Chapter 3

The next morning Sherry was right on time. I had my computer fired up with thumbnails of all her pictures already on the monitor.

"Tommy, I know which picture I'd like for Steve, but, well it shows a little too much, too much you-know." I was pretty sure I knew which picture she was thinking of. When she pointed out which one she wanted it turned out I was right—the last shot we'd done. The one where the veil was pulled tight enough to show her nipple and the surrounding areola through the gauzy fabric.

"Can you sort of, well, cover me up a little?"

"Sure. You want me to hide it entirely or just a little?"

"C-can I see it both ways?" I could tell she was mortified talking to me about the picture. Seeing it up on my big twenty-four-inch monitor didn't help.

I shot Beth a quick look, hoping her ESP was working.

It was. "Sherry, let's go sit on the porch. It's too nice a day to be stuck in here while Tommy slaves over his favorite toys."

I was THAT close to making a comment about favorite toys, but as nervous as Sherry was I figured I'd be a nice guy. With a relieved look, our shy cheerleader followed my lady outside.

It was only a couple of seconds later when it was obvious Sherry had spotted Beth's ring. The squeal from outside was loud enough I wouldn't have been surprised if George across the alley heard it.

It didn't take all that long to make two copies of the original photo and, with a little Photoshop magic, create two new images, one with just a shadow of the original embarrassing parts showing and the other totally G-rated.

When the girls came back I had all three versions displayed. "Which one do you want, Sherry?" I got up so she could sit down to study the images.

"I think the middle one.

"I know I'm making a big fuss about this, but it's just that..."

"Sherry, don't worry about it," Beth reassured her. "It's not all that unusual to do a little adjusting to pictures. Tommy does it all the time." I do? I guess I do.

A few more minutes and Sherry was ready to leave when she turned back. "Tommy, could you make up a screen saver with all those pictures? You know, the kind that switches pictures every few seconds?"

"Sure, I've got some software just for that."

"But can you sort of fuzzy them up a little? You know, so only Steve would know that it was me?"

"That's no problem. Why don't I make up a sample one and e-mail it to you?"

"Oh, thank you!" she said as she gave me a tentative hug. I don't think it's fair to compare people, but Gracie's a better hugger.

Monday Bill's locksmith, Walt, came out and got the attic door open for us.

"An old Yale deadbolt, huh? Kind of strange to find anything fancier than the skeleton key lock and handle combination on these old attic doors. Must'a been added later. Is this where you keep all the bodies?"

I didn't dare look at Beth or both of us would have been rolling on the floor.

Once the door was open and Walt took off to his next job we climbed the steep, twisty stairway to the attic. There were a couple of old trunks along with the usual attic treasures—some piles of this and that and a couple of pieces of old furniture ... and way at the other end of the attic was a door, a closed door. Hmmm.

But no bodies—or bats.

We worked our way through the detritus left by former owners to the door—and found it was locked, too. What was it with this house and locks?

As I stood there grumbling, Beth handed me a skeleton key. "Here. Try this."

"Where'd you get that?"

"Hanging on the wall," she said, pointing to a hook up near the rafters.

I tried the key and the door opened. Inside was ... a bedroom. Or what looked like a bedroom. There was an old bed with a cast iron headboard and a small chest of drawers. On the same wall as the door was a huge drawing board—a full sheet of plywood attached at an angle to the wall and supported by a frame of two-by-fours with a shelf underneath. The only light in the room came from a small window that looked over the roof of the upstairs porch.

On the drawing board was an old booklet, Lettering And Poster Design For Pen And Brush from the Speedball company. A couple of instructional books were on the shelf. It looked like a sign painter had lived up here. Or at least slept up here—there were no bathroom or cooking facilities, unless you counted the heating plate and coffee pot sitting on the chest.

"I wonder whose this was?"

"I don't know," my lady said. "It must have been someone Dad knew. But I've never heard him talk about knowing any sign painters."

As we explored the tiny room, I found some bundles of newspapers under the bed. And a box of old magazines sitting in the corner.

I looked at the piles. "Where do you want to start?"

"Let's bring the newspapers and magazines down first. That'll clear out most of the stuff, then we can get to the boxes."

"I'm surprised you don't want to start with the trunks."

"I'm saving the best for last. I hope."

After we dragged all the bundles downstairs we discovered what we had.

"Tommy, look at this!" Beth had one of the bundles sitting on her lap. She was staring at the headline on the top:

PEARL HARBOR ATTACKED!

"Tommy, this paper is from World War Two!" She lifted one corner to look at the next paper in the bundle. "This one's the same paper. Tommy, this whole bundle's the same!"

I looked at another bundle:

D-DAY! INVASION BEGINS!

And another:

GERMANY SURRENDERS!

And:

WAR OVER!!!

Holy crap, these were all from a war over sixty years ago! But why whole bundles of the same papers? They looked like they'd never been opened.

"Beth, these bundles look like they came right off the truck. I wonder what the story is?"

"I don't know, but we've got a lot of history here. What should we do with them? I mean, we can't just stuff them back up in the attic, and I'm not going to toss them out for recycling."

It seemed funny—Beth asking a question like that. I'd gotten so used to her, ah, positive personality that to see her uncertain about something just didn't feel right.

"I don't know. I'll talk to Dad, he's a history buff. Maybe he'll have some idea what to do with them."

The box was full of old copies of Look and Life magazines from the Forties.

We were sitting on a lot of history. Now what to do with it?

After we got downstairs with our treasures I got a call from the printer I worked with who said Gracie's pictures were ready, so I told Beth I was going to stop there and at the photo shop to see Joe.

The print shop I used was one Joe had recommended as a place that did excellent work and was very professional. Professional in this case included being discreet—I didn't want any of my friends' special pictures to end up on the Web some day!

From there I went to the frame shop where I had an arrangement to do my own framing. I knew Gracie was expecting them for Friday night so I wanted to get it done right away.

Then I drove to my favorite money sink to see Joe. When I walked in I noticed one of my extenders hanging right behind the register, couldn't ask for better product placement! I wondered if any had sold?

"Tommy! Am I glad to see you! When can you get me some more of your gadgets? I've sold five of the six you gave me and I have orders for three more! The only reason that one's still on the wall was I wanted to keep it as a sample. You've got a winner on your hands, my friend."

I told him about the modifications Hank had come up with.

"So your new one would mount just about anywhere, not just on a tripod, huh?

"You planning on still making the original design or just the new one?"

"Well, I'm not sure. That's one of the reasons I stopped by. Do you think it's worth making two different models or just concentrate on one?"

"Tommy, you're not going to believe this, but the last guy who was looking at it asked if there was another model that would do exactly what you just described. I guess I'd make both available. Or how about adapting your original so the other parts would fit on it? That way you could sell the modifications as an add-on? Then you'd only have to make one design."

Why is it always someone else coming up with these great ideas?

I was still mumbling to myself when I got to the duplex—home, dammit, home!

"What's wrong?" Beth asked as I walked in.

"Oh, I'm just tired of everybody else having all the good ideas." I explained Joe's suggestion. "I mean, it was my idea originally. How come I don't think of these things? First your grandfather and now Joe!"

"Tommy, do you think every invention is the responsibility of just one person? Even Edison had a whole staff working for him! I wonder how much of the stuff he's credited with actually came from some guy on his staff?"

"Oh, I suppose you're right. It just seems like the ideas Hank and Joe came up with should have been obvious from the start."

"And mine, too?" Beth said quietly.

That pulled me up short. I thought back to how much she'd helped me when I first came up with my idea—from using aluminum in place of steel and making it adjustable instead of welding all the joints. I guess I was overreacting.

"Tommy, since we're going over to the folks' for dinner why don't you talk to Dad?"

After dinner Beth's dad looked at me. "Tommy, I understand you're mad at yourself."

I glanced at my lady only to see her smirk. Obviously someone had been blabbing.

"Oh, it's just that everybody else has better ideas than I do."

"I don't see that. Tommy, when you first came up with the idea for your extender were you designing a product to sell or just a gizmo to solve a problem?"

"I guess I was just trying to solve a problem, but why does that make a difference?"

"Just a different approach to design. If you're designing a product for sale you spend a lot of time determining the best materials, how to minimize material and manufacturing costs and a bunch of other factors. If you're just trying to fix a problem you toss together whatever will work."

"I guess I was just trying to come up with a way to put the camera where I needed it."

"Okay, then you shouldn't have expected your first design to be perfect, except in that it solved your immediate problem. But now your aim has changed, so why shouldn't your design? Make sense?"

"Um, yeah, when you explain it like that I guess it does."

"Tommy, Bev's dad is one of the best mechanical engineers I've ever known. You said the two of you spent most of a day reworking things but yet Joe at the photo shop came up with another improvement after just a few minutes of conversation, right? What does that tell you?"

"Umm, I guess nothing's perfect? That anything can be improved?"

"Exactly! You ever heard the old expression about designing a better mousetrap?" I nodded. "Can you think of anything much simpler than a mousetrap? But yet trying to design a new one became a common saying. Does that tell you anything?"

"Yeah, I guess I overreacted, didn't I?"

"Don't feel bad, it's happened to all of us."

"Tommy, what are you mumbling about?" Beth walked into our bedroom and leaned over my shoulder.

"I'm trying to model the latest changes to my extender and I can't get things to fit," I grumbled.

"Why don't you try changing the hinge to the other side. Would that work?" As Beth was moving around to look over my shoulder it dawned on me she was rubbing her bare breasts all over my back. Suddenly my problem wasn't as important as another pressing issue.

"Enough for tonight," I said as I saved the file, and turned around to snuggle with my lady.

I picked her up, walked to the bedroom, and slid her onto the bed. That's when I noticed she was still wearing her panties.

"Oh, ho, so you want to play, huh?" I chuckled as I reached for the lacy bit of nothing surrounding her hips.

"Uh, Tommy, I don't think so. Not for a few days."

A few days? Oh ... That.

"That doesn't mean we can't cuddle..." Just the way she said that made me slip out of my clothes FAST! Cuddling with Beth was something special, even when it was just cuddling.

When I was next to her, Beth gave me one of her special grins and pushed me on my back. "Just because you can't play doesn't mean I can't."

As she slowly kissed her way down my body I was again reminded what a treasure I'd found in the shy, badly dressed girl who'd accepted a ride that fateful Friday night.

She was maybe halfway to her destination when she stopped and rested her chin on my stomach and ran a finger over one of my appendix scars.

"What's so fascinating?" I asked.

"I was just remembering the day this happened. Or rather the day Jason cornered you in the hall.

"Tommy, you've got to stop scaring me like that!"

"You mean as opposed to the way you scared me the day of the blizzard?"

"Yeah," she said sheepishly, "like that."

She continued her journey south and soon all thoughts of blizzards, operations and beatings were banished from my head, along with any other chance of rational thought.

The following morning I got up early, regretfully leaving my lady sprawled prettily on the bed. I brought up my drawing from yesterday and continued fiddling with it. By ten or so I thought I had something that would be useable as-is or with the extra parts to allow universal mounting. I had just sent a copy of the drawing to the laser printer when I heard a little-girl voice behind me.

"I woke up and I was all alone ... a-and I was scared."

I got up and went over to comfort the big/little girl standing in the doorway ... It took long time.

I was checking my e-mail when I saw a message from Sherry saying she loved the screen saver I'd put together and could I make up a finished copy and let her know how much extra it would be.

Once again I was having an argument with myself over whether or not to charge a friend when Beth walked in.

"Remember the danger of free gifts," she said. Never asked me what I was thinking, or who the e-mail was from, just a flat out statement. Amazing.

"Yeah, you're right," I admitted.

Beth pulled up her desk chair and sat down.

"Tommy, why do you have such a problem with that?"

"I don't know. It just doesn't feel right to charge someone when it wasn't that much work, I guess."

Beth pulled me around until she could look me in the eye. "Is it that, or don't you think your work is worth charging for?"

My lady must be taking lessons from my dad when it comes to asking tough questions.

"I don't know, maybe a little. I mean there're a lot of photographers out there who are better than I am and yet here I'm charging the same as a real pro. Sometimes I feel like I'm stealing or something."

Beth was quiet for what seemed like a long time, then she shook her head a bit. "Tommy, stop and think for a second. Did you see—I mean really look at—the expression on Gracie's face when you first showed her the pictures you'd done for her last year? Don't you think there's a value in being able to do that—to be able to create emotions like that? Okay, so you're not the best out there. That's why you're going to school, right—to get better? But even now you can bring tears to someone's eyes with your work. To my way of thinking that's worth getting paid.

"Don't keep comparing yourself to Ansel Adams or Peter Gowland or anybody else. Just remember the look on Gracie's face."

I thought about what Beth said and finally admitted maybe I was better than I thought. It was still tough sending a friend a bill.

Greg had seen Beth earlier that morning and invited us to stop up for lunch to see how their place looked after all their cleaning and painting.

Cindy was bouncing around their freshly-painted kitchen in her halter top and cutoffs again.

"See what a good job Greg did cleaning me up!" she exclaimed as she bent over and shook her butt at us. Sure enough, no paint. Greg is a conscientious workman.

While we were eating the conversation floated around to school.

"Did you hear about Mr. Adams?" Greg asked. "He decided to retire! I wonder if he really had a choice?"

"I hope he can get some help," I said. I never really liked the guy but you had to feel for someone who'd had his life messed up the way he did.

"Have you met any of the neighbors yet?" I asked to change the subject.

"Yeah," Cindy said, "a guy named George from across the alley.

"Did you know he's lived his whole life in that house?" From her tone I guessed she was having a problem accepting the idea.

"I didn't know that. But he knew Beth's folks from when they moved in here. He even remembered her," I said.

"You know," Beth added, "we should do something nice for him. Maybe a cake or cookies or something." Cindy agreed and Greg added his thought that they should make a big enough batch so there'd be some left for us. I just nodded.

"Have you met the two guys living next door?" Beth asked. "I just saw them yesterday. I guess they're taking some summer classes so they just stayed after school was out this spring."

Cindy had a curious look on her face. "Ya know, once we get this place into shape we should have an open house or something, get to know the neighbors."

"Maybe we should just have a cook-out in the yard. That way our lack of furniture won't be so obvious," I added.

"Yeah," said Greg. "And get a grill and a bunch of steaks ... or maybe just hamburgers and hot dogs instead," he amended. This could turn into an expensive day if we weren't careful.