Beach Babe

BEACH BABE

The sullen sea sucked and roared at the pebbles, leaving the usual unpleasant detritus behind. Plastic bottles, the odd fish-head, bits of wood and weed jumbled together in the foam. A thin cold rain fell. The pier had almost disappeared into the greyness of the November sky.
Dave Lucas crunched along the shoreline. The battered baseball cap he wore under the hood of his anorak doing little to keep the rain off his glasses. Stopping to dry them he looked towards the iron legs of the pier – was it worth a shot? He unzipped his anorak, and shielding the camera slung round his neck from the rain, took a look through the viewfinder, zoomed in and then, with an exclamation, let the camera fall. An amorphous shape at the foot of one of the iron girders had moved. It was a person, not an object. Taking the camera up again he fired off a dozen or so shots as he went towards the shape. It didn’t move again.
“Ere! Whatcha fink yer doing?” the girl glared up at him. “’Ave ter pay me if you wanna take me pitcher!” She was young, he registered – probably not more than 15 or 16. “What’re you doing here? You’ll catch your death. Where d’you live?” he said.
“Mind yer own business.” She huddled down under the sodden khaki blanket, dismissing him. Dave nudged her with the toe of his boot. “Look, I’m not going to just leave you here. You could die.” He cleaned his glasses again. “So?” she peered at him, “So what? Nobody’d give a toss anyway.!”
“Look – come to the Caff with me and and I’ll buy you a meal. Then you can do what you like.”
“Why? You wanna fuck me?”
“No – certainly not.” She looked out to sea again, then “O.K. But that’s it. Something to eat and then bye bye. Ok.”?
“O.K.”
Dave watched as she crammed the hot food into her mouth. She was bone thin. The filthy hair with traces of bleach hung in ratstails. There were sores round her mouth and deep purple bruise-like shadows under her eyes. In the warmth of the café he fancied he could steam rising faintly from her clothes. She smelt. He wondered how long it had been since she had had a bath. But in spite of all that his photographers’ eye was working overtime. “Smoke?”
“Ta.”

“Look. You could obviously use some dosh, so “ She interrupted him.
“You do want to fuck me then.”
“No I don’t.” Dave laughed. “But I do want to take some pictures of you. And I’ll pay you.”
“How much?”
“Hmm. Twenty five quid.”
“For how many?”
“Say twenty five. A pound a pop – only take half an hour .”
She considered. “What’d I have to do? I aint takin’ me clothes off.”
“Not necessary. I’ll just take shots – pictures – of you as you are, doing whatever you normally do, wherever you normally go.”
“Let’s see the cash then.” As he got out his wallet and showed her twenty five pounds in notes her eyes narrowed.
“O.K. then.” She got up and waited by the door while he paid for the food.
Outside the rain had eased off and the sky lightened. The wet pavements reflected the shuttered shop fronts. Dave ran ahead, took a shot of her shambling towards him, hardly recognizable as a person. Then on a bench with the pier and the lowering sky behind her. And on through the town. Next to a tattered notice hanging off the bandstand. Outsde the toilets; at the back of the supermarket with a fag hanging out of her mouth; sitting on the steps at the foot of the War Memorial, and until –
“Right! That’s yer twenty five. Now give me the dosh.!”
“O.K.” He handed her the notes. “And here’s my card, with my address and phone number. Just in case.”
“Thanks” she looked at him for a second or two with her head on one side. Then, clutching the blanket round her, she hurried off and as he watched she disappeared through a door with no number on it.

The exhibition, “Brighton Life” was a great success. Dave read another glowing review in the Sunday Times. He sighed. “What’s wrong?” Lucy the current girlfriend asked. “It’s just – the same old niggle. Why could I never find her again?”
“That girl?”
“Yes.”
“She could be anywhere.” Lucy got up abruptly as she spoke.
“Yes, but – “
“Look Dave – you did your best. You paid her; you gave her your card. If she’d needed you she’d have contacted you. People like that always do.”
“I guess so.” Dave threw the paper onto the sofa. “It’s just – her pictures are such an integral part of the Exhibition. It seems a pity she can’t – well, know about it.”
“She’d only tap you for more money. Come on, its time to go to the Pub and meet the others.”

The voice on the phone was quietly efficient. “Dave Lucas?”
“Speaking.”
“It’s Amanda Harte here. I write for Photography Now – we’d like to run a feature on you as a spin off from your exhibition in Brighton.”
“Wow! Well, yes, I mean – yes of course. What do you want to know?”
“I’ll need to come down, do an interview and take some pictures of you etc. The usual stuff.”
”Ok. Fine. When?”
“Are you free Friday 12th?”
“No, got a wedding that day. Monday 15th?”
“Fine. I’ll be in touch later about a venue.”
“Ok. Thanks.”
Dave put the phone down and then wondered what he had got himself into.

He felt strange. It was odd, being on the other side of the lens. Amanda had obviously done her homework he thought, but although he had been there many times during the last five years, he had a strange sense of déjà vu as they walked to the pier. He shook his head to get rid of the image of the girl as he had first seen her, huddled up on the shingle. Where was she now?
After the photo- shoot they went to his Studio for the interview. Amanda put a tiny recording device about the size of a mobile phone onto the table between them. “It’s a directional mic, so it’ll pick up both of us.” she smiled.
`The interview followed the familiar pattern with Amanda getting him to talk about the background to the exhibition.
“So while I carried on doing Portraits, Wedding Pictures, anything really to make a living, – I kept taking the pictures that make up the rest of the exhibition. Brighton Life. In all its different faces. “
“What made you use the pictures of the girl as the centre-piece ?” Amanda asked.
“She fascinated me. Still does. It’s as simple as that I suppose. The fact that I’d never seen her before, and haven’t seen her since. Not since that day. Though I’ve tried to find her. Put notices up. You know.” Amanda nodded. “Like a lost cat.” she suggested.
“Well, yes I suppose so. And I keep hoping, expecting to see her somehow. Somewhere. I kept going back to that door, the one she’d walked through, but it was locked – always locked and there was no way I could get round to the back.“
“And how old do you say she was?”
“I don’t know exactly. I imagined she was about l5 or l6. No more. But I could be wrong. She had that, unfinished look, if you know what I mean.”
“So she’d be about 23 or 24 now?”
“I suppose so. If she’s still alive.” He frowned, not wanting to think anything bad had happened to her.
“Yes. What did you talk about?”
“Nothing much really. I offered her money to take her pictures, and she agreed. ”“He smiled wryly. “What’s funny?” she asked.
“She thought – poor kid – kept asking me if I wanted - “
“To fuck her?” Dave stared. “How? Yes. But how did you guess?”
She leaned forward and switched off the recorder. Looked at him.” It wasn’t a guess.” She put her head on one side. In a moment he remembered the last time he had seen the girl’s face. She smiled. “You wanna fuck me?”
Dave jumped up. “It’s you! Is it? Is it really - “
She laughed. “Yes, its me. Thought I’d repay the favour by getting you a spread in the magazine. “
“But how did you –
“Get from being a down and out into - this me? I conned you. Sorry Dave, but it was all part of my ‘project’ at Uni. The full “get out there and experience life if you want to write about it” bit. “
“You had me fooled.”
“Yes. I was sorry afterwards. Because you were so bloody nice. Most people weren’t.” She picked up her briefcase and notes. “See you sometime?”
“Yes.”
He was so dazed, shocked, surprised that he couldn’t speak. And found himself staring at the closed door .
Coming to his senses he rushed out, onto the street but there was no sign of her. There was no car, nothing. “Shit! Shit! Shit! “ He wanted to stamp his foot and shout like a baby. A man passing by gave him a quick look and then hurried on.