Who: Cotton Weary purecotton & Henry Townshend room_302 What: Candid photography When: Friday, Sept. 18, around noon Where: Outside Garden Grove Regional Library; Civic Center Branch Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Language at best. Possibly some content regarding Cotton's unfortunate prison experiences. Status: Closed/Completed Partner Thread
~*~
Garden Grove was a beautiful place. It had an atmosphere which was warm, inviting, and inherently cheerful. Cotton had taken a real liking to the library branch there. They had tables outside where he could set up his laptop to try to write while pretending he was at the park without actually being at the park without wifi. He needed the wifi connection to check dates. Strange to think he couldn't remember dates of important events from his own life without looking them up.
He imagined it was because he'd spent years trying to forget those years.
The words weren't coming easily for him. Sid said it was a thing. She seemed to have this amount of faith in him which was almost boundless. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing as he tried to fight back a tension headache from Hell. Too many of his memories were bad. What was he thinking trying to write a book about himself? No one wanted to read about his shitty beginning. People liked a happy ending. They wanted to be lifted up not broken down; Cotton Weary was a long way from the kind of guy whose life lifted others up.
Out of the corner of his eye, Cotton caught a man taking photos. He was likely one of the artistic types who frequented the area, but who knew? All he knew was the guy was a distraction he didn't need though he wanted it more than he was willing to admit to anyone---even himself. Cotton had his limits on self-awareness. That was one of the reasons he'd nearly become an alcoholic post-prison. Only the fear of becoming like his father had kept him away from that fate in the end.
"Pal, I'm really not selling so well these days. You might do better looking for someone a little more high profile."
Cotton said it loud enough to attract the man's attention on purpose. He wanted a reason to stop torturing himself. Getting called a conceited ass might kick him back into writing action. Who knew?
~*~
Henry wasn’t sure what had brought him to the library that morning. It was a rare day in the middle of the week which he didn’t have to be at the Picture Palace patiently waiting behind a camera while mothers wrangled their children to sit for what would be that year’s christmas card. Or trying to time the shutter so that he could catch everyone with their eyes open and not making strange faces. School had just started and high school seniors were crowding the appointment calendars to get their senior portraits done in time to submit them to the yearbook committee. It had always baffled Henry why senior pictures were taken at the beginning of the year when still so much could happen. Then again, it took a while to get a book together, so it was probably better to get pictures in as soon as possible.
Regardless, Henry had somehow managed to luck out with a midweek day off and he intended to get out and enjoy it without the crowds that tended to make him so uncomfortable.
He had his digital camera with him that morning and had been taking pictures of the greenery that surrounded the library. No one paid much attention to the landscaping around public buildings, but Henry had always found them to be meticulously maintained. There was something peaceful about it and Henry had hoped to capture that peaceful feeling.
He looked up when he heard someone call out. He glanced around and found that the only logical person the man with the laptop could possible be talking to was him.
“Huh?” Henry started him for a moment, then looked down at his camera. The last shot he’d taken had appeared clear, but upon inspection he saw in the lower left hand corner the man hunched over his computer, kind of staring at it.
“Crap,” Henry muttered under his breath. He looked back up at the man with something of a sheepish and awkward smile. “Sorry about that. I didn’t see you there. Don’t worry, I’ll delete it.”
~*~
"If I were worried about having my picture taken, I wouldn't put my show in syndication or accept offers for public appearances. I just think me working on my stupid autobiography is not going to sell for you. I take it you're more the artistic type rather than the paparazzo variety?"
He didn't need the guy to confirm it for him. Cotton could tell from the way the photographer looked as he went through his photos. It was genuine chagrin on his face to realize he'd included Cotton in a shot. There was nothing premeditated about his actions. He didn't have the shark look which came from those who made their living off the exploitation of how other people made their living. It was a very specific look Cotton had gotten used to seeing on the faces of those who frequented the outside of places he liked to frequent.
When he wasn't trying and failing to write his own autobiography…
Sighing, he pushed his hand through his hair, "Sorry. I'm pretty much looking for any reason not to keep trying to write this book. Cotton. In case you don't know me. I'm vain, but I do realize not everyone watches reality television."
That would be news to his agent. Cotton made certain to convey his self-assurance in every interaction with the woman. It kept her smiling while simultaneously keeping her out of his private life. She was the kind of shark who fed on the weaknesses of others. Conceit was something she found attractive in others, but it was also a natural repellent to her since she fed primarily on people who were too self-conscious to stand her blatant scrutiny. He knew his conceited act was the only thing which had kept her on his payroll for so long. Cotton would have fired her if he hadn't found out a way to keep her out of his pants.
~*~
Henry was relieved that this man was not jumping down his throat about accidentally getting caught in his shot. Henry had nearly had his camera smashed once by one over protective father who was convinced Henry had taken a picture of his son and daughter at the park. While he understood the father’s displeasure over the assumed mistake, simply showing the man that he wasn’t a creepy pedo looking to add to an odd collection should have been enough. Getting chased out of the park had seemed a little much. Not to mention scary as hell.
This is why people made Henry uncomfortable.
“No,” Henry shook his head. “I’m not paparazzi. Way too high stress for me. I make my living at a portrait studio at the mall and some freelance work on the side. Weddings, parties, events...stuff like that.”
Cotton. That was an old name one didn’t hear much these days. Slowly Henry shook his head. “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t watch much reality TV. I mean, I’ll watch the art contests. You know...like Project Runway or Face Off?...you weren’t on one of those, were you?” He squinted at Cotton a little, trying very hard to place him, but came up with nothing. “Sorry,” he said with a little shrug as if he owed the man an apology for not recognizing him.
“You’re writing a book?” Henry asked. The man was looking for distraction and Henry had already bothered him once, may as well provide him with a continued distraction. “What kind of book?”
~*~
Charisma. The guy had a natural charm to him which made Cotton smile in spite of the fact he had no idea how to introduce himself to someone who really didn't know his story at all. He figured it was a nice way to figure out how to segue into his book. Cotton knew he had to start somewhere with an unknown audience. If the only people who were going to buy his book were people who already knew his story, he had no shot at hitting any bestseller list ever. Cotton needed to reel them in.
Everyone he could.
Starting with this guy.
"I've never been on either of those shows, no. I'm Cotton Weary. A long while back I went to jail for something I didn't do, I got exonerated, I got a little moment of fame, and then I got my own show highlighting people who share a similar story to my own. Innocent people who lost years of their lives behind bars for crimes they didn't commit. Pure Cotton. I'm in syndication on several channels including Arendelle Network."
He shrugged. It was easy to gloss over the crime. Saying he'd been convicted of potentially raping and murdering someone's teenage daughter was something else entirely. Cotton had a hard time saying the word 'rape' much less saying he had been a convicted rapist. His tenure on the Sex Offender Registry was worse for him than anything else he had endured as far as he was concerned. The stuff in prison could have been left behind those bars---except they'd made certain he took that label with him upon his release.
"The book? It's an autobiography. I want to tell my side of the story. The girl whose testimony put me behind bars? She told her story. I want to tell mine. What about you? What story are you telling with your camera?"
~*~
The name Cotton Weary sounded familiar, but Henry had spent so much time bouncing around the country he couldn’t be sure where he’d heard it or in what context. Cotton’s experience, though, sounded terrible. Like a nightmare. Henry couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be accused of a terrible crime he didn’t commit and having to lose countless years of his life in prison.
“I understand why you wouldn’t want the paparazzi hanging around,” Henry said. “But it’s good that you’re using your fame to help others who are in similar situations. That’s a lot braver than I think I would be.” Henry was pretty sure if he were in Cotton’s shoes, he’d find a nice dark hole to crawl into and go out of his way to keep his head down.
“And you should tell your side of the story. Every story has at least two sides, right?” Henry looked down at his camera. “Oh, uh, I don’t really think I’m trying to tell a story,” he admitted as he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I, uh, just kind of wait for inspiration to hit and take a picture of whatever it is."
~*~ Quirking a brow, Cotton gave the guy a wry grin, "The only thing I've ever done which I'd call brave? Trying to write this damn book. I wanted to capitalize on the fame so I wouldn't wind up a drunk guy in a trailer like my old man. Helping other people was a nice side effect. It didn't start out as my first priority."
Some men couldn't own their motivations. Cotton was fine with his. There had never come a time in his life where he was ashamed of the fact he wanted to be more than his origins. His attitude helped him out a lot in the Hollywood circles only because they appreciated his honesty as a refreshing change from those who hid behind their charity work. Cotton didn't hide behind his work. He held it up with both hands like the game day trophy while shouting at the crowd, 'I did this! That's right! I did it!'
He wanted credit where it was due.
Cotton didn't consider that too much to ask.
"I will say you're selling yourself short, man. Everyone has a story to tell. Your story? It's now. That's what you're selling: right now. No preconceived ideas. No hidden agendas. No sets. It's all real. I like that. You could sell that for a lot more than wedding photography, I think. You ever thought about opening a gallery for yourself?"
Not everyone wanted to become famous. Cotton knew there were plenty of people who weren't interested in being noticed for any reason. Some only wanted to coast through life as easily as possible. There was nothing wrong with that. Wealth came in many forms. He was a more literal guy only because he'd led a very literal life. This guy? He might want the kind of wealth which came from self-awareness or joy from being able to do his work for himself and himself alone.
It wasn't a philosophy Cotton could embrace for himself, but he was very aware everyone had their own priorities. He couldn't fault someone for wanting something different than his own goals.
~*~
Henry wasn’t sure how to react to Cotton’s assessment of him. He’d never really thought about what his “story” was, but Cotton seemed to have pinned him down in a few simple words. It was a little unnerving, actually. Henry had always been unassuming, happy to remain in the background while others stood out in the spotlight. He didn’t like having too much attention on him. It made him feel awkward and uncomfortable, unsure what to do with his hands or his feet.
When he had his camera though, he felt different. It didn’t matter as much if attention was on him. With his camera he was confident in doing what he loved, what he knew he had a talent for. He was proud of what he could do and he didn’t mind puffing his chest out every now and then about it.
“I don’t mind taking wedding photos,” he said and cleared his throat. “Weddings are nice. People are celebrating and happy. There are moments that can be captured that last forever. I like helping preserve those moments for others. Makes them happy.”
When Cotton mentioned owning his own gallery though, Henry’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, actually, I really want to open my own studio. That’s what a lot of the freelance work is going towards.”
He glanced at Cotton’s laptop and then quickly back so the other man wouldn’t think he was trying to read over his shoulder.
“Are you having a really hard time?” He asked. “I’ve written a couple of articles before. Maybe I could help?”
~*~
Cotton couldn't help smiling at the way the guy lit up. Everyone had a dream. It seemed this guy wanted to make his vision come to life. That was his dream. There was a lot of poetry in photography which Cotton could understand better than real poetry. School had never been his thing; a guy didn't need a great education to understand a picture. All he had to do was be willing to open his eyes and see.
After prison, Cotton had gotten very good at keeping his eyes open.
"Seems like you have a real plan for yourself after all. I look forward to being invited to the gallery opening. You'll have to make sure I get my invite. I'll drop some money into your future while getting something current for my walls. I like having something to talk about other than me."
Pointing to his laptop, Cotton quirked a brow, "Like this? Very depressing. I'm sure you've captured a lot more positive imagery than I've lived through personally."
He closed the laptop with a definitive clap. It wasn't as if he was going to have a major break sitting outside the library. The most he'd managed to do was look like a poser asshole trying to write his Great American Novel. There were a few new words in the latest chapter. That was all he'd gotten out of the day. Cotton decided to call it a bust. He shoved his laptop back into the messenger bag he'd taken to carrying and stood.
"I appreciate the offer of help, but I have the kind of memories I've worked very hard to ensure I forget forever. I don't want to bring you down. You still believe in Happily Ever After. That's why you like weddings. Me? I just see really big dollar signs when the divorce happens. Do me a favor? When you pop the question? Pose it with a pre-nup in hand. It'll save that future gallery of yours from belonging to your ex."
~*~
The sound of the laptop clicking closed sounded so definite, so final, shutting Cotton’s dark story away for the time being. Henry frowned just slightly as he watched the other man slide his computer away. The name Weary suited him almost a little too well and Henry felt the need to explain himself.
“I said I didn’t mind photographing weddings,” he said as he raised his eyes up again. “It’s not about the wedding. It’s about the happy moments at weddings. Capturing that memory for my clients is what I do. It makes them happy and I am really good at that. I don’t believe in Happy Ever Afters. They don’t exist. All life is is one chapter ending and another beginning over and over until you die.” He shrugged. “That’s it.”
His own parents’ marriage had ended in a bitter divorce that had ruled Henry’s life from the time he was 12 until he was old enough to be out on his own and even now it continued to have subtle impacts on his life. “I have no intention of getting married. First, I don’t think anyone would want to marry me, and second, I don’t really think it’s for me.” He shrugged again. “I like being on my own. It’s what I know best.” And it was safe.
He did appreciate Cotton’s offer of lining his pockets in exchange for a few photos to hang on his wall. Every little bit helped. “I don’t know when I’ll open the studio,” he admitted. He reached into his back pocket and produced a business card with his name and cell number on it. “But, I can take care of your bare walls if you want. Give you something nice to stare at while you tredge through dark memory lane. Just let me know what you want.”
~*~
Sweet dreams weren't common for Cotton. He had a feeling something dark was lurking around inside the photographer which kept him from sleeping sweet either. The idea of falling asleep to something happy, a happy moment captured forever on film, was nice to him. Cotton might never get his hands on a Happily Ever After of his own, but he could appreciate someone else's when he saw it. There was nothing wrong with enjoying another person's life so long as he wasn't interfering in it.
That was another reason why Cotton didn't care about the paparazzi.
Taking the card, he pocketed it with a grin, "Something happy. Someone else's happy moment. I think I'd like something like that to fall asleep to at night. It might ease up the bad dreams I have on the regular."
Admitting to bad dreams was easy for Cotton. There was no shame in being a man who had nightmares. After living his life? Who would really blame him? Half the lines on his face were courtesy of the lack of sleep he got. No one had ever made him feel less because he had bad dreams. As a matter of fact, Cotton had spent more than one night with company at hand thanks to his bad dreams.
Women tended to love the idea of rescuing him from nightmares.
"Thanks for the distraction. Look forward to hearing from you."
Cotton gave him a small salute before shouldering his bag and sauntering off to his car.