Nudie Pics

 

“What the hell was going through your brain? Could you tell me that? What—if anything—were you thinking?”

“Have you even looked at them? Have you seen them?”

“I don’t have to; I’ve heard enough about them to know exactly what they are and what I don’t understand was what you hoped to accomplish by agreeing to something like this.”

Dick hesitated. There was no point in getting into this. None at all. It was a done deal. The pictures were already out there and nothing was going to bring them back at this late hour. Nothing. Nor, frankly, did he care.

“It’s not a big deal, Bruce. C’mon, lighten up, will ya’?”

“Where did the damn things come from, anyway?”

“I was just helping out a friend, you know that f’Chrissake.”

Bruce was being facetious and knew exactly where they came from—Donna wanted to become a photographer and so was trying out some new kind of film with some new camera she’d gotten and he was working out in the Tower gym. No one else was around and so why not? It was everyone else who seemed to be having a problem with them. And it wasn’t like he’d never posed for pictures before, even nude ones. Okay, he didn’t make a habit of it, but it wasn’t that big a deal and, frankly, when you looked at the photos they weren’t dirty. They weren’t porn. They weren’t even suggestive. They were simply black and white posed figure studies of him in various gymnastic postures. There was everything from a fingertip handstand (three-quarter view away from the camera) to a split side on (with his left butt showing and little else) to a few close-ups of various muscle groups—none of the personal and private variety.

No big deal. In fact he kind of liked some of the pictures; they were simply good photographs. The composition, lighting and all of that were well done and he saw them almost as abstracts rather than literal images. In fact he appreciated what Donna was able to do with something as simple as an old fashioned nude study of an athlete.

Sadly, he seemed to be almost the only one.

When the photos were exhibited at one of the galleries on Madison Avenue in New York it hit the proverbial fan and in a very big way. Maybe if the show hadn’t been given such a big write up or if the photographer wasn’t as high profile (or if the subject hadn’t been someone as major a roll-model as Robin) it might have passed unnoticed. But it was a high profile, if untested and new photographer. While the name Donna Troy was unknown, it was Robin in the pictures and the press did get wind of it because of a well-timed phone call to the Arts and Leisure editor of the New York Times. It hit the proverbial fan very hard.

Painfully hard, in fact.

No, no shots of his face were included in the show. No one would be able to figure out who Robin actually was in his day to day life. Donna and Dick both knew better than that and were media savvy enough to keep their mouths shut about the thing but the questions…God, the questions. Naturally, somehow the identity of the anonymous gymnast came out.

Of course it did.

They later found out that the security guard of the rented house and garden they’d used had been watching. He sold his story to In Touch magazine along with a few candids he took on his cell phone. These photos had to be blurred to prevent lawsuits, but they were printed and names were named.

It turned into a media firestorm and as soon as the pictures hit the Internet—which they did at the speed of sound—it was the story/scandal of the day.

Pundits from the clergy jumped in. It was the lead story on all three networks evening news and was given way too much time on the morning news shows as well. Groups from the Boy Scouts to the United States Gymnastics Federation to Planned Parenthood joined in the debate. Robin was denounced from the floor of the congress as a shockingly flagrant exhibitionist and purveyor of lose morals.

The relationship between him and the pretty, young, female photographer was dissected at length.

And he was a minor as well.

For the love of God—didn’t Batman have any control over the young man? What kind of environment was this boy being raised and living in? Weren’t there rumors that the boy was a crime victim not living with his biological parents? Where were Child Services?

And the thing which seemed to inflame the masses the most? When a reporter or simple man of the street would ask Robin what he had to say about this outrage his reaction was a small smile and a smaller shrug. That was it—no apology, no contrition, no guilt, no promise to never do it again or to condemn the pictures. No insistence that they be pulled from the gallery’s walls.

Even questions regarding the scars visible on his back were met with the same nonreponse.

Nothing.

It was as though he either didn’t care or was actually enjoying this tempest he and Donna Troy had started.

It was inexcusable, indefensible and an obvious comment on the young man’s morals and upbringing.

The gallery was thrilled, of course. Their supply of catalogs had sold out the first week, were now on their fifth reprinting and were the hot ticket on E-bay.

The initial fury seemed to abate a bit as the weeks went by, but the gallery was still a destination for both tweens and matrons. The younger patrons would head straight for the photos, giggle, buy a catalog and leave clutching them to their undeveloped chests. The matrons would casually wander through the three exhibition rooms, taking their time and happen upon the pictures as if by accident. They’d study them, comment on the play of light and shadow, buy their own catalogs and leave for lunch and a couple of stiff drinks, smiles in place. The gays were less circumspect, commenting about everything they could see to comment on—all the remarks complimentary and none critical. They also bought the catalog.

Bruce finally took his cue from Dick, ignoring the whole thing.

Batman, of course, never commented on anything at all and even Commissioner Gordon decided against saying anything to him other than to mention that he thought Robin was still a minor. Batman said nothing. The subject was dropped.

Finally, finally the exhibit closed.

Every photo sold for a good price and Donna agreed to sell numbered copies for a handsome payday.


Weeks, months went by, the exhibit closed with no comments ever being issued by anyone involved. Robin and Ms. Troy stayed silent. Batman wouldn’t even listen to questions about the subject and eventually, as was bound to happen, things moved on.

No one in Wayne Manor ever said anything about the photographs and Robin easily ignored the comments and jibes from his fellow Titans. It became yesterday’s news and, within six months was relegated to the ‘wrap a dead fish in it’ file.

It seemed all but forgotten until one evening about eight years later when Dick was looking for a book in Bruce’s library. There, between the Dickens and the Melville, was a slightly worn copy of the catalog.

The receipt, still inside the front cover, had the last four digits of Bruce’s credit card on it.
 

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