“Hi, Chantel,” she says throwing her bag on the table in front of me.
“Hey, Amanda, this is Zody,” Chantel says pointing at us one at a time.
“Chantel, there’s a puddle of water on the floor, if a customer slips it your fault.”
I look at Chantel, who has taken out her phone again and is texting.
“Chantel!” Amanda says firmly.
“Oh sorry, I’m just organising a weekend away with my friends,” Chantel explains when she notices both Amanda and I are staring at her.
“Is Zody here another friend from your photography group? Do you remember what happened last time when the boss found out you brought someone in here? What was that lady’s name? She had a baby boy with her from what I recall,” Amanda drums her fingers on the table, and looks up as if searching for a name to pop into her head.
Chantel doesn’t reply.
“You have an interest in photography?” I turn to Chantel, surprised by this new fact.
“Yep, thought I told you I did when you came into the store the other day,” she answers in a flash. “Amanda, we were just heading out, can you cover the last five minutes of my shift and wipe the floor, I’ll owe you for next time.”
“Sure, you owe me ten minutes though,” Amanda says.
***
I buy two Green Matcha ice creams in white paper cups; Chantel, who is waiting for me, can’t understand why I am stopping for an ice cream. Ever since yesterday, I need to taste something sweet in my mouth, sweet and cool. There are moments when I still feel material in my mouth. I hold out a cup for Chantel to take, she shakes her head. “It’s not ice cream weather today, it’s freezing, it only just stopped raining,” she objects.
“Trust me; you will need this after you hear what I’m about to tell you.” I hold out the cup for her until she relents and takes it from me.
Chantel grazes the top of the spoon with her tongue. “What flavour is this?”
“Matcha, also known as green tea, it’s soothing,” I reply.
We walk in silence, side by side, on the footpath eating the green ice cream from cups with little spoons until one of us feels like speaking.
“Chantel, when I came into your store the other day, you showed me a photo of yourself and your fiancé. I don’t want to be the breaker of bad news but, I know that man, I know his name is Archer, and I know he is married to a woman named Helena.” I look at Chantel to see how she reacts to the word ‘married’.
She stops licking her spoon. “Archer told me he was divorced – over a year now.” She bites hard into her lip. Tears are forming in her eyes. I grab her shoulders and ease her out of the way of pedestrians. While she chews her lip and wipes away her tears, I tell her about Archer’s wife’s entrapment tendencies and what could be in store for her if she gets caught.
“We need to organise revenge on Helena and Archer in the next few days; I don’t have time for wasting on them but they need to pay,” I say. Chantel nods sadly.
Then I remember the email cancellations and realise I have more time now than I would like. In the last couple of hours, I have been checking emails on my phone, clients are explaining how important their wedding day is to them and they cannot risk a photographer who may or may not have had their account hacked. Most clients are suspecting I had a moment of indecision about my career and then changed my mind, covering it up with an I was hacked story.
“How should I act when I see Archer?” Chantel says, wiping away a final tear with the back of her hand.
“Obviously you need to act like yourself around him, we can’t let him suspect that you know he’s married,” I reply.
“What I want to tell you is that I have thought up a revenge plan. My idea is that we organise an engagement photo session for yourself and Archer, and we book the keen photographer Helena to take the photos. What we need to do next is arrange a location to have an engagement photo shoot at, and I think we should have Helena arrive when you and Archer are already there, all loved up and waiting for your photographer to create some magical photos,” I say.
Chantel stops walking and turns to look at me; she continues to lick her spoon even though her ice cream is finished and I’m glad she’s not eating her lip any longer. She opens her eyes wide and points the spoon at me. “My parents run a bed and breakfast in the Blue Mountains,” she says snapping back into her happy self.
My turn to bite my lip, knowing straight away involving anyone else in our plan is not the best idea.
“I don’t think we should be getting your parents involved in this scheme, would they be able to leave the bed and breakfast for the weekend?”
“No, they won’t leave the house. I have been trying to get them to go on a relaxing holiday for years. Not to worry though, my parents have meet Archer already, that’s how serious we are, sorry… were. So I guess my parents will be there to witness my heartbreak the same moment everyone realises that Archer is married.”
“That’s okay with me if it’s the way you want to play it,” I say.
“When can we go to your parents’ house and set this plan into action? Remember, it needs to be as soon as possible.”
“Wooo wooo, slowly does it, I am the one that just found out I have been cheated on remember? I should probably be angrier than you,” she says.
I point to the marks on my face and Chantel continues speaking.
“Zody, you’re the photographer and you know the booking process. I will email this Helena woman asking her if she is available to take engagement photos of me and my ‘partner’. Speaking of my partner, I also have to check with him if he is available on Saturday. Since you are so impatient, when I’m talking to Helena I will stress I need a photographer urgently for this Saturday. I’ll tell her I will throw in accommodation for free for the night. Though I will alter your original plan so that you, Helena, and I arrive at the house on Friday night, and I tell Archer to be there on Saturday morning. Phew, that’s a good plan to think up on the spot,” Chantel says proudly and looks at me for reassurance.
“Chantel, I thought of the plan, you are just organising the accommodation and the photographer,” I say.
We both laugh, and I think for a moment how nice it is to talk to someone and how long it has been since I haven’t been so strung up thinking about my next job, editing photos or anything photography related in general. I look closer at Chantel and hope that I can be friends with this tight jean wearing girl after our plan is a success. She reminds me of Hannah, my friend from high school who wore high waisted jeans even when they weren’t in fashion.
“Do you want to come over to my place? We can make sure we have all the finer details organised,” I ask, coming to a realisation that I don’t want to be alone.
“I would really like to, but I have a yoga class starting in fifteen minutes so really, I should run.”
Disappointed, I shrug my shoulders. “I will text you Helena’s email, let me know as soon as you find out if she can photograph your engagement on Saturday and if you’re cheating fiancé is available.”
“I’ll be in touch. One more thing I thought of, I hope you don’t mind that you will have to be locked in the room to make sure you’re not seen until the confrontation between husband and wife happens on Saturday,” she says as she starts walking away.
“Chantel,” I say before she walks out of ear shot, “thanks for organising this with me.”
“No worries, remember I am the one that was cheated on.”
Helena
I sit with only part of my backside leaning on the desk. The light on the ceiling of the classroom I hire flickers but nothing takes my students’ attention away from what I say, they are paying attention to my every word. My class of ten photography students has just been informed they are going on an excursion; they will be part of a live photo shoot, taking photos they can add to their growing portfolios.
I started this photography group ten months ago. I made certain that I chose beginners – keen
amateurs who were less competent in taking pictures of people. I also made sure they previously knew nothing of this cutthroat industry. I told them about unreasonable clients who’d want to see every single photo you took at their wedding and overly worried clients who’d ask if you’ve bought your camera to the job. I excited my class of wannabes; I spoke of photographing weddings on top of cliffs in Ireland or on a black sand beach in Hawaii. If you’re exceptional, I told them, couples would want to have you and your camera there.
My students never questioned if I’d ever photographed a wedding in Ireland and I never told them about my dwindling workload. They were aware of my qualifications as a photographer and they valued that. They were grateful for my commitment to them, and I was flattered having this group of followers; something that I was never able to achieve with an online following on any social media platform. Soon a number of my students were hired for jobs. I was always there assisting them. When a student became too confident, I reigned them in, reminded them what a shit industry they dreamed of being part of and that it was very unlikely they’d get to where they desired. Recently, I had to ask Max to leave the group because he had started to get more jobs than me. I told my students he was stealing photos online to put up on his own website. Nobody in my class of students ever liked Max anyway.
As I look around the class I can reconfirm what I have known for a long time; I have created my own group of hungry photography monsters perfectly fit for this industry. Now was the moment they were ready for me to use them.
“We have spoken in past classes about photo sessions that require cultural sensitivity, other assignments like the one we will be undertaking this weekend require an open mind and confidentiality,” I explain.
“The excursion note that’s on your desks describes the roles you have been assigned to, the job, and the date it is taking place, and there is a line for you to sign that you understand the confidentiality clause.” Absentmindedly, I lift my arm forgetting that it still hurts from my tumble yesterday.
John puts his hand up and waves it around like a school boy even though he is a middle-aged man with a large protruding stomach that makes the buttons on his work shirt pop. His day job is a post office van driver.
“Will I still have the opportunity to take photos if it says on the form here that I will have to carry heavy objects?” he asks.
“John, photography always involves moving heavy equipment, sometimes a ladder, sometimes unexpected objects that are in the way of producing great photos, remember for this assignment you need an open mind,” I explain patiently.
“Beulah and Carl you may have noticed on your forms I’ve asked you to see me after class,” I say.
“Helena, is it home birth photography? My sister told me that can be a quite intense experience,” Mary asks.
“No, Mary, maybe later on in the year we will photograph a live home birth,” I reply. “Moving on from making guesses about what we are photographing, Chantel has been working on putting together an exciting project with me, so she is my second in charge. On the day you arrive at the house, Chantel will talk you through your roles. Though I am not expecting professional acting from all of you, it is crucial we all try to stay in character at all times. Students that do not cooperate will be sent home and will be at risk of losing their place in this group. If you find anything at all that happens on this assignment morally questionable, please keep it to yourself.”
“Chantel, if there is anything that you would like to tell the class that I may have forgotten, please come out the front.” I gesture her to stand and face the students’ attentive eyes.
She nods, tucks her chair under the table and makes her way to the front of the class while I head to the back of the room for a better view.
Chantel faces the students, with her T-shirt revealing a bare shoulder, and her tight jeans. I watch Carl and John shift in their seats. A small shot of excitement runs through me that I have provided them with a little entertainment.
“The only aspect of the day that has not been covered is that phones are not allowed and if you think you may have urgent commitments over those two days, don’t sign up to this assignment.”
She looks at me for reassurance, and I give her a wink.
“Helena is providing us with an incredible opportunity so we can work on achieving our dreams of travelling around the world photographing weddings. She is covering all costs of the excursion which includes accommodation and food, so please show your appreciation.” Chantel bows forward, her hands held together in a praying position and I hear John give a little gasp as her shirt falls forward at the front to reveal her rounded breasts not covered by a bra.
“Thank you, Chantel, class is over for today. Students, take a photo of your signed note and email it to me by tomorrow, late notes will not be accepted,” I say.
Some students still have their eyes fixed on Chantel while she adjusts her shirt. The classroom begins to empty, Beulah and Carl are quick to my side to ask me about their unique roles. I explain to them their importance on the day, and they can barely contain their excitement. “Chantel will provide you with outfits, she has amazing taste,” I say, and she blushes. She walks over to stand next to me, and I smell her perfume. She stands close and I want to touch that bare shoulder.
“That’s all, Beulah and Carl, send the note to me tomorrow and we are all set.” I’m eager for them to leave.
They walk to the door chatting, and I put a finger to my lips, they mimic me and walk out of the door in silence.
“That went well; all the students seem to be onboard. I trust them,” I say.
“What happens if the police should become involved?” Chantel asks worryingly. She surprises me with this question.
“I do hope no one will say anything other than what we tell them to, after all, the students are signing an agreement. They think it’s a learning project, albeit disturbing, but everyone has their fetishes.” I touch Chantel’s shoulder.
“As long as no one gets hurt. Zody was quite kind to me today; it was hard for me to lie to her. It feels like I’m leading a double life,” Chantel explains.
My hand stiffens on her shoulder as I start to feel a slither of jealousy creeping through me.
“I need to contact Zody to confirm that the photo session is going to be happening and give her the house address; the next time I see her will be on Friday,” she says oblivious to my jealousy.
“It sounds like you have it all under control. Can you lock the room up? I need to get home, Archer is complaining about my workload, and I haven’t even told him about this work trip I have planned for the weekend.”
Chantel looks at me like she would like me to stay, but picturing her and Zody being ‘nice’ to each other has me worried I might say words I will regret.
“What is the weather forecast for this weekend?” I ask, walking towards the door.
“Sunny,” Chantel replies.
PART TWO
Zody
“I’m sure she can smell my fear, through this window,” I say, pulling the lace curtain aside and looking through the window at Helena, who is stepping out of her black SUV. This is the first time I’ve seen her since she kidnapped me. Today she has replaced her ninja outfit, which may have only been reserved for when she abducted people, for light blue jeans and a black cardigan. Fuck, they are the same clothes I wore to a photo assignment just last Monday, how would she know that? Bloody Instagram. Her red hair is originally her though. She has again pulled it back into a fierce bun.
“Zody, do be careful, she will see you. Why don’t you head up to your room,” Chantel says, dashing over to the window to confirm Helena’s arrival. I sense she is as nervous as I am.
“I feel lousy for getting your parents involved, look at your dad, he has gone outside to help Helena with her bags,” I say as I see Mr Clifton rush down the porch steps, arms outstretched ready to take Helena’s luggage.
“They have greeted guests this way for many y
ears; they go out of their way to help every guest that comes to stay,” Chantel explains.
She gives my arm a push and mouths ‘go’.
I let the curtain drop and scurry on the wide, tan floorboards, turning a corner that leads to the stairs.
“See you tomorrow morning,” Chantel whispers over her shoulder as she walks toward the doorway to meet and greet Helena.
“Hi, Helena, I’m Chantel, I see you have met my dad,” I hear Chantel say.
“Hi, Chantel, pleased to meet you and yes, your dad was a gem helping me with my bags.” Helena’s voice makes my heart beat wildly, I’m sure she will hear it thudding in my chest.
“I’m so happy that you could take our photos on such short notice,” Chantel says.
“Anything else I can help you with?” I hear someone ask.
“It’s okay, Dad, I’ll take it from here.”
I lean against the white wall between the foot of a black staircase and a framed print of the bed and breakfast’s Wifi password, and listen to the beginnings of their conversation. I hear heavy footsteps approaching, take out my phone and pretend to listen to a voice on the other end. To signal that I don’t want my conversation to be interrupted, I hold my finger up to my lips when Mr Clifton turns the corner. Still feigning a phone conversation, I turn my back and walk up the stairs angry at myself that my curiosity could have given me away. I open the door to my room and close it behind me. There is a ‘DO NOT DISTURB’ swing tag lying on the bed. I open the door a fraction and latch the tag on the door knob.
The first thing that draws my attention is a set of three framed photos positioned in a row above the bed head. I climb onto the bed to study the pictures as I am accustomed to doing every time I see photographs displayed on a wall. From the clothing the people are wearing I’m guessing the pictures were taken in the 1980s. In two of the orange tinted family snaps, there is a family of three standing on the lawn of a suburban style house. The last, smaller photo is of a lone woman, her dark hair in a tight bun which draws unfortunate attention to the misery on her face. The woman sits on an upright chair, her feet neatly crossed at the ankles. If that is who lived in this house previously, I do hope she’s happier now.
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