A/N: hello again, everybody! Here I am with the latest chapter of Mamiwata! Here is where things will begin to get interesting: besides Jerry and Elaine, who finally and formally meet at last in this chapter, another Seinfeld notable is about to enter the fray: Cosmo Kramer! Though Kramer will be featured alongside George and Jerry in future chapters, here is where I am really going to center Kramer in this story: he is going to be duly featured as a doppelgänger, assigned to Mr. Anthony Perkins' character, in Mahogany, of Sean McAvoy, world-renowned photographer, renamed, for obvious reasons, Connor "Conn" McKramoy. ;) George will receive similar treatment in another key role later on in this story. But for now, on to Chapter 4 of Mamiwata! Enjoy! :)
After spending the evening in jail, Jerry was bailed out the following morning. Upon receiving his release papers, he noticed a particular name on the notice. It was the name of a woman he was not familiar with. Once he stepped out of the police station, he looked around to see if a woman who could have posted his bail was anywhere in the vicinity. There was one woman standing outside of the jailhouse, across the way, but it was a woman he had seen before in passing.
Following a brief pause, and a brief quiet sigh, he began to approach the woman. Once he did, Jerry asked his question.
"I am afraid to ask, but are you, Elaine Benes?" Jerry asked.
"I'm afraid so" Elaine answered, continuing, "which, I'm afraid, makes you Jerry Seinfeld."
"Yes, I'm afraid it does," Jerry answered.
"Well, at least if we have to be afraid," Elaine said, "what a better place to be afraid then outside of a police station."
"Are you with legal aid?" Jerry asked.
"I am afraid not," Elaine said, "I am with the Thicke's Milkshake Defense Fund."
"Thickie's? The burger joint?" Jerry said, amazed.
"Yes," Elaine said.
"How is that so?" Jerry said, "if that made you post my bail?"
"Well, I am the person who poured in the milkshake which turned your trumpet into a horn of plenty," Elaine confessed.
"That was you?" Jerry said.
"Yes," Elaine said.
"You mean I just spent the entire night in jail because of you?" Jerry asked, more amazed than upset.
"Yes," Elaine said. "And that's not all. We're even going to have more problems when the cops learn that my check is going to bounce."
"Wait, you paid my bail money with a hot check?" Jerry incredulously asked.
"Well, I wasn't planning on earmarking having to bailout jailbirds in my monthly budget," Elaine countered.
From there, Jerry decided to act.
"Come on, let's get you out of here!" Jerry said, gently grabbing her by her arm. At 5'11", Jerry had eight inches over Elaine, who stood only 5'3".
"Wait, where are we going?" Elaine insisted.
"We're going to get you home, while I come up with the money to take care of this check you wrote," Jerry said.
But Elaine was not having that. "I can't go home; I have to get to work—unless I already lost my job!" she said, pulling her arm our of Jerry's grasp.
At that point, Jerry suddenly had pause. "Say, you really went out on a limb for me there, didn't you?" he said.
"I just felt guilty, that's all," Elaine answered.
As mad as he should have been towards Elaine, Jerry was not mad at all. In fact, he was rather intrigued about the temerity this woman showed towards him, from pouring a milkshake into his bullhorn's mouthpiece to even getting him out of jail, as well. This suddenly gave him cause to pivot, stopping her on the sidewalk to ask her a sudden question.
"Tell you what, why don't I get your money covered for that check you wrote and then I can bring it by to your place, this evening, and then we can find something guilty we can get into together?" Jerry said with a big smile.
Elaine was not having any of this. "Look, I do not know what kind of game you are running here, mister, what kind of signals you are catching, or giving off, but that is not what I am about!" she said breaking away from Jerry to run in another direction towards the bus stop.
"But…Elaine, look I wasn't trying to…" Jerry said before Elaine interrupted him.
"Listen, I wouldn't take a bag full of $100 in quarters from you," Elaine yelled at him, turning to catch the bus to work. "Look, why don't you just put that check in the mail, or, better yet, drop it off in my mailbox!?"
Elaine arrived for her job at the department store late. She quickly and quietly slipped into the back, removing her overcoat, scarf, and purse, and pulling out a paper and notepad before emerging back onto the floor. She was on her way, further onto the floor when her boss, Ms. Evans, approached her. She was an older-albeit-elegant white woman with a full figure and graying blonde hair swept and pinned up. She made it a point to bring up Elaine's tardiness to her.
"Hello, Ms. Evans," Elaine said, "the reason I was late is that…"
"Bring your notepad, Elaine," she abruptly said. The two women continued to talk as they walked onto the floor together.
"Now, Elaine, I don't know what your tardiness tolerance was when you were a salesgirl, but I expect all of my promotional secretaries to be on time," Ms. Evans said.
"Well, my class did run late on Wednesday evening, and…" Elaine said, before she was interrupted again.
"Now, Elaine, I thought we agreed that this fashion design night class you are enrolled in would not interfere with your job here," Ms. Evans said. "Otherwise, you would give them up."
"It is on my own time and dime that I am taking those classes," Elaine politely pointed out. However, Ms. Evans was not having this.
"Well, anyway, we have so much we need to do in getting out Christmas decorations together before Mr. Conn McKramoy descends down upon us from Rome," Ms. Evans said.
"Wait—what!? We got Conn McKramoy to do some work for us? I didn't think we could even afford his lens cap!" Elaine chuckled. Ms. Evens responded with a quick condescending glare.
"We have over 6,000 sales people here who stand behind counters all day, Elaine," Ms. Evans said, continuing her monologue. "When you are here, on the clock, I expect your promotion to promotions to satisfy whatever creative urges and desires you would have for whatever excursions exist inside your mind."
But before Elaine could talk, as she was about to, Ms. Evans paused their walk and shot back a scornful glance with this stern albeit subtle warning, "do I make myself clear?" Ms. Evans then turned around and put on her cordial happy-looking professional smile, walking ahead towards the area Connor was working. Elaine stayed back a minute to silently respond with an eye-cutting, eye-rolling response.
Connor McKramoy was regarded as one of the greatest photographers in the entire world. Not only had he photographed fashion models, but also musicians, artists, authors, athletes, and various other notables, from all the world over, from all walks of life. What Elaine said about her store, no matter how prestigious and upscale, barely being able to afford Connor's lens cap, was not an understatement. Connor, who goes by Conn, was very much a top-dollar earner and, oh, how the store was paying dearly for his services.
His hair cut in a Cesar style, short all over with the top brushed forward with a slight length, Conn did have a reputation of getting the most of his subjects, however minute or sublime they may be. Here, however, he was having quite the challenge. Though there are models of various colors all over the world, here, all of the models, adhering to the conservative proclivities of the store's ownership, were white. Pretty women, mind you, all professional, one from the other, blondes, brunettes, redheads, who did everything which Conn had asked for. Problem is, there was no personality for him to pull from this class. Often, the modes he was working with did not always take proper direction, nor did they generate much of the heat he was looking for.
Conn did not hesitate to hide his frustration with what he was handed to work with. Yet, he persevered. Doing what he could with what he had.
He had each of the models pose around a telescope he had set up for the shoot. He had them do various poses, with numerous smiles, even getting them to say, shit, while smiling. But to no avail.
Afterward, Conn turned his back and sighed in frustration at the models he had just photographed. As he took a break, he walked towards the back area, where he stood with his assistant. As Conn changed the film inside of his camera, he looked up and saw something which caught his immediate attention.
Elaine and Ms. Evans had just entered the room where the photoshoot was taking place.
And suddenly, just like that, everything changed.
Upon seeing Ms. Evans and Elaine for the first time, together, Conn looked over towards them and bellowed, "yes! Ah-ha! Here we go!" He then walked over to Elaine, took her by the hand, twirled her around, while handing Ms. Evans her notepad and pen, in one fell swoop, and said, "yes! This is what I'm talking about!" He then had Elaine stand over at the telescope. After he circled the setup, Conn said, towards Ms. Evans, "yes! Now, bring me six more like her, and we have ourselves a session!"
Briefly incredulous, Ms. Evans quickly maintained her professional facade and responded to Conn in kind.
"Mr. McKramoy, Elaine Benes," introducing them to save face on what was an inadvertently embarrassing situation.
"Where have you modeled before, dear?" Conn said.
"Well, I—" Elaine said. Just as she started to speak, Ms. Evans interrupted her.
"Model? Oh, dear. She is not a model. Elaine is one of our secretaries," Ms. Evans said.
"Really?" Conn said, "Christ, dammit!", walking away in visible disgust, hoping he found someone he could really work with as opposed to who he had been working with thus far.
"Mr. McKramoy, I have followed your career for years, and I am an admirer—" Elaine said, before she was abruptly cut off by Ms. Evans.
"Elaine, would you mind bringing some chairs for the models?" Ms. Evans asked, handing Elaine her notepad back, in the process, asking Conn for some coffee, then adding "and while you're at it, bring Mr. McKramoy a cup of coffee, too!" As Elaine walked away silently fuming, though professionally saying, "yes, ma'am.", Ms. Evans stood near the telescope, smiling like the erstwhile younger beauty she once was, begging, with her eyes, for Conn to please take her photograph.
Conn looked back at her holding his camera…without snapping a shot.