A woman’s voice from the stairs: “Ta da!”
He turned. Chrissy Tate was there, all smiles and not much else. She had on a red velvet costume with intricate green embroidery that did make her look like an elf, but only a fantasy elf for some adult Santa. It was short on the legs and had a scoop cut up front, and hugged her quite nicely. A red stocking hat with a white pompom on the end topped off her head, and she had on short high-heeled leather boots and black stockings.
“What do you think?” she asked slyly, walking over to him, the heels tap-tapping on the tile floor.
He found his voice. “It looks... it looks quite nice.”
She dipped, as in a curtsy. It looked like she was carrying two neckties in her left hand. She came closer, lowered her voice. “Tell me, when you’re done, when will you have prints ready for us to look at?”
“Five, six days,” he said.
She smiled, lowered her voice even more. “Then bring them by Friday next. To the house. Jack... he’ll be away on business that day. Okay?”
Oh, my, he thought. He just nodded, and in a desperate attempt to change the subject, “What’s up with the neckties? Your husband couldn’t decide?”
She laughed. “Oh, nothing like that. I figured that instead of just lying on the couch with our eyes closed we could pretend to be strangled or something. It’d make it look more realistic.”
“It sure would,” he said carefully.
Then came the sounds of feet on the stairs and Jack joined them, his face still flushed. Clay looked at him and kept his face neutral. No use pissing off a paying customer. Jack had on polished black shoes, black trousers, white shirt, and wide and loud suspenders that showed Santa Claus, reindeer, Christmas trees, and gift boxes. He also had on a bow tie made from the same pattern.
“All right,” he grumbled. “Let’s get this over with. I tell you, I’m not doing this again next year, even if Blake and Terry send us a Christmas card with the two of them aboard the goddamn space shuttle.”
They sat down and Chrissy looked up at him, handing over the ties. “Why don’t you set us up and tell us what to do.”
He held the soft silk ties in his hands, looked down at the two of them, his mouth quite dry. He wished he had snuck a drink while they were upstairs. “Okay, if you’re going to pretend you’re dead, you’ll have to do it right. Why don’t you both settle in on opposite sides of the couch. All right, like that. Now splay out your legs. You’re not sitting up, sitting nice. No, you’ve got to remember, your body’s not moving, it’s slack. Um, you’re dead. Okay?”
Clay stepped back, looked through the 35 mm camera’s viewfinder. Jack was on the right side of the couch, still looking pretty stiff as he lay back, his legs outstretched. His hands were folded in his lap. That will have to change, he thought. The man’s wife, on the other hand, seemed to be getting into it. Her legs were splayed out wide, showing a lot of black pantyhose, and her arms were stretched out dramatically on the side of the couch, her face looking up at the ceiling, eyes closed.
He went back to the couch and said, “Okay, I’m going to put the neckties around your necks. Tell me when it gets too uncomfortable, all right?”
“Sure, sure,” Jack said, his voice grumbling again. Clay went to the rear of the couch and looped the first necktie around Jack’s neck and made a simple loop knot. He slowly drew it closed and Jack raised a hand, “Okay, that’s fine.” Clay stepped forward and adjusted the tie so that it wouldn’t block the bow tie.
“Raise your head, just a bit,” Clay said. “Now, look up at the ceiling. Good, that looks good.”
He then went over to Chrissy, surprised that his hands were trembling slightly. Must be getting tired, he thought. Plus dehydrated. He looped the necktie around her slim neck and gently pulled it taut. “Is it too tight?”
A slight giggle. “Not tight enough. Don’t worry, I can take it.”
He wiped his hands dry on his jeans and then went back to the camera. He bent down and looked through the viewfinder. Out from the lake came the distant rumble of an approaching thunderstorm. The air was now thick, warm, and still. He blinked his eyes and looked through the viewfinder again. Jack and Chrissy Tate. Playing at dead. Must be nice to have the time and money to waste on such things.
Clay picked up the Polaroid camera. “These will just be some test shots, that’s all. So please don’t move.”
The camera felt good in his hands as he moved about the living room, taking about a half-dozen pictures. With each click-flash-whir, a square of slowly-developing paper was spewed out and he fanned the pictures across the coffee table. He tried not to think of the increasingly oppressive heat, the dryness of his mouth, or the sweat trickling down his arms and back. He just focused on what was in the tiny viewfinder, trying to get the best picture he could.
After a few minutes he said, “All right, folks. Let’s take a look at what we’ve got.”
The Tates got up from the couch, and while Chrissy kept the necktie around her slim neck, Jack made a production of tugging his loose. They clustered around the coffee table and Jack said, “It looks fake.”
Clay agreed. “That’s right. It looks like the two of you are lying on the couch with neckties around your necks.”
“What else can we do?” Chrissy asked, a hint of disappointment in her voice.
“Something bloody,” Jack murmured, looking down at the photos.
“Excuse me?” Clay asked.
He picked up one of the developed prints, let it fall to the table. “C’mon,” Jack said. “If we’re going to waste time doing this, the least we can do is to make it right. We can make it bloody. Make it look like we got shot or something.”
Chrissy spoke up, her voice no longer disappointed. “See, I told you that you’d get into it, Jack. We can use some fake blood, like food coloring, and those toy guns.”
Clay spoke up. “Guns?”
“Yeah, we have a couple of nephews who come up and raise hell every now and then. We have a couple of .38 revolvers that are cap guns but look pretty realistic.”
Guns, he thought. Now we’re playing with toy guns. I’ve got to get this wrapped up and finished. This couple is driving me nuts.
Aloud he said, “That sounds like a good idea. Do you have an old sheet you could put over the couch?”
“Sure we do,” she said, heading to the kitchen. “But first, let me get the red food coloring.”
Clay went back to his camera gear and then scooped up the prints as Chrissy came out of the kitchen and headed to the stairs leading up to the second floor. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes!”
Jack nodded and stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms folded. Far up the lake the sky was darker and there was the low grumbling of thunder. “Looks like rain,” he said.
Clay made himself busy by wiping down one of his camera lenses. He was surprised when the man turned and said, “You feel like a beer or something?”
That was the best thing he had heard all day. “Yeah, a beer would be great.”
In a minute they were in the large kitchen and Jack opened the stainless-steel door of the refrigerator, which looked like it had enough food to last the summer. He pulled out two Sam Adams and Clay greedily drank almost half of his in one long, delicious swallow. Maybe the day was improving after all. Maybe.
Jack leaned back against the large refrigerator. “You been doing photo work for long?”
“A couple of years.”
“Do you like it?”
A shrug. “Most times. Usually it’s pretty straightforward stuff. Weddings. Family portraits. Class reunions.”