The Age of Light

by Whitney Scharer

Lee looks at Man as he holds forth and she feels a rush of affection for him, looks around the table at George and Horst, dressed in their borrowed evening wear, and thinks to herself that this is how she always imagined life in Paris. Delicious food, wine in elegant glasses, men around her treating her like delicate glassware herself, slim and radiant and special. Man has his arm resting on the back of her chair, and every once in a while he runs his hand up and down her arm, and it is warm and comforting against her skin. And she thinks, with a feeling of wonder, that her life is like a giant turning crystal, each surface catching the light at a different time. Who would have thought that going back to modeling would be a good idea? But it is making her happy. It is her own thing, not Man’s, and it is a facet of her life she never realized was missing until it was there again. And somehow, sitting at this table with her lover, her photographer, and her fellow model, she feels as if all the facets are coming together. She moves her chair a few inches closer to Man’s and he holds her a little tighter.