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Chapter 9.
The light first came on in the downstairs front room behind very heavy curtains. After a few minutes, its' intensity increased greatly and then after a few more minutes it became dimmed. Minutes later, the front room upstairs was lit up and again after a few minutes it increased its' intensity and then remained at that level for the duration.
My mind was in turmoil. Every movie I'd ever seen paraded its more intimate moments through my mind. Jennifer was the star. She acted out in rapid succession endless scenarios of passion, humiliation and ecstasy with a variety of degrees of willingness. After I'd worked my way through the mainstream productions, I crawled my way through the remaining varieties of core movie degradation to which women expose themselves for the enjoyment of men. The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness as I sat silently chained in the car with my mind full of pictures.
I didn't believe that this was her way of earning a living. She was too tense in the car towards the end of the drive. I didn't believe it because she was too nice and she had a nice son who enjoyed playing football. More than anything, I didn't believe it because I didn't want to.
I tried telling myself I didn't care. I hardly knew her. She was a grown up and had every right to do as she wished. I tried telling myself it was nothing to do with me and that I was just an unpaid driver but I still felt like two cent protector that was looking after a woman carrying on the oldest profession. The harder I tried to think of something else ... anything else ... the more I was in the room with her participating in every act.
At the end of the first hour I was numb and stripped bare of my most intimate feelings. The numbness came as a relief. I wondered if it was possible to maintain such a high level of awareness for very long. Perhaps it is the body's natural defense to close down emotions when feelings are swamped. And that would explain why I stared at her almost without comprehension when she silently emerged from the house and walked with slow measured steps to the car. She tapped on the window asking me to open the door I'd locked it earlier with some vague idea of preventing muggers. I couldn't believe that she looked no different now than from when she went in.
She climbed into the car without a word and settled herself down briefly using the mirror on the sun visor to check her face.
"Home?" I said, gruffly.
She nodded and we drove for a long time in silence.
"Do you want to talk?" My voice seemed miles away.
"If you like." Her voice was cool and neutral.
"Where did you find him?"
"I answered an ad in the paper."
"Did you get what you want?" I gestured to the videotape that she had placed in her handbag when she'd got into the car.
"Maybe ..."
"What happens now?"
"It depends."
We sat in silence for more long minutes. Then, as if she was reaching down into the depths of her being to find words to describe her experiences, she continued.
"At the beginning I was too tense for the shots to be any good. It appears the camera reveals everything. You can't hide what you're feeling. Towards the end I was getting more relaxed but he said he would need a further session if he was going to get something he could sell."
"Are you getting paid for this?"
"It depends. The alternatives were that either he or I could run the show and write the script but the person who did that also had to be paymaster. I can't pay because I've got no money so he's the one calling the shots. The important part of the deal is that I get my copies of the video. As an extra, I'll get a bit of money if it's good enough to market through his usual channels. I don't want the money. I'll probably give it to charity or you can have it if you want."
"I don't want the money."
"Do you want a copy of the video?"
"No. Why do you want it?"
"Because the photographs I took the other week with that middle aged man you saw me with didn't work. My ex still came back to bother me again. I told him that the more he bothered me, the more pictures I would send to him."
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