“Should we study together?” I ask before waggling my eyebrows. “You know, after I become a cowboy?”
“A cowboy, a gladiator, and how do you feel about Tarzan?”
“Tarzan?” I think about it for a beat before deciding, “Why not?”
Once we’re in the shop, Finley turns toward me but keeps her gaze lowered to the floor. “You’re not looking at me,” I tell her.
“Duh, I’m on the spectrum.”
“Maybe so,” I say, “but I’ve noticed you only seem to have difficulty making eye contact when you’re nervous. What can you possibly have to be nervous about with me?”
She lifts her eyes slowly, coyly even, before commenting, “You kissed me last night.”
“I did.” With a self-satisfied grin, I tell her, “And I’m looking forward to doing it again.” I lean toward her thinking now is as good a time as any.
When Finley sees me advance, she puts both hands up in front of her to keep me from getting closer. “We have work to do, and I need to make sure I keep my wits about me.” Then she turns around and leads the way into the back of her shop.
As she sets the lights for the cowboy scene, I tell her, “I bet you’re one of the only photographers left who doesn’t use AI.”
“I think AI is cheating,” she says plainly. “There is enough organic intelligence on the planet without turning our autonomy over to computers.”
“Creatively speaking, it’s probably a lot cheaper though.” I know she’s worried about the expense of taking on the space next door.
“It lacks integrity,” she tells me. “If everyone uses artificial intelligence before their own talents, it won’t be long until there’s no creativity left in this world.”
She has a point. “China has already built a hospital that doesn’t staff any people.”
Her face morphs into an expression of horror. “No people? What about the doctors?”
“Robots,” I tell her. “As are the nurses, the lab techs, even the cleaning staff.”
“I don’t want to live in a world like that,” she says sadly.
Taking off my rain jacket, I commiserate, “I think it might be too late. China already has robots patrolling the border between them and Vietnam.”
Finley adamantly declares, “I’ll move home and live in my parents’ basement before I give up my humanity.”
“Me, too,” I say in solidarity. “Although my parents live on the tenth floor and their basement is the parking garage, but I’m with you in spirit.”
Shifting to a lighter subject, I ask, “Is the cowboy first?”
A faint blush crosses Finley’s features. “Yes.” She points to the costume rack. “Let me know if you need help buckling your chaps.”
That sounds like a highly suggestive offer, but I don’t tease her about it. Instead, I say, “I thought chaps snapped on.”
“Some do, but I prefer the old-school ones. They look more rugged.” She averts her gaze again which makes me think she’s envisioning me in my cowboy regalia.
In my changing corner, I take off my street clothes and start my transformation. Faded jeans come first, along with a pair of cowboy boots. Then comes the denim shirt. Once again, there doesn’t seem to be enough fabric, and there are no buttons. As I step out into the open, Finley takes one look at me and glides across the floor like she’s floating on air.
Once she’s within arms’ reach, she stops. “You look amazing!”
I happen to agree with her. “Thank you,” I tell her cockily. “Do I get my chest greased up for this one?” I ask, hoping I’m lucky enough to get to feel Finley’s hands on me.
She shakes her head slowly. “The cowboy gets a suntan and some dirt.”
I look around, and ask, “Do you keep a bucket of dirt here somewhere?”
“I use eye shadow,” she tells me. “It’s stays on better.” She tugs at my sleeve gently. “Come on over to hair and makeup.”
