The Photographer - Part One
The Photographer
Females for photographic study, wanted.
If you have what it takes, and the body to
be a professional model, now is your chance.
Apply: Argon Studios, 619 Blevins Ave.
Your destiny awaits you!
Libbie spied the ad in the paper and figured, “What the hell. Why not give it a shot? I’ve damn near spent all my savings trying to get a job, and so far, I’m striking out. At least the rent’s paid for the next couple of months, but if I don’t find something soon, there won’t be a place to live in, and no money either. I’ll be damned if I run back home with my tail between my legs and listen to my parent’s rant, ‘I told you so’.”
Libbie dressed the best she could. Looking in her full-length mirror one last time, she liked what she saw.
A tall, willowy blond, makeup applied in a soft, but promising way, her beige skirt hugged tightly to her tight curves, the hem, a modest two inches above the knees, holding a body begging to be released. Her white silk blouse, just as snug, outlined the contour of her breasts, holding no bra; and if you stared at them long enough, you would see a tint of rosy texture rising through her blouse from her twin points.
Libbie’s legs held a seductive promise as well. Long and slender, holding what every man wanted, and she knew it. She knew she wouldn’t have a problem with the photographer. She would have him eating out of her hands.
She didn’t have a clue how much models made, but anything at this point was better than nothing.
“When the guy gets a good look at me, he’ll want to pay double.”
Libbie took another minute to look herself over and to make certain nothing was out of place. Looking at her nylons, checking for runs or snags, then, once satisfied, grabbing a black suit coat off the back of a chair, she picked up her purse and headed for Argon Studios, with a smile on her face.
__________
Inside Argon Studios, old Harry prepared for his first visitor. Breaking out a tripod, and a 35mm with zoom lens, old Harry set up his various backgrounds, with one far different from most; but this one was nothing more than flames. old Harry smiled at this, his favorite of all. The fire background was always the final one he used.
Setting up four floodlights at different angles in the room, he then set his camera to 1/1,000 of a setting, while he also decided upon how he would get his first visitor to pose.
old Harry knew he wouldn’t have much time before Libbie would walk through the front door.
__________
Libbie glided through the front door with all the splash of a sensual woman on the prowl. Her mind was preset on having the photographer drool over her, but the minute she entered the studio, she was far from impressed with what she saw.
The outer lobby was completely barren of chairs, and no carpet. There wasn't even a countertop or a receptionist desk. In a nutshell, the room was empty, and trashy looking.
Libbie turned, about to leave, feeling a major letdown take hold of her, now realizing that this wasn’t such a good idea after all, when old Harry walked out from the back room through a set of red curtains.
“I take it you are here because of my ad, my dear?”
“Uh, yes, but I, I’ve changed my mind. This place doesn’t look like much of a studio to me, and you don’t look like much of a photographer, either.” Libbie began to leave again, one hand on the door to push open when old Harry called out to her.
“Wait. Please. Don’t judge what you see until you have at least seen the rest. As for myself, I have been taking pictures forever. I am one of the best at what I do, and I want to prove that to you. Come, girl, there is nothing to be afraid of. Allow me to show you the back room where all my equipment is. If you are still dissatisfied, I will give you fifty dollars for your trouble. Agreed?”
Libbie looked him over again, then looked around the room.
“If I agree, how much will you pay me?”
“One-hundred dollars an hour; that is if you agree to a three-hour minimum.”
Fifty bucks is fifty bucks, she thought. If she didn’t like what she saw; but, a hundred bucks? Three hours? The old guy looks harmless enough. Must be fifty or sixty. Jan noticed the wrinkles covering his face as if each one was a separate scar. What threw her was the way he combed his hair. old Harry’s hair came up in two points, one on each side of his head. The more Libbie stared at him, the more she felt he was harmless.
“Oh, what the hell. I’ll check it out, Mr. ….”
“Just call me Harry.”
“Hello, Harry.”
She stuck out her hand, trying to be friendly even though his looks still took her back somewhat. When old Harry’s embraced her hand, she felt a slight tremor of heat, almost soothing, yet too warm to hold onto for very long had she tried.
“I’m Libbie.”