"STOP!” I shouted.
Ashleigh looked up, her hands frozen on the last button.
“I’m sorry, Ashleigh. Call me drunk. Call me stupid. Call me whatever you want. I’m as red-blooded as any male and you’re the best-looking woman I’ve had in this house ever! But you just don’t need to be doing that. Please, just call the studio in the morning and make an appointment.”
Her gaze remained locked on me even as another heavy branch fell on the deck. Her shirt lay open exposing her bra. It was tempting. God, was it tempting!
I turned away. “Please, Ashleigh.” The telephone rang and broke the impasse. I reached for it immediately. “Hello?”
It was Mom. “Richie, can you run over and help your dad move Martha’s bed?”
I closed my eyes and drew a slow breath. “Move it where, Mom?”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong. Move it where?”
“Just turn it so she can see the street out the window.”
“Okay. Sure. I’ll stop by in the morning on my way to work.”
“Thank you, Baby.”
“You’re welcome, Mom.”
“Did you get something to eat?”
Thunder rattled the house. “I’ve got to go, Mom.”
She paused. “Is something wrong, Richie?”
“No. I’ll call you later.”
There was a short pause. “Is someone there?”
“See you in the morning, Mom. Bye-bye.”
I set the phone back on its cradle and looked up at Ashleigh. She reminded me of the way my dad often looked at me. Arrogant and pompous. I spoke gently. “Think about what you’re doing, Ashleigh. You’re extremely beautiful, sexy as hell, and certainly don’t need me to tell you that.” She remained motionless. “Just call the studio tomorrow. Okay?”
She flipped her hair back, exhaled sharply, and began fastening the buttons. “Yeah, sure.”
“And we’ll go see what we can do about your lights.” I tossed down the rest of my drink, found a pad of paper, and made a note to remind me to stop by Mom’s in the morning. As I propped it by the coffee pot, Ashleigh drifted toward me jamming her shirttail back into her jeans. Her eyes were downcast and her shoulders slumped. I lifted her raincoat off the cabinet knob and held it open for her. She slipped her arms into it, pulled the collar high, and buttoned it. She kept her eyes low and said nothing.
I snared my windbreaker, pulled it on, and retrieved her umbrella and a flashlight from a drawer next to the back door. “Please don’t take this personally—”
A clap of thunder rocked the house and the lights went out. Ashleigh screamed and threw her arms around me. The scent of her shampoo and the heat of her breath on my neck brought back long-forgotten feelings. I should have pushed her away. Instead, my arms folded around her and my lips brushed her forehead. “Shhh. It’s just thunder,” I whispered. For a long moment we held each other and, for that moment, she was all mine and I ached for more.
As the lights flickered back on and the microwave beeped, she raised her face, closed her eyes, and puckered her lips. I hesitated, then as my lips touched hers, my heart stopped and I relived my entire life—falling in love all over again and making love a hundred times—before releasing her and turning away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I cleared my throat, gripped the doorknob, and wiped a tear from my eye. “Don’t be. There are things in this world that frighten me, too.” I grabbed her umbrella and drew a breath. “You ready?” She nodded and I opened the door holding it for her to step back out into the storm. I felt like a fool—like a failure. Coward!
It was a short run to her front porch where I set the umbrella next to the door and held the light while she unlocked the door, then followed her into the darkness panning the light about the room. The place smelled of perfume and potpourri and reminded me of a weekend cottage with a breakfast bar separating the living room and the kitchen. She took my arm and led me across the room saying, “The fuse box is over here.”
Luckily the “fuse box” turned out to be a circuit breaker panel. I shined the light on the switches as Ashleigh stood closely behind me peeking over my shoulder.
“See anything?” she whispered into my ear.
The main breaker was off. Not tripped, but switched off. I flipped it on and the room filled with light and the hum of appliances. A second later, an ancient console television fizzled to life showing an old black and white Greta Garbo movie. Ashleigh leaned on the counter next to me and planted a hand on her hip. “Well, if I’d known it was that simple, I wouldn’t have bothered you.”
“Oh, it’s no bother,” I said scanning the rest of the switches.
“Can you stay a few minutes? I’d like to talk about the photos.”
“Well, I…” The rain pounding the roof caused me to hesitate.
“Please? I have some scotch,” she said. “Would you like a drink?”
I closed the panel box and turned off the flashlight. “I—think I’d better go.”
“Couldn’t you at least have one drink so I could show you the pose I had in mind? Please?” Ashleigh lifted a tumbler she had waiting, opened the freezer door, and dropped a few ice cubes into it. “I promise I won’t keep you long.” She broke the seal on the bottle of scotch, screwed the cap off, and held it poised over the ice. “Please?” Her smile was soft. Her eyes had that sparkle children get when they’re excited and as she moved, the beads in her hair clinked against one another. She was much more relaxed here than she’d been in my house and I really didn’t have any reason to rush home.
“Well, okay. Just one.”
She poured the liquor, placed the glass on a napkin, and handed it to me. “Just make yourself comfortable and let me get set up.”
“Thanks.” I sipped the whiskey and couldn’t help but smile as she scurried through the living room into the bedroom. There was a time when I, too, had wild dreams and unrealistic expectations.
Some of the furniture reminded me of my grandmother’s and the rest had a Pier 1 look. I lifted a framed 5x7 photograph off a buffet behind the front door and studied it. It was a portrait of a teenaged Ashleigh with a woman, a man, and a boy—probably her family.
Over the couch hung a large portrait of her and a cat. It wasn’t bad, but I would have done it differently. As I stepped closer to the portrait, a longhaired tan and black cat stood up on the couch and stretched. It had blended so well with the pillows I hadn’t even noticed it, but when I reached out to stroke it, it vaulted to the floor. I didn’t mind. Normally, I wouldn’t have even offered. It looked back at me and I noticed it had one blue eye and one brown one. As far as cats go, this was a pretty one.
I drifted to the door Ashleigh had vanished through, leaned against the doorframe, and could hear her fiddling around behind it.
“Ashleigh?” I called.
“Not yet. Just a second.”
I felt like a teenager playing some kind of childish game. It was delightful, even sensual. I chuckled and sipped the scotch.
“Okay,” she called. “You can come in now.”
I GRIPPED THE DOORKNOB, turned it slowly, and pushed the door open. Except for a pair of white stockings from mid-thigh down, Ashleigh was stark naked. She lay amid a mountain of pillows with her arms thrown back over her head and her legs cocked outward at the knees. Half a dozen lighted candles scented the room and provided the only light. The sight of her took my breath away. She looked like a movie star—Julia Roberts in person, naked.My internal control system changed gears and my movements slowed.She raised a Polaroid camera high and giggled. “Take my picture, Mr. Photographer.”I snickered. “You’re not going to get much of a picture with that thing.”“I don’t care. I just want to see what it looks like.”I sipped my drink, set it on the dresser, took the camera, and stepped back. My heart thumped hard in my chest as I framed her in the viewer. She puckered her lips and cut her eyes at me
BUMBLING TO MY FEET, I stumbled into the house, groped the medicine cabinet for ibuprofen, swallowed three capsules, and downed a full glass of water. Weaving my way to the den, I flopped onto the couch and passed out again. My sleep interfused with images of Ashleigh. Ashleigh straddling me laughing and flirting, her beads pressing against my neck. Ashleigh in white thigh-high stockings with snakes crawling all over her naked body. Ashleigh’s lips against mine. Ashleigh biting a hole in my cheek.At 6:30 a.m., I awoke trembling. My clothes were still wet and every inch of my body ached. The last thing I could remember was passing out on Ashleigh’s bed. God, what must she think of me?I tripped up the stairs, toppled into the shower, and stripped away my clothes. There were scratches on the back of my right hand. I wondered how I’d gotten them, how I’d gotten home, and if I’d made a fool of myself doing it. I turned the water on a
I LED SAM AND THE POLICEMEN into the kitchen as Sam introduced the two with him—a skinny white man named Melrose with the wide lip-less mouth of a lizard, and Crabby Staten, an older black man with gray sideburns and a thick scar across his nose. The heavy-set one, Staten, stood next to me with his arms folded like a nightclub bouncer. Lizard Lips set a black satchel on the breakfast table and stepped closer. Jones fished a small writing pad and mechanical pencil from his shirt pocket. “What’s going on, Sam?” I asked. “Something happen to Ashleigh?” “When did you see her last?” he asked, flipping through the pages of the notepad. I felt as if all three of them were watching me a little too intensely. The muscles in my neck knotted as I considered the reaction I’d get from my answer. “Last night.” That struck a chord and all three of them shifted in unison—like dancers in a Broadway production. Jones widened his stance as he made a note on his pad. Staten adju
THE NEXT MORNING I was dressed and downtown by 7:30. Like my mood, the weather had turned cold and blustery—not the best for Azalea Festival Week. I pulled my collar up against my neck for the short walk to Tripp’s Ham and Eggs still stunned by the events of the night before. Inside, I tracked to the same table with the same five other guys I join for breakfast most every morning.Sappy Talton was doing his customarily splendid job of getting our waitress Sheila flustered and confused. Sappy and I had been best friends since eighth grade when we stole a pack of Lucky Strikes and a can of Miller’s Beer from Smith’s IGA, which started a summer of wildness that cemented our friendship forever.A burst of laughter spread through the group as I took a seat. That’s what I like about these guys. They’re relaxed and fun to be around. No heavy burdens allowed.Besides Sappy, there was Fred Gorman, a salt and pepper-haired fish
ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT for the rest of the morning was Joe’s admonitions and how he’d acted. My creativity was gone and I couldn’t concentrate. I made it through my first appointment on pure instinct. My eleven o’clock was an on-site conference with the younger sister of a girl I dated back in high school. Pulling into the parking lot of the Deagan Dance Center a few minutes early, I parked next to a black Mazda van lettered with the school’s logo. I’d driven by this place thousands of times, but had never paid much attention to it. The grounds were well-kept and framed with gigantic oak trees budding with new life and dripping with long strands of Spanish moss.I entered a spacious lobby plastered with dance-related posters, informational signs, photographs, and three large TV monitors high on one wall each showing a different empty classroom. Long wooden benches lined three sides of the lobby, and there was a receptionist center
WHEN I OPENED THE DOOR, Sam slapped a search warrant into my hand and walked in without invitation. As a photographer followed, a knot tightened in my gut. There are times when you draw the line and dare someone to cross it, and times when you open wide and take the drill. This was a root canal without Novocain. Staten went immediately to dusting the den for fingerprints. Lizard Lips headed for the kitchen and the photographer stuck out his hand to shake.“I’ve always wanted to meet you, Mr. Baimbridge. Danny Butler.” He carried a fairly inexpensive digital camera with a Metz strobe. I forced the warrant into the pocket with the panties and shook his hand. “I really hope to have my own studio someday,” he said, “and do the kind of work you do.”“Don’t wait too long to get started,” I said, my voice flat. “Dreams have a way of slipping away.”“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that.&
I STARED AT THAT FLASHLIGHT and the red smear feeling as if I was standing before my father once again being accused of something I didn’t do. Don’t lie to me! The skin on my back felt as if it was crawling around under my shirt. “Is this your flashlight?” Sam asked. “It…looks like it.” “What’s it doing here?” “I don’t know. I didn’t put it there.” “You think Ashleigh did?” The photographer nudged in next to me focusing his camera on the flashlight. I stepped back. “I swear to you I have no idea how it got there.” The strobe went off and the camera beeped. “Could Ashleigh have done it?” Lizard Lips asked. My mouth felt hot. “Of course she could have. I was passed out on the deck. Anybody could have done it.” The man’s tongue danced back and forth across his lower lip. “But, did she?” My stomach soared and I burped. “As far as I know there were only two of us and I was passed out in the rain.” An
AFTER DIRECTING A SUCCESSFUL run of Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire my first year back, and Neil Simon’s California Suite the second, I was asked by the Board of Directors of the Thalian Association to direct Stephen Patterson’s brilliant new play, Laying Down the Law, making its world premiere that fall in Wilmington. It was the break I needed. It would open a great many doors for me and might even change the way my father saw me.Unlike most directors, I insisted on longer rehearsal periods and, since the theatre’s rehearsal halls were not available yet, used my own studio. I pushed all the equipment in the 40x60 camera room back against the walls, arranged a couple pieces of furniture in the center of the room, and aimed a few lights down from overhead to simulate a “stage.”As Sam and his team pawed through my house, I headed off to our first rehearsal. From the moment the first actor arriv