A THOUSAND WORDS

Relationships! Who the hell needs them? Years ago, I swore I'd never get involved in another because the cost was just too high in terms of emotional extermination, financial depletion and plain old bad feelings. It had been ten years since my last steady relationship with any woman and I don’t feel bad about it in any way.

Some would call me selfish, afraid of living or even hostile to women, but that would be far off the course. Beautiful women surround me nearly every day because I'm a fashion photographer and if I wanted, I could have a different woman in my bed every night, but that's not something I need or want.

Being a sought after photographer has it benefits and being around some of the most beautiful women in the world was just one of them. For me, my job it was the worldwide travel it afforded me. I have been to some of the most exotic and beautiful places in the world. Today, I was in perhaps my favorite, the Bahamas.

When breaks in shooting came, I retired to my beach bungalow to relax. Feeling the soft Caribbean breezes drift over my skin. The thin linen drapes blew with breeze and revealed the multi-colored blues of the ocean ranging from pale aquamarine to deep indigo where the ocean bumps the sky. Who couldn’t enjoy this? I was about to take a sip of my Cuba Libre when a troubled voice shattered my peace.

"Jake!" "Jake!" I heard someone calling my name. It was Rubio.

"What's up now," I asked.

"We got trouble on the set," Rubio said.

"Who," I asked.

"Petra and Zoe," he said.

I should have guessed it before he told me. Both of them had been a pain the ass since we arrived in the Bahamas. Although, I'd already sold the photographs I would shoot there, I also had real expenses including my time and rental for a small island for the shoot.

By themselves, each was sweet and personable, but putting them together was fire and gasoline. Zoe was from Argentina and had a flare of sexuality about her that radiated from her pores. She knew it, I knew it and so did everybody else on the shoot. Raven hair flowed to the middle of her back. She was the kind of girl I might have pursued ten years ago.

Petra, on the other hand was a striking Romanian beauty standing 6' 2" tall with nearly white blonde hair. With me, she was always sweet and fun, but she didn't get along with the other girls. That makes it especially difficult on a shoot when time is short and money slips away with each hour. She was a general pain in the ass with the other girls who tended to ignore her, but it was her attraction to me that caused me concern especially knowing the personalities I'd be dealing with.

With that in mind, I shook off my relaxed state and got into my business costume, which also doubled as my daddy costume as some of the girls were barely past twenty. After slipping through the sand, I finally made it too the shoot site, which was less than 200 feet from my bungalow. Though I always tried to keep temper neutral, this shit was getting on my last nerve.

"What the fuck is going on," I shouted. "Just what the fuck is going on," I asked. "You start acting like fucking children the minute I go. This fucking shoot is costing me and you're costing me. I don't give a shit if you hate each other, get your shit together and act like professionals." No one said a thing as Ii stalked off fuming and cursing under my breath.

When I came back a few minutes later, all was well in the Garden of Eden. I finished the shoot and packed up ready to get the hell off that island, but I should have known it wouldn't be that easy. It seems that Miss Argentina and Miss Romania decided to get my interest. They already had my interest or they would not be here, but rarely did I ever mix business and romance, especially when there were indications that a casual fling was not the intent.

For a moment, I thought about making them a permanent part of Roving Eye photography studios, but one woman is tough enough for me as far as I'm concerned and two would be untenable. They would stretch my nerves to the breakage. Besides, how many times could I shoot the same models? There were plenty of clients who would be willing to use them for everything from hand modeling to expensive jewelry neck shots. I’m sure they could pay their keep. It was inviting them into my life that gave me pause.

Fifteen years passed since then and life has changed. I live in the Bahamas permanently with my three teenage children. It is an idyllic life that suits me well. Zoe and Petra live here too, just not at my house. They have their own homes and lives. Both come by to visit the kids often just as the kids go to visit them, but in the end, those children belong to me.

"Poppi," It was Raul. All of my teenage children call me Poppi and always have. They are the long-term relationship I was seeking.

PARTY OVER HERE!

"I can't believe you're going over to Miss Turner's house for the lawn party with me," Pete said. "There will be a bunch of girls there and some from out of town."

Pete was my best friend. He was always there when I needed him. It's trite to say that he was there through thick and thin, but it was the truth. I tried to live up to being his friend, but I think I failed miserably. Still, we did everything together, including going to parties where I danced with the walls.

"I don't know why I continually let you talk me into going to these parties even though I want to go, but sometimes I wonder, what for? All of my relationships end up in the funny papers or leave me feeling like someone shot me in the stomach," I said.

"Man, you have to let that shit go. I know Janna slammed the door on you and so did Tanya, but that doesn't mean you have to stop living," Pete encouraged. "Those were just bumps in the road."

"Yeah, I guess you're right, but it still hurt nonetheless. But, in some ways, I'm glad Janna is gone. There's no more guessing why she's mad. No more jealousy about any girl that speaks to me and best of all, no more crying about nothing," I said.

Pete saw me driving down the road of self-pity and quickly changed the subject. We were headed to a party and I was actually looking forward to it. I just got off track thinking about a couple of past relationships, which now after some quick reflection I actually found some humor in them.

"Man, they've got lawn decked out," Pete said. "I came past Miss Turner's on my way to get ready. It was barely dark and there were plenty of people there already."

Yard parties were fun and curious. Young and old attended with kids as young as five mixing with their elders of 70 and older. Whoever held the party would hang up strings of colored light bulbs mounted on poles above the ground and arranged in a square or rectangle in the backyard. The grass would be freshly mowed and raked. Usually, just outside the square of lights a 45-rpm record player sat on a card table to provide music. The table was also the same place that held the punch in a five-gallon crock. Some adults brought their own punch.

"It looks like we've got a nice crowd," Pete said.

That was good for Pete because he was a talented dancer and even better conversationalist. Everyone liked Pete. When we showed up at a party, everyone our age flocked to Pete. He tried to include me in the fun, but no one is attracted to a corpse.

"Jimmy Lee. You lookin' awful dapper this evening," Wilson Henderson said to me. Wilson was also a good friend. He wasn't as close as Pete, but I still counted him as a staunch ally.

"That's about it for me," I laughed at myself. "But, I swear I'm getting out there to dance tonight. Someone is going to know they danced with Jimmy Lee Washington," I said, and laughed to myself knowing it wasn't going to happen.

Wilson disappeared and I stood by the punch bowl and protected the record player. I stood there for nearly a half an hour before I noticed a young woman off to the side of the dance area at the edge of the light. I couldn't see her plainly, but decided to watch her. Several young men approached her, but they left almost as soon as they got there. I kept watching until I made up my mind to introduce myself and see where it went from there. I knew it could be a real short trip.

"Hi, I'm Jimmy Lee Washington," I said.

She jumped as if I had scared her, which was not out of the question considering the party was held in darkness except for the colored lights. I had already started on the wrong foot.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," I said.

"You did give me stir me for a moment, but I'm alright now," she said.

"Would you mind if I started over," I asked.

"I don't see how that could hurt," she smiled and laughed.

She had me at that moment. For me, her smile was electric. Nut-brown skin and gleaming white teeth almost made it difficult for me to break contact with her hazel eyes.

"As I was trying to say, I'm Willie Lee Washington, but most of my friends just call me 'Wash'," I said.

"Well Wash, I'm Sarah Hampton," she said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

I had no more words. I spent them all just making my introduction. Thinking quickly I asked lamely,

"I haven't seen you around here before. Where are you from."

"I'm from St. Paul," she answered.

"What are you doing here besides coming to a party," I asked.

"I always come to see my aunt every summer," she said. "At first, after you introduced yourself, I thought you came to ask me to dance."

"I never made it that far. That's something I thought I might ask you after standing here boring you for a few minutes," I said. "I saw those guys coming over here and leaving so quickly, I figured you weren't dancing."

"That's about right, but it didn't have anything to do with them personally," she said. "It's because this is the very spot where my uncle was killed. Every time I come here in the summer I always stand out here and hold a private moment for him."

We stood there in silence standing on the slight rise and looking at the dancers. For some reason I felt totally comfortable with this girl that I'd known for all of 20 minutes. As we stood there watching the party below we inched closer together until we were touching. Without looking down, I took her hand and held it lightly.

"Would you like to dance," I asked. Then I heard the Flamingos singing "I Only Have Eyes for You" playing and immediately wished I had kept my mouth shut. Women rarely danced with men they didn't know on a slow song.

"Why not," she said.

We walked down the slight incline and joined on the newly mowed grass. She held me like she'd known me for years and I did the same. I remember wrapping my arm around her and touching myself feeling swept away in the moment. We danced several more songs and went back up to the knoll.

We stood there watching until she squeezed my hand tightly. I was hoping I didn't read that signal the wrong way, but taking a chance I leaned forward a kissed her softly.

That was the beginning of a great summer and a romance that continued for 30 years until cancer took her away from me. I was sad, but I was also grateful to have had so many years with her. Sometimes, I walk into the closet just to smell her perfume. Memories of that night on the hill still pleasantly haunt me.