Exposure
24
Mephistopheles
“I KNOW IT WAS probably a surprise to you. I mean we’ve never done it—I mean like had sex, unless you count getting me off on my birthday and… um… once on the bus. Which you could do again sometime, you know,” Pris said. “But, you see, from the moment Deb and I walked into that little fourth floor studio and took our first pose, we became Nate’s girls. We were part of this elite group of girls who signed model releases and took off our clothes for Nate to take pictures of. And we were so proud to be part of that group. This group. The Attic Allure models who weren’t there for senior pictures or to get our own Attic Allure portrait, but were there for Nate to direct and make into whatever his vision was that day.”
All my crew, including my girlfriends, were standing naked in front of me in the living room of our suite. I saw Elise standing in the doorway of her bedroom just watching the drama. I had thought I’d get to the suite and flop in front of the TV for a while. The TV was there, but it was behind the ten girls. Pris had been the one to reprimand our hosts at dinner and, I guess, felt it was necessary for me to hear her explain.
“It happened to all of us,” Judy said. “Janice and me, too. You were an extension to our costume play. We’d come to you and you’d take pictures of whatever our newest creation was, and then you’d talk us out of our clothes and we’d be running around naked, letting you take our pictures, and encouraging you to touch us. We were Nate’s girls, even after we started dating Pete. He even referred to us once as Nate’s girls.”
“The only boy who’d ever seen me naked was Tony,” Patricia continued the story. “We played at having me become a Playboy bunny. I came to your garage and tried on the role of being a bunny and posing for you. I let you take pictures that we never showed Tony. But even so, he gradually started referring to me as Nate’s model. He always wanted more pictures of Nate’s model. And I became one of Nate’s girls, even when I was married to Tony.”
“I chose to become one of Nate’s girls before I ever met you,” Beth said. “I guess I took it a step further and declared myself to be your Chicago girlfriend, without ever knowing what that would involve. But I was Nate’s girl.”
“You managed to get all of us in your study group except Leslie to model for you,” Leanne said. “And I think she still wants to when we get back. I think even Dora Devine would consider herself one of Nate’s girls. And I know that Theresa and Cassie join me in absolutely declaring that we are Nate’s girls.”
“We all just want you to know, honey,” Anna said as she approached me with Ronda and they sat on either arm of my chair, “that being with you makes us something special, whether we are models or girlfriends or staff and crew.”
“We are Nate’s girls, lover,” Ronda said. “And we know you are watching out for us.”
All Nate’s girls wanted a few minutes sitting on Nate’s lap that night. And they all wanted me as naked as they were, just so we could be close. I was amazed that these wonderful young women felt so attached to me. And they were right. I was watching out for each of them.
Tuesday was a very special day. It was Toni’s first birthday. She and Elise came to the studio with us and we made a big thing out of having a birthday party for her on the stage as I photographed her and her mother.
Patricia took the Nikon from me and I danced Toni all around the stage as her mother took pictures of us. Of course, there were more presents than we could bring to the studio, so the party continued when we got back to the hotel. By eight o’clock, our exhausted birthday girl was sound asleep in her bed, but the rest of us continued to party.
My personal party goal was to take Patricia to bed and make love to her until she passed out from the number of orgasms she had. It was Toni’s birthday, but Patricia had done all the work of bringing her into this world.
The highlight of the week’s photo sittings came on Thursday as the result of one of our models canceling. She was very apologetic, but was truly sick. That left us with Gloria. She was enthusiastic about everything we were doing and willing to bend into any pose I pushed her to. She did a little pushing of her own into my hands when we shifted her around.
“Do you have any idea how many guys want to paw our breasts when we do a show? It’s like, if we show them, they should touch them. It’s sickening. So, I’m just letting go and saying, sure, touch ’em. It’s not like I don’t enjoy being caressed. And what Marli told us about her session made it sound irresistible.”
“I’ll stop if you want me to,” I said.
“Are you kidding? I’m hoping you’ll get me so turned on doing this that I come. Touch me some more,” Gloria said.
“Would you like to extend your session into the afternoon? I’d like to do a location shoot with you,” I suggested.
“Is the location your bed?”
“No. Nowhere near as comfortable. I’ll see if I can fulfill part of your fantasy, but we won’t fuck.”
“There’s a lot of things that can be done short of fucking. I’ll stay for the day.”
“Good. Let’s get into makeup. Leanne has a cool concept and it will take a good hour to get ready. I’ll make sure we have lunch available and I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
I had Chrystal get us lunch and get our bus ready to pick us up. We got everything packed up and ready to roll. And in the dressing room, Leanne had me help turn Gloria into a Tiger. She had a thick mane of auburn hair which just worked perfectly with the body paint. Leanne laid in the outline for the stripes and I filled them in, making sure that Gloria knew I was very into holding her while we painted.
We boarded the bus and ate our lunch, then Leanne finished the face makeup. An hour later, we were at the petroglyphs out at Valley of Fire.
“Gloria, wait here in the bus where it’s cool until we get everything set up out there. I’ll come to you and carry you to where we want to pose. You are going to be a wild tiger-woman. Believe me, everyone is going to see what a gorgeous woman you are. But they’ll see a fierceness in you that they’ve never seen before.”
“Kiss me before you go, please?”
“Just a little. I don’t want to smear your makeup.”
The kiss was more reassurance and maybe a bit of promise as we headed into the rocks with tripods, cameras, reflectors, and a broom. The girls had been busy in the bus and stripped out of their tops to apply sun lotion to each other. All they were wearing were bikini bottoms or panties and their shoes.
We found a good-looking place where I could get a good angle. Then the girls swept the rock where Gloria would be standing so there was nothing that would hurt her feet. We tested the temperature of the rock and decided that before I set Gloria down on it, we’d douse it with some of our water to cool it a little.
I went back to the bus and picked Gloria up to carry her to the new stage.
“Wow! It’s hot out here.”
“Yes. We’ll work as quickly as we can so no one gets burned or heat stroke. And then I’m going to pick you up and carry you back to the bus. You know what’s special about that?” I asked.
“What?”
“We’ll be done with your makeup, so I can kiss you and suck on your little nipples and pet your pussy without worrying about smearing the makeup.”
“Let’s hurry,” she said, kissing my cheek.
We got to the rock and the girls dumped several glasses of water from our thermoses on it. I set Gloria’s feet in the water and she danced around a little.
“Still a little hot, but it’s cooling off. I’ll be okay as long as there is water here.”
Debbie handed her a spear, so she really did look like a wild tiger-woman, ready for the hunt or to defend her den. We started taking pictures. We worked as quickly as possible, shifting the pose and getting pictures on both the Linhof and the Hasselblad.
“Rocks are getting hot,” Gloria said.
“That’s a wrap,” I called.
The girls grabbed all the equipment and props and ran for the bus. I picked up Gloria and Anna steadied me as I climbed down from the rocks. I saw the writing team off to one side where they’d been watching us. Dave was holding an umbrella over Bert as Bert scrawled notes on his clipboard. They were hurrying to their car as quickly as they could get there. Gene already had it running and cooling, just as our driver had the bus cool.
I was waved to the back of the bus, which was remarkably empty. I slid into the seat with Gloria on my lap.
“You were wonderful!” I said. “The world has never seen such a sexy tiger.”
“I could eat you up,” she responded as she attacked my mouth. “I could feel where every shot was going and you kept subtly stroking up between my legs when you posed me.”
“I wanted to be sure you were enjoying yourself as much as possible in this heat.”
“Enjoy myself some more. Yes! You do know your way around a girl’s happy spots. More. Yes. Suck the paint off my nipples. Oh God, yes!”
I sucked and finger fucked Gloria most of the way back to the studio. That last fifteen minutes, though, she spent with my dick in her mouth, sucking the essence out of me. Talk about having a tiger by the tail. Which was where my hand was while I was coming in her mouth.
“Is this for real?” Beth asked Chrystal on Saturday morning. It was unusual for Chrystal to show up so early on a Saturday. Usually, she was only around if we were going on a tour someplace or for an evening out. We always had access to the bus if we gave the driver notice, but we never saw Chrystal on Sundays at all.
“The invitation came from their producer to our producer and he put it in my hand to deliver to you,” Chrystal said.
“Can everyone come?”
“They said they would have a backstage space reserved for everyone since you are all under twenty-one and can’t sit in the casino lounge,” Chrystal said. “We’ll be escorted backstage.”
“Well, fuck!”
She shoved the invitation into my hands so I could figure out what the hell she was talking about. It was an invitation to appear as one of six comedians to warm up an audience before the headliner. And it was a contest of sorts. There would be a winner, though it didn’t say what the winner would get. Sounded just like the gig in Chicago.
“Well, what are you waiting for? You’ve got material.”
“Yeah, but I’ve never tried it in front of a live audience.”
“We heard part of it in the studio and part of it at the pool,” I said. “If you don’t have enough, fill in from your first show. No one here has heard that.”
“Enough. Yeah, I’ve got enough,” she said. “Oh, my God! Judy! I need a leotard and tights and a tutu. And a hat. Leanne, can you do my makeup? I’m going on stage tonight!”
It was good that Starr didn’t have any more time to get nervous. Once she went into her comic character, she was Starr, not Elizabeth. She hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone before her show in Chicago, or even to eat. I joined Starr, Judy, Leanne, and Anna to go to the studio and get ready.
Of course, I wasn’t needed there other than to occasionally pop in and give our performer a hug. Judy found a leotard that fit her and went to work sewing a tutu. Leanne washed and set her hair, then began applying makeup.
Anna and I were in the darkroom, working on the image of our tiger-woman from the day before. We were definitely getting something good. I suddenly heard Beth screaming.
“Wait! Wait! I need Nate!”
I left the print drying in Anna’s hands and rushed out the door to Beth. She threw herself into my arms.
“You’re the only one who can do it right!” she said.
“Do what, honey?”
“My eye. I need my eye makeup. You know how to do it. Nobody else knows.”
Beth was obviously grasping for something to get me involved. I knew that she’d done her own eye makeup for the Chicago shows. She’d come to her last birthday photo shoot with the makeup already applied. Leanne could have easily applied the couple of brush strokes it took to put the little triangle under her left eye.
I kissed her and took the makeup brush from Leanne.
“Relax, sweetheart. I’m here and I know exactly where the eye makeup goes. I’ll have you looking perfect in no time.” I just kept talking to her and turning her face left and right. I applied the makeup in tiny strokes and then outlined her lips so they were just highlighted enough to give them extra zing.
“Yes,” she sighed. “I knew you’d get it right. It’s perfect now.”
I shook my head and she looked at me questioningly.
“One more thing. You can’t do your show like this.” I pulled the sleeves of her leotard down until I’d gotten the top down below her breasts. I knew Beth wouldn’t wear a bra under this outfit. If they lit her right the audience would see her nipples outlined beneath the top. I kissed a nipple and picked up the lipstick. “I knew you’d forget this part,” I sighed. I began rouging her nipples and rubbing the lipstick into them with my thumbs. I really didn’t use much. It was more symbolic than for any artistic purpose.
“Oh, yes,” she panted. “And after my show, you’ll have to suck that off my little titties.”
Her titties weren’t really that little, but I let the comment go. I squeezed her boobs and pulled up the top, making sure she was securely tucked in.
“I am going to make sure every bit of that makeup is removed with my tongue,” I said. She smiled at me.
“Time to head for the show lounge,” Chrystal called from the studio. “Everyone is outside on the bus.”
Starr put her ballet slippers on. She was no longer Beth. She checked her tutu in the mirror and nodded.
“Let’s do it,” she said.
Hi! Hi! I’m Starr. Oh, stop! You’re too nice. It’s the tutu, isn’t it.
The first thing you think when you see a girl in a tutu is ‘Does she have anything on under that?’ Mmmaybe.
Girls all go through a period in life when they want to be a ballerina. Little one-year-old me who could only barely walk would stand with my hand on Grandma’s knee and wiggle my shoulders and torso in a dance. It’s approximately the same way I dance today. At three, I was spinning in my dances until I fell over and couldn’t stand up. Sometimes I still dance like that, too.
Then I went to school and everything got serious. You couldn’t be a dancer unless you took dance lessons.
I hated dance lessons. They took all the fun out of dancing. They wanted us to do all kinds of ridiculous moves and stand in stupid positions. I hated it. But I loved my tutu! To me, what I needed to be a dancer was not to plié, but to wear a tutu. I quit dance lessons. I kept the tutu.
Of course, after first grade, kids look at you funny if you wear a tutu to school. So, I kept it in my room. After school… after kids had made fun of me all day… after I had failed my spelling test… after I spilled juice on my dress… I got home to my room and took off all my clothes and put on my tutu. Now you’re really wondering what’s under this.
It is psychologically impossible to be unhappy when you’re wearing a tutu!
Women, unite! Get out those tutus. Are you going to ride a bicycle? Ride it in a tutu! Going grocery shopping? Push that cart in a tutu! Dropping your twelve-year-old at school? Drive in a tutu! Gynecologist appointment? You actually don’t need to wear anything under it!
You know what’s really crazy? Legally, I could dance around on this stage and take off all my clothes—except the tutu, of course—and collect all the money you can throw this far. A girl only has to be eighteen to be a stripper. I’ve got that beat.
But I can’t legally step off this stage, because where you’re sitting is in the lounge and it’s twenty-one and older only. I ask you if that’s fair. If I could perform naked on stage, shouldn’t I be able to buy a drink? Or place a bet? Heck, I could get married in the chapel next door and still not be old enough to come in here and watch me take off my clothes.
Which, by the way, I’m not going to do. I’m a comedienne and no one would laugh at my body.
My boyfriend faces the same dilemma. He has to stay backstage instead of sitting out there in front with the rest of you because we are only nineteen. What’s worse is that he could be drafted, sent to Vietnam, and killed in the war without ever having had a legal drink. Or a vote! Of course, unlike you, he can watch me do this routine in nothing but my tutu. And he looks pretty cute in my tutu.
The law. You know, it’s weird. Lots of things are backward. In general, the supreme court is a hundred years behind the times. It was only two years ago, on June 12, that they got around to saying, “the freedom to marry, or not marry, a person of another race resides with the individual, and cannot be infringed by the State.”
Well, thank you very much for giving me control over who I marry. Only three years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and two years after the Voting Rights Act of 1965. What we need now is a law that changes the legal voting age to eighteen—along with other fundamental rights like walking into this lounge for adult entertainment, a drink, and to place a bet.
But where was I. Not on a political campaign. You didn’t come here to listen to that crap. You’re still trying to understand exactly what my tits are saying.
What I was trying to say is that the supreme court says that married women have the right to contraceptives. As usual when they’re dealing with new issues, they got this one backwards. It’s not married women who need birth control! It’s unmarried women! Me, for instance. My understanding of the ruling—and you should know, I’m a theatre major, not a law major—but the way I read that ruling is that the Supreme Court believes it’s better for single women to be pregnant than married women.
This is 1969. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll, baby! Turn on, tune in, and drop out! We can get everything except the drugs that make sex and rock and roll not result in a baby. Do you really think that at nineteen, living on my own, with a boyfriend who loves me, that I am not going to have sex? With this body? You’ve got to be kidding.
But I’m so afraid of getting pregnant! I had to come up with my own solution. I sewed latex over my vagina. And I still make my boyfriend wear a rubber. If the kid can get out of that combination, we’ll name him after Harry Houdini.
Really, I’m such a drug lightweight that I could probably get along on half a pill. What’s the worst that could happen. I get half pregnant?
But I’m such a lightweight when it comes to drugs that if I walk into a room where someone smoked a joint within the last, say, six months… I get high! If I was high right now, I’d have finished my ten minutes out here in five. You’d have to record me and play me back at half speed in order to understand my jokes. I know, that wouldn’t help some of you.
I had surgery a while back. No, I’m not going to tell you what got operated on. I’m not sixty! And my boobs are my business. I was laid out on the operating table ready for the doctor and I met the anesthesiologist. He was so nice. He had a soft comforting voice. He held a mask over my face and he said, “Now Starr, just breathe normally and count backward from… Never mind.” In the time it took him to give me the instructions, I was already asleep. Like some of you.
The stage manager is signaling my time is up and I have to exit over there, in the direction that people old enough to entertain but not old enough to
I’m Starr. That’s with two Rs and a big ass. Ess! Does this tutu make my ess look big?
I think they loved her. She came off stage and sat on my lap. Of course, I couldn’t do anything to mess up her makeup because she’d have to go out on stage again with the other five comedians for the judging and there were still two more to go. Hmm. One girl and five guys. That might have influenced the results of the judging. I don’t think it’s a spoiler to say that she won.
After the judging, the headliner, a guy named Danny Carlisle, came out. I didn’t know him, but he was funny. The audience was really primed after six comedians got them laughing. Well, five got them laughing. The first guy scarcely got a laugh and almost no applause. He mostly talked about what a rotten childhood he had and expected people to laugh each time he told them his father beat him. I’m sure it was therapeutic, but it wasn’t very funny.
At the end of the headliner’s performance, he called the six warmup comedians out onto the stage to take a bow with him. He motioned for Starr to come and stand next to him.
“There’s always a warmup act before I start my schtick. I like people to already be laughing when I step on stage. But I’ve got a problem. Joe Macgregor, who’s been traveling with me for the past year, got so good that he was getting more laughs than I got. So, I had to fire him. No, that’s not true. What is true is that he was just offered his own tour and he opens in Miami this week. If you’re ever in a place where Joe is performing, jump on the chance to see him. He’s a great guy. But that left me with no warmup act, just when I was starting my run here in Vegas. So, we held this little competition tonight to pick a comedian to come on stage and get audiences ready for my act. You voted. You chose this magnificent young comedienne next to me as the winner and you should all know that as soon as we walk off this stage, my agent and the show manager are going to talk to Starr about opening for me every night! Congratulations, Starr!”
The audiences exploded in applause and Starr fainted.
“I… They want… I mean… A hundred dollars a show plus room and board! For a month! Danny Carlisle is going to be here in town for a month and wants me to open for him Tuesday through Saturday nights and Saturday afternoon. Six shows a week! And I don’t have to come up with new material every night or even every week. They said that in a month, less than two percent of the audience is repeat. It’s almost an all new audience, so they’ve never heard the material before. What should I do?”
“You should make sure ‘room and board’ isn’t sharing Danny’s hotel room and eating his leftovers first,” Ronda said. “Then, girl, go for it!”
“Let me call Uncle Nate down to negotiate your contract,” I said. “You know he’s the one who got us the deal down here. I mean they were only going to pay us for days we were literally in the studio. Elise and Toni would have had to be there every day in order for Elise to be paid. But Uncle Nate got it changed to a flat weekly rate whether we worked in the studio or not.”
“That’s worked against you and Anna,” Patricia said. “You two are always in the studio at least one extra day a week when the rest of us are lounging by the pool.”
“It was a good trade,” I said.
“Do you think he’d come all the way here to negotiate my contract? Now?” Beth asked.
“Let me get him on the phone.”
“At this hour?”
“He said any time.”
I made the call and in ten minutes, Uncle Nate said he’d be on the first plane he could catch. It was a done deal. He’d been acting as my agent since I first started taking Attic Allure photos. I’d trust Beth’s professional contract to him.
It was one o’clock in the morning by this time and I took Beth into the bedroom. I pulled her leotard down below her breasts and began removing the lipstick from her nipples with my tongue.
Once I’d exhausted Beth with orgasms and managed to get her into and out of a shower, she curled up beside me and went to sleep. I dozed a little, but I was busy thinking and didn’t get much sleep. If Beth signed a contract to open for Danny Carlisle for a month, she’d be out of our crew. It wasn’t like we couldn’t get along without her, but we were only in Vegas for another week and a half. Starr wouldn’t return to Chicago until just before school started September first. She’d be staying in Las Vegas and not returning with us.
It was such a good opportunity, though. She was going to college to become a comedienne. She was being offered the opportunity to start her career right now. She’d learn from professionals in the business. How could we ever object to her taking this chance?
I left the worrying to Uncle Nate when he got in on Sunday. I should have known, Jordan and Nadia were on the same flight. And so was Adele. From that point on, Beth was pretty much not a part of our crew. She started as the opener for Danny Carlisle on Tuesday night.
She got home about midnight each night and slept until long after we were gone in the morning. We got to go to her show again on Friday night. If anything, it was even funnier than the first time. Her timing seemed to have improved and I wondered if she was getting coaching. She’d integrated a few things from her first show because she had a twenty-minute time slot to fill. There was some new material, too. She was definitely on the road to success.
Saturday, the girls had decided on a shopping spree and I headed to the studio by myself to do some printing. I’d been printing some 8x10s for all the models and selecting one image from each for an 8x10 on the gallery wall. I had thirty-one pictures from the month on the wall. I had four more models slated. What an exhausting month.
But I hadn’t printed any really nice archival enlargements, and I had half a dozen that I considered worthy of art paper. I got lost in the process and threw a few prints away because they didn’t come out the way I wanted them to. But eventually, I had a collection that I was proud of and wanted to display. I left the darkroom to go to the dressing room and get the hair dryer and stopped when I saw a guy sitting next to the gallery, reading a book.
“Can I help you?” I asked tentatively. “The studio isn’t really open today. I thought the doors were locked.”
“Don’t worry, they were. I came to see what pictures you’d chosen as your works of art.”
“Who are you?”
“Oh, sure, introductions. I’m Mike Cooper. That won’t mean anything to you, but I’m the Executive Producer’s personal assistant. He’s very interested in whether your pick of the artwork matches his.”
“I don’t think I know the Executive Producer,” I said. I held out my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“We don’t do handshakes. I mean, the boss and I. I appreciate the gesture, though, and am pleased to meet you, Nate.” I saw that he was wearing surgical gloves
“Well, I’m just getting a drier so I can speed up the process on these prints a little. Come on into the darkroom and I’ll show you.” He followed me in and I pointed out the prints on the table. I had one of Dee, in just gloves and hose in front of the plantation backdrop. She held a parasol and looked over her shoulder at me. A model named Renée who absolutely made the bedroom scene come to life. I swear just watching her on the bed could make a guy come.
Drew Lux who skated on the wind with her recorder. Marli Peters perched in a Victorian chair outside the studio in front of our factory façade. Gloria Love with her tiger paint at the Valley of Fire. And a print of Patricia holding Toni that I simply loved. After he’d examined them, I started the blow drier and started speeding the process.
“How big can you make these?” he asked over the noise.
“The biggest paper I have is 16x20. That’s the max this enlarger is set up for. That’s art paper. It needs to be handled carefully, especially in that size. It should be framed immediately.”
“Okay. Good. I’ll handle that part. The boss would like a 16x20 of this one, signed and framed. He’d like your personal guarantee that it will be the only print in that size that will be printed on archival paper and signed by you. You can print smaller sizes, but he’d like this one to be labeled ‘1 of 1.’ Can you do that?”
“I can. That’s asking a lot.”
“He’ll pay you a lot. He’d also like smaller, signed archival copies of this one and this one.” He pointed out the one of Drew with the recorder and the one of Gloria at Valley of Fire.
“Um… Are you choosing these for him? I mean, he can’t have seen them, right?” I asked.
“He’s seen them. We’ve picked your new work up at least once a week and taken it to show him. He likes what he’s seen but wants the artwork for his own. We always get the pieces back in their proper places by morning. This time, I stayed to wait for you.”
“How’d you know I’d be here?”
“You mentioned it during your shoot yesterday.” He made a vague gesture toward the booth where the writer was usually located. Can’t say I didn’t know people were listening to us. We’d become so used to them that we never noticed.
“Okay. So, he wants a 16x20 archival of this one and guarantee that it will be the only one. And he wants smaller archival prints of these two, like the size I’ve already pulled. I’ll need to call Anna and have her set a price for them,” I said. That would have to wait a while since Anna was out with the other girls for breakfast and shopping.
“Don’t bother. He’s set a price that is significantly above what you would charge. Let’s just get the prints pulled and I’ll take you to visit him.”
Everything about working in Las Vegas had been a little screwed up. Like surreal. There were times I felt like we were living in a painting by Dali. It was like money wasn’t a real thing here. But it was the only thing. If you had money, you could have anything. There was a little plaque in the café at the Sands that said this was where Frank Sinatra drove a golf cart through the window so he could try to beat up the casino manager. There were tours of the city that featured homes of famous mobsters. Million-dollar poker games were held in a casino downtown and 4,000-room resorts were being planned on the strip. The International Hotel with almost 3,000 rooms had opened at the same time we got to town and Elvis Presley would start his engagement there this week. Just as we were leaving.
I set up the enlarger for the 4x5 negative. I was pleased with this image and planned to print it full frame with the black edge intact. I examined the 12x15 print I’d made of it and looked for any oddities in how it turned out. If my picture was going to go into the private collection of some Vegas millionaire, I wanted to make sure it was perfect. I finally chose a number four filter to boost the contrast a bit, knowing that this would be an exceptionally long exposure because of the distance from the lens to the paper.
I warned Mike and turned out the lights to switch to red light. I got the huge sheet of paper positioned in the easel and lit it up. After three minutes, I turned off the lamp and moved the paper to the developer tray. I had three sets of trays I mixed the chemicals in based on the size of the paper I was using. The basic set was for anything 8x10 or smaller. The second set would accommodate up to 12x15 prints. This was the first time in Las Vegas that I’d mixed enough of each solution to fill the 16x20 trays. When I was done with this, I’d pour it back into smaller trays and bottle the excess.
It took half an hour to move the picture through the developer, stop bath, and fixative. Then I rinsed it under running water for another half an hour. This paper was far more fragile than RC paper. I got it on a sheet of plexiglass as quickly as I could and gently squeegeed it off. I brought it to the table and turned on the lights to see the result of my work. Mike had managed to dry all the other prints I had while I processed this one.
I was pleased. Marli was a fantastic model and she just made the composition pop. I could see that Mike was pleased, too, as I started drying it.
“I’ll be back in an hour with a frame and matte,” he said. “For each of the three. Then I’ll take you to deliver the prints and get you back to your girlfriends.”
I checked the time and it was nearly four o’clock already. I supposed Chrystal had already told the girls I’d be late and was planning some super Saturday night dinner. Starr would already have done her Saturday matinee performance and was probably eating a light meal in her dressing room.
At least tomorrow, I’d get to see her for a while and find out how things were going.
Mike returned with the materials and I signed the three prints. We mounted them and set them in the frames with non-glare glass. I could tell these were really high quality frames and wondered how he managed to get them on such short notice. These were the kind of frames that were usually built to fit the artwork. Mike even brought a roll of brown paper to wrap each of the prints in. He was a great assistant. Not quite as much fun as having Anna help me.
We left the building and a driver and limo were waiting outside. We got in and he took off. I really couldn’t tell where we were headed to. We entered an underground garage and the limo pulled up directly to an elevator. I knew enough from working with Deke to just wait for the driver to come and open the door. While I was waiting, Mike handed me a surgical mask and a pair of gloves.
“Don’t take off the mask and don’t offer to shake hands,” he instructed. “There will be three easels. Put a photo on each and unwrap it. There will be a basket for the paper next to the door. Then wait. He’ll come in and meet you. It’s really unusual for him to meet with anyone, but he wanted to meet you. Don’t expect a nice social occasion or drinks or to sit down. When he’s done with you, go back to the door and I’ll meet you and pay you. We’ll take you to meet your girlfriends at the Golden Steer. Are you ready?”
“I guess so. Um… How do I address him. I don’t even know who I’m meeting.”
“It’s better that way. Just say sir and leave it at that.” He tapped the window and the driver opened the door.
Mike helped me with the pictures and we rode the elevator to the top. It opened into a kind of foyer and Mike unlocked a door on the far side. This room was dark except for lights shining on the three easels. I turned to ask him a question and he was just closing the door behind him.
Follow instructions. I unwrapped the photos and set them on the easels, then shoved all the paper into the basket by the door. Then I checked the pictures and adjusted the positions slightly so the light would be right on them. Then I just stood there and waited.
It was only about five minutes when a door on the far side of the room opened and a guy shuffled into the room. I could only see by ambient light, but he wore kind of ragged jeans and a sweatshirt. He was barefoot and had gloves like mine on his hands and a surgical mask on his face. He made the circuit of the three pictures, stopping to really consider each picture. I wasn’t sure he was ever going to leave the picture of Marli. Finally, he stepped back toward the door he’d come in through and I thought he was just going to leave without saying anything. He stopped right at the door.
“Talent,” he rasped. “You’ve got talent. They’re out there trying to snuff out talent. Make it conform to their approved view of art. The MPAA has a committee of parents rating all the movies now. As if parents were judges of art! So, you create a real art film and they say it’s not fit for anyone under 17 to see. They lump sex, violence, gore, bad language, death… They don’t care if there is artistic merit. As if parents are a good judge of what children should be exposed to. Parents only judge based on what they want their children to see and believe based on trappings and not on content. You make art. Don’t let them take your art.”
With that, he picked up the photo of Marli and left the room. I never said a single word to him. After a moment to absorb what he said, I opened the door I’d come in through. Mike was standing there. He reached in and grabbed the basket of brown paper, then we headed toward the elevator and the car. Once we were in the car and moving, Mike reached in his pocket, pulled out a check, and handed it to me.
I looked at it and gulped.
“This can’t be right.”
“It’s a lot of money to you. It’s a lot of money to most people. Without diminishing the quality and value of your photos, you need to put it in perspective. Him dropping this kind of money is about the same as you buying a pack of gum. But he’s cognizant of what things are worth in the real world. He paid you based on what he believes about you.”
He handed me a jacket and tie, requirements for the restaurant I was going to. I put them on and stepped out of the limo when the driver opened the door.
“Thank you for your help this afternoon, Mike.”
I didn’t know what else to say. I still didn’t know who the guy in the penthouse was. The check was drawn on Photosensitive Productions. I met my girlfriends and crew at a beautiful table surrounded by red leather benches and chairs. The girls all looked exquisite and I got kisses from each one as they moved to get me to the inside. I turned to Anna.
“Do you have a purse with you?”
She nodded and smiled.
“Put this in it, please. We’ll need to make a deposit when we get back to Tenbrook.”
I handed her the check… for $12,000.
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
