Chapter 2: The Road to Perdition

Eventually, the flood slowed to a stream and Justin started fishing for other work. He found a beauty. It was a High-Class auction, with a very discrete profile. Two big-name firms had looked at the job and walked away. A lesser company had picked it up and set it aside. Time was short, and the client was getting desperate.

The project was the auction catalog. Justin’s summer of slut and smut may have given him an inside track. Everything in the sale was sexually charged. It was all either erotic, sexually oriented, or associated with someone famous for sexual reasons; and expensive. The centerpiece of the sale was a collection of D/s wear, with related gear and implements, from a Hollywood brothel of the 1920s. The minimum bid on that item was $500,000 and was expected to bring well over $2 Million. Justin was beside himself with excitement. I would have been, except for two things.

The first problem was Peter. He was an equipment nerd Charlie had hired for the roadshow. Peter and I disliked each other on sight. Within a week we had moved past not speaking to not acknowledging each other. My duties did not require us to talk to each other, so I didn’t. Unfortunately, he and Justin got along fine.

The other problem was the client, Sean Richards. As the man with the checkbook, whatever Mr. Richards wanted, we wanted to give him. The problem was not a like/dislike, it was communication. We could never figure out what he wanted.

Sean was extremely literal. He dealt with facts, not ideas. If we brought something to him, he would like it, or not, but he could never tell us why or why not. It drove all three of us nuts. We had worked three weeks getting every item shot a dozen times, in all kinds of light, against all various settings. Nothing worked.

When Sean brought in Cynthia, we were having a typically unproductive day. Peter and Justin were arguing something technical about film speed and light flux when a message came from Mr. Richards to come to his office. We had been waiting about 10 minutes when she walked in. Cynthia--Mr. Richards introduced her with no last name--was tall, dark-haired, and moved with a dancer’s grace. If you remember the old song Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress, that was her to a T. Think of the line “tall walking big black cat”: smooth, sinuous, dangerous. Her suit was conservative, but she made it talk. As I said, she looked dangerous. Sean introduced the three of us, using full names, and left us alone with her. I felt outnumbered.

Peter opened up with a technical question. Cynthia sent it back with topspin. Justin pulled out some of the more provocative prints. She pulled out a portfolio that topped his. I could tell she had a great eye for depth of field. After maybe 15-20 minutes of verbal fencing, she sent for Mr. Richards. I didn’t need to listen; she was The Boss and she knew her shit. Sean Richards just underlined it.

When he left, Cynthia jumped right in. I suspect it was the first time she had seen the entire sale inventory laid out. She had Peter and Justin walk her through it all. They huddled for a few minutes, and then she called me over. In 30 seconds, she gave us what we could not get from Mr. Richards in three weeks: a theme. Her vision was art gallery meets Outer Limits, with a nod to Rocky Horror Picture Show. She set Peter to matting each existing photo into a virtual frame, thematically and by period. Peter took the ball and ran with it.