Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 03

I must have looked like Charles had, back at the other diner. My head reeled with all the information packed into those few sentences. I ticked through several: he knew who some of my clients were; he had contacted them; they trusted him enough to loan some highly personal pictures; he had shown the pictures to a third party; the third party was a professional photographer; the professional had liked my work; Sean wanted my help; Sean was desperate; Sean had a picture of his own; that was Sean's picture, he could do with it as he wanted. Give him his due, Sean was not rushing me.

Trembling a bit, I asked, "Did you show him the other picture, your picture?"

Sean licked his lips and said, "I did. His term was 'prize winner.'"

Oh my stars. That meant that the photographer knew a very great deal about me. I made a leap, but just a little one, "You want me to work with the photographer." Sean nodded. "You want me to oversee the photographer." He nodded again. "The photographer is willing to do that, based on the pictures he saw." Another nod. He would have to be good. Sean would not hire anyone without a reputation. Still, "Is he any good?"

Sean shrugged. "He has a good reputation and he has worked the type of material in your pictures. That is important for this job. He has made a big pile of money in the last year. He did not need to eat giving up creative control. He was in a position to walk away. In fact, he said that he would have walked if he had not seen your pictures, and known where they came from."

This just kept getting deeper and deeper. "Creative Control" are words for conjuring. People have literally died over them. The offer was both seductive and terrifying, but I knew my decision had already been made. It would not hurt to meet the guy, but already my fingers were itching to get started.

One other thing bothered me. Sean was the type of person that people, even my prickly self, trusted almost on sight. Unspoken in all of this, was the fact that several professionals, including myself, were extending him a lot of trust on nothing more than his word. I knew in my bones that Sean took such things seriously. It all boiled down to one thing. Sean was not desperate. He had passed that point a while ago. Sean had his back against the wall and was battling for something more important than his life. All I could say was, "Damn Sean, remind me not to back you into a corner."

This was gambling everything on a really long, longshot, namely me. I was an untried, inexperienced person working out of her field for the first time. How could I refuse? To seal the deal, I needed some form of payment. Mario was a Tuesday regular, and my biggest pain slut. I literally could not hit him hard enough. Sean might do better and Mario was certain to agree. Mario agreed to everything.

I said, "One other thing. I will bring another person to session tomorrow. You will conduct, and I will observe. If you choose, I may also participate, if do not let him know that it is me. This is even if I do not take your job. This is for doing the interview. Agreed?"

I have not seen so much relief, in a single person, ever.

Sean:

D's Grill did not look like much, and the neighborhood could be much better. Still the interior was clean, which is always the most important thing. Belle ordered a sandwich and salad. I went with the sampler plate. I know Italian food from my time in the service. Greek, not so much. We filled our disposable cups and settled in the corner.

I had to say something about the outfit Sheila was wearing. It was a dove gray suit, for lack of a better term. The skirt was a modest ¾ length, but came to well above the waist. The top was another of her small buttoned Victorian blouses, in a pale ivory. This one looked genuine, as in 120 years old, and made in England. If it was not antique, it was a very good copy. Over the top was a long sleeveless jacket, which likely could be worn as a cape and looked reversible. The top was the same dove gray, but the inside was a blood maroon. The flashes of color against the sober ensemble were intriguing, at the least.

Everything was extremely fitted. In fact, given her penchant for foundations, I would bet an outright corset. As usual, her lovely hair was up, this time in a bun. Her heels were practical. In short, she looked like a school marm, from a BDSM wet dream. Almost without trying, I could envision a cane in her hand and a boy leaning over a desk.

I said, "That is a spectacular outfit you are wearing. I doubt many could pull it off." Many? Read that, no one else I knew.

She replied, "I had it made a few years ago for a special client."

That made perfect sense, "Judge Johnson." She looked shocked, so before she could say anything, I continued, "I hope you don't mind. I asked Helen and George to do some discrete inquiries. Considering the nature of your business, I told them to be very discrete."

She was quiet for a moment, then surprised me. "Something tells me that George would have been digging without any instruction. What was he, Secret Service?"

"No. Same song, different verse. He was a Marine on protection detail. The knees are no longer military grade."

"Tell him that, if he needs therapy, I can do a mean routine. Ask anyone." I had to smile at that, despite the weight of what I was about to drop on her.

"There is more. Some of your clients are also my clients. It's a small city. A couple were willing to lend me some of your lipstick pictures, ones with no faces showing. I insisted on that last point. I showed them to a professional photographer from the City. He was enough impressed that I want to hire you for some photographic work. It is very urgent, has a short deadline and must be highly discrete. For that list of qualifications, you are the only name on my list. Please, at least consider it."

She took that whole. I could see her processing through the various levels of meaning, and the consequences if something went wrong. My neck was way out, and I knew it.

She justified my leap of faith, "Did you show him the other picture, your picture?"

Delicately put. I tried to be as even toned as possible, when I said, "I did. His term was 'prize winner.'" Of all the things I just said, that was the one that shocked her. She was rocked for a moment, then her mind went back in gear. Indeed, her performance was virtuoso. One by one, she went through the steps I took, when I approached Justin. I could only nod where appropriate.

"You want me to work with the photographer." Nod.

"You want me to oversee the photographer." Nod.

"The photographer is willing to do that, based on the pictures he saw." Nod.

Finally, she asked a question, "Is he any good?"

In fact, it was a damn good question, because I truly did not know. I could only repeat what I had heard. "He has a good reputation and he has worked the type of material in your pictures. That is important for this job. He made a big pile of money over the last year. He did not need to eat giving up creative control. He was in a position to walk away. In fact, he said that he would have walked if he had not seen your pictures."

Her expression was too complex for me to read. There was the eagerness to reach for the bait, and I could tell she wanted it. But there was also caution. She had already walked through a lot of very deep shit, but I could not tell if she was willing to swim or drown in it.

Her next question was not a question, "Damn Sean, remind me not to back you into a corner." She got it. In fact, she seemed to understand better than I could have explained to her. Damn, I loved this woman. Wait, what?

She was not finished. Oh shit. "One other thing, I will bring another person to session tomorrow. You will conduct, and I will observe. If you choose, I may also participate, if do not let him know that it is me. This is even if I do not take your job. This is for doing the interview. Agreed?"

Alexander wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer. I did not trust my voice, so I nodded. Then I stood and offered my arm. If she could dress Victorian, I could show some manners. The bench seating cramped my style, but I am adaptable.

We said very little on the drive to the warehouse. Sheila made a call to reschedule an appointment. I offered to pick up the fee, so her client could have a free session in compensation. She accepted with a smile. Once we arrived at the warehouse, I took her to Justin's work room. Her eyes widened a little when she saw the subject matter, but I had given her enough hints, so I do not think she was surprised. First she went through picture after picture, then it was page of proofs after page of proofs. Long before I expected, she looked up.

Her look was speculative, as she asked, "When can I meet them?"

I checked my watch, "About 15 minutes. Do you want Justin, or did you mean all of them?"

"No time like the present, and this is a team event. They will work with me or they will not. I need to know right away. There is good news, though. I can work with all of this. What we need is a binder, not individual pages." She stopped and thought for a moment. Then she picked up her bag and pulled out her keys. "I am going to go get some reinforcements. If there is some kind of a lounge or break room, collect them there. I will be back as soon as I can." As she left, she gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

I could have thought about the kiss, but I also had things to do. I called Helen and told her that I had hired Sheila as a consultant, with creative control. I needed to know how much to pay her, because it was already obvious Sheila would not ask. Oddly, this would prove to be a very effective negotiating tactic. I also told Helen that we would be meeting with Justin's group, and after that we would play it by ear. Then, I called George and told him to get a car shuttled over. He wanted to drive me himself, but there was no telling how late this would go, and he had research to do. He let it go at that, which told me volumes about what he was uncovering.

About ten minutes later, a cab pulled up and dropped Justin and company. As I herded them to the lunch area, Sheila called, telling me that she was about to head over. I informed the boys that they would be meeting someone shortly and that she had just called to tell me she was on the way. Then, I told them that I hoped they were well rested, because there was a lot of work left. Sheila saved me from a lot of questions by honking out front. I went to fetch her.

I met Sheila at the front security desk. While she was gone, she had also changed her look. These were definitely work clothes, for her studio. The outfit was strict school teacher, with red lipstick and heels. She wore a pleated white cotton top and knee length black skirt. Her legs wore black pattern stockings with 3" open-toed pumps. Her hair was severely pulled back to a bun, held by long black sticks. For makeup, Sheila also wore very red lipstick, which I recognized from her pictures, with heavy black eye liner and mascara. In her hands were an actual purse, rather than her usual clutch, and a portfolio.

We embraced, and she whispered, "Break a leg, girl." I had her visitor pass ready, which I attached for her. Then she turned and marched into the building. I had a sense of deja vu, as I guided her, by a hand on her shoulder.

It takes a bit of time, to get down to the ground level and back up. By the time we arrived, all three were standing at the lunch room door. They melted aside for her. I stopped at the door, to give her more space. Her choice of outfit made the introduction easy.

I said, "Gentlemen, this is Cynthia. I hope you will be able to work together. Cynthia, Justin Immons, Peter Grayson and Jason Porter. I will let you talk."

Sheila:

Once I decided to give Sean's project a try, problems started to well up. First would be my 1:00 o'clock with Francis. I called and, fortunately, he picked up. I told him I had an emergency come up and that I needed to reschedule. Shortly after that, as we were driving to the warehouse, Sean offered to pick up the fee for Francis' session, which was nice, though not unexpected. As we drove, I pondered what that meant. I was beginning to know Sean's honor like my feet know a dance floor. A girl could get used to relying on a safety net like that.

Sean's warehouse was much more substantial than mine had been. For one thing, it had a fenced lot and security. I would come to understand why. Sean had left word for me to park near a small office area, which pushed out of one corner of the building. There was more security at the door.

Sean checked me through, telling me that I would have unrestricted access, once things were arranged. They took my picture, then Sean clipped on a visitor badge and escorted me to a fenced off staircase. This, he said, lead to the secure area. There were two more guards and log books to sign, not to mention some very obvious cameras. I was coming to understand that he dealt in items of value, and not just a few of them. The secure area took up a whole floor of the building.

Unlike the floor below, there was little activity here. Sean led me to a side room which had been converted for photo editing. A wave of familiarity swept over me. It was bigger than mine, with a lot more equipment, but I understood the place. On a table were untidy stacks of pictures. I picked up some and started looking through them. The items in the pictures, conveniently labeled, were meso-American phallic totems. Basically, these were hand carved dildos. The pictures all had a background grid, marked in centimeters. There would be no guessing about size.

Moving on, I picked up a book of proofs. Flipping through pages of thumbnails, it gave me an overview of the material at this auction. To say it was sexually oriented would be a bit of an understatement. Every piece had an obvious connection to sex, be it erotic in nature, like the dildos, written or painted erotica, or attributed to a sexually prominent person.

Moving on again, I saw three proof books, titled "Hollywood", "Marquis", and "Archeology." The third was obvious, but the other two intrigued me. "Hollywood" was like a trip into my prop room, but more expensive. The intro sheet said that it was a collection of bondage gear from a Hollywood brothel, circa 1920s. It also set an auction estimate at $1.2 Million. The "Marquis" book contained an eight page letter from the Marquis de Sade, estimated sale price $750,000. I could see why Sean thought my experience would be worthwhile. My clients had taught me, in some depth, what these items would be worth to a collector.

Time was short. I asked Sean when Justin and his people would be available. He said in 15 minutes. That gave me enough time to get a portfolio of my work, and do a costume change. On the way out, security gave me a photo ID badge.

There was no time to be fancy. I rushed over to my studio and grabbed the first costume in it. Easily my most popular studio persona is as a school teacher. I have several versions. The one I grabbed is the most plain: long black skirt and high necked blouse. The buttons should have been a problem, being in back, but it had a cheat zipper in the pleats. Getting out of the Judge's gift took longer. I hung it up, carefully.

It was the first time I had worn the school costume with the corset, and was very pleased with the way it draped. Then, I went to the editing room. I grabbed a file of faceless images, which I burned to CD. Finally, I spent two minutes on hair and makeup, grabbed my tall shoes and headed back. It was just as well I was in a hurry, because it gave me no time to panic.

Being at the studio reminded me that I still had two more sessions scheduled, for that afternoon. The earlier appointment could be placed after the later, but I could not ditch either one. Once I was sitting in my car, I made the necessary call. Then I called Sean and gave him a heads up. It was time to do the audition.

Security let me right through the gate, and I was able to park conveniently to the entrance. I slipped on my shoes, then looked up to see Sean coming for me. He assisted me from the car, which was appreciated. Corsets are not designed for exiting cars and the heels did not help. I gave him a quick embrace and put on my performance face.

We went up to the security floor. I did not know where I was going, but Sean guided me with a hand on my shoulder. This allowed me do my best runway stomp, as I approached the break room. There were three of them, two men and a boy rather, waiting at the door. They made room and followed me inside. Sean stopped at the door and introduced me, "Gentlemen, this is Cynthia. I hope you will be able to work together. Cynthia, Justin Immons, Peter Grayson and Jason Porter. I will let you talk."

I gave them a quick look over. Justin was a short quiet man, with overlarge hands and a drab outfit. He should have been in charge, but his nature seemed overly self-effacing. His attitude screamed "new client" to my mind. Peter was obviously the geek. Rather large and unkempt, he was carrying a notebook computer and had a ruler in his shirt pocket. There was also a definite vibe against the third member of the group, Jason, who returned the favor. Jason looked like Central Castings version of Surf Dude, in spite of his being the best dressed of the three. It was a simple T shirt and slacks outfit, but he wore it well. Of the three, he was the only one with little interest.

Sean went off to run his businesses, leaving me unsupported. This was necessary. I needed to establish my own position. I looked to Justin, ceding him the first move. He pulled out a portfolio, and opened it up. The mildest stuff was Playboy/Penthouse level soft porn. Some of the rest was illegal to publish in this state. It made me smile, which was not the reaction he expected. I pulled out the CD, which I had recently burned, and handed it to Peter.

After a moment booting up the PC, Peter slid in the CD and opened the folder. Justin was obviously prepared, but Peter's mouth fell open. Jason glanced over, then looked away. Peter asked how I had gotten one shot, and I gave him the brand and model of my cameras. He whistled, clearly knowing what they had cost me. We quickly moved into a discussion of editing procedures, which became quite technical. I was impressed. Peter would carry his weight.

Meanwhile, Justin flipped through the images. He particularly liked one where my client, I will not say which one, was tied to the whipping horse, with the flogger fanned across his back. I leaned over and offered to do the same to him, before taking him with a strap on. He turned pink, and I knew I had them. Jason had nothing to contribute, not voluntarily at least, so I called Sean.

In a few moments Sean came down and told them what they clearly already knew, that I was the new Art Director. Peter seemed to like the idea. Justin was buried in the images and Jason looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. To give him his due, Jason may have sensed the plan that had formed in my head. I motioned Sean to step into the hallway, while waving the others to their seats. Exit stage right.

Outside, I let Sean have a glimpse of what I was feeling. His expression said that he understood some of it. My knees got weak and fought a sudden urge to cry on his shoulder. I fought the urge down. I was a big girl, and big girls finish their parts.

I hugged him tightly, then said, "Sean, you need to leave. These three will work with me. Justin has already shown he can do what I want. Peter just needs a motif, and he can create most of the layout. The key is that boy, Jason. He is their model, and I need him to model an extreme shoot. It scares me. I do not know, cannot know, if he can handle it. This is your call. I think I know what you will say, but you need to say it."