The French Exit

His wife was nowhere to be seen and with his shitty black ring he knew she'd probably gone to one of the parts of the resort that he was unable to access. He was still puzzled by the inequality, but he put that whole thought process to one side. Calmly went back to his room. He sorted out some data sticks to put the pictures onto and then left. He hadn't spoke to anyone, he hadn't interacted with anyone. He walked into his room, got what he wanted and then left.

He called for a taxi when he was out of the resort and walked down the road to where he could meet the taxi. He didn't want anyone to know about his phone, that was his little secret. He wanted to be careful that the tour bus he was supposed to be on didn't see him and make him re-join them. But when he peeked around the corner carefully, the bus had moved on. Feeling safe, he kept walking until his taxi drew alongside him.

He slipped into the front next to the driver and greeted him. He asked to go into the main commercial centre of the island and the driver nodded.

'How d'ya ring me? You boys not allowed phones, are you?'

He grinned and showed the driver his new phone. 'I bought it the first day. When we arrived and they took our phones off us. I took my SIM card out of it before I handed it over. They were so busy processing us, they didn't pick up on what I had done.'

The driver looked blank; he obviously wasn't too clued up on technology.

'All my information is saved onto my SIM card and in Cloud storage. My phone is just a device, it has nothing personal on it. I got a new handset and transferred across the SIM card. They think I can't communicate; I think they're a pack of pricks.'

The driver laughed and tapped his nose. 'You're a secret man. A clever man.'

Sal shook his head. 'Nope. I never went to college, the others did. I learnt the hard way. That's been my life so far, hard lessons learnt the hard way.'

It was one of the ways that he didn't quite fit in with Alice's world. She'd gone to college, not because she was bright but because Daddy had money and it was the thing to do. Her older sister Sarah had gone and Alice followed two years later in her footsteps. She'd done the same course; she's even joined the same sorority. Sarah had smoothed the way for her. Sarah had met Reuben at college although she hadn't started dating him until sometime later.

He'd not had quite the same advantages. He'd known he wanted to be a photographer from a young age and quite quickly realised that being a good photographer didn't come from studying at college, but by working with other good photographers and by taking lots of pictures. So that's what he'd done. His parents had mithered him to make sure he passed Highschool and got good grades.

He took photographs in every bit of spare time. If he wasn't at school (where he had a camera and took pictures), or he wasn't doing his chores, or down at the gym training, or hustling for a buck then he was taking pictures. He sat down to eat and to study, the rest of the time he was a blur of movement. When school finished, he tried to get work as a photographer and got knocked back from every person, every organisation he'd approached. So, he stopped, took stock of the situation, and tried a different tack.

He started to do wedding photographs at the weekend when he was about thirteen or fourteen. First, he'd be there as unpaid labour. Carrying kit, running errands, organising shots for the photographers. Not paid, but it gave him the opportunity to watch and to learn. To see how people were posed. How the good photographers organised themselves to take the minimum number of pictures to deliver the client exactly what they were looking for.

He'd worked with different photographers, building a bit of a reputation as someone who was a good helper. Someone who could be relied upon, someone who knew how to help. Someone who genuinely loved the job and had a passion for photography and a desire to become better. A few times he got the opportunity to see other photographic work. He'd seen commercial shoots, photographing jewellery and make-up. Fascinating and a different focus from what he'd been doing, but not the kind of photography that grabbed him.

He liked the weddings, the closeness of the families, the celebration, the joy. There was life at weddings. There were also fights, drunken bad behaviour and a darker side to the celebration, but they were positive. They involved people. He found the studio work to be lifeless in comparison. Dry and exact rather than quick moving and people focussed.

As time went on, his skills grew and then one day he got an experience that was a real game changer for him. He worked at the weekend with an older photographer on a wedding. He'd done most of the work, truth be known. The older man was quite out of shape and had made the most of Sal's knowledge and help. The older man though, was a photographer for the New York Times. The day that changes Sal's life was when the older man asked if he wanted to come in for a day and see the place.

To the old photographer, he was doing Sal an easy favour. Repaying his help at the wedding by showing him a different type of environment that photographers could work in. For Sal it was as if a door had been opened to a different dimension. He'd left school a few months before and was struggling to find his niche. Or rather, struggling to find a niche that paid enough money to support him. He went along out of a sense of curiosity, not knowing much about the world of photojournalism. The scales had fallen from his eyes that day.

He'd loved the hustle and bustle of the newsroom. The frenzied pace, the noise, the shouting, the confusion. He knew within an hour of being there, that he'd found home. So, he stayed. He kept turning up, he became a regular around the office. Just doing the same things that had worked when he started as a wedding photographer. He did jobs, he ran errands. He didn't complain or moan, he didn't ask for anything. He did as he was told, he was useful. Within a week he had a pass letting him in and out of the building. Within two months, he had a job.

Apprentice photographer. Not the most auspicious job title in the world, but he was a genuine employee of the New York Times. A proud employee of a proud institution. He carried a press card that gave him more access that his sharp elbows ever had alone. He kept his head down and worked. He did the assignments they gave him; he didn't complain. He made friends and learnt the job. Watched the more experienced photographers and stealing their moves. As time moved on, he got more jobs with a camera in his hands. He'd been in the building three months when his first picture was published. A small, grainy one. But one. A photo in the New York Times.

He started a scrap book that day, one he maintained, although now it was more digital than physical. But he had everything, every photo of his that had been published.

'You're American.' The driver drawled, 'You don't know the hard way.'

A friendly contest developed as they drove into town, of who had it the toughest. Each trying to one-up the other with the deprivation they endured in their lives. It passed time.

He'd purposefully left his cameras back in his room. He had his new smartphone with its digital camera if he became desperate to snap something. But he wasn't there to take photographs, he was there to process them and get signatures on the model waivers. He knew he'd be able to sell those photographs, either to a magazine or framed to a gallery. He needed the model waivers so that there wouldn't be any complaints about the rights.

He walked around before finding a print shop. He explained to the man behind the counter what he wanted and waited as his pictures were printed off. He picked up a nice album from the shop and settled the bill. He took a few minutes to lay out the pictures in the album, whilst he had a soft drink out of the heat of the sun.

It wasn't a big place and thanks to a lifetime spent on the streets of New York, he had a superb sense of location and direction. He got himself something to eat as he walked and he made his way across town to where he'd been the few days earlier. He didn't rush, he knew that the excursion his wife thought he was on finished around six. He'd learnt it's easier to ask for forgiveness, than for permission. He'd have the day he wanted, then he'd worry about the consequences.

He came to the house where the party had been held and standing outside, looked to see where the old man's house had been. He'd had a few drinks when the old man had taken him outside to point it out so there was a bit of worry that he wouldn't be able to remember quite which one it was, now he was sober.

He walked over to it and saw the old man sat outside in the shade. A hat was pulled down over his face and Sal could hear gentle snores as he walked closer.

'Good afternoon, Charlie.'

He called as he got closer. He saw the figure on the chair start and then push his hat up slowly so he could see who was calling him. It took him a few seconds to make the connection.

'Mr New York Camera Man. How are you?'

Sal got offered a chair and a cool drink and sat down. He passed across the photo album.

'I came to bring you this. I'll be honest, they've turned out far better than I was expecting. You guys are pretty damn photogenic.'

He paused as he watched the old man leaf through the album. He took his time, examining each photograph in turn seeing who was in it. When he closed it, he paused for a minute before looking up at Sal.

'How much?' He asked quietly.

Sal shook his head. 'I told you at the wedding, no charge. I do this back home and it was lovely to get to spend the day with your family. It was a tonic for me.'

'No charge?' The man looked incredulous. 'This costs money.' He said patting the album.

Sal shrugged a shoulder. 'This is what I do. I take photographs and there's no point taking them if they don't get enjoyed. Think of it as me giving something back.'

He could see veiled caution in the man's eyes.

'Ok, look. If you want to do me a favour. I can probably sell these photographs, but I need a model release being signed.'

'I sign my name and we're quits?'

Sal nodded. 'You'd be doing me a favour. I got some good shots of you guys' dancing. I don't want to use the wedding photos, but those shots of you gentlemen dancing. I'd like to do something with them.'

'We can dance.'

'You can. Those jackets and pants, those colours, they worked well.'

'We're a club you know?'

Sal shook his head.

'We have been dancing for years.' The last word was drawn out to let Sal know how long he'd been dancing for.

'You're good. Damn good.'

'You want to see the club? You want to see us dance properly?'

'I'd like that' Sal said, a bit hesitantly.

'Let me show this to my family and we'll have a chat. That good with you Salvatore?'

The old man called for his wife and Sal looked with real pleasure as first the man took his wife through the photographs, pointing out the different people in each one as if she couldn't recognise them herself. Then they walked over to the bride's house and person by person, the whole neighbourhood got to see the album. He tried to settle himself into the background but he kept getting pulled forward and thanked.

It was mid-afternoon by the time the fuss had quietened down, Charlie came over and sat down next to him, passing him another drink that Sal gratefully accepted.

'Club nights on Saturday, that's when we do our dancing. You come down here and I'll take you there and you can do your photographing thing on us.'

Sal smiled, 'I'd like that. If its anything as colourful and vibrant as the wedding, it'll look awesome.'

'Oh, it's all that and more. You'll have a good time. Some younger girls come there to.' With the last remark, there was an elbow in the ribs.

'Sorry Charlie, this boy is happily married.' He paused for a moment and gave a snort. 'Well, I'm married, but perhaps not as happily as I quite thought.'

He trailed off and took a slow sip of the drink. It tasted like a sugar cane soft drink. It was sweet and refreshing in the afternoon heat and he enjoyed the taste.

'Trouble in paradise?'

'Hmmm, we came on holiday with her sister and her husband. So far, I've got to spend one day with her. The rest of the time I'm being bundled off and she's having spa sessions with her sister.'

Charlie groaned.

'Any road. I've managed to go, what five days now? Five days of shit food, surly waiting staff, daft excursions and barely spending any time with my wife. But.' He paused, holding up his hand and slowly nodding his head.

'But, on the bright side, I've only got another nine to go. Nearly halfway through.'

Charlie was slowly shaking his head. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't apologise. That wedding was the first chance I got to slip out and get some freedom. That was the best day of the holiday so far. Yesterday was damn good. My wife went with me on the day trip she'd signed me up for and it was a lovely day, a really lovely day together. I've had two good days. Today has been cool, I've loved hanging out with you guys, it's been a blast.'

'Sal, I'm sorry. Really sorry.'

'Hey Charlie, don't stress. At worst, this is just a moment in time. It'll pass. Nine days, I've already got some moves in play and am beginning to fight back a bit. I've escaped repeatedly and I'm enjoying myself. They won't beat me down. I'm a hard nut to crack.'

'So, what moves you got? How you out foxing them?'

'I've got a mobile phone.'

Sal held up his mobile phone.

'Didn't they take it away when you got there?'

Sal nodded. 'Yep, but I got the SIM card out of it. All the stuff on the phone saves to cloud storage and once the SIM card is removed, the phone is just a handset. As soon as I put my SIM card into this new handset, I was better off. This is a better phone than the one I handed them.'

'Clever.'

'A small victory, but it means I can ring my taxi and get brought into town. Gives me my freedom.'

'Clever. So, you can get a taxi when you need it.'

'I've got a regular driver, been tipping him damn well to make sure he's happy to pick me up when I call. He's had his best week ever already. He'll have a new car by the time my holiday is over.'

Charlie laughed.

'How you get away from their trips?'

'Different tricks each day. First time I told the wife I was going and didn't bother turning up. Just wandered off and left them until I saw the minibus leave, then I followed it down the road until someone picked me up. That was the wedding day.'

'Sounds easy.'

'Yeah, they were pissed when I got back, I got warned that any more trouble and I get kicked out.'

'Might not be the worst thing to happen.'

'I dunno Charlie, my wife was just as pissed at me as the hotel. I think if I get kicked out, well, I don't know if she'd come with me.'

'Might not be the worst thing to happen.'

Sal looked at him. He'd been chatting to the old man but not paying a lot of attention to what he was saying, just casually answering the questions. The last comment sparked his curiosity.

'Today, I got frog marched by my lovely wife and put on the minibus by her.'

'Sounds like she wanted you out of the way.'

'Yeah. It does a bit, doesn't it? Anyway, I sat down, let them drive off then went down to the driver and kicked up a fuss until he stopped. I told him I'd forgotten my camera in the room and got off the bus to get it. I didn't wait for them and walked back. I gave them a bit of time, then called my driver for a pick-up and here I am. I don't think the same trick will work again though.'

'So, your wife has come with you on one day out. What about the rest?'

'One day I went with Reuben, he's my brother-in-law. That was the first day. The second trip I went by myself, there was some mix-up and he couldn't go, so it was me on my own. Day three I didn't go. Day four Ali went on the excursion with me. Then today, he was with me again. But this time I left him to enjoy the trip. He didn't look happy when I pulled my little escape.'

Sal chuckled at the memory.

'I guess that your wife has a gold ring, her sister has a gold ring, Reuben has a pink ring and you've a black one. I'm just guessing.'

Charlie was looking down at his feet as he asked the question.

'Yeah. That's right. That's exactly right. How do you know that? Is that what all the resorts on the island do? I've not seen that done before.'

Charlie shook his head.

'No, only one resort here uses that system. Gold rings go everywhere, get the best treatment. They get to choose what the Pink rings and the Black rings eat.'

Sal nodded; he didn't like the way the conversation had gone. He had a cold knot in his stomach. He wanted to continue and hear more. But at the same time he was sure that he didn't want to hear any more either.

'Yep. Each colour has their own menu. Gold gets good food and the pleasure of choosing what the Pink rings and Black rings eat. And Pink rings ain't as good as Gold, but it's better than Black. Black is about as low as it gets.'

'Why do you have a Black ring and your wife a gold one?'

Sal shrugged. 'I don't know, it was what we were given when we checked in. They'd been pre-decided. At first, I didn't realise there was a difference, then at dinner I asked and was told to suck it up. Don't cause trouble, we were new there and probably didn't understand how it worked.'

He paused for a moment thinking. 'I asked Alice about it and she said she hadn't chosen who got what ring. I asked to borrow her ring so I could see some of the bits of the resort that my ring couldn't access but she wouldn't let me in case they took the ring away from her.'

'She normally does what she's told, your wife?'

Sal laughed, 'normally, no. But here she seems to be loving the fact that her ring gives her power over me. She keeps signing me up for day trips even when I don't want to go and tell her I don't want to go. And she keeps picking my meals for me, she won't share.'

Charlie still avoiding his eyes just shook his head.

'What am I missing Charlie?' He asked, a slightly sharper tone in his voice.

'What else is different about this holiday?' Charlie asked, 'What else is new?'

Sal stopped and thought. A thought came to mind, but there was no way in hell it was that. He sat trying to think through the different options. His mind was whirling, trying to come up with an answer. He knew he was missing something but he couldn't work out what it was. What that bit of the jigsaw was. Charlie was walking him to something, there was something there he could feel that. His chest was feeling like someone was sitting on it.

'I don't know.'

'Yeah, you know. It's that. It's what you're not saying.'

Sal thought furiously, nothing came to mind, nothing at all. He looked around searching for some inspiration. Finally, he looked at Charlie and the man lifted his gaze to meet Sal's.

'It ain't just the ring that's restricting you, is it?'

'How the fuck?' Sal breathed.

'All Black and Pink men are wearing one.'

'Bullshit' Sal spat out. 'Bullshit.'

He got up and began to pick up his stuff.

'You nearly fucking had me there, Charlie. You nearly fucking had me. I was starting to think there was something bigger. I don't know something going on. Not just weird coincidences, but something fucking else. You nearly fucking had me.'

He picked up his stuff.

'Thanks for the drink, thank your family for their hospitality and finally thank you for the form.'

He shook his head, trying to clear it.

'I won't be seeing you on Saturday night. I know when I'm being played for a twat. See you around Charlie.'

He started to walk off.