I take out a chocolate bar from my bag and sit on the double sized bed, propping my back against the bed’s wooden headboard. As I take the yellow wrapper off the chocolate bar and take a bite of the flaky chocolate, I listen to Chantel walk past outside my door. Helena is staying in the room next to mine, the mere thought of which makes me nervous. I stand up from the bed and put my ear to the door.
“I’m just two doors down from you if you need anything at all,” I hear Chantel explain.
“Thank you and I want to say, I’m really excited for the opportunity to take your engagement photos,” Helena says loudly, too loudly. The sound of her voice makes me want to duck under the bed.
The door next to my room open and closes. She is inside.
There is nothing else for me to do here now but wait. I put my computer on my lap and check my emails. Since I have been updating my Instagram account in the last few days, I have gained trust back from a handful of my online followers, and it was a relief for me to see two new inquiries pop up in my inbox this morning. I hear a cupboard opening in Helena’s room. The walls in this house must be paper thin, and I make a note not to have any telephone conversations while I sit in this room, though it would be good to hear Helena’s conversations – she might even be speaking to the clients she stole from me.
It may do me some good to have time out from work I think as I gaze out the window at the large fenced yard housing a small shed and a landscaped garden designed with native Australian plants. Beyond the small white fence stretch views of the endless lush green valley where the golden sun is now descending.
From outside my door, I hear an unrecognisable set of voices. Guests must have arrived at the hotel because I’d not seen anyone at the hotel earlier.
I risk opening the door and peer through the slight gap, a stainless steel tray of food has been left at my door. Within arm’s reach in the narrow hallway a tall woman with a buzz cut carries clothing in a dry cleaners’ bag. Next to the women, a short man clutches a bouquet of Australian native flowers, perhaps from the garden outside. He leans and whispers into the woman’s ear, making her laugh, loud and high pitched. The man waits until the woman opens the door before handing her the flowers.
He turns to walk towards the stairs, for a second his eyes fix on my door, and I’m sure he has seen me through the inch wide opening. I wait until both the woman and man are out of sight before bending down to slide the food tray inside. I worry that it may be difficult to execute our plan when there are other guests at the hotel, and I wonder if Chantel is aware of the guest’s arrival. I pick up my phone to call her, but then change my mind. Our original plan will go ahead tomorrow morning, regardless of who else is staying in the guest house, I have already invested too much time in being here to quit now.
Under the lid of the tray is an enchilada covered in melted cheese, no meat, good, a spicy smell fills the room, and I make a mental note to remember to thank Mrs Clifton for preparing this delicious meal for me.
Dinner eaten, I leave the tray outside the door. The pillow I rest my head on is softer than the one I sleep on at home. I turn from side to side not able to fall asleep. I listen for sounds outside my door but there is silence. It’s not until I finally begin to drift into sleep, that I think I can hear whispering outside my door, it passes, and for the rest of the night there is quiet.
Helena
I leave my room at 10:05 pm and walk towards the stairs. Chantel steps onto the corridor landing, swaying as she walks. When she is next to me I clutch her arm to stop her from falling. She laughs frivolously as I pull her towards me and whisper in her ear that her getting drunk wasn’t part of the plan. She doesn’t mind me reprimanded her, nor does she mind my fingers running down her back.
“Has the wedding cake arrived?” I ask.
“Yes, it sure did. The little pink flowers on top of the cake are edible,” she says slurring her words and holding her fingers together to indicate little. I push down Chantel’s hand, our fingers find each other, and I don’t waste a moment pulling her into my room. Chantel leans on the back of my door; I put my lips to her ear and whisper.
“We have to be quiet, or your ‘parents’ will hear us.”
“My parents aren’t in the house,” she replies, giggling.
Her lips taste like beer when I push my tongue into her mouth and against her teeth. Her hands work awkwardly as she pulls me closer and I feel her push her pelvis against mine. The bed is only a few steps away from where we stand, but I don’t want to break this moment.
I continue to explore her beer flavoured mouth with my tongue as I push her harder against the door. My mind tells me I am not kissing Chantel; now I am kissing Zody and that thought makes me eager to run my hand between Chantel’s legs. I lift her skirt, grateful she is not wearing her tight jeans today. She moans into my ear; I whisper Zody, but Chantel is too drunk to notice. I place my hand across her mouth as her moans increase in volume and I bury my mouth into her neck as I sense a groan on the verge of leaving my throat. Our movements slow, Chantel closes her eyes and leans on the door. She fiddles with her outfit trying to adjust it but she fails to compose herself as the lace hem of her embroidered skirt has become twisted in the elastic at her waist.
“Go to your room. Now,” I say opening the door and giving her an assertive shove. She places one bare foot in front of the other. Chantel holds her hand out in front of her. I have made her lose her senses. I shake my head with disappointment as I search the ground for her shoes, she must have come into my room barefoot. Her carelessness concerns me, this could jeopardise my carefully constructed plan while she is in her drunken state. I pick up my phone from the round wooden table next to the bed. It is in silent mode. I check if Archer tried to call me or sent a message that Marla isn’t sleeping or eating. My phone shows that I haven’t missed any calls or messages and I take that as a sign that Archer has it all under control at home. I can relax until the eventful morning arrives. The alarm on my phone is set for five o’clock. I walk to the space of wall next to the antique cupboard. The wall is ice blue. It is bitterly cold between us. I lick the cool blue wall and the rough surface scraps my warm tongue.
Zody
I wake to a harsh scraping sound coming from somewhere below my window. I lean against the frame and peer outside. I can see a man in a red cap opening the door of the shed. I’m not able to catch sight of his face as he stacks chairs on top of one another, his back to me. I wait by the window watching, waiting for him to turn around. I guess it doesn’t really matter if I don’t see his face, I don’t need to know who he is. I close the blind in case the man decides to turn and look in my direction.
It is 7:50 am. If I want to keep us on schedule, I will need to shower now. I take the pair of purple pants I recently bought and a white T-shirt out of my overnight bag. As I am making my way towards the bathroom, I hear a knock on the door. I open it to find Chantel standing there, her hair is tangled, and she’s wearing the same shirt and skirt she wore yesterday. She walks past me, into the room, without being invited, and I can smell stale beer. Her movements are slow, and it takes a long time for her to take one step. I put two and two together, and I’m guessing that Chantel must have had an enjoyable night drinking with her parents, a family reunion. Once inside my room, she seems to forget why she has come to see me. She looks like she is searching her brain not to say the wrong words.
“Is Archer here yet?” I ask to help her out.
“Archer? No, no, he hasn’t arrived, there is heavy traffic on the Great Western Highway, he’s held up,” she replies.
She rubs her eyes and looks around the room. She seems to be looking for something.
“I’m going to take a shower now, to make sure we are on time,” I say as a prompt for her to leave my room.
“Mum is going to bring you breakfast, it’s nearly ready so keep your door open, and she will leave it on your table,” Chantel says.
“It’s okay if she leaves the tray at the
door like she left the dinner last night. I don’t want to keep the door open while I’m in the shower, particularly since other guests are staying here. Yesterday evening I heard people speaking in the hall,” I say.
“Yes, there is a couple that arrived last night for the—” Chantel begins then stops herself mid sentence, puts her hand over her mouth before continuing. “Don’t worry, just go and take that shower, I’ll sit here while you cleanse yourself in there, so you don’t have to leave the door open. I’ll lock it for you after Mum leaves.” Chantel sits on the bed, looking like she’s tempted to take the opportunity to lie down and sleep.
I let her rest and I walk into the bathroom making sure the door is locked. I take off the clothes I fell asleep in yesterday evening and turn on the water. Through the sound of the water, I can hear muffled voices in my room. It sounds like Mrs Clifton is reprimanding Chantel for some reason. Mums! I think, as I lather myself with body wash. I stay under the water until I’m certain the voices have stopped then step out of the shower and wrap myself in a pink towel. I listen carefully to be sure the room is empty. Satisfied with the sound of silence I open the bathroom door. The tray of food is next to the bed, I would have preferred to eat out, but this will do at the moment. Lifting the silver lid I find silky scrambled eggs, buttered toast and a glass of cloudy apple juice. I would have preferred coffee.
I scoop the eggs up with the spoon and wash them down with apple juice. The eggs are cold but not lacking in flavour. I take a bite of the toast and swallow. Then a familiar feeling from not so long ago begins to take over my body and mind. My eyelids close involuntarily. I try to remember when I felt like this before so I can take control and stop it from happening again. Slowly the light starts to fade and the last thought I have is that I forgot to put my clothes on.
Helena
“It’s okay that she has no clothes on – it’s all part of the game,” I say to John. “I’m going upstairs to dress her, you stay here and follow me up in about five minutes with the ropes. But don’t be longer than that because she will start to wake up and if she wakes up she will be disappointed.”
“Can I please have everyone’s attention,” I say and wait until all my students’ eyes are on me.
“Once Mary and Kim have finished assembling and decorating the arch, take your cameras out, and prepare yourselves to take pictures.”
“Good job, John, setting up the chairs this morning, although you were slightly too noisy in the shed. Once Beulah has finished having make-up applied to her face she and Carl will be ready to start the walk down the aisle. Students, please remember that no matter how immoral things may look here today, nobody is getting hurt. More important is the fact that you all need practice with your photography skills, and you need this for your wedding portfolios. Lastly, it’s crucial that no one takes photos of Zody, she wants to keep what is happening to her today a secret. Today is Zody’s special day to enjoy her fetish. You never know, you might even have the same desire when you become a successful photographer like her. At the moment not one of you knows what that level of success feels like.”
My students’ eyes are on me as I talk, I can see the questioning expressions on their faces as they try to register what is happening and what will be taking place. I walk up the aisle, which is covered in pale pink rose petals, and through the back door. I try to slow my legs to a steady pace, but they are carrying me on, I am not in control of them at this stage. I am nearly at her door when I hear a commotion coming from inside Beulah’s room, I can hear raised voices. The word ‘brown’ is repeated several times. I grit my teeth and knock on the door.
“Come in,” an annoyed voice calls out. I use my shoulder to push open the door; the door opens with some difficulty. The smell of a woody perfume greets my nose. Beulah sits in a chair with her back towards me. Jodi stands in front of her holding a large make-up brush, a look of concentration on her dainty face. “Oh, Helena, lucky that you’re here.” Jodi waves the make-up brush around in exasperation, “Can you please explain to Beulah that I don’t have a personal endeavour against her and brown make-up, but I really think that the green palette suits her skin tone better.”
I walk in front of Beulah to examine her face. “You’re right, Jodi, the browns with her complexion make her eyes look like they have mud smeared around them, apply the green coloured eye shadow,” I say.
Beulah starts to speak, but I hold my hand up.
“Ladies, we don’t have time for disagreements, I need you both.”
“You could at least use the small brush to achieve more detail.” Beulah is still arguing as I close the door on the make-up drama.
I stand in front of Zody’s door and hesitate to open it, scared that maybe she had woken up because of the loud talking in the adjoining room and is waiting to jump on me when I come in. I twist the handle and push the door open slowly. Zody lies on the bed, her long brown hair concealing her face. In her hand, she grasps a spoon, and wrapped loosely around her otherwise bare body, is a pink towel. A breast peeks out from under the towel. I look around the room for her clothes, and I pick up a pair of purple pants and white shirt. I slowly open the towel, and she stirs slightly. I don’t have much time. I put her legs into her pants, my hand shaking as they brush her smooth skin. I cannot take my eyes off her naked body, but I perform my task diligently. I pull her shirt over her head, and she stirs again. I can hear John outside the door. I don’t want to give him over to her.
“Tie her legs at the ankles and wrists behind her back. The gag goes around her mouth. Carry her downstairs and sit her in the chair I set up. If she wakes before you make it down the stairs do whatever you have to do to make sure she is sitting in that chair,” I say. I give John a ‘you can do it’ look for support.
Giving Zody’s shirt a gentle tug to make sure I dressed her properly I take a deep breath and pick up her phone from the side table. Chantel should have taken it when she was here earlier; the plan could have been ruined. Chantel was sloppy this morning in carrying out her duties, but luckily she remembers nothing of what she did last night. I turn the phone on, and am pleasantly surprised that she didn’t secure it with a password, especially after our last encounter.
My phone rings, breaking the silence I am trying hard to keep. I motion John to start walking ahead, and answer the call: “Hi, Archer. Yes, it’s all going well, the ceremony begins in half an hour, I will pack up and start driving home straight after it’s finished. How is Marla? Tell her I can’t wait to hug her.” I end the call and race downstairs to be ahead of John. Beulah and Carl are standing at the foot of the aisle ready for proceedings to begin. I position myself in the worst possible spot a photographer can be in to photograph the bride walking down the aisle; yes, from this location I will take the most unfortunate photos. I wait for Zody to take her place. John sits her in the designated chair and taps her gently on the face. She stirs but doesn’t wake.
“Harder,” I say.
He looks at me questionably. “Arghh, I’ll do it,” I say.
I walk over to Zody, open my hand and slap her cheek, my hand leaves a bright red mark.
Her eyes snap open, and it looks like her mouth wants to as well. But the tie around her mouth stops any sound coming out. I feel many sets of curious eyes on me.
“You can thank me later; you could be sitting on this chair butt naked,” I whisper in her ear.
Zody pleads with her eyes, to anyone who looks at her, but I am in charge, and no one moves.
The traditional music has begun, the focus is taken from tied-up-Zody to our bride Beulah who is wearing a stunning tulle dress; the heels of her pearlescent 10 cm high stilettos sink into the grass and make her slim ankles buckle. The flowers are a standout piece of this setup; Beulah is holding a bouquet of natives which include banksia and yellow wattle, accented with silver leaves and gumnuts. She is walking down the aisle towards the wedding arch decorated with a delicate pink draping fabric, to where Carl and Joan, the Celebrant for toda
y, are waiting for her. Joan, what a perfect looking wannabe Celebrant, with her tight grey curls and outdated grey blazer, is hunched over my PA system, her puckered lips ready to sprout the words that will declare this handsome pair married, under my law. I watch all my photographers spring into action. Each student tries zealously to be in the best position to photograph the beautiful bride, just as I taught them. Some students lie on the ground, camera pointing up while others are walking close to the bride for extreme close-ups. I try my worst. I hold her phone camera in my hand. I hold it crooked; I cut off a head, I zoom in close on a blemish, and I photograph an ear. I do more than just break the photography rules.
Occasionally my clients have asked me how many photos I can take in an hour. A hundred good pictures I tell them. Now it feels like I’m making a hundred bad ones. I take a break from my bad photo taking exercise to look over at Zody; she seems to be in a dream-like state; maybe it’s still the effect of the drugs. I stare at her until I have her full attention then I let my eyes do the speaking.
Will you give up now? I think her frightened eyes are telling me ‘no, this time I am going to the police’. But I do not care. Once these photos are online, I have beaten her; all her followers can see what a crap photographer she really is.
Oh no! I have missed the exchange of the wedding rings; I’ll have to write in an Instagram post about how I am an inattentive photographer who misses key moments – that will be an excellent accompaniment to these awful photos I am taking.
There is no wedding Reception organised for today for Beulah and Carl’s wedding. It would have cost me a fortune to feed all the guests and even though I had already saved money on the accommodation, oh and the flowers because they were grown here in the garden, I couldn’t cover the cost of food because how would I have explained that to Archer? But there is cake! A four-layer chocolate cake decorated with white icing and edible pink flowers!
No Reception Page 8