xXx
"Perhaps you would like a jacket, sir? To be more comfortable?" the trim man in a suit said.
"Sure, a jacket, that's fine," Alonzo said, a little off balance as he looked around the tastefully decorated corridor that led to the restaurant's antechamber. He stripped off his windbreaker and shrugged into the suit jacket. Angie peered at the restaurant, her eyes almost comically large. Peter nodded.
"This is the Hellfire Club, one of the most exclusive dining establishments in New York. I got us some reservations. So we can be truly grateful for all that we have," Peter said with a grin, his eyes dark as he regarded his inlaws. There was something too refined to be glee that sparkled in the back of that gaze, and he led the way as they followed the maitre de to the table on an elevated level, overlooking the rest of the dining space.
The wide room easily accommodated the diners that were lunching, mostly over business. There was room to spare. The skylight was a dome of colored glass, a mural of angels. The décor was dark, tasteful, wildly imaginative.
"This is quite a place, not at all like Lucky's pizza." Alonzo glanced around, trying to take it all in.
"There are no prices on the menu," Angie noticed, a bit dismayed.
"Don't worry about that, I'm picking up the tab. I insist," Peter smiled. Mary Jane glanced at him.
"Well," Alonzo noted, "apparently there's more of a future in photography than I thought! You're really living it up, Parker!"
"I got a new post," Peter shrugged. "I'm head photographer for a magazine on interior design. The first issue is rolling out now. I pretty much call the shots on the project. Let's see, Mr. Watson. You're in, what, sales? Vacuum cleaners?"
"Yeah," he said with a bit of a grin. "Yeah, that's right. Hammond Vacuum Sweepers. Put Mary here through college," he beamed.
"I always did say dad's job 'sucked,'" Mary Jane grinned, nudging Peter under the table.
Peter just chuckled. "Nothing to add," he said with half a smile. "The roofing company still treating you right, Mrs. W? You handle the scheduling, right?"
"And the filing," she said. "All the outside contact. There's a lot of… of complicated things," she trailed off. "We just finished redoing the filing system." She ducked at the menu, studying it as Mary Jane's smile widened and she quietly stepped on Peter's foot.
"Good, that's great," Peter said.
"So what kind of camera do you use, Parker?" Alonzo asked, bright eyed.
"Digital," Peter replied. "I turn light into electricity, then back to light. It's a hell of a show." He blinked, then pulled out his phone. He checked the number on the caller id. "Scuse me, I gotta take this," he said. He snapped the phone open; "Parker here," he said.
After listening for just a moment, he rose to his feet and turned away from the table. "Yeah, on Monday we've got the Hawkwood shoot. Just make sure I've got the place to myself. Right, I just need a key to get in."
As his conversation continued, Mary Jane cleared her throat. "Well! So this is the Hellfire Club. It's quite a place. Working for Mr. Worthington, Peter got membership. So we can come here any time we want to." Mary Jane smiled.
"What should I order?" Angie asked her daughter, a bit nervous as she looked over the menu.
"Try the lobster claws and shrimp," Mary Jane said. "I don't know how they prepare the butter sauce, but there's nothing like it. In fact, that's what I'll have too."
"Do you think Parker would mind if I got the twenty ounce steak?" Alonzo asked Mary Jane in a stage whisper.
"I'd be honored," Peter said, returning to the table but not sitting. "In fact, get the twenty ounce and a bottle of wine. Mary Jane, here," Peter said, handing her his key ring. "You can take them home after lunch. I'm afraid I've got to talk to some people about Monday's shoot. Will you excuse me?"
"Hey, good luck. Want us to get something to go?" Alonzo asked brightly.
"I'm good," Peter shrugged. "Have a great lunch." He smiled at them, then headed over to have a word with the maitre de.
"Hot diggity," Alonzo grinned. "Didja see that? Swank place like this, and he doesn't even care!" Alonzo was flushed with excitement.
"He does seem a bit more… relaxed than he did before the wedding," Angie agreed, blinking.
"Yeah, before the wedding," Mary Jane said. "A guy can be nervous before he gets hitched, right?"
"You got a real catch, Mary," Alonzo said breathlessly. "So are you still living in that apartment on Wellington?"
"Heh," Mary Jane said. "No. No, we're not."
"Never been happier to be wrong," Alonzo confided in them. "That Parker! Wotta guy!"
"Yeah," Mary Jane said as she looked at the table. For just a moment, she saw her parents through Peter's eyes.
She didn't like it.
"So we're doing Thanksgiving dinner after a meal like this?" Angie asked. "Seems strange to cook on the heels of such a feast."
"Oh, right," Mary Jane said. "Peter has something he's got to go to tonight. So we're doing lunch tomorrow."
"Mary," her mother said, concerned. "Are you alone a lot? Does this new job keep him very busy?"
"Of course it does, woman!" Alonzo said. "A man has to look after his business. Hell of a provider! Hell of a provider," Alonzo beamed as the waiter approached the table, ready to take their orders.
xXx
"To clarify," Worthington said as he adjusted the cufflinks on his white tuxedo. He turned to Peter, his eyes sharp and peculiar. "I want two things from you tonight." They stood by the waterfall at the end of Worthington's spacious top floors of his skyscraper. He had converted the top four floors to a multi-level playground, vast and airy and open, filled with light. Plants flourished, worked into the décor, and the entire enclosure was a peculiar artistic statement.
"What are those?" Peter asked, dapper in his dark suit.
"I want you to take pictures of me with some of the donors. That's part of the draw with these big charity functions. That's obvious. You're one of my best photographers." Worthington flashed a winning smile. "Perhaps the most valuable."
"And the other?"
Worthington regarded him for a long moment. "Show me my space, here, through your eyes. I know you do your photo shoots alone. But tonight, you can't. The place is full of people." Worthington hesitated. "Show it to me. Show it to me as you see it."
Peter arched an eyebrow, uncertain.
"Come on, Parker," Worthington purred. "Surely by now you've realized I don't give a damn about your magazine. But you intrigue me. Elgin said you were the genuine article, and, as I see more and more of your work, I must agree with him." He paused as Peter's phone hummed in his pocket.
Peter plucked the phone out, checked the number. "It's the wife," he said. "She can talk to me when I get home." He pocketed the phone. "I've been known to be dense; what exactly are we talking about here?" Peter asked.
Worthington looked out over the rich expanse of his playground. "Upload your pictures to the web site tonight, send me an email letting me know where they are posted. Keep tomorrow open. I might have a… rather unique photo shoot for you. If you perform well tonight."
"Unique?" Peter said, uncomfortable.
"Nothing sexual," Worthington assured him. "Nothing illegal. A man of my stature has opportunities to make rare acquisitions… Nothing I care to explain. But I want to have the most artistic photographs possible, to document what I have. And you… you have the vision I seek." He smiled. "I require the utmost confidentiality. And nothing but the most keen and insightful artistic vision."
"I'll clear my schedule," Peter nodded.
"Good," Worthington said firmly. "Very good indeed. And you'll be pleased to know that the magazine is moving issues, sales are good. I've put word and advance copies out through my network, and Interiosity is rapidly becoming a must-have in certain circles." He smiled somewhat enigmatically.
"That's good news," Peter agreed. "Who did you need pictures of?"
"Follow me," Worthington said crisply. He turned, the coat tails of his tuxedo flaring briefly, and he led Peter down the steps towards the incoming guests.
xXx
"This is good," Peter breathed as he watched the pictures load from the camera to his computer. "This is really good."
Mary Jane knocked as she opened the door to his study. He glanced up.
"Peter," she said patiently. "Mom and dad were wondering if you wanted to come play Risk with us."
"Risk?" Peter asked, eyes glued to the screen.
"Board game? World domination?" She paused. "They came all the way from Texas," she said.
"As much as I would love to play," Peter lied, "I really have to do this." He turned to look at her. "Tonight Worthington told me to clear my schedule for tomorrow. For a specialized photo shoot. MJ, if he likes my work, if I get in with him as a sponsored artist…" His glittering eyes flashed, a smile touched his features. She could almost feel the slight fever that had risen in his blood. "We could be set for life. Depending on tomorrow." He turned back to his computer. "They're your family. Entertain them."
"Look, Peter," Mary Jane said sternly. "We already moved Thanksgiving once—"
"If you don't want to move it again," Peter said sharply, cutting her off, "then cancel it. Don't you see? Can't you understand how important this is to us?"
Mary Jane watched him for a moment; the unnatural grace, the peculiar glitter in his eyes as he watched the monitor, the looseness of his stance, the giddy fever that raced through him. He flicked the mouse through the images, entranced by his work.
Mary Jane looked at the monitor as his pictures flashed up. She saw a shadow falling across a potted plant that was backlit, swathing shadow and light and translucence together. She saw underlit shadows flung up against the peculiar glass skylights, echoing with the light that floated up from the streets of New York, lost in the darkness where only the brightest stars were still visible. She saw a detail of a banister with a lovely hand carelessly draped across it, alongside a feather boa; the stone and wood and iron and flesh and nails and bracelet and cloth and feathers flowed in a peculiar twisting mesh of texture.
Mary Jane quietly stepped back out of the doorway, leaving Peter to his images. And as she walked away, she wished quietly to herself that his senses would bother to notice.
Saturday, November 27 2004
Peter stood, arms crossed over his chest, holding his cell phone, looking out over New York as the sunrise tilted over the horizon and poured gold across the city. He wore khakis, a black tee shirt. Motionless, patient, he waited.
The phone buzzed in his hand, and he glanced at the caller id. Then he snapped it open.
"This is Peter," he said. He paused for a moment as his heart stopped. Then joy blazed through his features, and he nodded. "I'm on my way, Mr. Worthington," he said seriously. He snapped the phone shut, spun, and scooped up his two camera bags.
He was gone before anyone else woke up.