Natural Charms
?003 by Roger E. Moore
(roger70129@aol.com)
Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me,
whatever) is appreciated. Please write to: roger70129@aol.com
Synopsis: When Upchuck takes up
modeling photography, things unexpectedly develop in a negative way.
Author抯 Notes: This fanfic was written in response to an Iron Chef competition on PPMB in February 2003, announced by WacoKid. Entries had to make use of an overused clich?from 揇aria?fanfic, putting a new twist on it. Thus, the following tale. As usual, it is assumed that the reader is familiar with the major characters of the 揇aria?TV show, so explanations of who is who are not needed.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to WacoKid for the contest, and to
Brandon League, Galen 揕awndale Stalker?Hardesty, and Deref for their
encouragement.
牋牋牋牋牋?Upchuck was at the appointed place
ten minutes early, dressed nicely but comfortably. He and Mrs. Blum-Deckler had
agreed to meet at the food court at Cranberry Commons, in front of the giant
Italian chef statue holding a pizza aloft. He waited nervously for her,
scanning the crowd for anyone who might possibly be . . .
牋牋牋牋牋?揈xcuse me,?said a small, round woman in a white silk blouse and blue skirt. She was a bottle blonde, wore large glasses, and had an unpretentious air about her. 揗r. Ruttheimer??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揧es, that is me,?he said with a
suave air. Mrs. Blum-Deckler wasn抰 at all as he had imagined her, but he
rolled with it like a pro. 揅harles Ruttheimer the Third, at your service.
Charles, if you please. And you抮e Mrs. Blum-Deckler??He put out his hand.
牋牋牋牋牋?揧ep,?she said, giving him a quick,
firm handshake. 揑 am she. So, you抮e Tiffany抯 photographer??She glanced down
at the manila envelope he carried.
牋牋牋牋牋?揑 was.?He waved a hand around the food court, including the giant pizza chef. 揥here shall we enjoy our gastronomic delights??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揑 ate at the company cafeteria before I came out,?she said. 揑抣l just get myself a soft drink.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揂llow me, please.?She agreed and took a seat at a table near the center of the court, where few people sat on this Friday afternoon in early August. He took her order and brought a drink back for each of them several minutes later. He was glad she didn抰 order anything more. He did not have much of an appetite. Too much was on his mind.
牋牋牋牋牋?揝o, why are we meeting here??she
asked. 揧ou抮e not going to ask me out, are you? I am married.?She
laughed梖or one second.
牋牋牋牋牋?揂h, no,?he said, smiling without humor. He leaned forward in his seat. 揟his is about Tiffany.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揗y daughter,?she said, staring at
him. Her smile went away.
牋牋牋牋牋?揧es,?he said. His smile was gone,
too. 揂 week ago last Tuesday, Tiffany called me to ask if she could schedule a
photo session. She heard that I was taking private lessons in photography over
the summer棓
牋牋牋牋牋?揥as that through one of the schools around here??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揘o, this was with Clicker抯 Clinic, downtown. I know the owner, an excellent shutterbug. He knows his cameras inside and out. I wanted to do something to better myself, and what better to be bettered with than photography??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Mrs. Blum-Deckler gave him a knowing smile. 揥hat better to attract girls??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?He was not caught off-guard. 揟hat抯 true!?he said with a grin梑ut not too large a grin. 揑t does work. Highly effective in drawing the fairer gender.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揂nd Tiffany was one of those you
attracted??Mrs. Blum-Deckler抯 voice, though light, had a dangerous undertone.
牋牋牋牋牋?He hesitated before answering. 揑t wasn抰 like that,?he said, trying to be more serious. 揑 already have a girlfriend梐 fianc閑, actually. One is quite enough for me, though there抯 no harm in looking, as they say.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揂nd what does your girlfriend think of your hobby??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?She抯 certainly blunt, he thought. 揝he likes it,?he said honestly. 揂ndrea抯 my favorite subject. A natural in front of a camera, drives her quite . . . um, anyway, that抯 not the issue.?He put the manila envelope on the table in front of him. 揑n fact, she was the one who talked me into meeting with you. She抯 working today and couldn抰 be here, but it was her concern about Tiffany that got me to call you in the first place.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Mrs. Blum-Deckler nodded, looking
patiently from Upchuck to the envelope.
牋牋牋牋牋?He sighed, then opened the envelope.
揟iffany wanted to put together a swimsuit photo series. She said she was
putting together a, um, photo resume, I guess it抯 called棓
牋牋牋牋牋?揗odeling portfolio.?Mrs. Blum-Deckler sighed, too. 揝he talks about nothing else, I swear.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揂h, then we are talking about the
same Tiffany. Feisty one, that.?He did not say 揻eisty?as he usually did,
with a leer. He did not have the heart. He pulled a stack of six-by-eight color
glossies from the envelope and flipped through them without expression. He
swallowed, then handed the photos to Tiffany抯 mother, sat back, and waited.
牋牋牋牋牋?Mrs. Blum-Deckler took the photos
and began to go through them. The first photo stopped her cold, however. One by
one, she went through the pictures, staring at each with increasing horror.
牋牋牋牋牋?揗rs. Blum-Deckler,?Upchuck said, hoping
his voice would not carry beyond the table, 揑抳e known your daughter for some
years as an acquaintance and classmate at Lawndale High School, from which I
graduated last spring. It struck me during the photo session that Tiffany
looked . . . different. She抯 always been a, um, petite size, if you don抰 mind
my saying so, but it seemed棓
牋牋牋牋牋?揈xcuse me,?Mrs. Blum-Deckler said,
holding up a hand. She went through the rest of the photos, then put them face
down on the table before her and stared blankly at the stack.
牋牋牋牋牋?Upchuck waited five seconds before
clearing his throat. 揑棓
牋牋牋牋牋?揌as anyone else seen these??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揓ust my fianc閑. As I said she was the one who encourage me to talk with you and your husband.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Mrs. Blum-Deckler stared at the
facedown photos. 揇ear God,?she said softly.
牋牋牋牋牋?Upchuck pushed the manila envelope and its contents toward her. 揌ere are the rest of the series, and the negatives. And, um, Tiffany抯 money back.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揌er money??She looked up at Upchuck in confusion. 揌ow much did she pay you??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揘ot much. Thirty dollars. I freely confess I like working with female subjects, so I don抰 charge very much. I believe she was trying to keep her own costs down, too, so it was a natural fit. So to speak.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揙h.?She looked down at the photos. 揂re you the one she calls 慤pchuck??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揟he very one,?he said with a rakish grin. 揂 pet name that those of the female persuasion had for me at Lawndale High.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Mrs. Blum-Deckler shook her head in
slight amusement, but that faded a second later. She reached for the photo
stack and picked up the top picture, turning it over to look at it. A stricken
look settled over her face, mixed with a dreadful helplessness.
牋牋牋牋牋?揑 can see her whole skeleton,?she whispered. 揈very rib, everything.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Upchuck swallowed again, feeling ill. 揝he抯 lost weight since I last saw her,?he said. 揑t was my thought that she never had any weight to lose in the first place. Nothing she could afford to lose, I mean.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?She put the photo back, then
shielded her eyes with a hand as if covering her face from bright sunlight.
牋牋牋牋牋?揑抦 worried about her,?Upchuck added. He made a face. 揑抦 not accustomed to saying that, but I am.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?She let out a long breath. 揑 bet you were expecting something different when she showed up for the photo session.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?He nodded. He was not going to tell
her that Tiffany had overcome her normal aversion to Upchuck after seeing some
of his photographic work, and she had asked for a nude photo set to go with the
swimsuit one. The nude set was for herself梟o doubt to show her how much weight
she抎 lost, and perhaps remind her how much further she needed to go before she
finally had no fat on her at all.
牋牋牋牋牋?He remembered that he had to fake a
major camera malfunction to cancel the extra session and stop Tiffany from
removing her swimsuit. He was too frightened of what he would see.
牋牋牋牋牋?揧ou抮e not what I抎 expected, either,?she said. 揑抳e heard a little about you from Tiffany. You . . . I抦 just surprised, that抯 all. No offense.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?He shrugged. He knew that nothing
flattering about him would have been communicated, but in the end, Tiffany was
a practical girl where her modeling career was concerned. Practical and blind.
牋牋牋牋牋?揑抣l have to talk to my husband,?Mrs. Blum-Deckler whispered. She indicated the photos. 揅an I have these to show
to棓
牋牋牋牋牋?揟hey are yours, all of them. They抮e copies; Tiffany抯 already picked up the originals. Please take them. No charge.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揟hank you, I think,?she said after a pause, then looked pained. 揘o, I抦 sorry. I am grateful. Thank you very much. I mean it.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?He looked at the tabletop. 揑 don抰 know what to say. I抦 sorry to show you this.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Mrs. Blum-Deckler did not look at Upchuck as she slowly collected the pictures. 揑 think you said all the right things, Mr. Ruttheimer. I don抰 know if anyone else would have. I抦 the one who doesn抰 know what to say. I never dreamed . . . I swear, I had no idea she抎 gone this far. She抯 worn slacks and long-sleeved blouses around the house this summer. I haven抰 seen her in a bikini since . . . since I don抰 know when.?She stopped and stared at one photo in particular. 揝he just looks like . . .?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?She looks like she walked out of
Auschwitz, Upchuck thought, looking at that picture too. He remembered then
what it had been like to see her in her swimsuit, the stomach-churning fear
that Tiffany would soon be dead of what she had done to herself. Soon, as in
weeks or days. From what little he knew of anorexia, it was merciless.
牋牋牋牋牋?揑 put my card with my home phone in the envelope,?he said at last, 搃n case you or your husband need to call me.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揟hank you.?Mrs. Blum-Deckler stood, envelope in hand. Upchuck stood up with her. 揑抦 sorry, but I don抰 think I can finish my drink.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揘o trouble at all.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?She threw her soft drink in a waste container. She then turned back and held out a hand. 揟hank you for telling me, for doing this. It couldn抰 have been easy for you.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?He shook her hand. Melancholy settled over him like a blanket. 揑t wasn抰.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揑 have to see my husband,?she said. 揂nd then Tiffany, of course. I don抰 know what we抣l do, but . . . this can抰 go on.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揘o,?he agreed. 揑f there抯
anything else I can do, please棓
牋牋牋牋牋?揘o, I think this was enough. Thank you again. And please thank your fianc閑 for me, Mr. Ruttheimer.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揑 will. You抮e welcome.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揋oodbye.?She turned and left
quickly, clutching the package. Her face was tight and devoid of color.
牋牋牋牋牋?Upchuck stared down at his own
drink. He took a sip of it and looked around the mall. He had a terrible urge
to escape.
牋牋牋牋牋?揌omeward,?he said to himself. He
walked out of the food court doors for the parking lot. He almost threw his
drink out as he left, but he saved it. The summer air was hotter than he抎
remembered. He stopped on the sidewalk, on the verge of crossing the street to
the aisle where his car sat.
牋牋牋牋牋?Andrea gets off work from that
wretched discount store at five, he thought. I have a few hours to kill.
No need to go home just yet. He looked reflectively back at the mall.
Perhaps it wouldn抰 hurt to get the Queen of the Goths a token of his
affections, something in appreciation of her . . . natural charms.
牋牋牋牋牋?The familiar leer of the old Upchuck
came to his face.
牋牋牋牋牋?She wouldn抰 mind a gift that
accented those natural charms, he knew. She liked that. Beautiful things should
always be properly wrapped.
牋牋牋牋牋?揕ane Bryant, here I come,?he said
under his breath, and he took his drink back inside where it was dark and cool,
like his beloved Andrea.
Original:
3/9/03
Shipper
(Upchuck/Andrea)
FINIS