“What –” I began but Max gave me a squeeze.
“Trudy’s Cotton’s granddaughter,” Max explained.
“Oh,” I muttered.
“Small town,” Cotton noted, stopping close, “we talk. Get used to it.”
“Oh…” I said slowly and finished, “kay,” uncertain I’d be around long enough to get used to it but I decided against sharing that with Cotton.
“Give me your camera, I’ll take a picture of you both,” Cotton dipped his head to my camera.
I got stiff. A picture of me and Max on Max’s bluff? I didn’t think so. And I didn’t think so mainly because the very thought of having a photo of Max and me, together on his beautiful bluff, made me want it so badly I could taste it in my mouth and I knew that was wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Um… that’s okay, I took some shots.”
“Duchess –” Max said but Cotton interrupted him.
“Give me your camera, girl.”
“Really, that’s okay,” I said.
“Nina, this is Jimmy Cotton,” Max told me under his breath, my body froze and I stared.
When I could again speak, I whispered, “No kidding?”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Max said back on a chuckle.
I stared at Santa Man.
Jimmy Cotton, the great American photographer. I’d seen three of his exhibitions, one at the Smithsonian, one at the Victoria and Albert and one at The Met. He was a national treasure and his pictures were revered, including by me. I bought one of his calendars every year and had one of his Smithsonian posters framed and in my hallway at home.
He was also a recluse, never came to showings, never did interviews, famously eschewed the world that adored him. I didn’t think I’d ever seen a picture of him, not even when he was young. I knew he lived in the Colorado Rockies, most of his photos were of the mountains, but I obviously had no idea he lived here.
“I’m… I’m… so pleased to meet you,” I stuttered, feeling stupid and shy, both at the same time. “I saw your exhibitions at the Smithsonian and the one at the Victoria and Albert and –”
“V&A?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Yes, it was spectacular. I was… it was amazing,” I replied.
“Got a few of those they showed at the V&A up at my place. I’ll go through my barn, wrap one up, bring it over to Max’s.”
My mouth fell open, I felt it but I couldn’t do anything about it.
Max started chuckling and gave my arm a squeeze. “Give him your camera, honey.”
Automatically, my hand holding the camera lifted up, Jimmy Cotton came forward, took my stupid, little, digital camera in his artisan’s hand and took several steps back. I was so stunned that Jimmy Cotton was holding my camera, I didn’t fight against Max curling me so my front was tucked into his side, his arm tight around my shoulders, fingers shifting my hair around to bunch at my neck under his hand, forcing my cheek to his shoulder, his other hand going around my waist.
“Smile,” Jimmy Cotton, the Jimmy Cotton, called from behind my camera and I smiled with all the happiness I felt that none other than Jimmy Cotton was taking my picture (not to mention, it felt good standing like that in Max’s arms).
“That’ll be a good one,” Jimmy Cotton muttered, fiddling with my camera before he stepped forward and handed it back to me.
I took it thinking maybe I could die right there on the spot and do it happily, considering Jimmy Cotton just took my photo. Though that would mean I wouldn’t have the chance to get his photo printed and hermetically sealed.
“You hear about Dodd?” Cotton asked Max and Max kept the arm around my shoulders, hand curled around my neck but his other hand dropped away.
“Yeah.”
“Thought the sun shone brighter when I woke up this mornin’,” Cotton mumbled and I let out a little, surprised giggle.