Ben either has far more self-restraint and a magnificent ability to calm down the entire household with his very presence or he is about a thousand times more fucked up than even I give him credit for.
I will never be sure which, at this point. When I came outside, drill in hand, ready to start converting the long galvanized tubs to be windowboxes for the stables, Ben was in the middle of telling Caleb he thinks he has an incredible eye as a photographer and maybe it runs in the family.
(Cole, not sure if you remember, was taking pictures when he wasn't painting. His photos were our bread and butter and were what brought Batman into my life, proper. Or maybe that's improper. Either way I still have around three thousand of his prints here. No, that's not a typo.)
And Caleb is agreeing with Ben. They're discussing the merits of erotic photography using unconventional subjects and provocative arrangements meant to inspire uncomfortable emotions in the beholder.
Oh, well, just great.
But then Ben abruptly points out I won't be Caleb's subject. That he needs to use models who aren't emotionally connected to make his work that much more diverse. Oh, I love him so much.
Caleb sees me through the screen and refutes. Bridget is what sells this. Her fragility translates so well to film. She's the reason Cole made it. So I would say the opposite holds true, Benjamin.
Cole didn't make it. Cole exploded. I press my head against the screen. It pulls on the sides and I'm wondering if I force this if I'll come out in long tiny squares and reform out on the porch. Ben's head whips around in surprise and he gets up.
I can't believe you're encouraging him, Benny.
You have to admit, Bee. It's possibly the hottest picture of you I've ever seen. It's like porn but classy.
Oh well that just makes it all better then. Loch will be thrilled.
That's why I said Caleb should use someone else.
But then would it still be so hot? Or would it just be porn?
I don't know. I'll have to look at them first.
Of course you will.
