Always a Bridesmaid

Jed took a deep draw of mountain air and raised his arms to the sun. After a hectic winter and spring in the city, racing from assignment to assignment in cabs and working in windowless, airless rooms with listless or high-strung models, getting a well-paid wedding gig at a resort in the Appalachians of North Carolina was just the ticket.

But he had work to do. He popped the trunk to his car and started removing his camera kits, lenses and lighting gear and trolleyed the equipment to a guest cottage with a spectacular view of the deep blue lake below. He pulled out his phone and rechecked the ambitious agenda of the Nixon-Hernandez nuptials taking place that weekend, beginning with the wedding rehearsal in the resort chapel following by dinner tomorrow night.

Jed was looking forward to a hike in the woods and perhaps a dip in the lake in the morning before getting down to business and meeting the parents and bridal party for what he expected to be a routine assignment.

He was winding down his career as a professional shooter, a former wire service photographer who travelled between war zones for years before his wife put her foot down and he settled in Raleigh to raise the kids. When the local paper went belly up, he struck out on his own and did well as a commercial photographer, occasionally dabbling in weddings for families of the deep-pocketed business executives he toiled for during the week.

True, there were fewer bullets to duck, but sometimes there was enough tension and fighting during these weekends to make him pine for his old Kevlar PRESS vest. Things usually worked out -- although he did see a bride, and then a groom, left at the altar (he got paid for both jobs anyway) -- but that didn't mean everything always went smoothly.

This weekend's wedding featured a few characters he was quite familiar with by now. In addition to ADHD/ADD/brats he had to deal with at every wedding, there was The Fat Ass Father of the Bride, for instance. Special care had to be taken that the yellow tux the tasteless man selected for the occasion didn't inadvertently turn shots with the nine family members into a grade school diorama of the solar system.

The other was actually more frustrating. One of the bridesmaids, a blonde curly-haired woman in her mid-30s, proved to be quite camera shy and had an uncanny instinct for turning her head or disappearing with every click, leading to disappointing results when he viewed his work back in his room following the rehearsal dinner. When it was showtime on Saturday and she was literally front and a little off centre as the maid of honor, he'd have to raise his game to get salvageable images.

Jed would have to have a word.

Shortly after he stepped into the resort bar that Friday evening, he started hunting for her, and soon located the woman at the centre of a gaggle of drunk and screaming members of the bridal party. But before he could home in, he felt someone grab his arm and he groaned (inwardly) to find that the mother of the bride wanted to go over the too-long list of shots and angles she expected from tomorrow's proceedings. This could be a very long evening, he thought, and he quickly ordered a whiskey neat from the bartend.

On the other side of the bar, a number of toasts were raised. The first was for the lawyer the bride's dad had hired to get (most) of the charges arising from her raucous bachelorette party thrown out. Stevie narrowly avoided having to sport an ankle bracelet and could instead look forward to her husband to be, Marcus, removing her garter instead.

The second toast was for the maid of honor, Cadence, the only remaining free and unchained member of the five-woman wrecking crew who had been rolling together since high school. One by one they succumbed to matrimonial blitz -- first Mika, then Audrey and most recently Leslie who had turned into baby machine with future offsprings three and four as her plus three and four this weekend. Everybody thought Stevie, the wild child in the bunch, would never get lassoed and branded but that was before she set eyes on the backup QB for the Carolina Panthers. He sacked her well behind the line of scrimmage.

And then there was Cadence, the self-described "runt of the litter," a good six inches shorter than the rest of her friends, and not one of the "skinny bitches" who wouldn't clear their plates when they broke bread together, occasions that were becoming scarcer.

"You're next Cadence!" the friends shouted as their overfull glasses clumsily collided, spilling wine everywhere, with a tray of shooters awaiting them on the bar. But Cadence was having none of that toast.

"Nope, not me," she insisted. "Hey, SOMEBODY'S gotta do damage control and it looks like that's gonna be me. I'm keeping the guest room ready for the inevitable fights and breakups. I mean, I am amazing but I can't be offering a shoulder to cry on AND put my tit in a kid's mouth at the same time."

"You're terrible!" cried Mika.

"Ah, so you've read the Yelp reviews."

The bride looked across the bar and saw the wedding photographer trapped with her mom, and gave him a good look. He had that greying-at-the temple, strong jawed, George Clooney thing going on. She got an idea -- and not the first time she plotted to find a man for her bestie and maid of honor.

"Hey Cadence, what about him?" she whispered, nodding toward the shooter, oblivious he was in anyone's sights.

Cadence took a quick look and frowned. "Oh gawd, no, uh-uh, no thanks."

"Why the hell not?" Leslie said. "He's totally hot, Cadence. If I wasn't married and the size of Willie Nelson's tour bus, I'd be over there being rejected by that guy, right now!"

"He's, ah, just a little bit creepy," Cadence said, regretting her review the minute she delivered it. "I mean, he keeps waving at me to smile, turn my head, look at the camera..."

"Oh no!" cried the bride. "You mean, DOING THE JOB MY PARENTS ARE PAYING HIM A RIPPING FORTUNE TO DO?"

"That bastard!" Leslie spluttered. "Why I've got a good mind to go over there and give him what's for. And by 'what's for' I mean 'a blowjob'," making liberal use of air quotes.

"Let's at least buy him a drink," Stevie said, "and rescue him from Mom." Before Cadence could object Stevie pursed her lips and delivered the same piercing whistle she used to hail a cab for the gang in a rainstorm. Jed turned immediately and (gratefully) excused himself from Mom.

"You fucking guys," Cadence muttered as he approached.

"At least we ARE fucking guys," Stevie muttered back.

"Good evening ladies," Jed said with a nod. "Looking forward to tomorrow? I just want to put in a plea now that you not party too hardy this evening. Baggy, tired eyes and even green complexions are easy to fix in Photoshop, but bruises, stitches and broken limbs are corrected at a stiffer fee to Stevie's mom."

The bridal party roared and pledged to curb their worst instincts on Stevie's last night of freedom. In fact, Stevie suggested, perhaps it was time to wind the party down and she immediately steered three of her quartet of bridesmaids to the door. "Cady, I need you to have a word with Mr. Burrows about the hair salon shots tomorrow morning. You know, about that... thing."

Cadence was on to her. "That thing, huh?"

"You know, my problem, and how he's going to shoot me."

Jed looked at Stevie and then Cadence with confusion. "Oh," Cadence said, "You mean how your left boob is embarrassingly larger and droopier than the right?"

Stevie gave her a tight smile. "Yeah, yeah that's it. You -- you have a good talk, now."

Jed slumped onto the bar stool next to Cadence. "You're kidding, right?"

Cadence rolled her eyes and turned to the photographer. "She's trying to throw us together Mr. Burrows. You know, as the only remaining unattached member of the gang I must seek companionship lest I wither away and my breasts become sagging windsocks on a desert runway."

She couldn't help noticing the photographer glancing at her modest but in no-way drooping hooters. "Please," he said, offering his hand, "call me Jed."

"Cadence," she replied, noting the gentle but firm shake. Nice hands.

"That's a lovely name," he said, turning to the barkeep to order a whiskey neat.

"It's a dumbass name, like I'm a metronome or something," she said. "Friends call me Cady."

"Don't blame your folks, Jedidiah is no hell either. Like I'm supposed to trot down Mt. Sinai with tablets or something."

"I like Jed. I've never known one," Cadence said, resisting the urge to flirt. Because that would just be wrong, and what Stevie wanted her to do.

They sat in pleasant silence for a minute before Jed turned to her. "Can we talk about the shoot this evening?"

Cadence looked puzzled. "The shoot?"

"Yeah, every time I pulled in for a picture you would duck behind a plant, or the altar or that friend of yours--"

"You mean Leslie," she said. "She's huge, 15 months pregnant with triplets or something. She's my go-to hideaway."

Jed laughed. "I've been doing this for 30 years now, and there's always at least one person in the bridal party or immediate family who freezes like a deer in the headlights or makes a face or has some Tourette's type tic that shows up in every frame."

He put his drink down and pointed at her. "You, on the other hand, have an entirely different talent."

Cadence raised her eyebrows. "And what would that be?"

"For disappearing," he replied. "I think you dodged me at least half a dozen times tonight. It's almost like you've got a sixth sense for my lens."

She laughed nervously and played with her stir stick. It was time for another drink.

"Maybe I do. I've always hated having my picture taken, especially amongst the lean, mean gazelles I run with."

"That's a shame," Jed said. "The candid shots I'm looking for are where the magic happens. And you were right in the middle of some great moments tonight -- laughing with the bride, toasting the groom. But you kept slipping out of frame."

Cadence shrugged. "I'm just not photogenic. Trust me, I'm doing you a favor."

"I wish you would let me do YOU a favor. Because you're wrong. And I think I can prove it to you if you give me a chance." Jed pulled in closer, and Cadence let him. "I hate that expression -- 'I'm not photogenic' -- like it's a curse or something. What I've learned over the years is that the people who believe that about themselves are usually wrong. The poet Robert Burns once wrote if we could see ourselves as other see us, how we walk and put on airs would vanish. We could more be ourselves."

"Maybe," she said. "But some of us don't have much to put on airs about. I'm pretty ordinary."

"Oh, I disagree!" Jed gasped. "What about those lovely angel wings tattooed on your shoulders?"

Cadence's jaw dropped and her hands rose to the top of her blouse. "Wha -- how did you see that? They've covered!"

"Ah, I have an eye for detail," Jed explained. "Saw a bit of one peeking out earlier when you stretched in the church. Looked like wings to me."

Cadence absently tugged at her blouse imaging she was covering up, a little self-conscious that he'd be checking her out that closely. But that's how he does what he does, she thought to herself.

"Any meaning behind it for you? Or did you just like the design?" Jed braced himself for the possibility that his new friend made a spur-of-the-moment decision on a girl's night out to get something that looked cool in a catalogue.

But Cadence was deeper than that. "I'm no angel, just ask my alleged friends. For me it's about freedom, a reminder to let myself fly. Soar. And man I was sore when that was all done!"

They shared a laugh, and clinked glasses to the uplifting sentiment. "I like that. Got any others?

Cadence smirked. "There's another one, but it's... harder to show."

"Oh, come on. Don't leave me hanging," he cajoled. "Tell you what, show me yours, and I'll show you mine."

Cadence laughed nervously and looked about before beginning a demure striptease.

"Don't get any ideas, now," she said slyly as she lifted the hem of her blouse.

Jed sighed. "Cady, you do get to the age when all you have left is 'ideas'. My rusty execution and weary reluctance to look foolish are your guarantee that I will remain a gentleman."

He watched as she revealed a small, intricate design on the small of her back -- a delicate mandala with a tiny crescent moon in the center.

Jed inspected it appreciatively. "It's beautiful. What's the story?"

"It's kind of silly," she said, letting the blouse fall back into place, the show over. "I got it in my twenties when I was going through a 'find myself' phase. The moon's about phases -- how everything changes, even me."

"That's not silly at all," said Jed. "Trust me, the older you get, the more phases you pass through, the more interesting your story becomes."

Cadence leaned on the bar, eyeing him. "Your turn. Let me see your ink."

"Well, okay," he said, lifting up the back of his shirt to reveal the small of his back. "Not very big, but just as meaningful."

Cadence frowned, and leaned forward. "I don't see anything."

Jed pointing to two tiny spots near his spine. "Right there."

She scoffed. "Those aren't tattoos. They're... dots. They look like freckles."

"No, they are tattoos. Technically. For radiation therapy. They had to mark the spots for treatment."

Cadence's smile disappeared, her voice softening. "Radiation?"

He dismissed her evident concern with a wave of his hand as he tucked his shirt back in. "Years ago. Cancer. Caught it early, thankfully, but those dots? They're a permanent reminder."

"What do they signify to you now?"

"A lot of things. How precious life is. How strong I can be when I need to. How important it is to hug my kids and grandkids so tight they nearly pass out. And how magical moments can be if you commit to them."

Jed tilted his head and returned his attention to the mission. "What are you going to do tomorrow during the ceremony and afterwards? When I'm in your face with the camera?"

Cadence hadn't thought about that. It was one thing to duck him during the rehearsal dinner. But as the maid of honor, she'd be glued to Stevie's side. "I dunno, hide behind the bouquet?"

Jed laughed. "Good luck with that. How about this instead -- let me show you what I see. Just you and me. A few pictures, no one else around. No pressure. No charge! And no hanky panky...or whatever the kids today call unwanted sexual attention."

"We actually call it unwanted sexual attention," she explained.

"Okay, that! Just give me something to sign. Think about it."

It sounded like a come on -- and would have been from anyone else she'd been with. Cadence prided herself at being a good judge of character, a very quick study. Jed seemed like the real deal. But she was still skeptical.

"So you're going to reveal me -- with a camera? Mister, I've been in thousands of pictures -- today alone! Do you how many selfies and pictures I've unwittingly posed for since I arrived? I assure you NONE of them are keepers."

Jed shook his head and pulled an iPhone out of his coat pocket. "That's a problem I did not have when I started in this biz. Today everybody thinks this phone instantly turns them into the second coming of Annie Leibovitz or Yousuf Karsh. They'll talk your ear off about megapixels, resolution and sensors and no one knows what the hell they're doing. And other people are trusting them to capture and memorialize their most important moments."

"Which is bad for business," Cadence added. "But we can trust you to do a better job of it?"

"Yes, you can," he insisted. "It's all about light, composition, anticipating and capturing the moments. Glimpsing the soul."

A little too grandiose for Cadence's liking.

"So, Mr. Burrows -- Jed -- you want to glimpse my soul?"

"It's Job One this weekend," he admitted.

"And how do I know I can trust this stranger -- albeit a perfect one--"

"Thanks!"

"...with my immortal soul?" she trilled.

Jed nodded and produced his phone again. Great, thought Cadence, another guy umbilically connected to his pocket tech.

He hit a few buttons and put the phone on the bar in front of her. It was set to a stopwatch function.

"Very well, I'm giving you sixty seconds. You can ask me anything you want, and I am compelled to answer truthfully. If I do not -- or cannot -- we'll finish our drinks in tranquil silence, and I will just have to do my damnedest tomorrow."

Intrigued, Cadence nodded her assent. He was on the clock.

"Are you married?" Always the best first question. It was hard to tell from a vacant ring finger in the spring before the sun got high in the sky.

"Widowed. Five years now."

"Oh gawd, I'm sorry!" What a dope I am, she thought.

He shook his head and pointed to the clock. "Commentary later. Next?"

"How old are you?"

"I'll be 62 next Tuesday. Which makes me a Gemini."

"Oh please tell me you're not into that hoary old mythology stuff!"

"Said the lady with the angel wings on her shoulders." He tapped the phone. "I've backed it up ten seconds for MY commentary."

"Thanks. Children?"

"Two. Daughter in Tasmania, married, three kids. Boy in Finland, separated, one girl. I see one or both of the families every Christmas, we talk every day."

"Are you solvent?"

Jed pulled his wallet out and put it on the bar, indicating she was free to riffle through it. She did. He seemed to have plenty of cash and all the best cards.

"I have a healthy 401K, own my house and car outright, regularly travel to Australia and Finland among other places, and I'm planning to retire in a year or two. So that would be yes."

"And you get that from wedding photography?"

He laughed. "Nope, got it the old-fashioned way -- hard work and dead childless relations."

Okay, so he'd pick up the occasional check. She leaned into it. "How many women have you slept with? Ballpark?"

"More like a parkette," he chuckled. "Just two. One in college, the latter my missus." She choked at the intimate revelation -- no way she'd be putting the stopwatch on herself and confess she'd done the dirty with multitudes.

"Ten seconds, Cady. Make it a good one."

Time for the bomb. "Do you want to sleep with me?"

Jed was stopped short, but just for a millisecond. He chuckled softly and looked her in the eye with all the sincerity he could muster. "I just want to take your picture. That's all. And where it goes to from there--"

The alarm sounded, he shrugged and put the phone back into his pocket.

Cadence smiled. It took a while but she finally found the last honest man in America. She was in. She finished her drink and stood up, and still had her wits about her. "Jed, you can take my picture. Gimme 15 minutes. Cabin 42."

Cadence stood at the window of her cabin looking out on a starry starry night. She wished she and the no-longer mysterious man were going for a midnight stroll down to the lake to learn what little left there was to know about him.

She turned and watched as Jed continued setting up his lighting. She had to look away as he tested the flash units and saw stars of a different kind by the time she got to the bar to pour herself another glass of wine. Cadence stood awkwardly with her glass, wearing a casual outfit that she picked more for comfort than style. Her heart was thumping.

Jed indicated he was ready and could tell his subject was tensing up. "Relax," he said softly, almost hypnotically. "This isn't a shoot for Vogue. We're just having a little fun, okay?"

Cadence chuckled nervously. "Fun for you, maybe. I still don't know why I agreed to this."

"Because you're curious. And brave."

She snorted. "Brave? Hardly. I feel like an idiot."

Jed strolled over and reached toward her. "May I?" She looked at him quizzically and nodded. She's already brushed her hair, but Jed stroked some of her curls across her forehead. "Your crowning glory," he said, before directing her to a chair by the window. She sat down obediently and held her breath as he crouched down and disappeared behind the camera. He took a couple test shots and then indicated he was ready.