* * *
In early February, Amelia and Fritz had a business trip. They were going to Rome for four days to meet with their biggest client. They asked me to stay with Natalie, and of course I agreed.
For those four days, each morning I made breakfast for Natalie and we walked to school together. Then I’d spend the majority of the day at my apartment, editing, if I didn’t have a shoot. The hours in my apartment were growing difficult, because my body and brain were becoming accustomed to the scale and light in the Straubs’ home, including the design of their windows and glass doors, which allowed the eye to borrow all the space outside their home as well. In the Straubs’ house, I had the freedom to stretch and run, metaphorically speaking, with no constraints, whereas, in my own apartment, I felt myself shrink and compress.
Amelia had told me Natalie was old enough to be in their house alone for a couple of hours in the afternoon, but I didn’t agree, so I made certain to return by four thirty, when Natalie arrived home, and often earlier.
I knew that Gwen, the tenant downstairs, was at work during the day and it was possible to enter the garden apartment without fear of being observed. I felt that someone ought to be keeping tabs on her. I’d noticed several odd patterns of behavior. For instance, at the foot of her bed was a blanket that she always rolled into a tight cylinder—an indication that she was tightly wound and might be a loose cannon.
Sometimes I would arrive as early as 2 P.M. so that I could take a nap in the bed downstairs. I slept so soundly in that bed. It was perfect for me. I’d been repeating the puddle-of-water trick at least once a week, along with rearranging Gwen’s clothing from time to time, just to keep her off-balance.
The garden apartment and the Straubs’ future baby became linked in my thoughts. In my mind, the surrogate or birth mother who carried their baby belonged in the apartment. (It seemed to me that must have been the Straubs’ intention all along.) Gwen was not that person.
Each evening, Natalie and I would do her homework, eat dinner together, and take Itzhak for a walk around the block. When she didn’t have much homework, we stayed up late and played Scrabble. Before she went to sleep, we usually talked about school. Natalie told me various anecdotes about her friends.
“Hailey goes, ‘Piper, remember the doughnuts we had at Madeleine’s house?’ And then she goes, ‘Oh, Natalie, I forgot you weren’t there.’ But she didn’t forget that I wasn’t there. She wanted me to know that I wasn’t invited to something.”
I didn’t offer advice, but I think Natalie felt better because I listened to her. It often took an hour or more for me to quiet her down. I couldn’t have imagined how significant that time would be for me. And how I would long for it to continue.
* * *
On the third Friday of February, I was scheduled to babysit yet again, and this time Natalie was having a sleepover with Piper. I remembered her as the girl at Natalie’s party who couldn’t braid hair. I felt mildly hesitant, given what I’d learned of Natalie’s friends. When I arrived, I set my laptop and a small shopping bag on the kitchen counter. Inside was a child’s waterproof camera I’d purchased. It was a present for Jasper. I was hoping that someone would notice it.
I knocked on Natalie’s door and poked my head in. “Hi, you two.” Natalie and Piper were seated on the floor, immersed in painting their fingernails, and barely acknowledged me except for a slight wave. “I’ll be downstairs,” I said.
In the kitchen, I picked up a copy of the Times that was lying on the counter. Amelia and Fritz still subscribed to the paper edition. I sat down to read an article on a gang of counterfeiters from Lima, Peru. I learned that master counterfeiters are artists with a terrific desire for recognition. They’re so hungry for praise that they often give themselves away inadvertently.
When I heard footsteps on the stairs, I refolded the newspaper as I’d found it, and left it on the counter. Fritz appeared in a becoming tuxedo, his face damp with perspiration. “Delta Dawn!” He filled a glass with ice and filtered water and handed it to me, then filled a second glass for himself. “God, I hate this fucking monkey suit.” He sat on the stool opposite me and glanced at the cover of the Times, then at the child’s camera in my shopping bag.
“A little something I picked up for Jasper.” I was pleased that my purchase had paid off.
“Right. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far.” He turned his water glass in a circle on the counter, as if he were inspecting it for a flaw. Then he sighed loudly. “Our clients…” He dropped his head back to look at the ceiling. “They’re buying property in a fucking valley. Trees everywhere and dark as hell. They could buy anything. We told them and told them. They won’t listen. It’s the worst choice they could have made.” He paused. “Man, I should stop talking, right?”
“I love hearing about your work, because it’s all about light and shadow. Mine is too. When I walk into a space, any space, the first thing I see is the light and the shadow. Is that what you see?”
Fritz raised his eyebrows. “Yes!” He assessed me and I felt that his understanding of my abilities was coming into focus.
Backlit by the late-afternoon sun shining through the glass doors, he almost glowed. From behind his tortoiseshell glasses, his green eyes glistened brightly. I stifled a desire to pull out my Canon EOS. He laughed. “Unfortunately, I think that the star-chitects”—he chuckled at his pun—“and we’re not star architects … even they still have to answer to someone. Someone else is paying for everything and making the decisions. Of course, we can walk off a job. But we haven’t ever done that … not yet.
“These days, I come home to have a quick dinner with Natalie,” he continued, “and then I work for another five hours. Amelia’s worse than I am. When Natalie was younger, I was away a lot. Now it’s the reverse. Amelia’s more driven than anyone I’ve ever met.” Fritz looked self-conscious, almost as if he’d forgotten I was sitting there. He studied a bubble in the handblown water glass. “You’ve been awesome to Natalie. It’s just, we’re juggling too much crap. Each year, a new crop of hotshots competes for the business. Anyway. I need to stop talking. And ask about you.”
“I love observing children, discovering their personalities,” I said. “The parents who hire me, some of them lack confidence. My pictures tell them that all of their choices have been the right ones, because their choices have led them to a life with joyful children who are thriving due to their love and care. I’m selling a self-image.”
“Interesting.” His eyes widened.
“You and Amelia too. I imagine a large part of what people buy from you is self-image. Living in a Straub house gives your clients confirmation that they belong to a cultured, sensitive, creative breed of elite.”
I gathered that Fritz was pleased by what I said but didn’t want to acknowledge it.
“They want to be you, don’t they?” I said.
“Hell no.” Fritz shook his head, as if amused by my outlandish idea, but I knew I had approached the core of what he considered to be the truth.
“It’s an intimate act. To create someone’s home,” I said. “Your imagination, your intellect, your creativity, all of those things are funneled into your work. You’re the artist. But the creation belongs to your clients. You give birth, and then you have to give your child up. The home becomes their child.”
Fritz looked into my eyes and I knew we understood each other on a deeper level.
I stifled an urge to caress his face. I wondered what he would do if I took his hand and put it underneath my bra.
It was hard to explain my desire for Fritz. Even hard to explain it to myself. I didn’t want Fritz or Amelia to have a personal life separate from me. The further I burrowed myself into them, both of them, the less likely I’d ever have to return to my own existence. The less likely they could disentangle themselves from me.
I heard footsteps on the stairs. Fritz stood, preparing to leave. Amelia, dressed in an alluring black dress with a long string of beads, entere
d the kitchen. She turned to face away from me, revealing the ivory skin on her back and a partially unzipped dress. “Delta darling.” She gestured toward the zipper and I obliged.
She turned back around and smiled. “La Divina.”
* * *
At 7 P.M., the doorbell rang and the pizza I’d ordered arrived. I called to the girls and they flew down the stairs and past me into the kitchen toward the small media room. Both girls were wearing capri pants and tank tops. Piper’s top revealed her midriff. Natalie grabbed the remote.
“We’re watching Mean Girls while we eat pizza,” Natalie said.
“Yasss!” Piper said as she slid into a full split on the floor. She could do splits easily, and it was clear she wanted those around her to recognize her talent.
“Natalie, your parents OK with that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
I had the sense that Natalie wanted Piper to think she’d seen the movie before when she really hadn’t—that she was trying to impress Piper with her prior knowledge of Mean Girls.
Natalie turned on Showtime and found the movie. Then the girls brought slices of pepperoni pizza on paper plates into the media room and settled into the sectional sofa with Itzhak at their feet.
I sat at the kitchen counter and worked for a while on my laptop, my eyes drifting to Lindsay Lohan on the television screen every few minutes.
Piper recited lines from the movie. “‘What is that smell?’ ‘Oh, Regina gave me some perfume.’ ‘You smell like a baby prostitute!’ Yasss!” She turned to Natalie. “OK, you’re Janis and I’m Cady.” Natalie acted as though she knew the dialogue too, but it was clear she didn’t.
I pulled out my Canon EOS from my backpack; while the girls were engrossed in the movie, it was a good opportunity to take a few photographs of the house. I planned to keep the photos in my archives, in case I wanted to refer to them one day.
Natalie and Piper paused the movie halfway through to microwave popcorn and then resumed. When the credits were rolling at nine, I suggested it was time to brush teeth and change into pajamas. That was when Piper proposed Mean Girls 2. Natalie jumped on the idea.
“You can watch it over breakfast,” I said. “It’s too late to start a movie now.”
“Whatevs,” Piper said, tossing her hair.
“Mom and Dad let me stay up as late as I want when I have a sleepover.” Natalie proceeded to look for Mean Girls 2 on Showtime.
I didn’t think this was exactly true, but I also didn’t want to make her seem immature in front of Piper, who carried herself with a cool sophistication that was extreme for an eleven-year-old.
“I don’t know.” I made eye contact with Natalie, trying to read the situation.
“Please, Delta,” she said quietly with wide, innocent eyes.
I already knew the dynamic with Piper was less than ideal. “OK, Natalie. Fine.”
While the girls were watching the movie, I studied them. Piper had long, shiny black hair and golden skin. Her delineated features, her bone structure and its accompanying shadows and highlights, were unusual for a child. I look at children’s faces for a living, so I know what I’m talking about. It takes a long time for a face to become what it is supposed to be. Some children have baby fat well into their teens. Then life experience forms a character and chisels out the lines of a face. Small children are often cute, but they’re rarely beautiful, because real beauty has specificity.
Natalie hadn’t yet become the person she was going to be, whereas Piper had. Even at eleven, Piper’s face had lines and a form. How does that happen to a child? How does it not happen to a child? I don’t know that I ever became the person I was meant to be.
After half an hour, Piper paused the movie. She stood up and shook her hips from side to side. “Damn, Gina, I need some candy!” She looked at me expectantly.
“There’s none in the house.” I knew that to be true because I checked the kitchen cabinets from time to time. If the Straubs were running low on any staples, I would stop by the market on my way to their house and pick up the items they needed. Amelia was always so grateful for such gestures.
“Skittles.” Piper moved her hips in circles like she had a Hula-Hoop. “Woo-hoo!”
“Skittles!” Natalie chimed in, though she must have known that her parents didn’t have Skittles in the house.
“I haven’t seen any candy here.” I found myself growing irritated by Piper and her demands.
“Ice cream!” Piper high-fived Natalie.
“Girls,” I said. “Finish the movie. It’s almost ten.”
“Ice cream is a necessity,” Piper said. They continued to dance, their arms in the air, their hips bumping each other.
I caved in and gave them coconut gelato, which I’d noticed in the freezer earlier.
After the movie, I followed them upstairs, but Natalie waved me away. “We’re fine.”
“Really?” I asked.
She closed the door behind her.
Later I checked back and the light was off in Natalie’s room. I assumed that they were sleeping.
I straightened up the media room, fluffing the pillows on the sofa where the girls had flattened them down. A charm necklace had fallen in between two pillows. I assumed it was Natalie’s. It appeared that she had made the clay charms herself. One charm resembled Itzhak. One was a little heart with a zigzagged line down the middle, meant to indicate that the heart was broken.
In the kitchen, as I was pouring boiling water over a tea bag, I heard a loud scream from upstairs. I raced up the stairs two at a time and opened the door to Natalie’s room to find Natalie asleep in her bed. The pull-out trundle bed was empty. Piper was standing by the window, screaming. “There was a man! He had a knife! Help me!”
Natalie rustled in her bed, half-asleep. “What happened?”
“Shhh,” I whispered to Piper. “You had a bad dream.”
“What?” Natalie murmured again.
“Shhh.” I patted Natalie’s arm. “Go back to sleep. It’s OK.”
I tried to walk Piper to the door, but she jumped away from me and started screaming again. “No! No!” Even in the dark room, I could see the terror in her face. It wasn’t a show. “I want my mom! You have to take me home!” Piper crouched on the floor, her body in a tight ball.
“Come with me and we’ll call your mom.” I pulled her to her feet and convinced her to follow me down the stairs.
Piper and I sat at the kitchen island. She was wearing a short red nightgown that could have been described as sexy. I’ve read that young children with a heightened sexual awareness have often been abused. In fifth grade I used to sit on top of the monkey bars in a dress and underwear, blocking the path, so that the boys would likely touch my crotch when they came swinging by.
“Do you want some milk?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Do you still want to call your mom?”
She cast her eyes down.
“OK, let’s have some milk,” I said, “and then we can decide what you want to do.”
“And some cereal. Do they have any excellent cereal?”
I looked in the cabinet and found Special K and Lucky Charms, which surprised me. Piper chose Lucky Charms. I poured her a bowl of cereal and milk and placed the bowl and a spoon on the counter in front of her. I sat next to her while she ate.
Her frame of mind had shifted and she appeared to be recovering from her nightmare. “You know, you can buy a box that has only the Lucky Charms marshmallows,” she said, “and none of the cereal.”
“Wow.”
“I remember you from Natalie’s birthday party,” she said. “You were taking pictures.”
“Yeah.”
She was painstakingly collecting only the marshmallows onto her spoon. “You’re a photographer and a babysitter too? How come?”
I chose to view the question as innocent. “I like Natalie. I like her parents.”
“You like babysitting?”
“Yes.”
Piper took another bite of only marshmallows. I was struck by the definition of her lips, like a painted doll. “That’s weird,” she said.
“Why is it weird?” I asked.
“I saw you taking pictures of the house. Why were you taking pictures of the house?”
I didn’t realize that Piper had noticed what I was doing while they were watching the movie. I experienced a familiar sharp tug in my abdomen. I knew my intentions were pure, but others might not understand.
“It’s a beautiful house, right?”
“What are you going to do with the pictures?”
The faint smirk on her face elicited a burning sensation in my chest, similar to heartburn. “Someday when I buy a house,” I said, “I’ll refer to the pictures for ideas on how to decorate.”
“Are you buying a house?”
“Not now.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Not everyone gets married.”
“You don’t want to get married?” Piper swished the milk around her bowl with her spoon.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Are you dating anyone?”
I paused. Ian would have described us as dating, but I didn’t consider sharing that information with Piper.
“I’m divorced.” Robert and Jasper were useful as a dam to block her questions.
“Then you were married before.”
“I have a son.”
“A son?”
“He lives with his dad.”
“Oh.” She licked the back of her spoon, like she was licking an ice cream cone. “Seems weird to me. That you’re babysitting. Do you need the money?”
“That’s not your business.” I stood up and returned the box of Lucky Charms to the kitchen cabinet and the milk to the fridge. “You should go back to bed.”
The Photographer Page 7