The Bound Heart (27 page)

The trip to Paris was exciting. The boat, the first one she’d ever been on, cut through the sea. Olive stood for so long on the deck, the wind pushing against her face and against her body as she clutched at the rail.

She wore Billie’s brace. This was a trip she wanted him to be a part of. It was good to put on the brace and take it off as she pleased. No more shakes now she had the rope and even that felt less necessary. She could choose when she wanted to have Billie with her and when he stayed at home. He would have loved this. Would have loved the chop of the waves, the smell of the air. The way the ocean changed color with the sun and as the clouds passed above.

As they got to Calais. Jamie joined her on deck. He’d wrapped his coat around her when she insisted on staying outside. He’d seen her brace, knew what she was doing and just smiled. Squeezed her arm.

The way he simple took her in his stride, hurt her heart.

Then it was a train trip from Calais to Paris and a cabbie from the station to their hotel. They should have been tired but they were all to keyed up. Instead, they’d settled their bags in their rooms and all gone to the venue to set up.

That was yesterday.

This evening was the exhibition and the performances.

Many of the performers were here. Everyone’s pictures where being hung and ropes and props prepared for the performances.

Each team were required to perform one of their picture images that were displayed based on the judges request. Three possibilities had been forwarded to the judging panel by the artists and Judges had notified entrants a month prior to the competition so shipping could be arranged for the performance.

In their case, the judges had selected an image called
The Calligrapher and his Brush
. It meant shipping an extremely large calligraphers brush and canvas.

Olive walked around to view the other team’s images. She found herself looking at the other models, like herself. They walked with pride at who they were and what they had helped create. She felt that too.

Some of the images were very explicit, all of them showed faces and the depth of emotion displayed on them was a powerful statement.

Looking at the images and meeting the model, there was no judgement; there was instead an admiration for their courage and willingness to show their emotions so raw and real for the world. They, in fact, became the storyteller to the viewer, that thread that lead the viewer deeper into the moment than the image immediately presented. You were drawn into the emotional side of the moment through the face, the feelings, the mixture of fear and desire, or of bliss and pain, of abandonment and comfort. And behind those were the realities of life, of power, of how we walk through life, of choices and lack of them, of sex and our limits, of dark and forbidden things and of the hope for connection. Many themes that lay behind the rope and nakedness.

Olive also looked at the holds, looked at the strength some of the position would have required by the model to hold form. She knew for experience that the beauty of form some of the holds presented where extremely challenging to present. Much like an aerial circus performer strength, stamina and form were the foundation of the top models.

The images selected for performance were marked with a red ribbon handing from their frames. Some of the holds selected would be very challenging outside of the studio to present. She admired the ambition and skill she saw.

Then there was the quality of the rope work itself. It became apparent that may rope masters did not hold the same level of minimalism that Jamie had with the rope. There were few if any unnecessary ropes in Jamie’s work, the rope itself a work of art in its presentation and hold. Many others had lots of ropes, like construction wires.

She understood the role of the performance now. It was to test the tie’s practicality outside of the studio and for doctoring in the photographic process.

Their image with the giant brush was a real challenge to pull off without the brush looking awkward and to show that what the photo plate suggested was doable.

The judges were also looking to have a selection that was the most dramatic and entertaining for its audience.

Her wandering brought her back to her and Jamie’s images.

She stood in front of the large framed photographs with new eyes. Jamie and Mrs. Okazaki were still looking at the other contributors’ prints.

The images were hand painted and glowed as they sat against black backgrounds. The glass had been removed from the frames to prevent glare from the new electric display lights.

There was a series of small shots, thirty all lined up in two rows one on top of the other showing a tie from start to finish, focusing in on details of the knots used and the way the rope harness and suspension had been designed.

These got a lot of attention from the other men and women who tied, the riggers.

Each photograph was beautiful and strong in shape and design. She was in various states of undress with the kimono on or fully naked. The rope glowed around her, hand painted in a soft golden hue as it coiled around her like the living thoughts of a lover. Like a visible trail of a lover’s touch.

In most of the images, the fox mask covered her modesty and created an ethereal feel. The ones without the mask had used her hair or the angle of the shot to only show part of her face. Jamie was in the shots as well and like her, was sometimes dressed in Japanese traditional dress but also bare. However unlike her his face was caught by the images. He had no modesty around his art. And his face, his face showed her things she had no idea he felt as he’d tied her. If the other images revolved around the faces of the models these were of the faces of Jamie.

She saw now how he had known all along the importance of showing the emotions. Instead of pushing her, he had stepped in to fill the gap using himself. Together they were beautiful and yet something niggled in her belly, a disappointment.

A familiar hand came around her waist.

“How do you feel with them out and displayed?”

Jamie knew she was nervous.

“I feel a bit exposed but,” she hesitated, “but also proud. They are very beautiful.”

She’d seen the images before. Edgar had dropped them off then they started the long process of choosing the best ones and discussing how to handle the hand coloring.

For all the eroticism they portrayed, there was a lot of very dull and technical work behind it all.

Jamie could talk knots all day. Okazaki could be just as bad. Olive had often hung there as the two of them discussed changing knots in the harness tie while she was in a dubious state of undress.

Then once a tie or suspension was decided on Edgar came and took the photos. That took time and involved all kinds of discussions about light and reflection. She would often have to hold a pose within the rope, tilt her head like so, lift her legs and hold.

Since moving in with Jamie, her level of flexibility and physical fitness had increased tenfold.

“They really work. The mask adds a mysterious feel; but the ones where you can see part of my face are the most intimate, the ones I want to look at the most. Seeing them all together I can see your face. Like the images show the many emotions of the man behind the rope.”

Jamie leaned in and looked at an image. “This tie should have been dropped an inch or two.”

She hit his arm. “Did you hear what I said?”

He tugged her closer. “I always hear what you say whether you talk to me or just stand there. You’re feeling uncertain about something, undecided.”

“I wonder if I’ve done enough now I see what it’s all about. I wonder if I got things a bit mixed.”

His hand squeezed her. “You’re thinking like an artist, already looking at taking things to the next level.”

Everyone here now was part of using rope and creating ideas and thoughts just as they had done.

Tonight the audience would come to see what they had all created. Right now they were colleagues and some of that embarrassment at sharing what she and Jamie had with the rope fell away as she met other models, looked at their photos, and laughed at some of the situations they had in common around working with rope men.

Underneath, between the riggers, was a serious sense of competition. They were interested and shared ideas and thoughts, but also guarded them.

This was the world that excited Jamie. She understood that the photo plates for The Velvet Basement he enjoyed he was good at them but this was the world he wanted to earn and hold a place in. This was a world he was excited to be part of as well.

“Are you ready for tonight?”

Her tummy tightened. Yet she nodded back to him. She thought she was this morning and now something else was forming.

“Mr. Edwards.”

They turned and an odd, rotund man with a bald head and rouge, wearing a plaid purple suit stood in front of them with a clipboard.

“So a few instructions. We understand you and a Mr. Sato will be doing a rope off as part of the competition. You will commence at nine p.m. and will present concurrently, Sato on the right side of the stage and Edwards on the left.

Weight bearing beams have been marked with a white circle, and all hook and ropes must to be removed by end of the day tomorrow. You can prepare the beams beforehand, simply mark your hook. Sale and bidding of the art will happen after the performances.”

Just then, Sato swaggered into the room his arm around a beautiful oriental woman and made his way over to them.

“Jamie-san, are you ready to give me my due?”

Olive felt Jamie stiffen. His arm fell from around her waist, and he stepped forward and slightly in front of her.

The bald man checked his paper.

“Ah, Mr. Sato, good, I have instructions for you as well. Your prints are in bay ten for hanging; I will be over there shortly.”

Mr. Sato said nothing to the man, ignoring him, and instead, leaned around Jamie. “Olive-san, I don’t see my comb today. Will you be wearing it tonight?”

The man in purple stepped forward blocking Mr. Sato out.

“One final condition for the rope work tonight Mr. Edwards, no masks during the suspension. It can be placed on at the completion but the judges would like to see your model’s face during the ties to facilitate judging.

Jamie shook his head, “No, that will not be possible.”

“I suggest you work it out, Mr. Edwards, and deliver what is requested. Points will be deducted; and at this level of competition, that will most certainly remove any chance to win either the completion or your rope off with Mr. Sato.”

The purple man turned and faced Mr. Sato. “I suggest you play catch up, Mr. Sato. Five hours and the show begins.” Then the man in the suit walked off.

Mr. Sato stepped closer to Jamie.

“I’d love to see Olive’s face; I’m sure she will tell us all her secrets.”

Tension radiated off Jamie. It reached out to her like a balm for her fear and the tight knots twisting in her gut.

She stepped forward as Jamie’s hand clenched and slipped her palm over the tight circle his palm and fingers made at his sides.

“Jamie, it’s all right. I can do this.”

Her stomach lurched. But something else a flutter of nerves through her chest.

There would be over a hundred people tonight, possibly more judging by the chairs around the stages. They would all be sitting there and seeing how Jamie made her feel, what the rope did to her as he touched and worked through the holds.

He couldn’t play it cool and neither could she. It was not simply a technical event. It was also an event about the art of the rope, about eroticism and how the rope made people feel both in the rope and as a viewer. She understood that now.

However, it wasn’t something she felt comfortable with, no matter how beautiful it looked in the photographs, or how many other people here were doing it with pride.

She wasn’t ashamed.

She wasn’t particularly shy; but she was private despite how far they had come, even with the encouragement of Mrs. Okazaki, Jamie, and Edgar, as they all started to work together. It didn’t change how she felt.

Mr. Sato moved up to Jamie and whispered, but she heard what he said.

“I might make you an offer for Sensei’s house. Help you out,” Mr. Sato smirked and walked off.

How had she ever considered wearing his comb?

The tension coming from Jamie didn’t ease with Sato’s departure. This event was important to him. He could see the two things as separate; what they did together as lovers and what they did working with rope for the camera or a viewing audience even if she was finding it challenging to separate it herself.

“I’m sorry, Olive. I didn’t anticipate they would ask this.”

Mrs. Okazaki walked over from talking with a group of Japanese who were also competing.

“Yamata has a student presenting today as well.”

Jamie nodded, distracted. “Some good work judging by the prints.”

The group she’d come from were standing in front of a series of images Olive had looked at earlier. Ties that showed pain and tears in the models face. Tight twists of the limbs and ropes around necks. The only similarity was that kimonos were worn and no doubt similar technical knots and base ties. But the outcome and purpose was so different.

“The images and ties look very cruel.”

“Yamata-sensei and now his students follow the samurai tradition of rope used for interrogation. Ties that can humiliate, cause pain, and are still beautifully executed and aesthetic. There is a role for that in the erotic and in some sexual practices.

Sensei, Kobayashi-sensei. He took that tradition and made it more about connection, connected it to the rope of rope to connect us to things. Not for pain, but for the sake of rope between two people, connection as an art. Where we are taught to ensure that ties don’t pinch, that rope does burn, those things are enhanced for Yamata’s students as part of the process and as part of the pleasure.”

She’d heard of people seeking pain as pleasure from Evie.

“A lot of the rope work you see here comes from that vein. Walk around have a closer look. Powerlessness, humiliation, exposure, and vulnerability when presented well can be intoxicating to both practitioner and recipient, and of course, the viewer.”