Seven

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” Rebekiah breezed past her fridge while Lindsey trailed behind her. She checked her clock—just after six. “Did you want to get dinner first?”

  Lindsey shook her head. “I’m good.”

  Lindsey had contacted her a week ago to arrange a trip to Philadelphia. After their business was settled, Rebekiah asked if she still wanted to sit for her. Lindsey said yes immediately, and Rebekiah had spent the last seven days considering how she wanted to shoot her. But now that she was here, all the plans evaporated. She moved around the studio and shifted yet another piece of equipment before she realized that she had no idea what she was doing. Something about Lindsey knocked her off-kilter. Not wanting to explore the reasons why, she gave up all pretense of working and turned to her guest. “Do you have any questions?”

  “How does this work?”

  Glad for the distraction, Rebekiah slid into professional mode and explained the process. At the end of her spiel, Lindsey took a deep breath and looked around. “Where do you want me?”

  The word want triggered a flash of arousal so strong that she stamped down the urge to answer that question honestly and brought her professional persona to bear. “Come here.”

  She led Lindsey toward the white backdrop where a wooden chair sat angled to face the windows surrounded by lighting equipment. Rebekiah guided Lindsey into the chair and resisted the urge to linger. “Sit there. I’ll be right back.”

  Stepping back, Rebekiah picked up her tripod and placed it a couple feet away. She leaned in and adjusted the settings for the light, angle, and distance. Looking through the viewfinder, Rebekiah centered Lindsey in the shot. She sat with her hands in her lap, her face angled away. Rebekiah pressed the button.

  Lindsey jerked at the sudden sound and turned her head. “Wh—”

  Rebekiah paused. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Lindsey crossed her arms. “I’m not sure how to do this.”

  “All right. Would it be easier if I sort of arranged you?”

  Lindsey bit her lip and shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Rebekiah walked over. “Okay. Stand up.” Lindsey did as she was told. “Let’s take off your jacket. Yeah, just put it there. And the scarf.” Lindsey let it drop to the ground. She toed her boots off without prompting. Bright green socks peeked out from the bottom of her pants. Rebekiah smiled; those would make a great shot.

  Rebekiah glanced around and pulled another chair into the frame. She pulled the straight-back chair away and pointed toward the plushy chair with arms. “Sit here.”

  Lindsey sat down and perched on the edge of the chair.

  That wasn’t going to work. Rebekiah suppressed a smile. “Turn sideways.”

  “Like this?” Lindsey threw her legs over the left arm and leaned back against the other arm.

  Rebekiah picked up her camera. “Good. Now turn your head.”

  Lindsey moved. “How’s that?”

  “Perfect.” Rebekiah took a few more shots before she leaned forward and fanned Lindsey’s hair in front of her face.

  Lindsey closed her eyes at the touch, and the sight made Rebekiah warm inside. She leaned in so close her lips almost brushed her ear. “Keep your eyes closed.”

  Lindsey took a shuddering breath, and Rebekiah took another series of shots.

  “Open your eyes and look right at me.” Gray eyes stared and caught Rebekiah in their depth. Her stomach flip-flopped, and she hesitated, unnerved. She felt naked before her.

  “Rebekiah?”

  Realizing that she paused too long, she shook off her feelings and smiled. “You have gorgeous eyes, Lindsey. So much feeling in them and so cold, too. Like winter in January. Snow clouds in November.” Lindsey blushed, and Rebekiah caught that, too. Rebekiah continued to talk about her eyes, getting the reaction she wanted, her mouth on verbal autopilot. Most of what she said she promptly forgot, focused on getting the next shot and what she needed to do to get there.

  * * *

  Lindsey relaxed as Rebekiah spoke. Something in her voice soothed her, and she found herself drifting in a warm, safe space, not hearing the words. Rebekiah pulled one of her legs off the side. Lindsey shifted so that she could accommodate the wider stance. Rebekiah leaned down, a camera in her hand, her legs brushing against Lindsey’s hanging leg. Lindsey shuddered at the unexpected touch, and when she moved, Rebekiah leaned forward. “Like this.”

  Lindsey swallowed hard and kept her pose. She relished both the attention and the quiet commands. The seductive pull of Rebekiah’s fleeting touches and soft voice lowered her inhibitions.

  “Now look up.”

  Rebekiah took a few more shots and then pulled the camera away. She winked, her eyes inviting intimacy. “Perfect.”

  Lindsey lost track of time while Rebekiah continued to move her body. Like her voice, Rebekiah’s hands felt safe and secure. Lindsey’s mind unspooled. Her thoughts, feelings, concerns drifted away. Her entire world shrank down to a hand here, an arm there, open this, close that. She’d had attentive lovers before but nothing quite like this. She wanted more. It would be so easy to take off her shirt.

  “Is that your phone?”

  Lindsey woke and cocked her head to the side. A rin
g called from inside her jacket. She stood too quickly and overbalanced.

  “Careful.” Rebekiah held her steady. She motioned for her to sit again. “I’ll get it.”

  Lindsey sat on the edge of the chair, slowly reacclimating to her surroundings. By the time Rebekiah gathered her jacket, the call had gone to voice mail. “Sorry about that.”

  Rebekiah waved her off. “It’s okay. We’re all set for today.”

  Lindsey straightened, still in the half-fuzzy state. “That was it?”

  Rebekiah crossed her arms and smiled. “Were you expecting more?”

  “I don’t know.” Maybe she was.

  “Are you hungry? We can eat here or go out.”

  Lindsey glanced at her watch. She’d sat for an hour; it felt like twenty minutes. “Sure. Let’s go out.” She stood and winced, sore from the awkward arrangements.

  Rebekiah smiled. “Stiff?”

  Lindsey shrugged into her coat and nodded. Her phone buzzed again. She spoke while she reached for it. “I want to run a couple ideas by you. I’m thinking there’s a person I want you to meet in Philly.”

  She glanced down at the number. Tokyo. She groaned internally. She was working a deal that was on the edge of coming together or blowing up. A mix of relief and disappointment washed over her. For the first time in a long while, she wished she didn’t have to work. “Sorry. I have to take this.”

  She answered and listened to her Japanese counterpart talk about the latest snags in their project. As he relayed the details, his voice got higher and higher, and any hope for dinner with Rebekiah disappeared. Holding up her hand, she said, “Okay, hold on, hold on. I’m in the middle of something. I’ll call you back in ten minutes.” She pulled the phone away from her ear and ended the call.

  Rebekiah stood in the middle of the room and said, “You have to go.”