"You realize I'm doing you a favor." Zeke Tyler leaned forward in his chair, typing one-handed as he half-listened to the monologue at the other end of the phone line. The secure website loaded and Zeke scrolled through the thumbnail images, selecting a few for closer examination later. The stream of words continued, the person at the other end either too unaware or too foolish to realize that he was wasting his breath.
"Mr. Holden," Zeke finally interrupted, patience worn thin. "If you want your cover, you'll get Casey Connor to shoot it. And before you refuse again, you might want to remind yourself why your magazine named me Entrepreneur of the Year. I didn't become a billionaire by making uninformed decisions. By this time next year you'll be begging Connor to shoot your covers. Call my secretary when you get your head out of your ass."
Zeke snapped the phone closed and tossed it down on the desk, grinning. He reached for his other phone - the one he reserved for personal use and hit speed dial while he took a swallow of bitter black coffee and fought the urge to dig out his cigarettes.
"Heads up, Case," Zeke said by way of greeting as soon as the phone was answered. "I just sicced Holden on you. Get out your anti-idiot lens - the big one."
Zeke laughed at the string of invectives. "Reading the profanity thesaurus again, Case?"
He laughed at Casey's indignant "hrff". The sudden thump of the phone being dropped made him realize he'd interrupted Casey in the darkroom. While Casey clanged and thudded at the other end of the line, Zeke used the time to check out the images he'd marked - prospective material for Casey's independent art magazine, "Transitory Steel". The first two were fairly standard, but the last four were perfect. Zeke typed out a few comments and saved them for Casey to read later.
"You done making a mess?" Zeke demanded when he heard Casey retrieve the phone. "Yeah, well, calling me shithead just proves you care. Listen, seriously, I want you to charge Holden through the nose. The man is a pompous idiot and his magazine is a glossy rag for rich morons. I wouldn't even consider doing this interview if I didn't want to make money off those morons."
"Yeah, I know you're on deadline, but you self-publish so I think all six of your subscribers..."
Zeke held the phone away from his ear and waited for the shouting to stop. Riling Casey up when he was on deadline was too much fun. However, Zeke knew better than to push too far. Casey was sounding more stressed than usual. Time for some ego stroking.
"I know your zine is the darling of the post-post-modern set, Case. I know your website made the cover of ArtWire. Yes I know you have awards to prove it; they're on the shelf right next to mine."
No sense going overboard with the stroking.
"Seriously, Case. This is a big opportunity. This magazine is international and a good cover will get you the recognition you deserve. I'm counting on you to make me look like the handsome 27-year-old billionaire I am. And, if you play Holden right, you'll bring in enough to cover the costs for "Transitory Steel" for a year at least."
Zeke could almost hear Casey trying to convince himself that he wasn't selling out. Time for a little diversion.
"Listen, I have to go be brilliant. Talk nice to Holden and make him pay you a shitload of money so you can take me out to dinner tonight. None of that tofu crap, either; I want meat. If you're really good I'll let you practice taking my picture afterwards."
Zeke smiled as Casey gave his usual reply of: only if you beg.
"Hey, Case? You think tonight you might..." Zeke lowered his voice and listened to the change in Casey's breathing. All these years together and it was still so easy to seduce him... and to tease him. "... tell me what the hell "Transitory Steel" means?"
Zeke was still laughing when Casey hung up on him.
::end::
