Over Exposure
25
In the Deep End of the Pool
NEAR THE END of the day on Tuesday, it was my turn to speak. Dr. Ranger gave me a nice introduction and I faced this room full of strangers.
“Thank you for that flowery introduction, Dr. Ranger,” I said. “Through most of it, I wasn’t sure you were talking about me.”
The people in the symposium laughed. That was a good sign, I guess. There hadn’t been many laughs in a day and a half of speakers. There had been a lot of accusations. There had been a ton of justifications. There had been demands and explanations and absolutely no solutions. The symposium was winding down and I knew a dozen people had already left.
Dr. Ranger had cited my photography business at Attic Allure, my work study at the college, and my consulting on a Hollywood blockbuster. Which I didn’t think had actually busted any blocks, but he wanted to give me great credentials so there was a chance people would listen to what I had to say. He and Professor Hyatt had taken Ronda and me out to dinner the night before while most of the attendees were still at a cocktail party. They’d quizzed me about what I thought and what I had to say, and even made some good suggestions. Dr. Ranger told me that he wasn’t going to announce anything at the symposium, but that the Board of Trustees had already voted to divest the college of all investments in businesses that had a presence in South Africa. He invited me to make that demand during my talk.
Nice.
Now it was time to deliver words that might mean something. Ronda and I had been up most of the night, Anna a good share of it, and Patricia up early this morning working on my speech. I had it mostly written down because I couldn’t trust myself to just speak extemporaneously. The trick—I had learned it from my mother—was not to look like I was reading it. That’s hard.
“Let me tell you who I really am. I’m nobody. I like to take pictures and hope to become a great photographer. I’m a student, but that is supposed to help me become a great photographer. I consulted on a movie, but that was just to photograph the actors and the action. I did the same thing for a theatre festival in Canada, just taking pictures.
“But I am also a nobody who has marched in protest against the Vietnam war. I am a nobody who walked with the gangs of South Chicago the day after Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination, to keep peace and spread his word of non-violence. I am a nobody who exposed a racist cop in a small town and then brought to light the accusation that, as a member of the local draft board, he manipulated the draft calls to make sure that all young men of color in our county were drafted. I am a nobody who is against racism, against the war in Vietnam, and I am a draft resister.
“And I am a nobody who, like men and women of my generation, of all races and religions and economic classes, hopes one day to be somebody.”
I was actually interrupted by some applause that I didn’t expect at all. I had to recollect my thoughts and read ahead from my notes.
“I have listened to impassioned pleas, to corporate policies, to government diplomatic strategies about what corporate America and the United States government can do to rectify the injustice of apartheid in South Africa and racism in America—racism which is as alive today as it was when Dr. King led the march from Selma to Montgomery in 1965. But in all I have listened to, I have been asking myself, ‘What can I—a nobody—do?’
“It’s easy for me to believe that there is nothing I could do. My words are less important to all of you than the signs of the protesters in front of our campus. The day after nearly half a million protesters, including me, gathered on the National Mall to speak against the Vietnam war, our president told us there was nothing we could do to change the way he was handling the war. Nothing half a million Americans could do! What can I do?
“Yet, in April, I heard him announce that he was reducing the number of American troops in Vietnam by 100,000 by December first of this year. On July fifth the 26th amendment to the constitution was certified, guaranteeing eighteen-year-olds the right to vote. Two weeks ago, Australia and New Zealand announced the withdrawal of all their troops from Vietnam.
“What can I do? Indeed.
“I’d like to go through a few of the high points from this symposium that made me think. It started before you ever walked into this room. It started out there in the library when you had to stand in front of a colored backdrop and have your photo taken in order to get a badge to attend the symposium. I took that photo. I listened to your complaints. How dehumanizing the process was. How 1984 and Big Brother it seemed. Someone asked if they intended to tattoo a number on our foreheads next. Some wanted to know what the different colors of background meant. Some complained directly to me that this process was an outrage. Some of those complaints came with pretty abusive language.
“Of course, you didn’t know that my red badge identified me as a speaker. You thought I was just a photographer. A nobody.”
There was another round of applause. It seemed people were warming to my topic as I continued to go through a summary of our experience with taking ID photos. I even got permission from a couple of friends to show their IDs with the name blocked out. It showed the difference between a black student photo taken with normal light and one taken with the boost. The student had said it was the first time he’d ever had a photo taken that showed him as he was.
Then I showed a picture that had them all puzzled.
“This is Dora Devine. She was my freshman college roommate in the men’s wing of the dormitory. Yes, she is, according to her birth certificate, a male. What we know as a transvestite or others call a cross-dresser or a drag queen. She never dresses as a male these days and is taking hormones that have helped her breasts grow and stymied the growth of hair on her face and chest. A lovely chest, if I might say so. But she presented a dilemma to us when it was time to photograph her ID. Are we to force her to dress as a man for a picture that she will never look like for her photo ID, her driver’s license, and her passport?
“I bring this up to tell you that the issue of photo ID is not an easy one. Do we force a Muslim to unveil her face? Do we then need to require a Hippie to shave and cut his hair? Are we approaching a society that requires a uniform dress code for all photo IDs? You can say that’s silly, but where do you draw the line?”
I went on to talk about how most students had found the photo ID was helpful. They had less trouble cashing a check, for example, or proving to a bartender that they were twenty-one.
“And then we find that this same technology is used to systematically repress an entire society,” I said. “It’s not Polaroid’s fault that South Africa is ruled by an apartheid government. It’s not Polaroid’s fault black people are discriminated against, considered non-citizens in their own country, restricted in where they can travel, work, or even worship. It’s not their fault. But are they contributing to it?
“If I’m asking myself ‘What can I do?’ shouldn’t every business, school, and government be asking the same question? Why has Columbia College Chicago not divested itself of all investment in South Africa? Isn’t it time we do so?
“Polaroid has initiated what they referred to in this symposium as ‘a great experiment’ to improve the lot of blacks in South Africa. The PRWM holds that is not enough and they should divest themselves completely of all business interest in South Africa until majority rule is established. The representatives of Polaroid and of the US State Department have indicated that such a unilateral action on the part of all US businesses and the government itself would lead to a bloodbath in South Africa.
“So, what can I do? First of all, I’ll be watching Polaroid and the United States government and as a voter and a consumer, I will hold you responsible for the success of your great experiment. Let me remind you right now that when missionaries from the north went south before the Civil War and converted slaves to Christianity and gave them soap to improve their lives, they still left them slaves. Improving working conditions for black laborers in South Africa, still leaves them non-citizens prevented from governing their own country.
“I don’t hold stock in Polaroid to divest. I don’t have investments in South Africa to get rid of. The amount of Polaroid film I use for our ID program at Columbia or in the back of my view camera to test shots before I load color transparencies, is so miniscule that even Levi at Camera Warehouse wouldn’t miss it, let alone the bottom line of Polaroid.
“I am nobody. But this nobody is a photographer and I will use my photography and my voice to speak against racism at home and throughout the world. And let me tell you that I’ve been to California enough times to know blacks are not the only race discriminated against in this country. I know that the Native American population of the United States is treated as poorly as the blacks of South Africa; and that Mexican laborers work for starvation wages at jobs whites won’t do in the fields to put vegetables on our dinner tables.
“I am nobody. But I will record your picture for the annals of history with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back explaining what you did to end apartheid. May God grant that the paragraph is one of praise.”
I lifted my Nikon and pointed it at the audience as I started taking pictures.
“I’ve never heard a camera sound so threatening,” Hyatt said as he met me after the presentation. “There were actually people out there ducking down in their seats so not to be seen.”
“It should make some interesting photos,” I said. “Can’t say I spent any time thinking about composition or lighting conditions, though.”
“You had a good photo in this morning’s paper. How did you manage that?” he asked.
“I spent lunch yesterday in the photo lab processing and printing, then sent a friend down to the paper with them so I could go back to the meeting. Are we done yet?” I asked.
“Some of the guests from out of town have left,” Hyatt said. “Most are sticking around for dinner and tomorrow’s breakout sessions. We agreed to host the DMV reps from the states as they discuss the process of converting to pictures on drivers’ licenses. And Polaroid is going to demonstrate their newest ID system. You’ll definitely want to be there for that. And in general, as a resource. You made an impression today. I would guess that other roundtables will be requesting your presence. You might even get some job offers.”
“Job offers? I’m not even out of college yet!”
“Well, don’t accept any on the spot. Right at the moment, you’ve become the spokesperson for an entire generation regarding photo ID and its benefits and problems. You did a good job, Nate.”
“I’d like to go home and go to bed with my girlfriends now,” I sighed.
“Not until after tonight’s dinner. Don’t you have a girlfriend at the conference here? Sit with her at dinner.”
“Right.”
Dinner was entertaining. Dr. Leon Hernandez, Ronda’s professor at the University of Chicago, used the meal as an opportunity to give me a crash course in International Relations. One of the key elements he mentioned was the principle of retaliation. If Country A attempts to punish Country B for its treatment of Group 1, it is just as common for Country B to retaliate against Group 1 for the inconvenience it is causing as it is to improve the treatment.
“That sounds familiar,” I said. He asked me to continue. “When I was in high school, I took photographs and my father used them with an impassioned plea to our village council to get a racist cop fired. He’d been beating a friend of mine and I happened upon them with a camera. The cop was fired. A few months later, he had managed to get a position on the draft board and used it to get my friend and other blacks drafted. It got my friend killed in Vietnam.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, but you are right. It is an excellent example of a punishment of one person being referred to another, usually innocent person. You can well imagine what that would mean on a global scale. There are never easy solutions. South Africa blames blacks for the world’s criticism of apartheid. The greatest need we have in the world today is for people who can negotiate the intricacies of national powers so that countries can come to peace without conflict. I don’t know that anyone exists in this world who can do that right now,” Hernandez said. “It’s the hope I have for each of my students,” he concluded, looking directly at Ronda.
I floated to four different roundtable discussions on Wednesday. A page summoned me from one to another. Mostly, there wasn’t any real reason for me to be at any of them. They congratulated me on a perceptive speech the day before and asked a few inane questions about the system or about student response. I did appreciate being the operator guinea pig for the Polaroid demonstration of their new ID3 system.
Unlike the ID2 system we were using and that was the subject of such controversy in South Africa, this system was not portable. The box was about two feet tall and almost as wide with the photo and lamination processes in separate parts of the box. It was just as fast as the ID2, but it was made to be kept in one place with people going to it. It also was more subtle about boosting the flash or setting a different lens opening based on an automated light meter.
I got trained on how to use it in front of representatives of the local colleges and the license branches. Then I was told that freshman identification day was Thursday and I’d have this new camera to work with as a steady line of freshmen came through to get their new student IDs.
Hmm. I’d already told Hyatt I couldn’t do the work study this year. I wondered if I was going to get paid by the college to take freshman IDs or if that was supposed to be part of my participation in the symposium.
“Mr. Hart, could I speak to you for a few minutes?” a man asked after the demonstration. I recognized him as one of the speakers—a deputy assistant something or other in the State Department.
“Sure.”
“I’m Donald Martin, and I represent the Bureau of Consular Affairs in the US State Department at this symposium. I find the information gathered has been useful, but we are attempting to improve the facility for creating passports at various embassies around the world. You have a passport?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you think of the quality of your photo?” he asked.
“It’s a good photo. It meets the technical specifications of the passport regulations and was taken by a photographer who knew what he was doing. It was at Camera Warehouse, just up the street, where my studio is.”
“Ah, yes. We were told you had a studio nearby. I’d like to see it if you have the time.”
“I’m always happy to show off the studio,” I said. “I’m finished for today until I start taking freshman ID photos tomorrow morning. We can walk if you’d like to.”
“I could use a little fresh air.”
“Not sure if you’ll get that in Chicago. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’d like to call over to make sure my assistants aren’t running around naked up there.”
He looked puzzled, but I stopped in the classroom and called over to Levi. He said he’d make sure it was cleared.
“I’ve heard about this studio as well,” Dr. Hernandez said from nearby. “Do you mind if I accompany you?”
“It’s kind of your tour, Mr. Martin,” I said. “Do you mind if we have a couple more guests?”
“Oh, not at all,” Martin said. “As long as we can have some time to discuss a matter. Perhaps dinner tonight.”
“Ronda?” I asked. She was standing next to Hernandez.
“No problem,” she said.
“Are you a couple?” Martin asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then please join us. Leon, you might as well be privy to this conversation as well if you’ve got time.”
“Dinner on the State Department?” Dr. Hernandez asked. “How rare is that?”
It turned out that the representative from Polaroid wanted to join us, too. Martin approved of it.
Anna, Cassie, and Rita were in the studio, busily cleaning and setting props. I hadn’t been there yet since I got back from Stratford. They were dressed. I introduced them and Cassie and Rita left us as I gave the men a tour. They stopped for a long time in front of the gallery. I noticed Anna had brought some of our most recent work from Canada to the studio for display.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I said to Martin. “Anna is also my girlfriend.”
“You have two girlfriends? And they seem to get on well with each other,” Martin laughed.
“Our third is at home with the little one,” I said offhandedly. All three men stopped and just stared at me for a minute.
“This is some impressive work,” Mr. Taylor, the guy from Polaroid said. “No Polaroids among these, though.”
“The Polaroids I take are really too small to exhibit,” I said. “I have them in my safe, though. I use a Polaroid back on my Linhof to test composition and balance in my shots that are then photographed on 4x5, either in black and white or Ektachrome. Those are what I print enlargements of.”
“You do show quite an artistic talent in your photos. How do you feel about your work on the student IDs? Surely, that is a step down from what you do in the studio,” Martin said.
“I’m not taking art photos at the college if that is what you mean,” I said. “At the same time, I try to take the same care with photos done for simple things as I do for art photos. Just as people being told they had to have a photo ID before they could enter the symposium, students are nervous about it. They want to look good. They don’t want to carry an ID they have to show that doesn’t look like them. Or like what they think they look like. I’ve been out to California several times to work on the movie and even my mistress complains that her driver’s license photo looks like a prison mug shot.”
“Your mistress,” Martin said flatly. He glanced over at Anna and Ronda who simply smiled at him. “You’re a complicated person, Nate. Let us take these lovely young ladies to dinner and discuss some business.”
“Oh, please,” Anna said. “I won’t be joining you. I was just about to go home so Patricia isn’t left alone with Little Toni. And Ronda can take notes on any business items I need to tend to.”
“You all live together?” Hernandez asked. “No wonder you do so well in international relations,” he said to Ronda.
We suggested the Trat as having good food reasonably priced. And they could almost always be counted on to have seating—especially on a week night.
“Excellent food choice, Nate,” Martin said. “Leon, feel free to jump in with explanations about the politics involved in this so I don’t need to violate government policy. Of course, George, you’ll have some things to say. Here’s the situation. In the United States, getting a passport is a relatively straightforward process. You go to a photographer who has the specs for a passport photo, fill out the form and take it to the Federal Courthouse. In many areas, you can now just drop it off at the main Post Office branch. That’s the way you got your passport. Easy. But it’s considerably different when we are dealing with foreign nationals who want a long-term visa to come to the United States.”
“Are there a lot of those?” I asked.
“More than you could imagine,” Hernandez said. “Over sixty million people fled Europe during World War II. That was over six years. We could easily be dealing with ten million refugees from East Pakistan in the next four months alone. Those are the results of war and civil unrest. 3,000 people died in the Varto Earthquake in Turkey, leaving thousands homeless. They look to the West for salvation. 15,000 dead in Iran after earthquakes in 1968. Just this past month, flooding in Vietnam killed 100,000 and added tens of thousands to the list of those who wish to flee.”
“And then there are those who simply see the opportunity America presents and want a piece of the American pie. Since the Immigration and Naturalization Act of 1965, embassies around the world have been flooded with requests for immigration visas,” Martin said
“And it’s harder to get a passport there?”
“Passports and visas. They typically appear at the US Embassy in their country—assuming we have an official presence there. Embassies sometimes have a photographer assigned to them who will take pictures and process them within a day or two after the immigrant or refugee arrives at the embassy. Then the picture and information are sent to a regional passport processing center where it is checked, put together, laminated into an official passport, and bound. If the immigrant has a passport, the visa is just a piece of paper stapled to a page in it. In the cases where a refugee has fled from war, famine, or natural disaster, they need a more permanent visa that will function in the stead of a passport when they enter the US. That needs to be laminated into a booklet that is very similar to a passport. The process can take months.”
“Wow! It all sounds complicated,” I said.
“That’s why we are expecting to purchase the Polaroid ID3 system you were trained on today to install in embassies and consulates around the world. But it leaves us in a difficult position. Just putting the equipment in place doesn’t solve the problem. We need embassy personnel trained to use it and produce the documents. We need a trainer.” He paused and looked at me. The light gradually dawned. He wanted me?
“Um… I’m not out of school, sir. And wouldn’t you want Polaroid to provide the training?” I squeaked.
“Partly because of the situation in South Africa, Polaroid does not consider it advisable to provide personnel to travel to other countries teaching embassies how to use our equipment. No one, fortunately, will bat an eye at our selling equipment to the US Government. But we don’t want to start anything that might complicate the discussion about South Africa. The trainer for the US should be an independent who has been trained and experienced in using the equipment.”
“And you think I should do this?” I asked.
“There are several steps that need to be taken,” Martin said. “First of all, you need to finish your degree so you qualify for that level position. You need to take the civil service exam. And we need to actually start taking delivery of the equipment, which we don’t expect until next fall. But in summary, yes. I think you would be an excellent choice for our program.”
Ronda was just grinning at me.
“We could work together!” Ronda said on the way home. “Oh, lover, that would be so wonderful.”
“I don’t know. It sounded like I might be traveling all the time,” I said. I was still a little overwhelmed.
“All over the world!”
“That’s what I mean. I… Ronda, honey, you know I love you. But I don’t want to leave Anna and Patricia and Toni.”
“We’ll package the deal. The family goes with us on any trip longer than thirty days. They do that kind of thing. Dr. Hernandez has been explaining some of the ins and outs of government employment for our majors. Just please consider what he’s offering. Talk it over with Anna and Patricia.”
“I’ll do that. I guess my test drive is tomorrow. I’ll have 300 freshmen lined up to have their photos taken and two more work study people to train. It’s going to be chaos.”
“You’ll do great, honey. I love you so much!”
My whole family was enthused. Anna held up her passport and said, “Get me stamped!” I guess I was just being an ass. I kept thinking, What would happen to my art photography business? It was selfish. I didn’t really know if there would be a business after I got out of college. I could end up working for Olan Mills, or spending every weekend going from wedding to wedding taking the exact same photos with different people in them. The job with the State Department, if it actually materialized, would offer travel and the experience of different countries. The constant would be teaching new people the same equipment.
And there was a key component in that statement: If it materialized. There were all kinds of things that could prevent me from getting it. The first being that the State Department decided not to go ahead with the purchase of the new ID equipment. We were leaving the symposium with a strong movement still being heard on the sidewalk demanding that we boycott Polaroid. I might not pass the civil service exam. I had no idea what was on it. Maybe I should take a political science course. I could probably get into one at the University or at DePaul if I could find time to take one.
I was still not sure where I stood on the whole Polaroid issue. I wanted to believe their great experiment would improve the lot of blacks in South Africa, but they’d still be considered less than human. That just wasn’t right. But would a pull-out entirely help anything, or like Dr. Hernandez said, would it lead to more retaliation against the people we wanted to help?
Like Tony.
Constable Warren had been a racist ass who constantly harassed Tony and Patricia. But getting him fired ultimately led to Tony getting drafted and killed in Vietnam.
Damn it! There were too many things to consider. Why couldn’t I just be anti-racist and anti-war? Why wasn’t it that simple?
Thursday was not quite as chaotic as I expected. I had three students helping me, and they were all good-looking girls. It was quite an assembly line.
Lani Dorsett was the girl typing up the information on each student on the little form that went into the camera. She was a senior in the Marketing and Merchandising Program. I’d never had a class with her, but one of the things she said when we first met Thursday morning was that this was going to be the year she got an Attic Allure photo. So, apparently, she knew about my real job.
When I turned to meet my photo assistant, it all came clear. My Attic Allure assistant, Rita Hall, had been given the job of assisting me with the photos. She looked great. When I’d seen her at the studio the day before, she was in jeans and a sweatshirt. I thought they’d been rather hastily pulled on when Levi told the girls we had company coming. On this occasion, though, she was dressed like the fashion maven she was reputed to be. She was made up and wore medium heels with a short denim skirt and a plaid blouse that showed a little cleavage. She conducted each freshman to the seat for his or her picture, made sure there was no lettuce in their teeth or smudged makeup and gave them advice on whether or not to smile. I had very little to do other than insert the print card in the camera and snap the picture.
On my left, Liz Johnson retrieved the cards from the dispenser when they’d finished processing and laminating. She checked each card to be sure all the information was there and legible, punched the end of the card and attached a lanyard to it to hang around the freshman’s neck.
With these three girls working with me, we were able to keep up with the line of students so no one ever had to wait more than five minutes before they were seated for their photo.
“You should watch what Rita does in getting people at ease, checking their makeup and such, suggesting the right smile, and moving them out when they are done,” I said to the two guys who were training to be ID photographers in my place at school this year. “You won’t be working with an assistant like her when you’re photographing. This is a real production day, so we have it geared up to shoot as many as possible. You’ll probably be taking at least a couple of minutes with each person to get them in the right position and get the photo, then get it clipped to the lanyard when it’s ready.”
“Damn. I’d love to work with her all day,” one of the guys sighed.
Good luck with that, dude. She is way out of your league.
“The work that Lani is doing is usually done as the student finishes registration and then the frame is given to the student to bring to you. You should be familiar with what information is supposed to be on each badge and be able to tell if something is missing or has been altered. And what Liz is doing is also part of your responsibility as the ID photographer. I’ve had to do retakes at one time or another. Make sure the unacceptable badge goes straight into the shredder.”
As part of the work, I had each of the guys load a pack of film, make sure everything was set, and then take a few pictures under my supervision. We got about sixty students per film pack. We all took a half-hour lunch break and then had a line of students waiting to be processed when we got back.
At four o’clock, we closed up shop for the day. I shook the hands of my trainees and wished them luck as they continued the process on Friday and with the influx of new students next week. Then I took off for home. I had to get packed, love my girlfriends, and be ready to catch a seven a.m. flight on Friday.
I was on a 747 again from Chicago to Los Angeles and got in at nine. The flight was uneventful and I slept most of the way. It was too early even for a complimentary glass of champagne or a mimosa. Adrienne met me at the gate with a kiss and we hurried to baggage claim to pick up my gear. Then it was out to the waiting limo and off to the production offices. Since Photosensitive Productions didn’t have a studio of its own, it rented office space in a basic office building where a dozen people sat at desks and in offices doing God-knew what.
Thankfully, there was coffee in the conference room where I was introduced to Brent Caspian, the new writer on the team. Of course, Bert was still on the team, too. The initial characters and production concept over all were in his hands. Reg and Frank were in the conference with the PA, Dave. It was interesting that Geraldine, the script coordinator from the first movie, was now in the preliminary scripting meeting. So were two secretaries, Norma and Brittany, who were taking shorthand notes on everything that took place in the meeting.
“So, what do we have to start with?” Frank asked.
“Diddly squat,” Bert said, disgustedly.
“Not quite,” Brent interjected. “We have a villain who got away in the last movie, attempts to murder his wife, and gets caught.”
“Okay,” Frank said. “All we need is a story.”
“But everybody knows how this one has to turn out. We can’t do another film with Joe murdering someone and not getting caught,” Bert said. “The whole idea of a sequel sucks.”
“It’s paying your salary right now,” Frank shot back. “Where the hell is Reg?”
“He called and said he’d be here by noon,” Geraldine said.
“Probably blame it on the traffic,” Dave said.
“Whatever,” Frank sighed. “Nate, what do you have?”
“You guys have known we were doing a sequel for five months. Why aren’t you further along than this?” I asked.
“We actually just got started. People have projects in this town. Projects overlap,” Dave said.
“Okay. I get it. Everything takes longer than it takes,” I said. It seemed to be a Hollywood catchphrase. “I don’t think your premise is that obvious.”
“Everybody knows Joe is the murderer and it’s practically a movie law that he has to get caught,” Frank said.
“That’s just it. Everybody doesn’t know. The main topic of conversation I heard after the premiere in Huntertown was whether Joe did it or didn’t. Hollywood maybe has a law about how things have to go. The world doesn’t really know that law,” I said.
“You think Joe wasn’t the murderer?” Brent asked.
“I’m saying there was reasonable doubt. We know Rossi killed his wife. He admitted it. But he might be accusing Joe of his daughter’s murder just to get back at him for having an affair with Myrna,” I said. I’d actually given this a lot of thought and discussion with Adrienne in Stratford. She squeezed my hand and nodded to me. “Sitting in this room, we all know Joe killed Sally Jane because it was written that way. But we need to play up the doubt we planted in the audience’s mind. Maybe he didn’t get a chance to do it. Maybe Sally Jane found her father dumping her mother’s body in the septic tank and he killed her, too. The thing is to play up that doubt in the audience’s mind until he makes a little mistake that clues Jenny in on what he did and she realizes she’s next on his list. Maybe with the children, too.”
“I like the idea, but how are we supposed to do that?” Frank asked.
“Introduce a reformed Joe. He got the shit scared out of him when they found the body that he thought would be gone forever. Now he’s becoming a model citizen in the town. He starts a memorial fund. He spends his time photographing weddings and family portraits and doesn’t get personal with any of his models—except maybe once or twice. Old habits are hard to break. Maybe he even runs for mayor in the town and promotes a decency platform. It isn’t until that one little misstep that Jenny realizes he was having an illegal affair with Sally Jane and she was blackmailing him. Then she gets scared and decides to run. You know Jenny. She’ll probably try to confront him and he threatens her. Somehow, she gets in touch with the FBI agent and pleads for protection. Make the audience believe he might not be guilty until he tries to pull the trigger on Jenny. Then bring the full force of justice down on him.”
I shut up. That was as far as my little brain could think. These guys were supposed to be the brilliant ones who made movies. I just took pictures.
“That could work,” Brent said, looking at Bert. Bert hardly looked up from the pad he was scribbling on. He nodded.
“Open the scene a couple of years after the previous case was closed,” Frank said. “Maybe Joe is on vacation with Jenny and the kids and something really bizarre happens, like a circus ride collapsing with her and the kids on it. Something that spooks her, even though they escape serious injury.”
“Then go back and put the pieces together,” Adrienne added. It was the first she’d contributed to the meeting at all. “There’s no sense starting at the same point we started the last one. Our sponsor wanted the murder or attempted murder up front then. I’m sure he still will want that dynamic in the sequel.”
“Let’s do a play on the title,” Bert said. Man. Bert and Brent. I was never going to keep these two straight. “We called the first one Over Exposure. We can call this one Double Exposure. Gives the impression this is a second take and putting the evidence of the present case together with the evidence of the first case is what brings it all to light.”
“Good. That way we can continue to have Joe sneak around doing nude photography. There’s no sense backing off the adult content entirely. People definitely enjoyed that,” Frank said.
As far as I was concerned, my work here was done. I didn’t even understand the language they were using for the rest of the meeting. What the hell is a log line? I sat back and held Adrienne’s hand as the rest of them argued at the table. When they were ready to quit and go for cocktails, not long after the director, Reg, arrived, Adrienne and I left and went home.
“What a waste of time,” I complained when we were in her apartment. “I could have done this on a phone call in twenty minutes. It was practically what we rehearsed in Stratford. I wouldn’t have needed to come out here at all.”
I should have been a little more considerate of Adrienne’s feelings, but it had been a long hard week. The sleep on the plane was not nearly enough. Before I’d finished my thought, Adrienne was naked and kneeling on the floor.
“I beg you, master: Punish me as you see fit, but please listen to the real reason you are wanted here by our sponsor.”
“Oh, yes. Our sponsor. What does the mystery man want? I’m supposed to take pictures of some movie star?” I groused.
“Fran, master. He wants a full artistic set of Fran.”
“That strikes me as not quite in his taste,” I said. “Of course, I’ll take pictures of her. Is she okay with it?”
“We have all day tomorrow and Sunday to take the pictures and I have lab time for us on Monday and Tuesday if we need it. But, master, it’s not pictures for our sponsor. He has contacted an acquaintance in the publishing industry in New York and Des Moines.”
“Those are really different places. Who has a presence in both locations?”
“LOOK magazine,” she said. She just let it hang there as she continued to kneel naked on the floor. I finally got my brain wrapped around what she was saying and pulled her to her feet, then led her to the sofa to sit on my lap.
“My precious pet, please explain to your imbecile master what is really going on here. A photo spread of Fran for LOOK magazine?”
“Yes, my loving master. Our sponsor wants her nominated for a best supporting actress award. He believes a run in a major magazine is the way to bring her to the attention of the Academy. He can be very clever about getting what he wants. Even if she doesn’t get the award, a nomination for an actress on her first time out would create enough stir to get the movie sequel noticed and people talking about the woman who will be the leading actress in the next picture.”
“We’re talking about the Academy as in the Academy Awards?” I said.
“The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences,” Adrienne affirmed. “The Academy Awards.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this to start with?”
“In order for a scheme like this to work, there can’t be a word about it breathed outside you and me. The magazine doesn’t even know who or why there is such an interest in this unknown actress, but they’ve assigned a job number to it and you were designated as the photographer,” Adrienne said.
“Does Fran know?”
“No. She was asked to schedule time this weekend to match yours for a publicity packet for the next movie. She’s being well-paid for the session. As are you.”
“I can be quite an ass sometimes, can’t I? Do you want to punish me?”
“Oh, master! Please, never offer that! If you accidentally hurt your pet, you don’t ask it to bite you. It would get in the habit of biting you if it was displeased.”
“Hmm. I might bite a little. These nips are hard to resist.”
“Please don’t resist, master.”
I decided to ‘punish’ Adrienne with as many orgasms as I could give her in a row. She appreciated the punishment right up to the moment she passed out.
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
