Hour Before The Photo Shoot:

 (The following vignette is a fun writing exercise, written without the letter ‘A’…)

When Lily entered the studio, John coolly growled, without bothering to look up, from his work desk, “Just follow the corridor, first door on your right. Deb’s there biding time; I hired her to help configure minor, yet needful, cosmetic improvements you might need.”

Dismissively, he pointed his finger in the direction of the dressing room.

Unbeknownst to Lily, John, feeling wildly conflicted, did not know how to curb, or contend with, his surging delight of rousing excitement. So, in lieu of honesty, or discipline; he indulged his unsightly inferior impulse, of which he could not censor or control.

“Hey, L-i-l-y, keep in mind your costume,” he chided with lewd inflection, before tossing the sheer, skimpy white négligée for her to seize.

 “Ooh, C’mon now; don’t be feigning shyness. You’ve known for some time you’re expected to give up the goods for this gig.”

John’s obscene heckling, his indecent bedeviling tone, resounded with disgruntled desire.

Inflicted to stir duress; his contemptuous incitement struck its intended chord, which seized Lily’s ire. Silently, she struggled to reject the emerging feeling of disgust he wished her to feel, suffer.

Though, not wishing to succumb or emit signs of feebleness for him to exploit further, she bolstered her nerves the best she could.

Lifting her chin, upturning her former colorless expression with bold, eloquent seduction, Lily tilted her erotic onyx eyes to meet the tempered, smoldering lust exuding from John’s. Despite how unsettling the fire, the intensity, reflecting in his sky-blue orbs; however portentous, disquieting; she forced herself not to blink or flinch under his ignited eye.

Lily recognized, getting through, suffering, the next few comfortless working hours with John, would be close to impossible. To preserve lucidness of mind, she knew everything she did depended upon her power to exert strong, decisive resolve with complete precision, so not to crumble in despondency or gloom.

So, feigning to be oblivious of his dissolute posturing, she meticulously contrived her lush lips to form this slight demur, yet enticing smile; —just for him. Which, to her relief, worked. He bit. The controlling look, the driving frenzied energy in his eyes, softened.

Feeling she won the high ground; Lily feigned blithe humor. With concocted mirth, she seized the flimsy négligée with deceptive cheer, electricity, to preserve the ongoing jesting.

Reduced to cheesy flirting, she retorted, “I’m truly stoked, thrilled, respecting my impure-debut. Mostly, since I intend to torture ‘You’, John, without mercy.

So hold on tight to your topper cowboy! Cheerio, for now,” she blurted, blushing with overwhelming indignity, she hoped went unnoticed.

While en route in the direction of the dressing room, Lily felt relief knowing John could not grip sight of the ill-expression of grievous distress and self-disgust she bore, while hurrying off.

Mortified within her core, she wished to yell, if not bonk him severely, upon his crown.

“I look forward to seeing you exposed, in TEN, lily-sweets! Ten minutes, do not linger, love.”

John chuckled, murmuring, whispering bitterly to himself, “Sure, then. We’ll see just how long you keep up the nerveless, high n mighty spirit, the pretense, while under direct fire, under the fixed eye of my lens.”

Freeing phlegm from his gullet, he spit vehemently burning unsettled scores upon the floor. His fierce contempt for his servitude, infirmity of being ineffective to quell his quenchless desire respecting Lily, burrowed sorely into his flesh. 

Now, when Lily entered the dressing suite, she could not control her emotions, nor her compelling need to cry. She closed the door to the modest room, pressing her spine and crown into its firmness for needed support. Her eyes were tightly shut when Deb’s kind, soft voice broke the silence

“Lily, don’t, don’t, do this gig. If you exit through the side door right this moment, John won’t know you’re gone until it’s time for the shoot.”

Lily opened her eyes, exposing her sensitivity. Brushing bitter woe from her rosy cheeks, now flushed the color of overripe cherries. “Deb,” she cried, tumbling weightless into Deb’s supple, voluptuous bosom.

Deb hugged Lily. She held her close with tenderness, fervently rocking her without reserve. “There, there, my precious pet. There’s no need or grounds to cry. It’s good you encountered conflict on this mini-journey to self-destruct. Or, how else would you ever discover discernment if not now and then pressed, pushed, forced, into these perverse moments of enlightenment?

Gently influenced, moved by Deb’s kindness, her wisdom; Lily stopped weeping, and lifted her mindset, her eyes, to Deb’s level. “Yes, of course, you’re entirely correct.  I need not bend in opposition to my will. Not even for John.”

“Three cheers, precious girl! You must know, John’s helplessly fighting his fight of opposing feelings, my sweet. He’s chose you, desired you, since your first encounter; which until recently, he denies to himself by dispensing cruelty versus decency.

In his folly to reconcile unrequited longing; he condemns, despises you for thievery; for piercing, destroying, requisitioning, control of his inner world. If ever he loved you, the element of goodness once upon time:—stresses to shine. He feels void of hope.  Ergo, he unwilling succumbs to vindictive hostility, burdened with fervent cutting intent to see you decline into infinite dishonor from which, for you:—there is no return, recovery, or redemption.”

“So, is this his purpose for this photoshoot?  To see me openly crushed?  Gods be good, Deb. But, but why? Why is he bent, so twisted, so unrelenting? I’ve done nothing to deserve or incur his ire, or his poisonous wickedness. I possess no memory of ever imposing upon him, nor of him ever offering tribute, or venturing upon towering limbs to give up his comfort for my benefit.

If one single indelible impression emerges, looms in mind, is his fleeing, fleeting stunt, to be invisible from my line of sight when I need, desire, him most. Which I do not excuse, or forget. For, ‘I’m quiet, not blind.’”

“Well, there you go. My sweet, you’ve just unveiled the key to unlocking the mystery surrounding the riddle to John’s cursed condition:—‘Your unfeeling incompetence to be merciful.’

Listen, Lily.  Your indifference cuts through his core like molten steel. He depends on your mercy to forgive himself.”

“No. No, it is not indifference.  You’ve got it wrong. We’re like-minded, often one. Synoptic, close to being undistinguished in disposition, like cookie-cutters. We experience intense dislike, indebtedness, even quiet tender outlooks, perspectives uniformly. Our conflicts, our insights, our visions, rise synonymously; we’re melodiously connected, bound without undue inducement, or feigned pretense.”

Stunned, with slight surprise; Deb tenderly brush the soft glowing rose in Lily’s cheek with her fingertips.  Gripped with wonderment, by Lily’s unconscious dictum, Deb smiled knowingly.

Then, generously doting Lily with fond kindness, she tenderly replied, “I simply do not follow, sweet girl.  You’ve just described the essence of sound devotion belonging, dwelling in kinship, between two people ‘in’ love.”