Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 06

Once that was done, we would trek down to the cars, go to the printers and tie a ribbon on the package. The mood was not festive, but did not miss it by much, though I was not to that point yet. My concern was CC. She did not have a place at the printer's meeting, but I did not want to leave her alone. With some misgivings, I went to Jason, who would also not be going to the meeting.

"Jason. We have one small piece of unfinished business. I gave Richard and Paul a signed photo of our session, but not you yet. While we are gone, why don't you and CC pick out some possibilities. I still have creative control, so do not go overboard." Jason nodded, a bit wide-eyed. "CC is very inexperienced, so you might give her some pointers. In fact, I want you to give her a lot of pointers."

I turned to look at Jason full on. His respect for what I could do was almost a tangible thing in the room. What I said, Jason would take as law, so I chose my words very carefully. "You have my permission to take her back to your room and teach her how things are between a man and a woman. If she is not a virgin, in the normal sex meaning, she is close to it. I want you to show her how it is done. Keep some distance. Talk her through it. Explain as you go." By then, he was seriously wide-eyed, which made me smile. I had not told him the big surprise.

"I just did a session with her. I will not go into that, but it reached the point where she she asked out." I paused and he slowly nodded. Jason understood just how far down the road of pain that had been. "She came, I do not know how many times, but not the last time. I want you to coax the last one out of her, using only ordinary means. I know this is a lot to ask, but you have skills. Are you willing to try?" Again, he gave me a slow nod, which I returned. Just one week before, that nod would have been unthinkable, because Jason would not have understood the question. I felt a flash of pride for my small part in his education.

That settled, it was back to his prize picture. "I'll be back in a while, and we can go over your choices. Make me proud." I kissed him on the cheek, very deliberately leaving my trademark. There was a flash as Justin shot our picture. That man. I wanted to take him where I had just had Tess, then keep going. As Justin, Peter and I piled into the car, I wondered what it would be like to raise children. One thing was certain, they would not be going into ballet. If they leaned that way, it would be gymnastics. At least then careers were expected to end at 17.

Sean:

My presence at the printers was purely form. I was neither the Art Director, the Photographer nor the Technical Director. Having seen the almost finished product, I fully understood how not-empty those titles were. Even if I did not tell them, the printers were more than willing to fill the gap. I expected the accolades would continue for years.

Having nothing better to do, I watched Sheila. In a way, she was in her element. Glad handing, after a performance, is well known to all good artists. This was a virtuoso performance. On the other hand, I could tell that Sheila did not understand the scale of what they had accomplished. To her, this was civic theater. In reality it was closer to Lincoln Center. Sheila's name, her real name, would soon be known world wide, and she had no clue it was coming. The thought gave me something to smile about during an impromptu ceremony.

On the way out, I caught Justin's eye. He gave me a look that said things were under control. I gave him the go ahead. Sometimes, I think Helen and George had gotten into my blood. I sent Sheila a text. See you at 8. Dress nice, but normal. Albert's is not dinner in the City, but I wanted time to do something afterward, if she was so inclined. I also had a couple of rings in my pocket.

Sheila:

If the mood at the warehouse was just short of festive, the mood at the printer was the other side of the line. The smaller things had been coming in over the last couple of days and everyone was floored by the quality of Justin and Peter's work. We carried a flash drive with the final renderings of the highest value merchandise, plus the front and back covers -- and the credits page, which I had not seen.

Justin had been taking my picture all week. I was relieved to see that his selection of photo was a candid shot of me bending over a tray of proof shots. It was a day that I had not been wearing my bustier, but the shot minimized my overabundance and made me look studious. Peter's shot was a profile of him working at his image files. Justin did not appear in photograph. Instead, Immon's Images received the credit, with a shot of his candle light tableau, for the Marquis letter. Jason and "Mistress Cynthia" received credit as models, with one of my clients listed as agent. Even CC was credited as technical assistant. Behind it all, was a long shot of me rolling a stocking, while Jason hung from the wall and watched. Peter had managed to place the photo and text boxes in a way that covered Richard and Paul, but did not distract from the shot. I was touched.

Our hosts were more than touched. They were jubilant. As page after page rolled through the viewer, the cheering got louder. Peter saved the cover for last. Rather than cheers, it earned stunned silence. Finally someone said, "Holy Shit." Then pandemonium let loose. In the noise, Harold Johnstead, owner of the printing company and one of my clients, nudged Peter aside and opened a new window on the computer. I could not tell what he had done, but a young man was sent to fetch something. He returned a few minutes later with a short pile of full color, uncut copies of the cover. Harold produced some markers and asked us to sign the work. I had no problem, but Justin and Peter looked slightly shocked.

We each signed all the copies, about a dozen in total. Harold then passed signed copies to Justin, Peter, myself, and three to Sean. Harold then looked at me. He wanted Mistress Cynthia to sign as well. I held up one finger. He moved to do it right then, but I shook him off. I had the wrong lip gloss, and this was too public an event. Sean gave his copies to Justin. I suspected Cynthia would be signing these as well.

On the way back to the warehouse, I inquired about the little ceremony, where we signed the cover pages. Peter said that it was not the usual practice. I understood him to mean that it was almost unheard of. I had realized that the shots turned out well, but I was beginning to think "well" did not cover the issue. I covered my surprise by taking out the tube of red gloss I use for Cynthia's signature. Everyone was very quiet the rest of the way.

We collected Jason and CC and went to the break room. It was odd to think that this would be my last time to see it. Justin collected the six proof pages. Then Jason, CC and Cynthia repeated the signing ceremony. We each received a page, with Justin taking charge of Sean's.

Once this was done, Justin held up his hand. We got quiet, and he picked up a thick envelope. From it he pulled several smaller envelopes, which he passed out. Clearly this was the pay checks, though mine was too fat for just the check. Inside, I found two contracts, with colored paper clips and highlighted places to sign. I laughed. Sean and I had never discussed compensation. He had drawn up two contracts: one for the Art Director and one as Producer, Director and model for the scene with Jason. Glancing over, I saw that Jason also had a contract. Our eyes met and I gave him a wink.

In addition to the contracts, there was a smaller envelope, a note and a card. I picked up the note. It was from Sean, saying that CC's pay was covered for a month, including any overtime for this project. That was sweet. I looked over to CC, and found her staring at the card on the table. It took a moment for the pieces to fit together: CC, Sean, and a card. When it hit me, my own eyes got wide, while CC nodded to me. Sean wanted to offer me another job, and Sean's jobs changed lives. I almost forgot to open the envelope with the checks.

When I did, my heart skipped a beat. The first check was for five figures. The second was bigger. Together they covered my profits for the year to date, with room to spare. I had expected a thousand dollars, maybe two, but not twenty times that. I looked up and saw that Justin and Peter were watching me. Justin turned to Peter and said, "She doesn't understand." Peter shook his head and agreed, "Not a clue." Justin then said, "She will." Peter just nodded. CC had no idea what was going on, but Jason was also nodding.

Then the party broke up. Sean was buying everyone dinner, at the restaurant of their choice. I turned CC over to Jason. Her outfit would do well enough for any restaurant in town. She gave me a shy grin and patted her Walgreen's bag. I had a sudden vision, of that same plastic bag being proudly shown to her grandchildren. My stars, where was my head?

Sean:

I sat in my car, watching as the others piled into the other one. They were going back to the warehouse to open their Christmas presents. I had planned on going back to the office, but I thought the hell with it. I saw a Foot Locker sign and told George to turn in. A few minutes later, I had an outfit suitable for a gym, and a bag to carry it in. I told George that I wanted to work up a sweat. He understood exactly where I was going.

As luck would have it, Ms. Johnson had not left for the day. When she saw me come in, bag in hand, she did what any good salesperson does. She offered a complimentary visit for myself and George. In short order we were in the Nautilus room, pumping iron. George was trying hard not to embarrass me, but he was a Green Beret and kept in shape. I was an Army tech Specialist who had hated PT (physical training).

After about five minutes, probably at Ms. Johnson's prompting, a personal trainer, named Sandy, came over to offer his expertise. George only grunted and added more weight. I let Sandy move me to a different machine. We quickly fell into a conversation about how the trainers worked, and the different classes offered. Then, I mentioned Sheila.

Sandy's expression became very guarded and more than a little envious. He explained that Sheila was a special case, since she only worked half days, by appointment and only from a closed book. She could, in Sandy's opinion, be running all the trainers, or even the whole gym. She was that good.

When I expressed interest, Sandy got really cagy. He moved us again. This time we were out of sight of the office. Sandy wanted gossip without Ms. Johnson seeing him. It was worth it. He told me about some of the rumors. Sheila was always around during the morning hours, but never seemed to come or leave through the front door. It was speculated that she could get out through one of the empty storage rooms. It was even rumored that she had something to do with the mysterious business on the back end of the building.

No one had ever been able to get in it. Even during business hours, the door was locked. All that could be seen was an empty waiting room. Very rarely, someone would be seen entering, but the door was quickly locked behind them. No one ever came out, but there was parking on the side opposite the gym, and people were occasionally seen exiting there, often with wet hair.

I would never know what else Sandy was privy to, because I cut him off with, "Hello again, Ms. Johnson. Sandy was filling me in on how the trainers and classes work. I must say it is impressive. But I am not the one to talk to. My driver will have more questions."

Ms. Johnson dismissed Sandy, and we went to see George. As I expected, George was a sight. His knees may be bad, but his upper body is impressive, especially worked up, with sweat glistening on his black skin. I grabbed a towel and handed it to him. He gave me the grunt that meant "Thanks Boss." As I hoped, Ms. Johnson's eyes were all over George's bulging pectorals and washboard abdominals.

I had to break the ice. "George, this is Ms. Johnson. Ms. Johnson, George Johnson. Funny, you don't look related." Ms. Johnson blushed.

She said, "Please call me Claudia. Only the staff calls me Ms. Johnson. George, you seem to know your way around a gym. What do you think of our facility?"

George grunted, cocked his head, half shrugged and said, "Pool." I translated, "He likes what he sees. He thinks he can work with it, but he would really like to have a pool. His knees ran into some trouble a few years back, so he likes water work outs. It takes a lot of weight off the knees." That did it. Ms. Johnson launched into all the upgrades they could do with more space. Half the building was empty, except one small office in the back. If that space was available, this could be the best gym in town. And so on.

I nodded George toward the showers. As he was going, I told Ms. Johnson that I would like a formal proposal from her General Manager, for a 90 day trial period and a renewable annual corporate plan. I gave her Helen's number and email as contact person. I also told her that, if my real estate plans progressed, the owner of the building would be involved. So, there was a good chance additional space would soon be available, for a price.

I was not sure how I would break it to Sheila, but she would have to move, and soon.

Sheila:

Once I sent CC off, I had a sudden empty feeling. CC and Jason were both young. They had their lives ahead of them. I had been fighting like a demon for more than ten years, and what did I have to show for it: a studio I could not admit to owning in polite company and a share of a fitness franchise that employed me as an hourly hire. Then the irony hit me. I was 28 years old, had never had children, and I had empty nest syndrome. I was laughing as I checked through security, for possibly the last time.

On the drive back to my studio, I thought about what Sean had text earlier in the day. The neighborhood was turning over. The judge always liked my business sense. He could have left me a small modern building, instead of the hulk I inherited, but he knew I would see the potential in the echoing old warehouse. Now that Sean had brought it to my attention, the same business sense told me it was time to move again.

Sean's plans would be the perfect opportunity, and XTreme Fitness would even pay for it. Repurposing my studio would be a snap. I could turn my wall of rings into a rock climbing wall in a weekend. The studio showers would be a welcome addition to the gym, as would the sensory deprivation tanks. Even the storage and office space could stay as it was. Everything else was empty floor or vacant rooms. Nothing to look twice at.

I could send some messages, do a little work, sign some papers, and Mistress Cynthia would vanish in the wind. Two weeks before, that would have scared the shit out of me. Now, it was something to seriously consider. I even knew where I could go. The City had closed a downtown middle school almost twenty years before, and never sold the property. Gears were starting to move in my mind.

As I arrived at the studio, I saw Sean's Mercedes pull away. Curious, I went to the front entrance, for once. Standing near the entrance was Claudia Johnson. When she saw me, her look turned shrewd, so I returned the compliment. Together, we said, "We need to talk." Naturally, we went to her office and closed the door. I could tell that Claudia though she was in control of the situation. In a way, I was glad that one of us felt that way, even though she had less control than I did. Her opening question proved it.

"What is your relationship with Sean Richards?" she asked, bluntly.

I gave her the simplest truth. "He hired me to help do the photographic work for an auction."

"Why did he hire a fitness trainer to do photographic work?" Claudia was not going for subtle, which was a pity. I could use someone with a diplomatic touch. Still I had to tell her something. The question was, tell her what?

As the silence lengthened, Claudia started to push. I held up a hand, and she settled back. That earned her a brownie point. Finally I asked, "How much do you know about the back of the building?"

That caught her off balance. Once again she gave me the shrewd eyes. This time, she asked a good question, "Who are you to be asking?" OK. Maybe I could work with her.

I decided to check her balance again. "Claudia, I work back there." How she reacted to me using her first name might tell me something. How she reacted to someone, anyone, that knew about the back half, might also tell me something.

"Are you telling me that there is a photographic studio back there?" That was not bad, so I nodded. She went on, "If it were a normal studio, they would advertise and have a sign out front." Follow the crumbs girl. "So the photography is not normal. Is it Playboy, or something like it?" That was also a reasonable guess, so I threw her another bone.

"No. Not in the sense you mean. There are no nude women in seductive poses. However, the images are discrete. By the way, this cannot be let loose here in the gym. Not only my job is only the line, but possibly yours as well. I am pretty sure the GM is in the loop, whoever he is."

That pulled Claudia up short. I had intentionally kept my identity secret from the people in the gym, even the managers. My memos read, "Office of the General Manager" and I signed only with initials. At first, it had been necessary. The deception allowed me to work as an hourly in my own franchise. Over time, the mystery added a layer of force to my comments and requests. Being able to drop hints and get action was a nice benefit. Like now.

Claudia said, "I see. I don't know how much direct contact you have had with the GM, but he is well informed and can be pretty subtle. I will not go into Carolyn Reynolds, but there you have it." I always wondered how canning Carolyn's thieving ass had gone over. Claudia had a point about the subtle. I had laid a trail of hints in front of Carolyn, which she had ignored. After the fact, several of those hints had come to light, because Carolyn was rarely the only person copied. It appeared that my methods had born fruit.

In any event, that was enough for Claudia. Her last question was what I did for the photographer. I told her posing the subjects and some editing, but her attention was already elsewhere. She dismissed me, I made mental notes to reinforce our discussion through the GM's office. As I climbed into the car, I thought of Teddy Roosevelt; speak softly but carry a big stick. That fit well with my own teddy bear. Sean was not one to waste words. I suspected he was already starting the process that would move my studio out of the building.

In the mean time, I had a date to prepare for.

Sean:

I hated waiting. It seemed that all that week, I was waiting for this and excluded from that. Even the final meeting, to commit the pages to print, could have been done without my physical presence. For some reason waiting to pick up Sheila was different. I had just cut her a pair of five figure checks, and I still owed her big time. That she had no comprehension of this fact was a bit amazing.

I had asked Peter to set up video of everyone opening their pay envelopes. The feed had been gone straight to my laptop, among other places. Sheila's eyes when she opened her check envelope were priceless. Even better was the exchange between Peter and Justin about how clueless she still was, and how that would soon change. However, the flat out best portion was watching CC stare at my card. That was simply perfect. Sheila knew I had a position to talk to her about. I had a small internal wager that she would guess the wrong position.