Chapter 4: Demand Justice

I SPENT A LOT of time over the next week before we headed to Tenbrook, working on my Fourth of July speech. It would be easy to get caught up in the whole bunch of crap that the draft board was putting me through, and how they were retaliating for my involvement in calling them to account for their sins. I was still pretty pissed at them, but I decided it might be better to praise Caesar than to bury him.

After I practiced it a couple of times before the family, they recommended that I sharpen my tone a little and let the sarcasm shine through. I guessed that was pretty good advice.

In the meantime, I had production photos for She Stoops to Conquer and Pinocchio. She Stoops was funny as hell. I took a ton of photos and would be spending a lot of time in the darkroom. I was still unsure if Pinocchio was really a children’s play or if it was a lesson for adults. I thought it was a little dark to take Toni to. We were discovering she comprehended much more than we thought she did.

Toni was almost four years old. She was especially observant and saw how we behaved toward each other. She knew there was a different relationship between the mommies and daddy than between any of us and Aunt Addi. I think she identified a little with Adrienne—not in a sexual way, but in knowing she wasn’t quite equal to the parents.

Wednesday was opening night of Orpheus. In a very unusual move, all my family elected to stay home and I went to the opening by myself. I wasn’t sure about the music and the acting. But the simple setting and characters were beautiful. And most of all, Monica was beautiful. Her voice, she claimed, was not big enough for full operatic productions. But it completely filled the small experimental theatre and I found myself transported far beyond understanding the words or the plot.

Friday at eleven, Monica came to the studio for another sitting. We worked pretty well together and before long, she was nude and I was posing her with many intimate touches, which she moved toward and not away from.

I’d talked to John about a lighting issue I had and he showed me a couple of good techniques, even giving me what he called a ‘gobo.’ It was a light stencil. I placed it in front of one of my ellipsoidals and got exactly the effect I wanted. I moved Monica in front of one of the neutral backgrounds and cut all the lights except the spotlight with the louvered pattern in front of it.

I loved the effect.

I moved her into different positions for nearly an hour as I experimented with the direction of the light and what showed her to the best advantage. When I finally finished, I carried her to the dressing room and sat on the couch with her as we made out.

“I felt I was being painted in light,” she said. “I believe I will be like the painted figures you have created before, but there is nothing to wash off.”

“There is a disadvantage to that,” I laughed. “I have no reason to bathe you and caress you for the next hour.”

“Oh, yes,” she said playfully, giving me another kiss. “You must caress every part of my body and make sure you have removed all the shadows. I would hate to carry them out of the studio with me.”

With that kind of invitation, I had no difficulty at all making sure I had caressed every place a shadow might be concealed on her body.

Saturday, I kissed the family goodbye for a week away. Patricia and I were taking Toni with us so she could see her grandparents. We planned to spend Saturday night with my folks in Sage and then would go up to Tenbrook Sunday afternoon. Toni would stay with Patricia’s parents and on Tuesday, we would go up to Huntertown for the parade and the rally afterward. I was depending on others to organize the rally. I was just supposed to speak to the crowd outside the courthouse—assuming a crowd even showed up.

One thing I decided was that I shouldn’t really bring up the last time I was in town to defend myself against Warren’s allusions. But there was no question that the rally was targeted at the County Attorney and judge to get off the fence about charging Warren and letting the civil suit go forward.

When I stood up to speak at the rally, there was a loud round of applause and a few cheers.

“Yes!” I started. “Yes! It’s time to cheer. We have won a small victory. Since victories in this fight are few and far between, we need to celebrate the small strides forward.” There was applause, but people were obviously wondering what I was talking about.

“What victory?” I asked. “Many of you know that my personal battle with the local draft board began soon after I turned eighteen and applied to become a conscientious objector. I declared myself opposed to all military service. But that was also when I discovered that the disgraced former constable of Tenbrook, Clyde Warren, had become the secretary of the Hunter County Selective Service Board. He took a special interest in my case, declaring that I was not eligible for alternative service and should be immediately classified as I-A. This was while I was still in high school!

“Through several appeals and disputes, during which time we discovered that this self-righteous ass had manipulated the draft call-up to be sure every young man of color in our county was called up to serve, my case was forwarded to the State Board, which reinstated my student deferment.

“But my file was forwarded back to the local board when I graduated this spring, and they finally acted! Years after my application. Before the ink was dry on my diploma, they acquiesced to my request to be classified as a conscientious objector and have informed me that I must report for alternative service on September first this year.

“Do you understand, my friends? The draft board admitted they were wrong to deny my request in 1969 when Clyde Warren attempted to have me reclassified I-A. Just like he issued other classifications of I-A to many of your sons. Why, I ask you, has the draft board not admitted its culpability in the racist call-up of every male of color in our county? Why have they not admitted their fault in not monitoring the mysteriously appointed new member of their club? Do they not know that every day they do nothing to have this man investigated, ties them more closely to the abuse of power that he exercised?

“Members of the Hunter County Selective Service Board, you have made a great stride forward in recognizing my status as a conscientious objector. I can only praise and thank you and encourage you to continue this forward progress. The very appointment of Clyde Warren to the board smacks of cronyism, just as the judge’s continued delay of the civil suit against Warren speaks of his collusion in the whole conspiracy to rid the county of young men of color. It is time to own up to the problem and correct it, rather than hiding behind walls of secrecy that cast the shadow of suspicion on each of you.

“People of Hunter County, hold fast to the mission of getting this suit heard and this disgrace brought to justice. God be with you all.”

Maybe I wouldn’t have been a bad preacher after all. If you discount me talking all the women in my congregation out of their clothes so I could photograph them.

Of course, I had to stick around for part of the afternoon to talk to people. Many were concerned about my being selected for alternative service and suspected it was really a retaliation from the board, but we maintained the victory. I talked to a reporter from the newspaper and he promised to step up the call for the board to openly investigate.

Then I turned to Patricia. I had an early flight to LA in the morning and we needed to get back to Chicago.

“Shall we just spend the night in the apartment?” I asked.

“Oh, we can’t!” Patricia exclaimed. “Our landlord sublet the unit for us starting July first. He said he thought the new tenants would re-up for the lease the first of September when ours expires.”

“That’s good news. Two less months of rent to pay before we have to find a new place to live.”

“And even a little pocket money in our account for the sublet. The landlord gave them the full rate for the apartment as of September first instead of the lower rate we were paying. It works well all the way around.”

“Want to stay at a hotel and watch the airplanes, Toni?” I asked.

“Let’s go!” she said. Then she went back to a new book Patricia’s parents had given her as an early birthday present. She’d be four in just three weeks.

The flight to LA Wednesday morning was pleasantly boring. I ate the food they brought me and drank the Bloody Mary they served, but beyond that, I just slept. The weekend and holiday had been exhausting. Worse, I had no idea if anything I did or said helped the situation.

Adrienne met me at the gate with a loving kiss that nearly set the terminal on fire. I think there were a lot of people who thought they were missing out on something when they arrived. Everyone seemed to be looking around to see where their beautiful woman was. Too bad. We headed to baggage claim to pick up my suitcase and the Zero Halliburton aluminum camera case Levi had insisted I needed. I unfolded the Commander and loaded everything on it, including my portfolio, which I’d carried on.

I was afraid I’d roast in my suit. It was July and I just assumed the temperature would be through the roof. It wasn’t as bad as I thought as I followed Adrienne to the parking lot, towing my luggage trolley. When we got to her car, though, I was in for a treat. No limousine this time. We stowed my bags in the back of a red Mercedes 350SL. As soon as they were in, Adrienne lowered the roof.

I folded my jacket in the back seat and slid into the sheepskin bucket passenger seat.

“This is a sweet ride,” I said. “I’m glad you picked me up instead of the limo.”

“In California, this is about the equivalent of a VW bug elsewhere in the US,” she laughed. “It might even come standard with any home you purchase.”

“Am I going to purchase a home?” I asked.

“You don’t have to, of course,” she said as we pulled out onto the freeway, “but I was instructed by our sponsor to show you a selection of properties that you might want to consider as a new residence now that you are out of college.”

“I trust there is no pressure to make that decision today. I wouldn’t make any decision like that without the rest of the family involved.”

“Of course. And your sponsor is completely in agreement. He thought a home in California might facilitate greater participation in the industry.”

“Do I want greater participation in the film industry?” I asked. It was a rhetorical question, but Adrienne considered it seriously.

“Of course, I can’t answer that for you,” she said. “I ... and my sponsor ... see a possible demise of the art photo industry that you are a leader in. One thing he has always been very good at, even in his isolation, is seeing trends in the industry.”

“One of my professors also predicted that the work I currently do might be obsolete in as soon as four years. He cited the changes in laws and customs, the rise of affordable personal photography, and a backlash to the free love of the sixties.”

“My loving master, even I may be obsolete in four years. I will be your loving pet, but will you be looking to be rid of an old woman when you have so many young women at your disposal?”

“You’ll be what? Thirty-five? Well, I’ll be twenty-six. We’ll all be four years older. Do you imagine that I will want to recycle you? My girlfriends? My daughter? Just because we get older? Don’t be ridiculous. When I look at you, I see the same beautiful young woman who walked into my studio two and a half years ago and convinced me that I wanted—even that I needed—a mistress. I was still a teenager and asked stupid questions because I couldn’t imagine that you, so beautiful and wealthy and incredible, could possibly want to be a young boy’s pet. And his family’s!”

“I will be heartbroken if you begin to think otherwise,” she laughed. “We have some studio sessions set up this week. First, additional pictures of our new cast. Second, a couple of recent additions to the talent pool here in Hollywood. One of the things that I have arranged is virtually unlimited access to the props in the studio. Since this is an older established studio in town, some of the props in their storage go back to the 1920s.”

“Wow! I could probably live in a props closet like that.”

“It’s a possibility. If you wanted to live and work in LA,” she laughed.

Okay. So maybe I should take the investigation seriously. She drove me around several neighborhoods. Some were way out of my range. I mean million-dollar mansions like what Frank lived in. But there were some newer neighborhoods that held potential. Still, I didn’t know where I’d ever get the money for a $100,000 house, no matter how much I liked it and liked the thought of seeing my girlfriends in bikinis around the pool.

“Nate, it’s good to see you again,” Bert said. “Brent and I are putting the finishing touches on the script for Double Exposure and want to go over it with you, just to make sure we’ve captured the right elements photographically. Frank and Reg will meet us for dinner, but until then, it’s just us guys. Um ... and Miss Boudelaire.”

He glanced nervously at Adrienne, who merely sat back from the table a little with a hand on my shoulder.

“Right. No problem. Just please tell me this one won’t be as long as Gone With the Wind,” I said.

Bert gasped a little, but Brent started laughing.

“We were thinking of running the score of Wagner’s Ring Cycle behind it for timing,” he chuckled. “Okay. First note, cut an hour. Second note, no underage titties. Third note, action up front. Are we ready to begin?”

That set the tone for our afternoon. Thankfully, Adrienne had taken me through the In-N-Out burger place drive through and I had a very satisfying lunch. One of the secretaries came in with coffee and I was set for the afternoon. Bert was always a little more sensitive to any criticism. Brent seemed to think everything was funny. As odd as it sounds, they made a pretty good team, and I could see the script for the sequel was stronger than the script for Over Exposure had been. They weren’t depending quite so much on female nudity to make the show a success. Not that it was missing, but it didn’t seem as gratuitous—a word I learned in my Film as Literature class.

The setting is ten years after the first movie. I asked about getting the actors to age that much when they were only two years older than when the first film was shot. I was told it was always easy to make women look older. Not so easy to make them look younger. All they’d have to do with Lyle was let him act his age.

Over the ten years, Joe has apparently cleaned up his act. He’s an upstanding member of the community, a member of the local church, and on the village council. Temptation is just too much for him on one or two occasions and he falls back into his old patterns of seduction, but he doesn’t establish any long-term relationships with anyone but his family.

That is, until he happens on his oldest—now sixteen—son’s girlfriend in the house. What starts as a simple fatherly conversation soon turns to one of Joe’s preliminary seductions. We see the girl sizing him up as a possible conquest as well.

In the meantime, Jenny has not let her suspicions go entirely. She holds Joe to a fairly strict regime, in which Joe is making great strides in the community. Jenny is almost convinced that she has a happy home life until she has a long conversation with her son Bob’s girlfriend, Rose. After their conversation, Jenny decides to use Rose to trap Joe and get him sent to jail.

Joe discovers the trap and sets out for revenge. Jenny flees with Bob, Rose, and fourteen-year-old daughter Cora. She calls the police and asks for protection for herself and the children. The call is transferred to one of the officers who was unconvinced when the FBI pinned both murders on Rossi and let Joe go.

Suffice it to say, there are tense moments as Joe closes in on the family with intentions of killing all of them. There is a nod to Hitchcock’s Rear Window with the use of a flash to temporarily blind the pursuing police. Joe almost escapes, but the roads have become icy and he spins out, crashing into the sign post for the derelict restaurant once owned by Rossi. Joe is killed in the accident.

The final scene is an auction in which Joe’s equipment is sold by a stolid Jenny. She holds a photo she found in his studio of fourteen-year-old Sally Jane.

“It’s exciting,” I said. “Jenny and Rose survive. Joe is dead. Audience is happy.”

“Okay. Now, what are the criticisms?” Brent asked.

“You could have more things in the auction. Joe’s equipment isn’t enough. And in a general auction, like an estate auction, it wouldn’t draw anywhere near what it is worth. If Joe has been using my style and has collected a bunch of random props, a pan across a few things that the audience might recognize from other photos or the earlier movie would be cool. The bed, for example. Oh! How about discovering a rolling pin among his props? It would sow a seed of doubt still as to whether Joe actually killed Sally Jane, or maybe he found a rolling pin later when he is considering offing Jenny.”

“That gave me chills. Nice detail.”

We continued till dinnertime. Brent seemed a lot more interested in details about the photography than Bert had been two years earlier. Of course, Bert had spent a month watching me at work in Las Vegas, which was an experience Brent didn’t have. They’d also beefed up Jenny’s role and Fran was going to have a great showing. Chrystal showed up at six and brought a limo to take us all to dinner. We met Frank, Reg, and George there.

“Welcome back to the land of dreams,” Frank greeted me when Adrienne and I got to the restaurant with Chrystal, Bert, and Brent.

“That would be why the rest of the world knows it as LaLa Land,” I laughed, shaking hands around. Frank was the producer, Reg was the director, and George was the director of marketing.

We seated ourselves and a waitress took drink orders from Brent and Bert. The other three men already had drinks.

“Still not drinking, Nate? You’re twenty-one now, right?”

“Mmmhmm. Twenty-two. Now that I’m an adult, I can simply not drink because I choose not to,” I answered.

“That’s profound,” Brent said, pulling out a notepad.

“I hope you’re ready to do some real work rather than hang out with these writer guys,” George said. “We’ve got a packed schedule for you the next three days.”

“I guess that’s why I’m here. What’s cooking?” I asked.

Just then the waiter came to take our orders for food and we got situated with some appetizers the guys had already ordered.

“We’ve got you scheduled over at the scene shop where they are constructing and reconstructing our sets. Your union card will give you access to anything you need and you shouldn’t get yelled at for grabbing a prop or moving a chair. On the other hand, don’t touch any lighting. That’s a closed union and you don’t have an electrician’s card,” George said.