Exposure_A Love Story Read online

  “Three minutes,” the driver said as he opened the door.

  West bounded up the metal stairs and was struck by the simple joy of getting out of a car without fanfare. Before he had a chance to enjoy the moment, he was plunged into darkness.

  “Mr. Drake,” a soft male voice behind a tiny blue light said, carefully closing the door and pulling the dark draping behind them.

  West nodded, not sure if he was allowed to speak. With controlled urgency, he was taken by the arm and led to what looked like some kind of cage behind the set.

  “Since you are on in less than five minutes, you missed the direction. You’ll have to wing it. Ms. Jeffries is already in place. Between you and me, she appears to be struggling a bit. The platform over there will lift the two of you up over the audience and deposit you both center stage. Your job is to keep Ms. Jeffries calm, get her to the podium safely, and read the introduction.”

  “Easy enough,” West said, his eyes now adjusting so he was at least able to make out the stage manager’s goatee and the woman he was supposed to introduce. Instructions came over the stage manager’s headset and West moved into place.

  The woman next to him was shaking. Not exactly a seizure, but she was generating almost as much buzz as the backstage motor that jolted them a bit and then began moving. There was no time for introductions or chitchat, and West wasn’t sure why there needed to be such a production to introduce a woman who clearly didn’t enjoy the spectacle, but he wasn’t in a position to argue. Instead, he held on to her surprisingly solid arm and worked out his own breathing so at least one of them would still be standing. Whoever Megara Jeffries was, she probably wasn’t going to make it once they landed on the stage.

  The weight of her body pressed up against his side as the platform shifted. She smelled like an umbrella drink, one with coconut, and West instantly wanted to be on an island somewhere, beer in hand and his feet in the—

  “I’m not wearing any underwear,” she said in a shaky voice, interrupting his mini-vacation and squeezing his arm tighter.

  “One more time?” West leaned into her.

  “My underwear, I left it at home by accident. I decided on my favorite skirt instead of the green one.” She closed her eyes as if silencing some internal conversation. “It doesn’t matter. In seconds, we are going to be dangling over that audience. Not good. Up and over is not good without underwear.”

  They were in virtual darkness now, suspended over the stage and poised to reach over the audience. There was no time to find the situation humorous. He’d do that later.

  “Cross one leg in front of the other like you have to pee and then take a deep breath. There’s no way from this distance, even with the lights, that anyone is going to see up your skirt. It’s not possible and even though I’m sure you feel crazy exposed right now, trust me, you’re all right.”

  She looked up at him as the deep breath left her lungs and nodded. The platform was now hovering over a large crowd as the announcer introduced them both. Her hand tightened, and despite being the youngest in a family of all boys, he had once talked Marcy Billings through four complete rotations of the Ferris wheel at the high school fair, so he knew it when he saw it: he recognized fear.

  “First lecture?” he asked, hoping to calm her down before the music stopped. It sounded a bit ominous, like they were introducing the heavyweight champion of the world rather than a photographer who looked like she might pass out.

  She nodded.

  “Megara is an interesting name.” He was trying anything at this point to get her to relax. If she didn’t, by the time they finally landed back on the stage, he’d be doing this whole thing alone. He knew a bit about polar bears and loss of habitat, but no one wanted to hear from him in that capacity.

  “Greek,” she said and closed her eyes.

  “Almost done,” he said over the roar of applause. “Greek, huh?”

  “Yes. My parents came home from a vacation in Greece, and my mom was pregnant with me. I was a surprise, so they named me after the city where I was conceived.”

  The platform lowered and West held on to the railing. Her grip on his arm loosened a little.

  “That’s cool. Are you ready to do this thing now?”

  “Oh, wow. We’re here. Done.” She turned to him and now, with the stage lights shining, he noticed her eyes. Blue or gray with a dark brown circle. They were big, and West’s gaze was locked on to her for longer than usual. She appeared to need something from him. Odd, he thought and stepped off the platform to help her down toward the podium.

  “In case they didn’t tell you, the prompter is off to the right if you forget anything you were going to say.”

  She nodded, now staring out into the darkness of the audience. He led her to the podium and read his fluffy introduction.

  “And as if being on the cover of National Geographic for the second time this year was not enough, Ms. Jeffries is here this afternoon to share some of her adventures with us and explain how we can be nicer to the planet.”

  She had a death grip on his shirt and wasn’t letting go. He leaned into her ear. “Don’t lock out your knees. Keep them bent and remember, your body responds to your breathing. Steady. It gets easier. Besides, they love you.” He gently placed a kiss on her cheek, and she appeared to gather herself and released his arm.

  “Thank you,” she whispered and faced the podium. West stepped back as the audience clapped, most of them on their feet. He pivoted to leave the stage and noticed she was bending and straightening her legs behind the podium.

  West grinned, amazed that he’d spent less than fifteen minutes with her and was already grateful he’d woken up to Hannah yelling in his ear.

  Chapter Three

  Meg stood at the podium, her sweaty hands sliding along the smooth wooden surface as she tried not to grab hold like she had on that poor guy’s arm. “At all costs, don’t look scared and don’t clutch the podium. You’ll be fine,” Amy advised the night before.

  She wasn’t feeling fine as the audience settled into their seats and she adjusted the microphone. Attempting to focus, she scanned the dark amphitheater and chose the banner that hung above the crowd as a focal point—Special Guest: Megara Jeffries. Was it possible that was the first time she’d seen her name in print like that, big and official? She was used to catching her first initial and last name in the lower-left-hand corner of photographs, but a banner was a hell of a lot more intimidating.

  Looking down at her note cards and glancing at the space-age prompter that displayed the same information, Meg cleared her throat. She was glad she’d insisted on the cards. They were something tangible as she struggled to find her footing among thousands of eyes. It was as if the person on stage, the name on the banner, was inexplicably more important than her pictures. She’d slipped into a world where what she was wearing or her ability to deliver an amusing anecdote pulled focus. Meg had never been good at entertaining anyone. She captured nature’s brilliance. Worked for it, framed it, and patiently waited. Who she was or what she did with her hair never factored into the equation. As she thanked the audience, the cards dug tighter into her palms.

  Squinting to adjust to the spotlight, Meg wondered if the animals she turned her lens on felt something similar. She hoped not. Her entire career, she had worked hard to blend into their world and would certainly never lower them onto a stage in a cage-looking thing. But she had been an outsider, and maybe intrusion was intrusion. No sense candy coating things now, especially since she was the one being observed this time.

  “Art in all its forms allows people to feel. It can move us to tears and laughter. It can teach us and make us think,” she began. Her mouth was so dry that she thought she might cry when she looked up to find a glass of water on the podium. Meg took a sip and continued.

  After stumbling only once during her prepared opening comments, the lights thankfully dimmed. Meg glanced at the screened wall beside her and clicked the silver wand on the podium. Her pic
ture of Polar Three, or Phelps as Meg had named him, burst into the space. Most of her shots of him were in the water, hence his nickname. Suspended in a sharp blue sea and framed by ice, Phelps filled the screen. The audience cheered, but Meg kept her eyes on Phelps as if he were a long-lost friend she’d missed terribly. He needed her to get this right to communicate for him, so Meg let out her first slow, steady breath of the morning and let her memories lead.

  She had shot feverishly over the last two days of the shoot because up until the day she captured Phelps, she’d had next to nothing to show for over a week of frigid temperatures and cumbersome gear, Meg told the audience.

  “When I saw him, I desperately wanted to capture the sheer mass of him, the life force I was witnessing firsthand. I suppose I thought if I could somehow bring his world home, it would make a difference.”

  The audience was attentive but quiet. Meg could practically feel them. Looking up at the image that had been selected for the magazine, she explained that while she strived to capture these animals, she rarely succeeded.

  “They’re simply too alive, too vast to fit in my lens, but we as photographers give it our every effort. It’s our life’s passion,” she said, clicking the remote again.

  The darkness was comforting. Her shoulders eased, and Meg attempted to share without preaching. For the first time since she’d returned home, the focus was solidly where it belonged. She had to believe her images were connecting on some level. That they would eventually bring awareness and that the idea wasn’t simply Amy blowing smoke up her ass. Because without that purpose—the animals—Meg was some out-of-work photographer in “desperate need of a manicure.”

  Her mother had pointed out the manicure over breakfast last week while she, Meg, and her sister Annabelle were sampling wedding cakes for her sister’s upcoming wedding. Anna was her big sister, Middle Two, and she’d asked Meg to be her maid of honor in a text message while Meg was still in Canada. The idea of being something so mainstream had thrown her for a minute, but then she was honored. So far, with the help of a book and a few websites, she was finding her way through the bridal adventure too.

  Weddings, like the dimly lit faces looking up at her as she neared the end of her slide show, were serious business. Meg wasn’t expecting to feel so discombobulated on all fronts of her life, but there was no time to back out now. She’d made choices, and not unlike Phelps and so many other bears like him, Meg needed to work with what she had and find a way to survive.

  The final image of Polar Four and Polar Seven on their hind legs fighting flashed on the screen, followed by Meg’s name in twirling script. She swallowed the lump in her throat again that she now recognized as change and the lights came back up. People in the audience were on their feet with praise and attention Meg couldn’t begin understand. She smiled, collected her cards, and wanted to be back doing something that made sense.

  That’s not true, she corrected herself as the bearded event host joined her on stage and instructed the audience it was time to open things up for Q & A.

  If she wanted back on assignment, she could leave tomorrow. Something had called her home. Her sister wanted Meg beside her at her wedding, her father was coming over tomorrow to help install her new speakers, and then they were going to Carl’s Deli for lunch. She’d missed things while she was away capturing other families. It was time to be with her people now. She owed them that. Every new experience was uncomfortable for a while, but she’d once hiked twelve miles with blisters. Another assignment left her with twenty stitches in her side with nothing to numb her but a bottle of tequila.

  Meg had always been a woman in a man’s world. She was tough and resilient. Only a few more questions and she’d survive her first presentation. It would only get easier, she thought. Next time she’d remember underwear.

  “Most of the time I think of myself as a witness, being there with a camera in my hand. I try hard to know my equipment so when nature provides the moment, all I have to do is push the button. So, while it probably seems like a lot of work, I am so grateful to National Geographic for sending me to these incredible places and allowing me to bear witness,” Megara said, sounding much more confident.

  The moderator quipped at her clever use of “bear” and called an end to the Q&A. West was sitting on a black box, stage left, mesmerized until the clapping snapped him from the moment. He tried to recall the last time he had been mesmerized by anything. When he was a kid and his grandfather let him watch a foal being born, or the spring before when Aunt Margaret helped him start a beehive. Maybe he’d been mesmerized a couple of years ago when he took three months during a “dry spell,” as Hannah had delicately put it, and hiked all 2,300 miles of the Pacific Trail. He’d lost himself then, forgotten everything and practically everyone. He was mesmerized then, but by solitude, life. Megara was simply another human being, but the places she’d been and the passion with which she spoke were so fascinating, West realized he was nervous as she made her way off the stage.

  He stayed put as she pulled in a shaky breath, her eyes closed. When she opened them and seemed to scramble for where she was supposed to go in the darkness of the production, West stood, and their eyes met under the faint blue backstage light. He would never be able to explain it, but he felt awkward. As if the culmination of his life experiences so far left him ill-equipped to even help her find the exit. He hesitated and then remembered who he was, who everyone around him told him he was, and smiled.

  “How’d it go?” He stepped toward her.

  “I… I have no idea. It was terrifying, but then it got better. I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as my eighth-grade science fair, so that’s something.”

  “Looked like you had them in your palm from where I was sitting.” He gestured toward the box. “What happened at the science fair?”

  “Huh?” She was looking around, as if still shocked she’d survived. “Oh, sorry. I don’t know why I brought that up. My hamster got loose and the math teacher, who was a judge, was terrified of rodents. She started screaming but I eventually got Triscuit back in his cage,” she said softly as if they were in a quiet restaurant.

  West became aware of his heart thumping in his chest. “Triscuit?”

  “Favorite snack growing up. Obvious pet name, right? You watched from there? Why aren’t you out in the audience by now? Thank you so much, by the way. I’m not sure I could have made it through this without your help.” She finally took a breath and extended her hand.

  West shook and instinctively laid his other hand on top of hers. They were cold and she was still a little unsteady. He was beginning to wonder if the energy spilling off her was her natural state. Was that possible? Surely she’d run out of steam at some point and collapse to the ground at that rate. Holding on to her hand a moment too long, he met her eyes again, but she didn’t pull away. This was a woman comfortable with contact and men. Somehow that threw him.

  “No problem at all. I’m glad I could help. Are you finished?”

  They both glanced toward the stage now lit with music and dancers.

  “I’m not much of a dancer, so yes. My part is over. I think I’m supposed to stick around after to ‘schmooze and drink champagne.’ Those were my instructions anyway. What is your role here? I’m sure they didn’t bring you in to get me on the stage.”

  She had no clue who he was. Her nerves must have drowned out the introductions shortly before they descended onto the stage. West had a feeling even if she had heard his name, she still wouldn’t have a clue. Disappointment and joy filled his chest in equal measure. Both caused him to stumble over his response.

  “Oh God. I’m sorry. I haven’t been paying attention. Are you speaking today too?” She winced, and her eyes drifted to the ceiling. “I am so not in my element now. You’re probably a microbiology specialist or something, and I’ve just stepped in it. I’m Meg.” She extended her hand again, scoffed, and pulled it back. “You know that already. Sorry. What was your name again?”

 
“West, and you’re fine. I failed biology.”

  She smiled, and it was so open and authentic that he almost wanted to tell her to cut it out. That no one in the real world let out that kind of sunshine. It was dangerous. Instead, he returned to the job he was sent to do and attempted to put her at ease.

  “If you go through this door and turn left, there’s a patio. You’ll find some fresh air. I’m guessing you need a few deep breaths. There’s seating out there too.”

  Meg nodded. “Perfect. Thank you. Enjoy the rest of the show, and again, I appreciate your help.” She walked toward the hazy exit light and ducked behind the dark wall of masking. West watched as the door eased closed.

  Who the hell are you, Meg Jeffries?

  The energy fell at least by half in her absence, and he was unexpectedly tired. Bone deep, as if he’d spent hours with the stunt director.

  West could join her outside and ask some of the dozens of questions swimming through his mind, or as he had back in high school, he could heed the advice of his acting teacher when he wanted to do a monologue from Death of a Salesman. “Recognize your limitations at any given point in your study and while risk-taking is encouraged, proceed with caution.” He had respected Mr. Hernandez and while West thought he had what it took at fifteen to tackle a middle-aged man in a crumbling-life monologue, he settled for something from the more age-appropriate Picnic and received an A.

  Recognizing he was in over his head again with Meg and her alluring sunshine and remembering he had a massage scheduled at five, West checked in with the stage manager and left out the door he had entered only a few hours before, sunglasses firmly in place.

  Chapter Four

  She should have taken her makeup off last night, but she’d been so drained by the time she finished shaking hands and pretending to have her act together that she grabbed a falafel on the way home and collapsed into the quiet isolation of her apartment. Now Meg was paying the price as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror with her third makeup remover wipe and Anna on speakerphone.