The Descendant

Over the course of the next few weeks, I was really busy. Homework, rowing in the morning, school, tennis after school, work, fun with friends. And it was surprising how many friends I'd made since I'd come to HKHS; there were my best friends, of course, good friends like Rain, Rob, and Arch, and casual friends from classes and clubs. I volunteered to help organize the first aid class for Red Cross club and thinking about that, went to a medical supply company and made myself a good kit, which I stored in the trunk of my pod. I doubted I'd ever need it, but if I did, I'd be able to help myself or others, which had been the point of taking the class in the first place. I talked to my boss at work, and since I was giving her a lot of lead time, she agreed that I could take up to a month over the summer for classes if I wanted to go back to London. Which I did, definitely. I found good fabrics for Miles' apartment, the blues had a hint of violet to them which he liked a lot. There was a collection with a stripe, a solid, and a floral. Since he loves flowers, I got all three for pillows, with accents of a dark red fabric with tiny gold six-pointed stars printed on it. A slightly lighter solid for the draperies, and because he coveted his sister's velvet duvet, I had my boss special order in a darker blue velvet that would look fantastic against the aged brass of the Gothic Revival bed. It was plain velvet, but Uncle Steve knew some embossing tricks and I had a big stamp made that I used to carefully emboss a design on the velvet. It was a basic trefoil shape that echoed the one in the bed detail, so it all went together nicely.

I'd also gotten a special stamp for my paper prints. It was an almost clear ink, matte rather than gloss (I liked the shine of glossy prints and never printed even color photos with a matte finish) in my monogram, which had been approved for a trademark. It couldn't be removed without ruining the photo and was unobtrusive but present. I used it on the photos from Uncle Steve's shoot. I was there when Suzy Parker came in with her sister Dorian Leigh to pick up the prints and had the pleasure of watching their reactions. The models had just taken Uncle Steve's word that they'd want the images and I don't think they were expecting much, but their eyes went big, gloved hands went up to cover dropped jaws (Josee the directrice told me that when they were doing model things they kept up with their habits from the mid twentieth century for which they were known, including wearing pretty little gloves and often hats, never looking anything other than impeccable) and they spread their photographs over the directrice's desk, comparing and exclaiming. They handed over the payment in little envelopes without a hint of protest (it had been in the back of my mind that regardless of what Josee said, it was too much to charge for a fledgling photographer) and most mindblowingly of all, asked for my contact information before carefully separating their prints and sailing out through the door. My first thought was that if I was going to do this, really do this, become a photographer, I should get some kind of nice cover to put my photos in. To present my work.

On the way home, I called Aunt Martha and asked if she had some pointers for creating an image. She hated the concept of branding, thinking it was something done to cows rather than people, and focused on the image of Valkyrie. She was interested in my project and we set up an appointment.

And the regatta was the next weekend. I competed as a single sculler, lightweight division, in the novice race. My family, including some of the cousins, were there with many of my friends to see me row. And win. To be modest (not) I kicked some ass. I won my two kilometer race by two lengths. This was the first thing that I had really won, and it was due entirely to the effort I put in on the river and the weight room, not my name. I shook hands with the winners of the silver and bronze medals and took my boat to the boathouse. Fall was coming early and the afternoon was cool; they said we wouldn't be able to go out on the river much longer, but the club had tanks where we could practice during the winter.

Things were really starting to go my way.

At the beginning of October, Indira, an up and coming model that Uncle Steve had used for his last capsule collection, called and wanted to know if I could produce a few more shots for her portfolio. I was pleased to do so, of course, and consulted with my teacher for tips. When I showed up that afternoon after school, she was in a bit of a tizz because her makeup artist had flaked out, but that wasn't a problem. She showed me the clothes--she'd borrowed a few pieces from other designers--and we talked about her look, how she wanted to be perceived. She did her hair and I did her makeup, and I shot her in the wardrobe, but I also felt like we weren't necessarily getting her best captured. So she agreed to humor me and put on jeans and a plain orange shirt that warmed her enormous dark brown eyes, and I redid her makeup. She styled her hair more casually and we talked as I shot her. She told me about her childhood in India and her family, and I got some great shots of her in soft natural light; her beautiful face was alive in a way that just posing didn't inspire. I showed her the digital images and she chose several that she wanted. "The film shots are always a mystery," I said. "I like to think of them as a present that hasn't been unwrapped yet."

"Why do you shoot with film?" she asked. "It seems really archaic. We all work with digital portfolios."

"It kinda is," I agreed. "But there are billions of people on the planet who like to have something in their hands; digital is great for a lot of things, but there's just something about having a tangible object, something to touch and hold, that is immediate in a way that digital isn't. For film, I prefer black and white, both for the qualities of the image, but also because by printing the image, I get to create it. It's not just something I put onto a chip and hand over. I'm starting to find value in the making of things. There's a feeling of permanence about it, even if it's just paper. And I don't airbrush them, so the images are... exactly what the subject is."

"I'm looking forward to seeing the full-size images," she said, and I said I'd have everything before Friday, agreeing to drop them off at her agent's office.

I worked hard on the furnishings for Miles, finishing up finally on Wednesday. I'd also found him a really cool secretary since he didn't have a desk. Everybody needs a desk, though, and this was a tall cabinet, the dark wood he liked, that had slightly less than half of the piece as a narrow four shelf bookcase--he had some printed books but preferred digital for the ease of carrying them all around with him--and on the larger half, a fold down desk that concealed a small drawer and slots for stuff. Below that was a drawer, and at the bottom, a cabinet. On top was a shelf with a mirror. It was interesting and although not gothic, there was enough detail in the carving to harmonize. He had a hall closet, so didn't need a hall tree. I'd had it delivered, and Miles was really pleased. By this time, Alfred had helped clean and paint; he'd polished the floor and outfitted the sad tiny kitchen to his standards. It was ready for me, and I showed up with a pod stuffed full of lamps and fabric. I showed him how to hang draperies and had him do that while I stuffed the duvet and put the shams over the pillows. The bedroom was tiny so there wasn't much I could add, but I had gotten the same kind of decorating film I'd used in Iris' place but with a slight iridescence to it and had the manufacturer make a big pattern that was based on a carved stone screen from a palace; I'd gotten two of them and put them on the short walls with the doors to the bathroom and living room. The were unobtrusive but added a hint of something special. It was easier to see when the light was dim, and he could just peel them off when he was ready to move on to something bigger. He'd wanted to live on his salary, which is why he was in this small place with an indifferent building manager. My favorite surprise was a standing candelabra, gracefully shaped like a sapling, that held five beeswax candles, for when he had a date home. His apartment allowed candles in holders, while Iris' didn't.

Out in the living room, he'd finished the draperies and helped me rearrange the furniture. He liked lots of small rugs more than fewer larger ones, and he'd chosen ones with very little design so as not to make the small rooms cluttered-feeling. We got those down over rug pads, I arranged the lamps and Iris arrived just as he was starting to screw in the many bulbs. I put her to work, too. She'd brought a beautiful autumn bouquet that had to go on the breakfast bar, the oranges and yellows bright and cheerful. I fussily arranged everything, took some photos out of habit, including the twins in some of them, and let them loose to explore everything. He practically swooned over the duvet cover, which I'd kept as a total surprise, and Iris popped some champagne. I didn't really care for it, but drank my glass, a small coupe from an antique set that Alfred had installed for special occasions. The twins poked around, exclaiming over the surprises, and Iris was really envious of the candelabra. All in all, a real success.

I was really enjoying classes, which makes it easier to study . This semester grades were no problem, which always took pressure off upcoming midterms. I felt really good about them, and parent-teacher conferences were great. My teachers all praised me, and my photography teacher told Mom that he thought I had the talent to make a career out of it if I continued to work hard and learn. So, yay. She'd been a little concerned about my actual career prospects.

After this triumph, I was in a groove, having gotten my activities as part of my routine, really busy but happy. I was even dating again. Homecoming was upcoming, the week of Halloween, and my friends agreed to go as a group for those who didn't get dates. Nobody had one yet, but that was always subject to change. Homecoming wasn't as big a deal as prom, but it was still a step above regular dances, wardrobe-wise, and Imogen and Justine and I were going to go shopping for it over the weekend. I was contemplating this trip in calculus, when the teacher called roll. Then there was a surprise announcement before we got down to the business of math. "We're getting a new student tomorrow," she said. "It's rather late in the year, but I expect that you'll be willing to help the newcomer get caught up if necessary. Since you're seated alphabetically, everybody from Sandy Price on down should sit one seat back tomorrow." That would put me right across from the new student, so I could introduce myself and offer any help that might be needed without a fuss.

I forgot about it as the day went on; we had a Red Cross club meeting to put the final touches on the first aid class planning, and I had work right after school, filling in a half-shift for a coworker with the flu. It was colder than expected, and I hadn't brought gloves along with me. Fortunately Bob the Pod had a great heater. When I got home, I had a surprise: after Aunt Martha's lessons and information about image, I'd found a stationer who had made me some portfolios in glossy papers, three different sizes that corresponded to the three sizes of photographs I most often printed. The smallest ones were dark red, the medium dark blue, and the largest in aubergine. Two thin stripes of silver foil ran across the top, one slightly larger than the other, and my watermark was centered and picked out in silver foil as well. Inside, the paper folded up to help keep the photos inside and slots were cut out for the insertion of both a chip of digital images and a business card, which I also had a box of; thick textured white paper with the watermark on the left side and my name, email address, and communicator number to the right. Looked pretty classy. Too bad I hadn't had these for Indira's photos, but she'd loved the photos anyway, even though they just came in a regular envelope. I also had white mailing envelopes, just in case. They were preprinted in the return address area with my watermark and I had a stamp with my address; I wouldn't always be living on the estate and it would be easier to change the stamp than the envelopes.

So I was a little surprised the next day, making sure my schedule was up to date and I wasn't over-committing myself (getting close, though) when somebody thumped into the empty seat next to mine in calculus. I looked over and felt my jaw hang open.

"What on earth are you doing here?"