Behind His Lens(49)

I turn my body toward her so that my knees hit the side of her chair.

“On my first shoot for a fashion magazine, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. They hired me because of work I’d done for National Geographic and Time Magazine, but when I got to the set, I almost turned around on the spot. I wasn’t ready to enter this world. Models are an interesting subject to photograph, and I’ve worked with my fair share of crazy ones,” I lean in closer, “some of which are on this plane with us.”

She laughs and then curves her body toward me, bringing her knees to her chest and leaning her head back against the leather seat so that I have her full attention.

I continue, “But I just focused on doing my job and it worked out.”

“That sounds easy enough.” She nods, but her eyes still shine a dark, murky blue, and I know she’s wrestling with another thought.

A moment later, she explains, “I’m also nervous about the fame. I almost wish I could just be in the background of the shots.”

Wanting a private life isn’t peculiar, but for some reason I don’t think Charley’s hiding from the spot light for reasons quite so transparent.

“You don’t have to do the cover if you don’t want to,” I offer. “Hell, you don’t have to do the photo shoot if you don’t want to. You can be my assistant.” I wink at her and am rewarded with one of her heart stopping grins.

“It’s okay. My agent, Janet, put it in perspective for me. The money I’ll be making will allow me to paint uninterrupted for a while, and that’s what I’ve wanted all along.”

Smart girl. “Would you ever want to exhibit your work?”

She mulls over the thought. “I’m not sure. When I first started, it was a deeply personal process. I never dreamed of sharing my work with anyone. But what’s funny is that to an outsider they’re just abstract paintings. They have no clue what I was experiencing while I was working on them.” She draws soft circles on the arm of the chair. “It’s not as if I painted a self portrait or anything.”

A few moments pass as I chew on her words. “I think it could be a good step. Sometimes sharing things with the world can feel… freeing.”

She soaks in my words as she studies the tan leather seat. The cabin’s quieter now as conversations dwindle. It’s still only half past six in the morning and everyone starts turning off their overhead lights and reclining their chairs in hopes of catching a few more hours of sleep.

“I’m too wired to sleep just yet,” Charley whispers, scooting closer to me so that her voice doesn’t carry across the quiet cabin.

“I brought a mystery book with me if you want to read it?”

Her eyes light up. “Yes!” She leans forward under her chair, reaching to pull a book out of her bag.

“Here, we can swap for the flight. I’ve read this before.” I glance down to see Jonathan Safran Foer printed on the spine.

“Are you Jewish?” I ask, glancing up to her.

Her eyes brows furrow. “What? No?”

I smile, pointing down to the sticker placed on the top corner of the book: National Jewish Book Award.

She half smiles, “Oh, I hadn’t noticed that. A lot of the story focuses on a holocaust survivor,” she pauses, “but I’m not really… anything. Are you religious?”

I mull over her question, contemplating the cruelties of life that I’ve seen firsthand. “No. But I grew up Catholic. My parents and brother still practice.” I draw a line around my neck. “My dad has worn a heavy gold Crucifixion necklace since before I can remember.”

She smiles at the idea. “How very Boston of him.”

I laugh, a little too loud, and people turn to glare back at us.

“It’s only funny because it’s true,” I admit. “What about your dad, is he religious?” I purposely glaze over her mom; I don’t want to upset her.

Her face falls so suddenly and harshly that she takes my heart with it. “He’s dead. But he used to take me to church when I was younger.”

I’m beginning to understand that being around Charley is like walking on a minefield, but it’s worth the fight. It’s worth treading lightly to unveil the girl behind those blue eyes.

“My mom never came because he insisted on taking us to the one of the nondenominational community churches. Let’s just say she did not approve. On any given Sunday, we’d sit crammed between a single mom of five and a homeless person. But it was a humbling experience, and I’m grateful he took me. Even if the religion itself didn’t stick, the lessons did.”