“What’s a ten?”
“A ten has never yet been achieved.” We reached Market Street.
The lighting shone down on her face just right, a golden glow that smoothed her tanned skin into velvet. I almost turned the camera on her, but then I remembered her photo phobia. “Mick, can I ask you something? I’m not trying to be nosy. Just tell me to shut up if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sure.”
“What’s up with you and pictures?”
She opened and closed her mouth and then said, “My mom’s a model. Like, she’s been modeling since she was a teenager.”
Interesting.
She took a deep breath that sounded shaky and said, “I think it’s like a phobia. It’s gotten to the point where when someone points a camera at me, I’m literally afraid.” She put a hand to her chest. “Like, I can feel my heart pounding just thinking about it.” In a quiet voice, she said, “I can’t even go to Disneyland without worrying about those stupid pictures they take on Splash Mountain and Space Mountain.”
I wasn’t sure what the right response to this was, so I said, “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you think…” I was afraid to say this, but it was an idea that had been nagging at me. “What if no one ever looked at the photo? Like, what if I took your picture with my camera, but there was no film in it? Maybe that could be a first step. Forget how you look in the pictures, just get used to having the camera on you.”
She blinked, hard and fast. “Maybe. I see what you’re saying.”
My camera still had a few shots left, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “This roll of film is out. Do you want to try it?”
“For real?”
“Sure.” I felt a tiny pinch of guilt. A very, very small pinch.
Her cheeks were red. “You wouldn’t mind? What if I had a panic attack? Oh God, what if I cried?”
“I’ll just chill out while you hyperventilate. You know how they put someone with a fear of snakes in a room full of snakes? I learned about it in psychology.” I racked my brain, and then the word came to me. “Exposure therapy. It’s supposed to help.”
“You really want to? You don’t mind?”
I was dying to take her picture. Cool as a cucumber, I said, “I have nothing better to do tonight. I’m all yours.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
“Yes!” I turned the camera toward her and twisted the focus dial.
“No!” she cried. “Not like that.”
“Not with the camera? That’s usually how I do it.”
“No, I mean, not in front of all these people.”
It was Saturday night; the Gaslamp was wall-to-wall flesh. I wasn’t sure about the logistics of achieving total privacy, but I am nothing if not stubborn once I’ve decided to do something. I nodded, decisive. “All right. We’ll find a quiet spot to take your fake picture. It’s our new mission. We will stop at nothing.”
The grin I was starting to like a lot flashed across her face. “Thank you.”
I touched the side of her arm lightly, enough to feel the soft, warm skin. Wait. Is she…? This did not feel like a straight-girl hug.
And then she pulled away, leaving me with a chest full of air.
I liked her.
We searched the streets, peeking between storefronts, hoping for alleyways, and then the train station emerged in front of us and I knew I had found the right place. I dragged her toward it.
“Are we going into the station?” she asked, keeping up with me easily.
“You’ll see.”
Inside, the arched, Spanish-tiled walls swooped above us, warm lighting filtering down from the rafters where pigeons snuggled in downy piles. Lost-looking people clustered in front of information windows and ticket machines, and locals sprawled out in the chairs, ignoring the homeless camped out in neighboring seats.
“See?” I said, gesturing to the beautiful interior. “It’s a great spot for photos.”
She looked around and said, “There are people everywhere.”
We might end up taking these photos in the bathroom. My eyes landed on the flashing time display. The northbound Amtrak Surfliner was due to leave in seven minutes.
“Come on.” I took her by the hand and pulled her toward the ticket machines.
“What are you doing?”
“You’ll see.” I jabbed numbers into the screen and fumbled my credit card out of my wallet.
“Are you buying a ticket?”
“Quiet, woman.” I took the tickets from the machine. “Come on!”
“Two tickets?” she cried. “Where are we going?”
“Shhh!” I grabbed her hand and guided her out onto the platform.
She laughed, breathless. “Where are you taking me? Why do I feel like I’m being kidnapped?”
My eyes darted around, and I found track three. Giggling madly, I pushed her toward the Amtrak train waiting there. Surfliner was printed in italicized blue letters along its side.
“Veronica?” she asked. “Help me understand.”
“I guarantee you this train will be almost empty at this time of night. It leaves in two minutes. We can get off at the next stop and catch an Uber.”
A slow smile crept across her face. “I do like trains.”
“All aboard,” I said with mock solemnity as the announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker, “Last call for northbound Surfliner, track three.”
She led the way up the three stairs onto the train, and we jumped inside. I followed her through the rows of seats in the empty carriage.
The train lurched. We stumbled. I almost knocked right into her, but I grabbed on to the back of a seat and planted my feet. The train started forward, taking us north and beyond.
She turned to face me. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I don’t want to get off at the next stop. I want to keep going.” She almost lost her balance, took a half step back, and steadied herself.
“Oh yeah? Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t care. I just don’t want tonight to end.”
I did a quick check to confirm the train was empty. It was. We were alone. Reckless, dizzy, I reached up and touched her face. I trailed my fingertips across her cheek and along the groove above her upper lip.
She looked frozen with surprise. I pulled my hand away. “Is that not okay? I’ll stop.”
“Don’t.” She took my hand and returned it her cheek. I ran my fingers past her ear, trailing through the golden-tawny strands of hair. My heart pounded hard, out of sync with the rhythm of the train. Her eyes were full of questions. I stepped forward slowly, afraid of falling, giving her time to pull away and run screaming. Instead, she leaned in and brushed her lips against mine.
I couldn’t breathe for a moment, and then I kissed her back. I wrapped my arm around her waist, and my camera dug into our chests. Her lips were soft and sweet. I could have kissed her all night, stayed there on that train, past oceans and mountains, never worrying about a destination.
Instead, I pulled back. Her eyes followed me, her hands reaching like I was stealing something from her.