Nathan reenters the scene. His face brightens when he sees Samantha, and he mouths words that Elaine has come to read as “Don’t you look nice.” He raises his eyebrows and grins at Samantha’s reply, as if she has said something delightful or, more likely, a tad racy. Always the master flirt. Before Nathan has a chance to respond, the camera spins to a chubby woman entering the room with a large wrapped package in her arms. Elaine doesn’t remember the woman’s name.
The screen turns white, the room brightens. The dangling end of the film slaps against the back of the projector with each rotation of the reel. Whamp, whamp, whamp. Three minutes, the length of a home movie back then. Elaine rewinds the film. While the projector whirs, she lights a cigarette.
“Reel Two,” she announces. “The Backyard Barbecue.” This time she is behind the camera, and so it’s just the three of them on the screen — Nathan, Samantha, and Bruce. Samantha had insisted that Elaine and Nathan come over to celebrate Bruce’s promotion. My husband, a vice president! Can you believe it? What’s not to believe? It’s the kind of thing that happens to women like Samantha. Elaine had known them all her life, had studied them from afar. Vacations in Europe, ballet lessons, clothes from stores Elaine felt uncomfortable just walking through. Of course Samantha went to a private all-girls college. Of course she never had to work. Of course heads turn when she enters a room. What a lucky guy that Bruce is! Even Nathan had uttered those exact words.
It’s the middle of summer, and the harsh outdoor light makes her job as photographer a challenge. Although few would ever notice, Elaine always took the task seriously, even when relying on something as rudimentary as a home movie camera. Her first camera had come to her by chance when she was ten. An old Kodak box model her father found when going through his mother’s belongings. Did Elaine want it? It seemed disrespectful to say no. Her first roll of black-and-white prints had consisted largely of family members smiling on cue with either the sun in their eyes or shadows across their faces. But the last picture on that roll, taken quickly so that she could run the film to the drugstore, captured something Elaine had never seen. Her father, an endless source of comfort and reassurance, unaware of her presence, gazing at his feet, shoulders slumped and weary, as if beaten down by a powerful foe. The image changed forever the way she saw not only her father but everyone. In that moment she understood in a way a younger child cannot the dark underside of being, the weight of hidden burdens. It also was the moment she discovered the power of the camera. For years she spent every cent she earned buying and developing film. Then came a better camera, subscriptions to photography magazines, two years as photo editor of her high school newspaper, a professional camera, her own darkroom in the garage, and a bachelor’s degree in art with an emphasis in photography. Those were the days she could always be found with a Nikon strapped around her neck, engaging the world through the lens of her camera.
On the screen Bruce stands next to the Weber, spatula held high to greet his arriving guests. Nathan hands him a beer, and the two men pose for the camera with their bottles, chests expanded as if mocking but also somehow validating their masculinity. It’s too small a gathering for Elaine to blend unnoticed into the background; capturing candid moments is next to impossible. But there is much to see if one knows where to look. The outdoor light accentuates the deepening lines around Nathan’s eyes. When he turns his back, a flash of sunlight reflects off his newly formed bald spot. Bruce pauses for the briefest part of a moment before returning to his work at the barbecue, considering and dismissing a thought he never puts into words. The strap of Samantha’s pink bra peeks out from under her thin blouse in almost every scene. But the most striking revelation that day — what Elaine had succeeded in capturing with the movie camera — is the nonchalant way Bruce manages to act around his wife. So different from the visibly shaken man who had knocked on her door a week earlier. Nathan’s not here, she had told him. He knew that; it was her he wanted to see. Maybe Samantha had said something. Maybe Elaine saw something he was missing. Twice he broke into tears while laying out all the reasons he was certain his wife was having an affair. No kidding, she had wanted to say. If any woman’s fooling around, it’s Samantha. But she held her tongue. She said all the right things.
Everyone sits down to eat. Elaine has positioned the camera just above the lip of the table, with place settings in the foreground and the swimming pool in the background. Bruce and Samantha have the only pool in the neighborhood. Their casual backyard dishes are more expensive than any dishware Elaine owns.
After the visit from Bruce, Elaine also had to act as if nothing was amiss. She forced herself to greet and smile and make eye contact with Samantha the way she always had, all the while playing out delicious scenarios in her head. In one, Bruce crashes through the door of a cheap motel room and catches Samantha and her lover in the act. It’s a seedy, rundown place, utterly without dignity, which adds to the humiliation. Samantha bursts into tears, begging for a second chance, promising in an obviously insincere manner that it will never happen again. Bruce leaves her. Then the lover disappears — it was never anything more than physical. And for once in her life Samantha knows the pain of rejection.
The final few seconds of the reel are especially good from a photographer’s point of view. Samantha is standing in her rose garden, her features softened by late afternoon shadows, perfectly framed with Nathan and Bruce on either side. There’s no mistaking the confidence in her eyes, the sense of ease and poise, while all the time pretending to be unaware of the men’s attention. The shot is impressive, especially considering that there were no second chances back then. What you shot was what you got. No erasing, no do-overs.
Try as he might, Nathan never fully appreciated her love of photography. He called it her hobby, referred to her pictures as “snapshots.” Efforts to explain the art of it went nowhere. She went to exhibits by herself, bought the occasional book of photographs that she kept on her side of the bed. What was so hard to understand? A photo exhibit is a peek into another person’s world. To know a photographer’s work is to know the photographer. Each picture screams out, “This is me. This is what I see.”
Elaine refills her drink. She thinks it’s her second, but it might be the third. “Reel Three,” she says. “Thanksgiving with the Neighbors.”
Suddenly her old living room is on the screen. The horrible green couch, the stark white walls. Samantha and Bruce are just taking off their coats. Still together several months after Bruce revealed his suspicions to Elaine. It was Nathan’s idea to invite them. Neither couple had kids. Why not spend the day with our friends? Why cook a big meal for just the two of us? But, Elaine would like to know, where is it written that friendship is the default option between next-door neighbors? Aren’t you supposed to choose your friends? Still, as always, she played her part. She chatted with Samantha across their adjacent driveways as often and with as much enthusiasm as required. Anyone listening to Samantha’s side of the conversations would assume they were the closest of friends — my girl, sweetie, hon. She invited Elaine to go shopping with her and to stop by sometime for coffee. An occasional cup of coffee Elaine could tolerate. Shopping with Samantha was never going to happen.