William Bayer - Blind Side

"And? Well?" She eagerly awaited my appraisal.

"You're tough enough," I said.

Walking south on Truman Avenue, the last stretch of U.S.I, the cars and trucks jammed up and honking, the leaves of the palms thrashing heavily in the early evening summer wind: "Where do you live?"

"Catherine Street. I share an apartment with two other girls. Waitresses."

"Bother you-being a waitress?"

She shrugged.

"No big deal. I've done it before."

"Why Key West?"

"why not?"

u knew the place?" She nodded.

"And I liked it too. It's a kind of re ge. 'The end of the line."

"Maybe that's the trouble with it."

"What do you mean?"

"One way in and one way out. It's like a box canyon. Not the best place to hide." We walked in silence for a block. Then I turned to her.

"You never really cared for me, did you?"

"No, that's wrong. I did."

"But not very much."

"A lot more than you think."

"But you weren't honest with me."

"I couldn't be."

"Damnit! You keep saying that. Every time you do, I feel like kicking you in the shins."

She stopped walking, stood still, then balanced herself on one foot and stuck out the other.

"Go ahead," she said, exposing her shin. "Go ahead, Geoffrey. Kick!"

:'I'd like to."

'Do. No one'll stop you. In Key West people beat up on people all the time."

"Put your stupid foot down," I said.

"I wouldn't want to damage your precious tattoo."

"You remember!" She looked pleased as she lowered her foot.

"I got it here, you know."

"Figures."

"This Chinese-"

"Woman did it. She's probably gone now too. Tattoo artists are always on the move."

She looked at me curiously.

"You're a funny guy. I didn't realize it until today."

"You 'underrated' me, didn't you?"

She looked at me, then laughed. Suddenly I wanted desperately to make love to her right There, most emphatically there in Key West, in the shadow of all the lush decadence of that little island, with the hot stifling air carrying a hint of rot, while the palms thrashed and the gays cruised and the rednecks drove by in their pickup trucks and the six-toed cats in the Ernest Hemingway House shrieked and screwed violently in the night.

While I was unlocking my door at the Spanish Moss, my neighbors from Arizona pulled in from one of their metal-detecting expeditions at the beach. When they saw Kimberly, they turned to each other and smiled. I could read their minds: they thought I too had found a kind of treasure.

As soon as the door was closed and we were alone in my room, I grabbed hold of her T-shirt and ripped it open down the front.

"Jesus!" she said.

I reached through the torn flaps of cotton and seized hold of her breasts. they were warm and her chest was damp. I stared at her.

"I'm going to fuck your brains out," I said.

She was amused.

"Is that my punishment?"

"I'll be doing it for me, not you."

"Fine, go ahead," she taunted. "We'll see whose brains end up on the floor."

I shoved her roughly toward the bed.

"Won't be mine."

She stumbled back upon it.

"Nor mine," she said. ,

She gazed at me, smiled her most sultry smile, then undid the clasp of her shorts.

I watched. When she had them down to her knees, I grabbed hold of her ankles, flipped her over, fell upon her, and, placing my hand on the back of her neck, pressed her face down hard against the mattress.

"Geoffrey! Stop! I can't breathe!"

"You'll manage,"

She turned her head to the side and gulped at the air. The down on her back sparkled wet. I pulled her panties to her knees. The smell of her body rose and filled my head. Then I fucked her as violently as I could. She came almost immediately. Then she came again.

I grabbed hold of her hair.

"You're just a little whore. Aren't you? Aren't you, bitch?"

"If you say so, Geoffrey."

"Say it!"

"I'm just a little whore," she sneered. Then she looked back at me.

"And you? What're you?" She gazed at me with mocking eyes.

I shook my head.

"You're a big manly rapist who uses his cock to make the girls scream. Right, Geoffrey? Hmmm? Hmmm?" Then she thrust herself hard against me, and then she came again.

I was shocked at the way I'd attacked her. But also I was thrilled. It was the same sensation I'd felt the first time I hit Rakoubian-letting go and then a feeling of being cleansed inside.

We settled down after that, screwed a little more, and then, when we were exhausted and our flesh was hot and damp, we broke apart and fell asleep.

When I woke it was dark. She wasn't in the bed, and for a second I was frantic. Then I saw her on the other side of the room, sitting in a chair beside the window, her face and breasts glowing from light cast by the streetlamps filtered through the restless leaves of the palms outside.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi. "

"I didn't hurt you, I hope."

She smiled.

"Of course you didn't. I loved every minute of it. Did you?"

"Yes. Unfortunately."

"Oh dear . . ."

"I want to hate you. I don't."

She stood and yawned. She was wearing just her shorts.

"You called me 'whore' and 'bitch." But still you must like me pretty well. You smiled in your sleep."

"Must have been dreaming."

"Of what?"

"A girl I knew."

"What did she look like-this girl?"

"Like you," I said.

She laughed. Then she came to me and kissed the center of my forehead.

"Yeah, that's me, Geoffrey. Just an illusion, just a dream." She smiled and floated back across the room.

Her kiss disarmed me, it was gentle, not what I expected at all. I felt confused again, about her and us. What's happening between us? I asked myself. What's our new relationship?

"Neither of us has been totally straight with the other, Geof."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"You concealed things."

"What things?"

"The reasons behind your block. Why you couldn't shoot people anymore." She turned to me.

"You bullshitted me. The way I saw it that gave me the right to bullshit you a little too. "

"What do you know about my block?"

She spoke softly.

"I know plenty. Rakoubian asked around about you. He found out what happened in Guatemala.

I stared at her.

"You gave me this romantic phobia line, that it was deep and psychological, and you were just like some famous pianist who mysteriously loses the use of one of his hands. But that wasn't the reason. The real reason was much more prosaic." She looked at me, whispered, "Wasn't it, Geoffrey?"

I turned away, but she went on.

"At first, when Adam told me, I thought he was jealous, that he wanted me to think less of you so I'd think a little better of him. But today, when you told me how he set you up, I realized he'd had other reasons for checking you out. Why didn't you tell me? I'd like to hear about it. I really would, if you'd care to tell me now."

"What's this supposed to be, Kim? Truth night? We'll level with each other and henceforth never tell another lie?"

"Why not?" she asked.

"You level with me, I'll level with you. What do you say?"

"Great," I said.

"Except how will I know if you're telling me the truth?"

"How about if I pledge?" she asked. She raised her hand.

"I hereby pledge. How's that?"

That sounded pretty good, so I told her about Guateala, and, as I did, wondered why I'd held the story back. I'd gone down there on assignment for the Sunday Times to shoot portraits of human rights advocates. It was a time when the government down there had been extremely repressive, and it took a special kind of bravery to speak out and protest. I photographed some very brave people, a surgeon, a lawyer from one of the wealthy Guatemalan families, and a housewife whose husband had "disappeared." Each of them had the composed features of people who hate injustice, eyes bright with indignation and fortitude. I worked hard to catch the common quality between them, and in the end I was pleased with my work.