Thigh Highs

by Katia Rose

  That’s always been the goal of my work: truth. I don’t want to take pictures of what everyone else sees; I want to take pictures of the things they miss, of what’s hiding behind a raised eyebrow or a trembling hand. Everything that makes up my images— composition, lighting, the exact moment when I snap the shutter closed— is about that: leaving my subjects defenceless and exposed, unable to hide whatever beauty or ugliness they have inside them.

  Christina is all beauty.

  We didn’t plan the sections of the shoot around her personality, but they’ve each ended up showing a different part of who she is. Staring out the window in that blue bra with a no-nonsense look on her face, she’s the confident woman who’s at the top of all her classes and doesn’t take no for an answer. Dancing around to AC/DC, she’s the girl with an easy laugh and a flush of insecurity, a version of her I don’t think many people get to see. Lying on the couch, staring up at me with her lip between her teeth, she’s...

  Sexy as fuck.

  Which is highly problematic.

  I noticed Christina Dominguez on my very first day of ad school, and I knew she was going to mean trouble. She walked into the room like she owned the place and started serving up searing comebacks with a smart mouth that just wouldn’t quit.

  Women like her are the reason I act like an asshole. It’s easier to give up on getting close to a girl if I force her to write me off before she’s even gotten the chance to know me. I might have half the college campus clamouring for my phone number, but I know that’s just about looks and attitude. No one tries to get deeper than the surface because I’ve made myself seem like a person who’s all surface.

  I’ve spent so much time figuring out how to break down people’s walls with a camera that when I decided to put up my own walls, it was easy. I push away anyone I feel the urge to get close to with sarcasm and irritating nicknames, and get left all to my lonesome on the ‘Planet of the Douche.’

  That’s exactly how I want it.

  “Do you have the stuff?”

  Christina’s eyes are frantic as she approaches me in the parking lot. From the purple half moons underneath them, it’s clear she’s gotten as little sleep as me these past two days. I was up working on the project until three in the morning last night.

  “No,” I reply, shutting my car door behind me. “I forgot it all at home.”

  Her jaw drops open and I have to laugh as she clutches her face in an expression of horror that makes her look just like the cover of Home Alone.

  “Relax, Dominguez. It’s all in the car.”

  Annoyance replaces her panic. “Don’t test me, Penn. Not today. Today is the day we qualify to present in front of Epsilon Media, and I do not need any stupid jokes putting me even more on edge.”

  “Epsilon Media?” I repeat.

  She nods. “Gary showed me the list of attendees for the showcase. Epsilon is coming for the first time ever.”

  “Gary showed you the list? Teacher’s pet.”

  I smirk at her and she glares in return. It’s a common exchange between us.

  We gather up all the project materials from the back seat of my car and head into the main campus building. We’re doing class presentations of our projects today, and seeing as Miss Teacher’s Pet volunteered us to go first, Gary’s letting us set up early.

  Christina holds the door of the classroom open for me and I edge inside, careful not to knock the large posters I’m holding against anything. I don’t think Gary expects us to do much besides display our ads on the Smart Board, but we decided to go the extra mile and get prints done.

  Christina starts setting up the stands I’ve brought and I pull the protective wrapping off the posters. I only picked them up this morning, and aside from a brief glance to make sure everything printed alright, I haven’t had a chance to see them.

  “Close your eyes,” I tell her, once she’s got the stands all in place.

  “What?”

  “Close your eyes until they’re ready. I want you to be properly wow-ed by my brilliance.”

  She lets out a groan.

  “I said close your eyes, not roll them.”

  She sighs, but places one hand over her eyes and tells me to hurry up. I grab the first poster by its edges, careful not to get any fingerprints on the front, and move it to a stand before doing the same with the next two. There’s one poster for each of the outfits we used, the images now edited to include the text of our ads.

  The first shot captures Christina in the middle of a hair flip, one arm flung up in the air like she’s at a rock concert. A wide smile stretches across her face and her eyes are closed, giving the impression that she’s lost in the music coming out of her headphones. The text of the image reads: ‘Your Favourite band. Your favourite song. Your favourite bra.’ Along the bottom of the picture is the phrase we’ve used on all the ads: ‘Get that #favouritebrafeeling with Allure.’

  I’m still staring at the poster when Christina walks up beside me.

  “Meu Deus,” she gasps.

  I turn my attention to her. She’s looking back and forth between all three ads like she doesn’t know which to focus on. She brings the fingers of one hand up to her cheek. I watch as she steps towards the ad on the far left, a landscape shot of her lying on the couch with a small, lazy grin on her face as she cups her chin in her hands.

  We were going for cozy and relaxed, with the text reading, ‘Make time for some me time,’ but it was hard to find a photo from that set which wasn’t crackling with the tension in the room. I managed to find one that wasn’t blatantly sexual, but the pose still comes off as coy and inviting, giving a little more meaning to the phrase ‘me time’ than we intended.

  I almost laugh at the thought, but stop when I see that it’s the ad in the middle that’s really drawn Christina’s attention. She stands in front of it, holding a hand just an inch above the surface as if she wants to reach inside the photo. I see her fingers shake.

  “Aaron.” Her voice is tiny and soft, not at all how it usually sounds. “How did you do this?”

  My reflex is to make some sarcastic remark about the mechanics of working a camera, but I stay quiet.

  “I look...” she murmurs, sounding lost as she searches for words. “In this one, I look...I look like the woman I want to be.”

  Something burns in my chest, setting fire to a part of it I’ve been trying to keep her out of. I step closer, fixing my eyes on the image. The slogan for this one reads, ‘Wake up. Take on the world. Repeat.’ In the photo Christina stands leaning against the windowpane, staring out at the flushed sunlight as she lowers a mug from her lips. She looks poised, in control, ready to start a new day. Everything about her, from the way she holds her head to the curving definition of her abs, speaks of confidence and strength.

  “I take photos of what’s there, Christina, not what isn’t. You look like the woman you are.”

  She turns, not expecting me to be so close, and her shoulder bumps against my chest. I catch her eye and for just a moment we’re frozen like that, her arm pressed into me, before we both take a step back.

  “These are—” She swallows and flicks her eyes to the ground. “These are very good. Thank you for all the work you put in.”

  “I mean, you basically threatened me with death if I didn’t give this my all. Just looking out for myself.”

  “Good.” She gives a back-to-business kind of nod. “Now let’s rehearse.”

  Forty minutes later we’re facing a standing ovation from Gary and our classmates. The presentation went off without a hitch and I’m pretty sure we’ve guaranteed ourselves a spot in the showcase.

  We started off with the posters covered up, and after giving an anecdote about how the advertising world requires us to be prepared for everything, even model cancellations, we revealed the ads. I was worried no one would take the project seriously after seeing Christina in her underwear, but they seemed as awed by the images as she was. After the grand reveal, we used the Smar
t Board to explain our digital strategy and the consumer engagement tactics promoted by the hashtag.

  We pack up our supplies as Gary walks to the front of the room and tells us we’ve done an excellent job.

  “This has been a great note to start the presentations off on and I’m excited to see what the rest of you have come up with,” he says to the class at large. “So now, let’s listen to the next group wow us with their pierogi marketing strategies.”

  I set the posters down at the back of the room and Christina places the stands beside them. She’s still beaming and I realize that I am too.

  “Hey Peaches,” I whisper, as the next group starts their presentation, “we really shook them, all night long.”

  Her smile stays fixed in place as whispers back, “Call me Peaches one more time and I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

  8

  Truth or Dare

  I’m heading to the Subway on the edge of campus to grab dinner after a day packed with classes when my mom’s number appears on the screen of my phone.

  “Hey, Ma,” I answer.

  “Aaron! How’s my favourite son?”

  “Favourite by default,” I answer. “I’m your only son. If you actually wanted to boost my confidence, you could call me your favourite child.”

  “I love you and Meghan equally,” she says with a laugh. “Now answer the question. How are you?”

  “I’m...good?” I respond. “Is this just a call to see how I am?”

  “Well, yes.” She sounds hesitant. “Is that alright?”

  “Of course. It’s just a little weird.”

  She sighs into the phone. “I wanted to check up on you. I know it’s been just over a year. The anniversary must have been—”

  “I’m fine.” I grit my teeth as I continue up the sidewalk, my whole body tensing. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I know it’s...hard, Aaron, but we’ve never talked about it, and I don’t—”

  “I’m fine,” I repeat. “I’m getting dinner now. I have to go.”

  “Alright, alright.” I can picture her rubbing little circles into her temples, the way she does when she’s tired or stressed. “I love you.”

  “Love you too, Ma.”

  Sliding my phone into my pocket, I notice that my other hand has gathered into a fist at my side. I remind myself that my mom’s just trying to be helpful, but the urge to push her out, to cut every tie with anything that reminds me of what happened, just won’t go away.

  I thought I’d managed to get through the anniversary without anyone bringing it up. It’s been more than a year now; I’m tired of wearing the Guy With a Dead Girlfriend label.

  I open the door of Subway, trying to wipe the scowl off my face before I subject any innocent sandwich makers to an unwarranted death glare. The bell overhead rings and I step into the near-empty dining area. Two girls are eating subs in a corner of the room. The one facing me is wearing a Subway shirt and visor. Her eyes widen at the sight of me and she taps her friend on the shoulder.

  “Yo!” I hear her say. “It’s Aaron Penn.”

  The second girl turns around, and I don’t know how I didn’t recognize Christina from the back. Her mass of hair is a dead giveaway.

  “So it is,” she replies, looking me up and down. “We were just talking about you. Us, rather. The project.”

  I cross the room to stand next to them. “What about it?”

  I watch as the smile I’m getting way too addicted to spreads across her face. “Gary just put the results up on the class portal. We’re in.”

  “For the showcase?”

  “Duh, for the showcase.” She reaches over me and punches me in the arm, hard enough that I have to stop myself from reaching up to rub it. “We did it, Penn! We get to present in front of all those firms. I’m going to get to talk to Epsilon Media reps...”

  She lapses off into silence, her eyes shining with some golden vision of the future.

  “Right. I’ll leave you to your Epsilon-induced lady boner now. Congratulations, Dominguez. I always knew there was no way we weren’t getting a spot.”

  She grimaces at the term ‘lady boner’ and I make my way over to the counter.

  “I’ll help you!” offers her friend, getting up from the table and dumping her sandwich wrapper in the trash. “I’ve been on a very extended break.”

  I order a meatball sub and she gets to work on making it.

  “I’m Alice, by the way,” she offers.

  “Aaron,” I respond.

  “Yeah, I know. Most people do. If I have to hear one more girl going crazy over your beanie, I might just grab it off your head and burn it.”

  “Or keep it and auction it off to one of his fangirls!” Christina calls from across the room. They both snicker.

  “What is this? The Aaron Penn roast?” I demand.

  “Nah,” Christina answers. “You would be way too easy to roast. I prefer a challenge.”

  Alice interrupts before I can fire off a comeback. “Beanies aside, you should totally join us at Christina’s place tonight. We’re celebrating you guys getting into the showcase once I’m done my shift. Seems only fair we invite the other half of the project.”

  “Seriously, Alice?” Christina groans. “Since when do you have permission to invite people to my home?”

  Alice shrugs and turns back to me. “I mean, we were going to have a dance party in our underwear, you know, given the whole lingerie theme, but we can change our plans.”

  I raise my eyebrows and deliver my next line to Christina. “No need. I’ll just suck it up and force myself to watch you two dance in your underwear. I wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience.”

  “You’re the definition of an inconvenience,” she replies smoothly, not missing a beat.

  “So you’ll be there, right?” Alice urges, as I hand her the money for my sandwich and take the bag out of her hands.

  I look back and forth between the two of them. “Am I actually invited?”

  “I guess Alice is right,” Christina concedes. “You are half the project. Also we need to re-work a few things for the showcase, so this will give us a chance to start.”

  “No!” Alice bursts out. “No working. This is a celebration, Christina. The only thing you’re going to be working on tonight is a bottle of whiskey.”

  “I like how this one thinks,” I say, jerking my thumb at Alice. “You should listen to her more often. Text me your address, Dominguez, and I’ll think about gracing you with my presence.”

  “You disgust me,” she deadpans.

  “I disgust you with how much you adore me,” I deadpan right back.

  I’m standing outside the door of Christina’s apartment, wondering if I should just turn around and leave.

  The fact that she might not actually want me here isn’t what has me ready to bolt down the hall; it’s how much I want to be here that sets alarm bells off in my head. The thought that I’m about to see where she lives, to sit on her couch and look around at a whole new side of her life, ignites the sparks of curiosity I’ve been making it my mission to put out.

  Before I can do anything stupid, the door opens up and Christina stands there in a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt.

  “You actually showed up,” she greets me.

  “Didn’t want to miss you dancing in your underwear,” I reply, “not that it’s anything I haven’t seen before.”

  “I hope you brought some kind of alcohol for me to dull my irritation with.”

  She steps back and lets me into the room. There’s a tiny entryway with a kitchen to the left, and beyond that a living room just big enough for a dining area, couch, coffee table, and TV. I set the whiskey bottle I brought with me down on the coffee table.

  “Alice mentioned whiskey, so I thought I’d go with the trend.”

  “Perfect!” exclaims a voice from behind me. I turn to find Alice walking out of what I assume is a bedroom. “Let’s get turnt.”

  “Ugh, Alice,
” Christina groans as she throws herself down on the couch. “Please don’t say things like ‘turnt.’ It reminds me of how young you are.”

  “Or how old you are,” Alice retorts, taking a seat next to her.

  I pull up a chair from the dining table and ask Alice how old she is.

  “I’m twenty, but Christina sometimes acts like that makes me a child. How old are you, anyways?”

  “Twenty-four,” I reply.

  Alice looks between Christina and I with a sly grin. “So if you guys dated Christina would be a total cougar. She’s a whole year older than you. The scandal!”

  “She’s only seven months older than me, actually.” Christina and I have already had this discussion, and she’s lorded her supposed ‘added maturity’ over me several times.

  “Also, that’s one cradle I will never be robbing,” Christina adds, nodding in my direction.

  “Well you guys are a fun bunch. I’m getting coke and glasses for us. Christina, put some music on.”

  The two of them get up to complete their tasks.

  “Sometimes I forget that this is my house, not hers,” Christina mutters, as she hooks her phone up to a sound system.

  “Do you have roommates?” I ask.

  “One. Well, one and a boyfriend of hers that basically lives here. You’ll probably...meet them at some point tonight.” She glances down the hall towards the bedrooms with a wary expression, and I decide to drop the subject.

  Alice makes us each a whiskey and coke, and we sip them while making awkward small talk. I steal glances around the apartment, taking in the decor. There’s a framed map of Portugal taking up one of the walls, and the windowsill is lined with houseplants in glazed blue pots.

  I excuse myself to the bathroom. The colour scheme inside is way too teal and pink to have been picked out by Christina. Even though I know it’s rude, I open up the medicine cabinet and scan its contents, not really knowing why seeing her toothbrush gives me such a thrill.

  I walk back into the living room just in time to hear Alice shout, “Oh, Christina! Let’s play the truth or dare Jenga game you have in your room.”