Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
I offer Lola a smile, thinking about Felix’s work, the raw brilliance of it.
He has a way of choosing the most devastating photos when he’s on location, painting them in a blunt and realistic way. But he also has a talent for making everyday things interesting, sometimes with something as simple as camera placement.
“He must’ve missed you,” I say. “He’s coming straight here.”
She nods. “Yeah, I missed him too.”
So did I, I say silently, knowing I can’t voice it, can never voice it.
I’ve been strong for so long.
I’ve never touched myself thinking about Felix, even when the temptation was almost impossible to resist.
I’ve never written him a love letter, a secret note, or even encased our names in a hand-drawn love heart.
It’s going to be tough, but I’ve got no choice. I have to resist him.
Lola deserves better than her best friend pining after her dad.
One thing will save me, though. I’m not sure whether to be relieved or cry, but no way would Felix ever want me.
CHAPTER TWO
Felix
I ride the elevator up to Lola’s apartment, my mind still going over a few of the shots I was studying on the plane. The collection is complete. Now it’s time for editing, and I know I’m going to choose the most heart-wrenching.
I traveled through ex-Soviet countries, hearing old stories and taking photos of heirlooms and families who’d experienced some sort of cruel devastation, whether it was war, hunger, or some other misery.
It feels good to be home, but already I’m thinking of the next project.
I have an idea, a way to combine the erotic and the mundane, perhaps underwear shoots in some everyday location.
The truth is I’ve had this idea for years, but the idea of shooting with underwear models has never appealed to me. It’s not like some other photographers, the sleazy sort, who’ll put together a whole project just so they get a chance to shoot with some pretty girls.
I want mine not to be sexual, honestly, more like…something, just out of my grasp.
Perhaps the contrast amidst the degradation of the real city.
I’ll have to do some research into similar themes. There’s no such thing as a new idea, but I’m always looking to bring new aspects into the photography world.
The cab stops outside Lola’s apartment building.
After paying him and climbing out, I look up at it, a note of pride hitting me.
I’m what some might call a grumpy bastard. I’m never going to experience true love again or find something more important than work, but my job has paid for Lola’s apartment and her college tuition. Furthermore, this job is giving her a chance to pursue her dream of becoming a doctor one day as it also fulfills my creative side.
I walk across the lobby, nodding to the security guard. Lola must’ve told him I was on my way. He greets me by name and gestures over to the elevators.
As I ride the elevator up to her floor, images flit across my mind, sometimes the same image but with different editing, lighting, everything. It’s a constant stream I stopped trying to fight long ago, just allowing them to cycle through the background of my thoughts, picture upon picture.
Walking down the hallway, I knock on Lola’s door.
“Dad?” she calls.
I smile. “It’s me.”
She throws the door open, a big grin on her face. I hug her, and she wraps her arms around me, giving me a tight squeeze.
“I missed you,” she says.
I hug her more firmly in response. “I missed you too.”
“How was Europe?” she asks as she leads me into her apartment. “Oh, Faye’s staying for a little while, by the way.”
Maybe it’s because work is all I’ve cared about for so long – apart from Lola – but it actually takes me a second to remember who Faye is.
When I do, guilt stabs me. I should know who Lola’s best friend is.
She’s been part of Lola’s life since they were kids, not that I know much about her or ever paid much attention to her.
“Okay,” I say, shrugging.
I remember she was there when I left for Europe, sitting in the back of the cab, a shy girl with braces and messy brown hair.
“She’s just getting her room ready,” Lola says as she walks into the adjoining kitchen. “Want a drink? Something to eat?”
“I’ll take a soda if you’ve got one.”
“I put one in the fridge especially.”
I chuckle as she takes it out, sliding it across the counter.
I grab it, opening it with a tsk.
“You still like yours disgustingly warm, then?” I tease.
She laughs. “You’d have an ice block of soda if you could.”
“Amen to that.”
I take a long sip, placing the can down. “Tell me about your studies. Tell me everything.”
Of course, we’ve spoken on the phone while I’ve been away, but it’s not the same as being here in person. I want her to know that while work does take most of my attention, I’d never forget about her or stop supporting her.