“She was not,” Girl argued. “That would be against the law.”
“It wouldn’t be against the law if she said she was eighteen. Her tits were tiny. No way she was eighteen,” Brother said. He was sprawled on Jim’s bed, lying haphazardly on top of the dark blue rumpled sheets. Girl wanted to see the topless pictures of Madonna, but didn’t say anything.
“But what if I want to run for president some day?” Girl asked, kind of joking. She didn’t actually want to be president, but that was what Stepmother was always saying.
“I’ll give you all the negatives,” Jim said.
“How do I know you won’t print a copy for yourself?”
“How long have you known me? I would never do that to you,” Jim said. Girl didn’t know how not to believe him. His mother was her mother’s best friend. She had known him since before she had known words.
“It’s important for you to get comfortable with nude photos,” Brother said. “You really need to always have that option with your tits. You’d be a star for sure, but only if you get comfortable with the idea now.”
“Okay,” Girl said. “But I’m only doing it if I can wear sunglasses and Brother’s fedora.” The hat was the coolest thing either of them owned, and although they sort of shared it, the way they shared Girl’s Doonesbury T-shirt, it was officially Brother’s property.
“Let’s go,” Jim said.
Girl took off her shirt and bra, but left her acid-washed jeans on. No way was she taking them off. She pulled the black fedora over her permed hair—the real reason she wanted the hat, to disguise her latest perm misadventure—and put on a pair of “Risky Business” sunglasses. She felt like a model, and when she saw the pictures the next time they visited, the 8 x 10 black-and-whites looked arty, not pornographic.
“Where are the negatives?” Girl asked Jim.
“They’re in a pile around here somewhere,” Jim said. “I’ll have them for you next time. Let’s do another, but this time, you should take off your jeans. And I’ll shoot in color.”
Girl was wearing her only matching set of bra and panties that day, or she would have said no. She did want pictures that looked more like Playboy than something you’d see in an art museum, so she stepped out of her jeans and pulled her shirt over her head. This time, she refrained from wearing the hat and glasses.
Jim snapped away from multiple angles, while Brother encouraged her. “You look great, Girl. These are gonna be so hot.” Girl could see Jim’s erection through his jeans, but didn’t comment on it. It was power, to be able to make a man hard without even touching him, so when he lay on the floor and asked her to straddle him, so he could shoot from below, she agreed, even though it made her squirm inside. That last picture was too far.
She called him on the phone a few days later.
“How did they turn out?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s a funny story,” he said. “It turns out, there wasn’t any film in the camera. We’ll have to shoot them again the next time you come over.”
Girl’s lungs tightened. No film? Really? How was that even possible? Would the camera still advance if there was no film? Wouldn’t he have known? She didn’t say anything, though, because she didn’t want to believe it had all been a hoax, or worse—that pictures of her existed that she had never seen.
“What about the other negatives?”
“I still can’t find them.”
“Well look, okay?”
“Okay, okay,” he said, but the negatives never showed up. Girl wished more than anything that she had never agreed to that second shoot, and she really, really wished that she hadn’t let him take a photo between her legs from the ground up, even if she was wearing panties.
high school
girl turns fourteen
For Girl’s fourteenth birthday, she didn’t invite any of her school friends, just the half-dozen kids that made up the church group, who ranged in age from thirteen to sixteen. It was a last-minute party, thrown together that Sunday, so the guests were only given two hours’ notice. Girl just wanted to have fun, and the day was sunny. All the kids ran through Durand Eastman Park, running up and down the paths in the woods and winding up on the beach. Even though it was September, it was actually warm enough to swim, and Girl, Brother, Karl, and Dave all swam in their clothes. The good girls stayed on the beach but not in a condescending way, more like an “I’m wearing nice clothes” way.
Running through the woods sopping wet, Girl and Karl found themselves alone for a minute, and soon they were kissing and fighting to get their hands under wet jeans while no one was around. Later, Girl was alone on a different path with Dave, and it was his mouth and body she was tangled with. That was just how they were at church—Brother had kissed all the girls, even the good girls, at least once. They were all still virgins and no one took anything that far or thought it meant anything. It was a hobby, like skateboarding, only one that everyone could participate in, not just the boys.
Mother had taken Girl to the grocery store to order a cake for the party. Girl always hated ordering her own cake—picking out the picture and even choosing the writing. It felt like buying herself a birthday card. She just wanted someone to surprise her. She picked up the book of cake decorations and pointed to the most ridiculous one she saw: a red lobster.
“And what do you want on the cake?” the baker asked Mother. Mother looked at Girl expectantly. How hard would it be for Mother to pick the words? Girl thought. She felt so stupid telling the woman “Happy Birthday Girl” every year. Fuck that noise. Not this year. Fuck ’em all.
“I want it to say
