“I learned that I need to change my phone number,” Jackie drawls. She takes another drag of her smoke; Claire hates the smell of cigarettes, but she doesn’t hate the way Jackie’s lips form around it. The sharp, almost rough way she breathes it in and out. It’s different from the slow, lazy way she’d smoked marijuana. It’s angrier. Like she resents herself for doing it.
Claire gets more comfortable on the couch. Though she’s wearing pants, she still sits primly with her legs folded. “Was it your mother?”
“No. I think she got the message last time when I called her a wretched money-grubbing hag.”
“Goodness,” Claire says mildly.
Jackie laughs. Again, there’s a harsh bitterness to it. “Trust me, she’s called me worse.”
“Was it…that man you told me about, then?” Claire says hesitantly. “The married one?”
Jackie taps her cigarette on the ashtray. She sits back against the couch and sucks at her teeth, taking another long drag. The ash glows orange.
“Apparently I give the impression that I’m a total sucker who will come running back the moment someone snaps their fingers,” Jackie finally says.
“No, you don’t,” Claire says. “If he thinks you’re like that, he’s—he’s anass.”
Jackie’s head snaps to her. She smiles, and then laughs quietly. The weight of her sudden mood seems to lift.
Clairedid that. She made Jackie happier, when this mystery man made her so sad.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear,” Jackie says. She sets the cigarette down, instead picking up the instant camera sitting on the coffee table. “Hold still—I need to document this moment.”
As she usually does when a camera is pointed her way, Claire squirms out of the lens frame. Instead, she snatches the camera from Jackie’s hands, turning it around and snapping a single quick photo of her own before Jackie can protest.
“You’re the photographer now, are you?” Jackie says, her smile wide and genuine now. The cigarette lies forgotten in the ashtray.
“Better than being the photographed,” Claire says, taking the photo from the slot. She can just barely see the outline of Jackie emerging from the white square.
“You know, I hardly saw a single photo of you in your whole house besides your wedding portrait,” Jackie says. “The rest are of Pete and his family.”
Claire waves the photo in front of her face like a fan. “I don’t really like having my picture taken.”
“What if it was me taking it?” Jackie’s posture is relaxed, but her leg is bouncing rapidly.
“You want to photographme?” Claire says. “Why?”
“I think you should have at least one photo of yourself that you like,” Jackie says, grabbing the camera back from Claire. “A picture of the real Claire Fields.”
Claire has been gazing in wonder at Jackie’s photographs for almost as long as they’ve known each other. Lately she’s been caught up onhowJackie takes them—since the party, it’s become more apparent how detached Jackie is from her subject. Capturing the untouchable. Now Jackie wants to capture Claire, up close and personal.
The thought makes her a bit sweaty.
“Are you sure?” Claire says. “I don’t think I’ll measure up to the models you’re used to.”
“Measure up? Jackie says, pulling Claire to her feet and starting to tug the pins from her hair. Her smile is soft. “You’ll blow them out of the water.”
Jackie sits her on the ottoman, loosing Claire’s hair from its coif and arranging the curls around her shoulders. Claire sits stiffly at first, waiting for Jackie to pose her, but Jackie’s brief instruction of ‘do whatever feels natural’ as she fusses with the light levels in the room leaves Claire at a loss.
Jackie starts out distant, taking pictures of Claire’s stiff posture from the other side of the couch. Claire is sure that she’s absolutely failing at being a model, but as the minutes wear on Jackie keeps giving encouraging comments. She makes little jokes to make Claire giggle. She assures Claire of her handsomeness, and for maybe the first time in her life, Claire starts to believe it.
Jackie’s attention is addictive. Claire has never been looked at this way, with such interest.
In a bold move, she uncrosses her legs and leans forward with her elbows on her knees.
Jackie’s eyes light up.
Under Jackie’s intense focus, Claire opens up like a flower in full bloom. She’s becoming something greater. Her forearms look different, braced against her thighs like this—they look lean,strong, and for the first time that seems like a good thing. Claire can feel the defined line of her shoulders pressing against her new shirt as Jackie’s eyes drift across it. Her legs feel articulated from her body, not trapped under her usual stiff skirts, and Claire spreads them and relaxes with a lack of shame that surprises her. For the first time, she’s completely unframed. Jackie is seeing all her edges, all the parts of herself she usually tucks away, and she seems to like each one.
