The Woman In The Red Gauze Dress

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.

The Woman In The Red Gauze Dress

By Plot Roach

The woman in the red gauze dress faced away from the camera and out into the ocean as the waves came crashing in at her feet. "That's good, Hilda. Now walk into it, let the waves lap at your feet." called the photographer. Though he had been told to bring back the dress in pristine condition, he doubted that a little ocean spray at the hemline would cause much trouble. The designer was, after all, paying him to create one of kind photographs to be used in advertising his new line.

He liked the red dress, but not the model who was in it. She was a tall, thin creature, androgynous and alien looking at best. She seemed to have no personality. Maybe it went with the body type, the photographer asked himself. Maybe if you were that thin, the brain had no place to thrive, if all the fat cells were forced up into the head.

For the three hour drive it took to get to the coast, he had tried to engage her in conversation. Stopping when she refused to answer his questions with little more than monosyllabic responses or a slight movement of her head. He had never before worked with such a disagreeable subject, even when he was forced to photograph wild animals and children for a local zoo.

When he asked how she preferred to pose for other photographers, she merely shrugged and turned away from him to face the raging sea. So he used her indifference to his advantage, snapping shots of her as she looked out into the wrath of the water. As dark and as foreboding as the ocean had become, her dress was as bright and as passionate. The red frock was pulled taught against her as the wind pushed past them. He could see every outline of her form, and though it should move him in some way -even physically, he felt nothing. The pounding waves were more loving than this alabaster whore before him.

Her white face, devoid of makeup by request of the designer, stood out like the barren moon against the red dress. It was utterly bizarre, the passive model, the red dress and the dark waves of the ocean. He felt himself be pulled in deeper to his subject than he wished.

Just take the pictures and be done with it, he told himself. The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can get her out of your life and out of your head forever.

He snapped more pictures, moving around her as she gazed out into the sea. She never moved unless he asked her to, but her eyes shifted along the horizon. What can she be looking for? he asked himself, turning to see what had caught the eye of the ice queen (a name he now secretly called her). He scanned the horizon, but saw nothing amongst the cloudy sky and the churning waves. "Just what are you looking at?" he asked. The only response was the sound of the breaking waves. When he turned his attention back to his subject, she was already thigh deep into the water.

"Hey, get back here!" he called. "If you ruin that dress, they'll fire us both." But she either did not hear or else did not care as she continued to fight the waves as they pushed her back onto the unforgiving shore. "The dress!" the photographer called. "You'll ruin it."

But she continued to battle the ocean, even after being knocked down and nearly dragged to shore from the force of the last wave. She tore the dress from her, and threw it upon the shore where it stood out like fresh blood on the slick rocks. He watched her go, a white form knifing through the dark waves, no longer held back by the flimsy fabric of the red dress. He snapped picture after picture until he could no longer see her, knowing at once that he would never forget this moment if he lived a thousand more years.