The Photos
Let's get one thing straight. I'm not a weirdo, okay? I've a job, quite a few of them, actually, and a deep-seated wish to some day make a living as a set designer. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with getting interested in humans every once in a while. Or in one human with an incredible pair of gray eyes and a blonde hair – not to mention the lips, the legs and the sultry contours of her body. Yeah, I guess I kinda made up the last part for not having seen her too clearly yet. I have a pretty vivid imagination.
Alright, alright, I did get a bit carried away, I admit.
Two days later I was back at my post. It'd been hard to keep my cool under Genevieve's prying eyes but I think I did a pretty good job. She told me what I needed to know to pursue my interest... eh, assignment.
The pompous ass waving the money, H.F. Aird, had told her about his wife's weekly routines thus giving us a basic time frame of where and how to reach her at any given time. I would only have to spot her in one of these places and take it from there – follow her around, photograph her meetings, keep a journal of the places and people she visited. Just your basic stuff, really.
Mrs Aird. The soon-to-be-former Mrs Aird. If there was anything fishy going on in her life, my friend would drag it up into the light of day. No doubt about it. My job was to provide the physical evidence. The needed physical evidence.
To catch her in flagrante, as Cantrell put it, would yield us a jackpot from Mr Spare No Expenses himself. "He seems like a slimy snake, don’t you think?" I said. "An occupational hazard", my friend explained dryly. Well, what can you do, really? It's not like anyone's pitching us a case dealing with a mysterious bird statue. And Cantrell is no Bogart. Mrs Aird could wipe the floor with Mary Astor, though, I thought watching the Maltese Falcon from my iPhone screen. Easily.
I had loaned my friend Dannie's van for the night though it did make me feel like a real freak. Stalker with a van – definitely not something you'd put on your resume. It did however help with the picture taking since I could mount my tripod inside the car and shoot through the side window. I should not have told you that, right? Superfreak, c'est moi.
I'd decided to keep a safe distance, I had the tele lens after all and a professional camera which enables me to shoot in rapid succession. I'd be cooped up in here safe and sound when the lady would come out, take my pics and flee the scene if necessary. If I wanted to.
She left around the same time as last time. Watching her walk down the street, I took the photos and felt pretty pleased with myself. Well, as pleased as any stalker in my position would feel. It didn't seem like she had a car nearby so I was a bit puzzled as what to do next. I couldn't very well follow her footsteps with a van at snail speed, could I?
I thought about leaving the van and tailing her by foot when I saw her wave a cab. I pulled out and kept my distance without losing a sight of her taxi. She got out at the Ritz, and I parked the van nearby. I took my SLR with me and followed her in. Standing behind a column I proceeded to take a couple of pics of her talking with a dark haired woman. They seemed to be having an animated conversation.
Most of the time she stood her back turned on me which started to bug the hell out of me. I had the urge to walk up to her and see her up close. Instead I did the second best thing, I decided to circle them around and walk past her as if by chance. That way I would at least get a look of her face. I don't know why I insisted upon doing it, I just did. It was like a basic need in me, one I couldn't shake no matter how hard I tried. To be honest, I didn’t try very hard.
Walking towards her I could feel my heart beating wildly like an alien trying to bust its way out of my chest. Not a pretty picture, I know. It was all totally unprofessional.
When I got within a couple of feet from her I could finally see the awesome gray eyes. My racing heart stopped for a second. The woman was fighting back tears and it made me feel like a total heel. The brunette put her hand on her shoulder in consolation.
After two hours she made her exit. I followed her to a parking lot where she had her own car waiting. Luckily mine wasn’t far away. When she pulled out I noticed something greyish falling off the roof of her car. She had evidently forgotten it there while looking for her car keys in her handbag. Without really thinking it through, I stopped the van and went to pick it up. A very nice pair of leather gloves. I took them with me – only to realize I had lost the sight of her car while indulging myself.
So I went back home. I figured she was done for the day, anyway. I uploaded the van pics on my computer and was pleasantly surprised to see how brilliantly they turned out. How brilliantly she turned out. No airbrushing needed. I spent the next few hours gawking at her on my laptop screen, even outlining her impeccable features with my finger from time to time. I know, sounds creepy.
Then I took my SLR and went to the dark room. (Yeah, I’m the stalker with a van AND a dark room.) When I got to the point where I was ready to put my first print in developer, I was ridiculously excited. I could hardly breathe watching it reveal its mystery submerged in the rippling liquid. She appeared to me more delicate and nuanced than I could’ve anticipated. Even in anguish her face was far more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen. The soft skin, the blonde locks, the serene forehead, the splendid curve of her nose and jawline… I needed to take a breather, the chemicals were surely getting to me.
I sat by my kitchenette table watching the photos and fondling the forgotten gloves I now had in my possession. They smelled of fine leather and intoxicating perfume she must have applied to her pulse points. I tried them on. Her hands must be slightly bigger than mine. What should I do with them? Mail them to her? And what kind of a note would I attach to it? “You are magnificent”? “I love you”? WHAT?!? I must be going mad.
The next day I took the photos to Cantrell who took a long time before saying a single word. “What the fuck, Belivet?” Okay, she wasn’t happy. “These are all close ups of her. I can’t even make out the face of the other woman.” She looked at me as if I were deranged. Maybe I was. “This is not your art school project and you’re not supposed to go all Annie-fucking-Leibovitz on me.” Waving the stack of photos in front of me, she shook her head in disbelief. “For god’s sake, Therese, get a grip!”