Clicks of the very same camera were no more jolting any sensation in my chiselled body. My body seemed lifeless. No flash light for last three days, no goose bumps, no tickling sensation down my navel, no more warmth feeling for my own body, no more love making by surrogate lover. I was missing something, something that had been integral routine of my life for last few years. Even the tenth pill showed no mercy. I had been sleepless. It had been more than seventy two hours. His reminiscence had been perturbing me. Today he finally showered his love. But was it that I had been looking for everyday since I first met him?
Today I ate full cup of chocolate vanilla mix, after long five years. I put my index and middle fingers lower of my flat belly and brought them back while pressing hard into my skin. They slid smoothly and met my thumb. Nothing came between them. Zero extra flab. I had ideal figure with BWH measurement of 90, 60 and 90 centimetres.
I looked back over my shoulder. In a feeble last attempt, I tried to discover me once again in full length mirror kept opposite to queen size bed in presidential suite of The Peninsula Hotel. I found famous super model Grace Barker of Oslo no sexy but a loser, little girl.
Five years ago, I met him first time in his studio cum office cum home located at beautiful beach area of Bygdøy peninsula on the west side of Oslo. It was 6 PM, a relatively warmer evening. I was very happy to find myself standing at doors of my dream – I finally made it to office of Carlton Schmidt – The Legend of photography. Moment my name was called by his gorgeous receptionist, I forgot tiredness of the day – standing in long queue of youngsters, test photo sessions by his assistants, then long wait…
My name was called again and I jumped out of my sitting place, spilling chocolate vanilla mix all over my silky, light yellow top. The other waiting aspirants passed jealous smiles at me. I was about to cry when the receptionist’s acoustically sweet but whipping voice pounded my eardrums,
“Miss Barker, hurry up… he does not like to wait”
I entered in his sophisticatedly managed office with antique interior. It was a big hall – bigger than my tiny two rooms’ apartment. A small sized studio was set-up in left – few flash lights, large and small reflectors, and tripods with a dull half white drape hanging at background. Near to remote wall a man in his early fifties was sitting on black colour chair behind a large deciduous wood made, almost empty table.
“Here I am standing in office of Mr. Schmidt – Photographer of The Millennium.” This very thought made me nervous.
Mr. Schmidt was wearing a light yellow polo T-Shirt. His masculine body made the fabric to stick with his skin revealing his arm muscles. There was a small camera hanging in his neck. His eyes were looking at my portfolio clicked by his juniors in various poses and designer dresses.
“Sit down Ms… uh.. Barker” A deep and sultry composure came out of his vocal cords.
“Why do you want to become model” His eyes were still busy with my photos.
“Because I love watching myself…”
My chatty nature proved my stupidity again. But before I could do damage control, it was too late. His blue eyes lost interest in photos and x-rayed me for few seconds. Suddenly he stood and moved briskly towards my chair. His left hand lifted my face by sweating chin… I literally peed in my panty.
“Take out your clothes and stand there” He pointed me towards the tiny studio while uncovering the eye of his Nikon D3100 (I learnt this name later… how can I forget it ever)
Slowly I uncovered myself. On one hand I was happy to get rid of ice-cream eating childish top, on other hand I was too nervous to show my seventeen years young figure in cheap pink cotton lingerie. He looked at me through eye of D3100 asked me to hold my both ears and to take my tongue out.
Weird! Weird!! Weird!!!
“Turn left a bit”
“Look at floor”
“Don’t move your face… Perfect”
I was still holding my ears with my tongue out. “Has this man fetish of young girl pleading him without any mistake?”
Suddenly he walked to me crossing the flashlights, and leaned over my body. His nearness was imposing. Slowly his finger moved towards my waist, went down little more crossing pink laced border below far end of my belly… First time someone, a Man, touched me there… I felt thousands of flying ants suddenly entered in my nerve system trying in unison to take me up in sky. My body tensed. His middle and index fingers further entered but stopped just before the wetness, which was growing and growing. Pressing my skin little hard above my pelvis bone, he pulled the flesh under skin through his both fingers, and then tried joining these both fingers with his thumb,
“Stop eating ice-cream, you have 12 millimetres of extra flab… but no issue, sellotape would make your body perfect for the camera.” He returned to his desk without noticing my breathing returning to normalcy after a stormy encounter by his touch.
That whole night I sleeplessly watched my naked body in full length mirror, in different poses, imagining Carlton Schmidt watching my glorying reflection. That night obviously I could not sleep, not because of the excitement of sudden fortune of becoming fresh face Mr. Schmidt was looking for but because of the sensation my magnificent body was getting due to the feeling of being watched by Mr. Schmidt through my own eyes. Unable to further withstand lust for the beauty I was ogling, I allowed my mind and my heart to feel my beautiful body for Mr. Schmidt. My own mannish touch changed into Mr. Schmidt’s caressing. I closed my eyes.
Exhausted and satisfied, I finally retired at my slender shoulder. I slowly opened my drowsy closing eyes and saw the beauty in mirror,
“It’s all for you Mr. Schmidt.”
Since that day, my thought had been surrogate for Mr. Schmidt to love me every night until the legend himself came to my bedroom three days ago on my birthday.
Last five years had been “dream comes true” for me. I became omnipresent. The beautiful, gorgeous Grace Barker became cover face of all famous magazines and brands – TeenLilly Collections, Frauen, Die Welt, La Dame Fume, Yung Style, Die Schuelerin… In this world it is impossible to remain fresh face for more than a year but expert and protective hands of Mr. Carlton Schmidt kept my face always young. I became youth icon of Norway and started radiating my beauty in central Europe as well.
An ordinary ambitious girl from outskirt of Oslo now moved to presidential suite offered by The Peninsula Hotel after I won Miss Norway title. Those fifteen days before the beauty pageant were quite torturous – there was no Mr. Schmidt, no commanding sultry voice. Cameras used to flash but the flashes were unable to blossom my two tiny petunias. Tides were quiet. Thought was not enough to shower moonlight. My beauty was meant to one and only one who I ever loved. I resorted to sleeping pills to get rest in night but no avail. I called the legend to tell him how much I missed him. Next day it was breaking news,
“Schmidt shooting for Miss Norway Beauty Pageant”.
Three days ago, I was drunk, hanging with Mr. Schmidt left shoulder, taking heavy dose of anaesthetic masculinity evaporating from his chest. It was my birthday party. The legend was slowly caressing my naked arm revealed by fancy black gown. He took me to my suite, asking excuses from number of guests on my behalf. My both hands locked him as closed as possible. I was trying to pull him closure to my face. He opened door of the suite and gently laid me on queen size bed. The camera, ever hanging at his heart, touched my lips. I kissed the lens,
“Nikon D3100. Excellent to click natural photo” Mr. Schmidt was now two metres away from me, watching me in full size mirror through lens of the camera,
I removed my gown to pose natural. Both light brown petunias had already blossomed and been showing their beauties through semitransparent TeenLilly’s designer brassiere.
“Yes, finally today my dream comes true. No more surrogate lover. My hero, Carlton Schmidt himself, is going to love me.” My quivering hands bent to unfasten the hook at my back.
“Turn your face…”
“No. No.. right… yes. Perfect. ”
But I chose to disobey him. I loosened the strip and let the cups reveal my blossoms. He came forward and lowered his face. His hands passing through my sides held the strip of my brassiere and tried to fasten it again. His face breathing warmness was too close to resist. The bulging flesh was making it tough for him to cover it properly. His left hand came closer to my heart to clad my bare left chest. But the dam was already broken. Flood became unbridled. I held him tightly and pulled over me locking his lips with mine.
His body collapsed at me while his both hands were busy to soothe immense pain coming from his upper left chest.
Today I went to Oslo University Hospital. He was in intensive care unit with multiple cords attached to his body. He had been in coma since that night and woke up today morning. I entered in the room. A foggy transparent tube in nose was supplying him oxygen in attempt to revive him again. There was a thin smile on his face. He called me by weak gesture and showed me drawer of side table. I slid drawer gently to open it. There was an old photograph album with soft black leather case. I opened it.
First page: Foot print of a baby written below it, “First step of my little angle to make me live again…”
Next page: “Oh my god. Is it me?” My head started spinning. I fell at his chest.
After an hour or so, I was brought back to his room. Remembrance of everyday since I met him was hammering inside my heart. I opened the album again.
The girl in black and white photograph was me, or at least looked like me, around five years old of me. Mr. Schmidt was holding her by shoulder and smiling to camera.
Next page: Five years old of me was eating ice-cream while sitting in Mr. Schmidt lap. A cute puppy was licking the melted ice-cream dripping from my hand, “My Angel’s Favourites – Chocolate vanilla mix and Rex”
Next page: It was mildew stained colour photograph. Thirteen years old of me, was standing at a beach in a bathing 2 piece suits. My tongue was out to lick an ice-cream cone. “Oh no… Not again Sweetie”
Next page: A fading colour photograph of me with ice-cream spilled at my bathing suits. My tongue was still out and I was smiling holding my ears, “Sorry Dad… It was LAST”
Next page: A fabulous of me, fifteen years old, in denim skirt and silky yellow top holding my left waist with my left hand and letting right hand hanging loosely to touch my right thigh. My face was lifted with full of attitude, “I want to become supermodel because I love watching myself…” below which was written further “The only photograph of Sandra, my supermodel, by Nikon D3100 presented on my birthday by my little angel”
I could not recall when these snaps were clicked in my past. They were not mine but of Sandra’s. I had never seen her before but heard that she died in a freak road accident, leaving Carlton Schmidt all alone in this world.
Next page: This I could clearly identify. It was me, Grace Barker, in cheap pink lingerie holding my ears with my tongue out, “I knew. You would return one day. Now your camera will click again. Only you…”
Next page: It was me with Miss Norway crown, “Sandra, The Supermodel”
I could not see anything anymore. Tears obstructed my view. I failed to hold the album and let it slip from my hand. I held his left hand tightly in my both hands and cried uncontrollably. His right hand, pricked with a tube, slowly rested at my head. After a while he showed me side table again. I opened middle drawer.
There was chocolate vanilla mix ice-cream cup beside Nikon D3100.
Back in the presidential suite, I saw the Nikon D3100 once more. It was the same camera that used to jolt multiple sensations in my adolescent body by its every click. I set the camera to auto mode and posed for it. Clicks of the very same camera no more touched me. My body seemed lifeless. I looked back over my shoulder in last attempt to discover me once again in mirror. I found myself no sexy but a loser, little girl. It was Sandra in the mirror smiling at my beautiful, curvaceous naked body. But my stupid heart was unable to handover its first and only lover to the daughter. I moved to side table to pick my bag…
Love never ends inconclusive. If it can’t prove its might to the tender soul, it appears in sequel. But my love was different. It attained salvation today. I took my antique colt revolver out of my bag, aimed to my forehead and pulled the trigger…
The mirror broke in pieces.