For those of you who follow and enjoy the TT Spalding-PI series, this is Polly's story. It is too closely aligned with Maggie's to separate them completely, but I tried. This is the Polly that you may have wondered about. She and Bruno are the tools that TT uses to close his cases. There is little humor in this but I began in this category and I continue. Enjoy.
Edited by Angel Love who continues to encourage me. Thanks as always.
TT Spalding-PI, The Bowers Company Case.
Polly searches for a suspected embezzler.
I had to admit, the past two weeks of work were just about the best I had ever had so you might wonder why I was trying so hard to finish early. The temperature here was a balmy 80 degrees and the sun was a golden ball in the clear blue skies. The location was the Island of Fiji and I was on a swimsuit shoot for a national magazine. I could have extended it for another week at least but last night I got a call from TT Spalding in New York. He wanted me to come home to help him on a case. So, I was cutting it tight to finish today so I could be on a plane tonight.
Working with these overdeveloped, undernourished, vapid women and men was just about to drive me mad. The only thing they knew how to do well was bitch. Bitch about the heat, the sun, the humidity, the time, the wind, the . . . , you get the point. But, my fee for this shoot was enough to make up for it. And the location? Fiji? Come on! Who wouldn't take a few bimbos and male gigolos for a week in Fiji? Actually I had taken one of the gigolos for a couple of nights, but that was another story.
I maneuvered the tall, skinny blonde wearing two pieces of cloth that someone laughingly called a swimsuit, into the right position, checked the light and the exposure and shot the picture. This one would be a full pager, I was sure. She was beautiful, the swimsuit was almost nonexistent, and the location was to die for. How could it be any better? Not possible.
I stood up, worked the kinks out of my back and shouted for all to hear, "That's it people! We're done! Great job by all and thank you."
There was a loud shout of joy, hands clapping, words of praise and congratulations and then almost by magic, the beautiful people were gone. The only ones left were the guys I hired to take down the lights, the props, the backdrops, the coverings and the other paraphernalia that went into a photo shoot. My manager, Philippe, would take care of getting everything packed, loaded on the plane and then back to the states where my studio was located. Philippe was in his 50s but had the energy of a twenty-year-old. He and I had been together for more than five years now and I trusted him with my stuff. No greater trust has any woman for a man! (Corny, but I think I read something like that once.)
I was booked on the next flight out and I was anxious to get back, since I got the call last night from TT Spalding, the PI that I often worked for. When he called, I went. Not so much for TT, but because he was Maggie's husband. For Maggie, I would jump into hell without a parachute and since she would do the same for TT, that cinched it for me. Those two were like my own father and mother, since I never knew my own.
The flight back was long but I was able to get a lot of sleep. I could sleep anywhere, a trick I learned a long time ago, when my career was less lucrative and very illegal. I needed to be sharp and quick, traits which were still good to have. Maybe a little about me would help.
My name is Pollyanna Gooding, a name given to me by a well meaning, but clueless social worker in rural Ohio. I was found wandering the streets, a seven year old, not knowing who I was or how I got there. Someone called the police, I was taken in, Social Services was called and my life in the system began. Since I had no idea who I was, someone began calling me a Pollyanna and the name stuck. The last name Gooding came sometime later but I don't know when or from whom. A lot of stuff happened, most bad, some good but I can't really remember much. I have been in therapy for several years but those early years are still buried so deep I may never get them back. My shrink says not to worry about it. I don't.
I stayed in the system until I was sixteen when I decided to go out on my own. I split one night when everyone was asleep, took all I had to my name at the time and made tracks to the bus station. I had saved enough to get a bus out of town and I ended up in Jersey City in the great state of New Jersey. I lived on the streets, stealing food, sleeping in alleys or deserted houses, sometimes selling my body if I was desperate, and just staying alive. When I could, I haunted any cyber café that would tolerate me and learned to use the computer. I had a couple of friends that taught me the fine art of hacking and for an exchange of favors, they taught me how to use the net to do anything I wanted. I survived that way for the next two years, doing as well as I could but staying independent, avoiding the pimps and the police. A miracle when I look back at it.
My life changed when I turned nineteen. I was living in a small deserted house a block away from a small strip mall. There was a photo shop in the mall that I loved to visit. I went in at first because I was cold but I became fascinated by the pictures on the wall behind the cash register. They were all black and white and were the most striking things I had ever seen. After being sent out several times when I was caught standing there staring, the woman who worked there asked me who I was and what I was doing there. I decided I would tell her a story just so she would let me stay, but when I did, she got this funny look on her face and stopped me.
"Listen young lady. I asked you a question and I expect an answer. And not this crap you're trying to sell. If you want more information about those pictures, and if you want to be able to come into my store and keep warm, you'll tell me the truth. Do you understand me?"
Well, hell yes. When she put it that way, I figured what the hell. All she could do was throw me out and that was no worse than I was already. So, I started in and before I knew it, I had told her the whole damn story. She listened without comment, stopped a few times to help customers but always came back. I saw that she really cared, made comments from time to time and seemed fascinated by my story. I blurted it all out to that lady and she listened to the whole thing.
After I was done, the lady told me to stay as long as I liked but to be there when she closed the shop for the day. I agreed, figuring I might get a meal out of her and came back later at closing. She turned out the lights, locked the drawer and motioned me out the back way. She locked the doors, set the alarm and led me to a small car. She drove to a Denny's restaurant a block away and sure enough bought me dinner. As I ate, she introduced herself as Maggie Malone.
Maggie told me that the shop was owned by Max Bower, a retired photographer. He was the one that had taken the pictures I was so fascinated by. She had mentioned me to him and he wanted to meet me. She told me that if I was really interested, Max would offer to teach me what he knew about Photography. I asked her why he would do this and she said he had no one to pass it on to so he was waiting for that one person who had the love and the desire that he shared. She thought it might be me.
