Man of Fantasy. Rochelle Alers

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      Nayo felt a slight jolt at the contact, and she quickly extricated her fingers to cut off the electricity. “Mr. Campbell, how may I help you?” she asked as Geoff walked away. Whenever she interacted with a potential client, Geoff made it a practice not to ingratiate himself.

      Ivan found himself transfixed by Nayo’s face. Upon closer inspection, she looked as if she was barely out of high school. Her makeup was natural and flawless. The soft highlights on her eyelids complemented her lip gloss and the subtle blush on her high cheekbones. Her round eyes afforded her a slightly startled look. And it was through those eyes she was able to capture incredible images. When he’d stared at the photos of bridges, he felt as if he were viewing them through the camera lens.

      “Carla Harris suggested I come to your showing to purchase some of your work. I need artwork for my walls for a magazine layout. I have no interest in paintings or sculpture, but I’m not opposed to photography.”

      Nayo smiled and an elusive dimple deepened in her left cheek. “Carla is an extremely talented designer.”

      “I agree,” Ivan replied. “She’s turned my home into quite the showplace.”

      “That’s Carla. Have you seen anything you like?”

      Yes, I have, Ivan thought. He wanted to tell Nayo she was as stunningly beautiful as her photographs. “Yes, I have but…” His words trailed off when her smile grew wider.

      Nayo’s eyebrows lifted. “What is it, Mr. Campbell?”

      “I noticed your photographs are numbered, and the ones I’m interested in have already been purchased.”

      “They are one of a kind.”

      “I understand your decision to exhibit a limited number of photographs in your collection, but I’m willing to pay twice as much if you—”

      “I can’t do that,” she said, interrupting him. “The photos are part of a limited collection, and to print duplicates would be unethical. There are 120 photos in the bridges collection and not all of them have been sold. I’d like to think there are a few others you’ll find to your liking.”

      Ivan’s impassive expression revealed none of what he was feeling at that moment. “I’ll give you four times the price for the triptych.”

      A shiver of annoyance snaked its way up Nayo’s body, causing a slight shudder. “Mr. Campbell.”

      “It’s Ivan. Please call me Ivan.”

      She blew out a breath. “Okay, Ivan. As I told you before, the photos are one of a kind. Perhaps you can negotiate with the person who purchased the triptych. But I cannot and will not print duplicates for you no matter how much you offer.” She hesitated and exhaled a breath. “But I may be able to help you out.”

      “How is that?”

      “I have other photos featuring bridges you may want to look at.” Walking over to a side table, she picked up a small, printed card, handing it to Ivan. “This is my card. Call me and I’ll set up an appointment to give you a viewing at my studio.”

      Reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket, Ivan removed a small silver case with his business cards. He took out a pen and wrote down his home number on the reverse side. He gave Nayo the card. “Call me and I’ll make myself available.”

      Nayo turned the card over and read the print: Ivan G. Campbell, PhD. And, it appeared, the persistent well-dressed man was a psychotherapist. If she had to categorize his psyche, it was id-driven.

      “I’ll call you,” she promised.

      Ivan inclined his head as if she was royalty. He smiled for the first time. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

      Nayo held her breath. Dr. Ivan Campbell claimed the most sensual smile she’d ever seen on a man. His was a face she wanted to photograph. “You will hear from me,” she said when she’d recovered her breath. Turning on her heel, she walked away from him, knowing he was staring at her.

      She approached a woman who was a regular at the gallery, flashing a brittle smile and exchanging air kisses with her. “Mrs. Meyers. I hope you’re enjoying the exhibit?”

      Why, she thought, did she sound so specious? Had she become as plastic as some of the people who fancied themselves art collectors because it afforded them more social status?

      The elderly woman waved a hand bedecked with an enormous Tahitian pearl surrounded by large, flawless diamonds. “Of course I am, darling. I bought four featuring the Natural Bridges National Monument. I can’t believe you were able to photograph the night sky showing the Milky Way.”

      Nayo wanted to tell Mrs. Meyers that although nearly one hundred thousand people stopped at the Natural Bridges National Monument in Utah each year, only a few took in the most breathtaking vistas, because they could only be seen at night. Whenever she visited a national park, Nayo made certain to seek out the park’s chief ranger and tell him about her project. Most were more than willing to accommodate her. A few had referred to her as the female Ansel Adams. Being compared to the celebrated landscape photographer and environmentalist gave her the confidence she needed to realize her dream.

      “The nighttime images were spectacular,” she said, smiling.

      “That’s so obvious, Nayo.” Mrs. Meyers waved to someone she recognized, then rushed over to talk to her, leaving Nayo to her thoughts. She’d invited her mother and father, but they hadn’t been able to get away from the restaurant they’d run for more than twenty years.

      Her parents had been high school sweethearts who’d married a week after graduating from college. Her father joined the local fire department while her mother had gone into teaching. Marjorie Goddard went back to work six months after giving birth to her son, but opted to become a stay-at-home mom once Nayo was born. Meanwhile her husband, Steven, had risen quickly through the ranks of the small upstate-New York fire department. Everything changed for the Goddards when Steven was injured fighting a warehouse fire. Nicknamed “Chef” by his fellow firefighters, Steven took over the cooking duties at home after having been the cook at the firehouse for so many years. He gave up fighting fires, retired and bought a run-down restaurant from an elderly couple.

      What had shocked Nayo was that her parents knew nothing about the restaurant business. But after several false starts, they attracted a loyal following at the restaurant with family recipes going back several generations. What had initially been a hobby for Steven and Marjorie Goddard was now their livelihood. Just as photography had become their daughter’s livelihood.

      Nayo stared at Ivan Campbell. She noticed that he wasn’t eating or drinking but studying her photographs. She was still staring at him when he turned and caught her. He smiled and she returned his smile with one of her own. She dropped her gaze with the approach of one of the gallery’s employees.

      It was hours later, when Geoff closed and locked the gallery doors, that Nayo tried recalling everything about Ivan Campbell. She didn’t see him as a man who would interest her romantically, but as a subject for her next collection.

      Her focus wouldn’t be bridges or landscapes but people. Annie Leibovitz and Francesco Scavullo had become her idols, not only for their photographs of people but for the spirit they captured. Yes, she mused, she couldn’t wait to see Ivan again if СКАЧАТЬ