Latter Day Refugee’s

“Maybe if they taught the Mormons how to read… They could mail a fucking letter instead of clogging up the bike paths.”

This was her sour, yet perfect response to organized though; it’s total bull shit approach. All while sitting with her knees pressed together on my stiff little bed, arching her back like some lycra wrapped feline. “You like this one Johny?”

I backed up a bit with my camera and watched her swing both legs around and hang her dark brunette head off the edge of the springy mattress. Two hands grabbed the gray green collar and lifted in a pouty upside down rendition of a girly Elvis.

“You are simultaneously stunning and ridiculous!” I say from below the heavy lens, my laugh shaking my hands.

Her lip sank a bit lower (or was that higher) as she mocked my insult with twisted faces. Suddenly serious she rolled onto her belly and stared into the center of my shutter with a gleaming intensity. Her lips were furled like an old map at each side and eyes with reddened capillaries from the quick blood change.

“That is fucking outstanding.” It jumped out of me like a scream. I’m looking over the Canon in disbelief and then back to my squinted eyepiece. Her colors stream perfectly in the natural light she has just put her fragile face into, her long cheekbones, her rosy cheeks.

“Am I one of those Greek Goddesses Johny?” she slipped those words through tight posing lips; then a grin. “Compare me to some sculpture; maybe a little lovers poetry?”

“Lace, Greek chicks usually have potbellies and conical tits.”

“Well…”

“Or are missing their arms right about shoulder level.” I interject; catching her looking down at her flat tummy.

“All natural Mexicana” she says, grabbing her left breast and examining its pert shape. Obviously pleased and letting her hand down.

“But as for poetry, don’t get me into any stuffy Victorian crap, ok?”

“I like it in some foreign language” She settles, leaning back with distracted eyes. A couple more shots go off as she finds a really impromptu position. “Like some German guy talking about the meadows and eternal love, just in that throaty love language though” She laughs again, tossing her head to the other side of the pillow. Perfect shot!

She tucks her fingers under the tight linen and in a quick move pulls her shirt off and to the floor. She just tosses it like a valueless fiber, on the floor to be cleaned by maids or scrubbing bubble restroom cleaners.

“You get a lot of girls in bed like this?” spoken softly as she turns her head to look softly over her shoulder blade.

“I believe it was you who asked me for some pictorials Lacie” I grinned back, rolling with her giddy playfulness but somehow unsure of her now.

She looked smooth. Deep almond skin stretched over slim bones, erect muscles. Her baggy jeans, shiny teal bra-just a moment too small, dull white socks tossed on my floor, on top of her sheer shirt.

“It just seems crazy to be alive and have nothing to show for it; fuck!” She gets another momentary start of seriousness, this time, heavy lidded poses, she looks straight at me with arms straight and fists punching into the mattress. Her short hair bounces, no, hops at every sudden flick or change in finger position.

“I’m gonna make you a star babe.” I repeat in a dull gangster voice, catching her new grin on digital media forever. It’s like watching a flower bloom, except this flower can bite your tongue off.

“Jonhy, you smoke? I thought it might look cool with like a cigar in my mouth or something…” She trails off and sits up to look through her bag. Pulls out a little striped polo shirt. I get a good shot of her eyes searching through the old backpack.

“Lace, do I look like a smoker?”

“You drink like a smoker! Hah!” Pleased with herself she turns her back to me and fumbles for her bra clasp. Three, four tries, enough time for me to get her hands closing in on the metal clips, fashionable picture. It pops off to the cluster on the floor, my mother would be pleased with this site, a photo of the mess for prosperity and maybe Christmas cards. On goes the Polo, loud stripes unraveling down her torso.

“Where you get this?” she says, fingering a little postcard stuck into my mirror. She looks to me and then pulls it easily out of its nook and searches the back for evidence. Blank.

I laugh quickly “Guanajuarto...” I say, recalling the story. “Just a coincidence, I found that around a place I was working at the very same time I got asked to fly there and help put together an independent film.”

“Was it beautiful? Always wanted…”

“Nah, the deal fell through, never heard from the artistic director again. Weird shit.”

“Let’s go on our honeymoon!” Lacie giggles, those same red cheeks spinning around and giving me the most enthusiastic hands on hips of my careeer.

Her nipples made sharp dents in the deep green line that ran across her chest. You could see them like dark candies wrapped individually in hermetically sealed cotton muffin papers. Her arms crossed her chest, elbows pulling at her areolas like stiff roots in honeyed soil.

“Ya, if the kids don’t make us go to Disneyland”

“Shut up!” she jokes. “They need some culture from my motherland too!”

She fakes her best mean frown; I’m immune and snapping more racy shots.

The way she says Guanajuarto, its like oral sex, it’s a rumble. Ill trick her into Spanish at any chance, wish I could speak it all the time. Problem is that we could only talk about beer, bathrooms and the library. Damn.

The loose legs of her jeans get pulled up like Capri’s; good city look; I put a baseball cap on her too. She is screwing around, got a little bow in the bottom of her shirt and it’s pulled up to the bottom of her chest, her tummy bare and glowing with rich dark skin. One hand on her hip, the other on the brim of her cap, toes pointed at each other, what a goddamn rock star.

A few more pics to go and we are lying on the bed and sorting them through. We have favorites, plan a few more funny faces and get one of us together with our eyes crossed.

She collects her old stuff from the floor.

“Want to cuddle in front of the TV, or you still saving yourself for marriage?” She offers, untying her shirt, turning and lifting it off again, her bare back at me, hands on each arm, looking back at me.

“I should go Lace” My eyes are getting a little wet, hard to be here…

“Cool man, can I tell you something?” She pulls on her old stuff fast, buckles the bra in front and pulls it around. She turns to face me, walking me to the door.

“I was just kidding about the Mormons you know.” Damn she looks serious, but I can see a grin brewing.

“Ya, how so?”

“We could never teach those fucks how to read…”