Copyright© 2013
Chapter 3
I didn't recognize the number so I answered it in my official business voice.
"Dalton Conrad," I announced.
"Hi, Dalton, this is Judy Anderson, how are you?" she asked in a pleasant tone.
I felt a little guilty hearing her voice; I had really intended to ask them over for a back yard cookout or something but never got around to it.
"Hi, Judy, I'm fine, how about you and Carl and little Stephen?"
"Everyone is doing good," she answered, "Listen, Carl's sister was over last month; she's the one who has the gallery on State Street, Tracy's her name..."
"Yeah, you mentioned her that day when I dropped off the print; did you ever really hang it up?" I asked not meaning to interrupt her.
"We sure did, it's right on the back wall of our living room, we just love it," she said.
I was a little surprised; I remembered her as being kind of shy in the park, and although there was absolutely nothing dirty or erotic about the shot, it did show almost her entire left breast as well as a portion of her right. I really thought they would hang it up in their bedroom or maybe the baby's room.
"That's actually why I'm calling," said Judy, "when Tracy saw it she went bonkers, she said she loves the way you captured the innocence of the scene; in fact she suggested we name it, 'Essence Of Innocence.'"
"Wow," I said, "I like that."
"Yeah, we do too, Carl is going to get a little brass plaque with that engraved on it and tack it to the wall under the picture; but there's something else I wanted to ask you; Tracy just called and wanted to know if she could display it in her gallery for a while; she'd give you credit of course; I know you don't normally do that kind of photography so I said I'd have to check and see if you had any objections before I said okay."
"Judy, the photo is yours. It's a present, you can do whatever you wish with it, but to answer your question...no, I have no objections at all, in fact I'm honored," I told her.
"Oh, Dalton, thank you, I was hoping you'd say that. We have received so many compliments on that picture I can't even begin to tell you; Carl and I really want to thank you again, we will cherish it forever," she said with an excitement in her voice.
Up until that call, my days and nights had just run together in one solemn hour after another. What's that adage, 'There's no joy in Mudville?' Well, there was sure no joy in Conrad-ville either, not since I split with my wife ...except for that call. As an industrial photographer I don't get much praise, only money; it was really nice to hear from someone who appreciated my work like that.
Another month passed and things really weren't getting any easier, in fact if anything, things were getting harder. The more routine coming home to an empty house became, the more I hated it. I thought maybe once it was over, once I could start fresh, I might feel better; right now it was a waiting game, it seemed like my whole life was in limbo, but the closer it came to the end of my marriage the more I found myself sitting at the bar in Plato's Place at the end of the day. I've had several friends tell me it's just going to take time; I suppose they're right, but what to do in the meantime?
It was at that bar in Plato's Place that I had a little excitement; short-lived as it was, it broke up the monotony. I had been there about an hour talking to Pete, my favorite bartender, when a guy neither of us had seen before, came in and sat down a couple stools away. He seemed like the sociable type so we struck up some friendly banter until nature called. As we all know, you don't buy beer you just rent it; I excused myself to my new buddy and wandered to the little room where all men hang out now and then. On my way back I noticed Pete talking to Big John, he's the bouncer and was just coming in for his regular night shift. The two looked like they were in the middle of an important conversation when John caught my eye and motioned for me to join them.
"Hi, John," I greeted him, "what's up?" From the look on their faces something was going on.
"That guy at the bar," Pete said motioning with his head toward my new best buddy.
"Yeah," I said wondering what this was all about.
"When I turned my back and went to the other end of the bar he slipped something in you drink," Pete told me.
"What; are you sure?"
"Yeah, I saw him in the mirror," said Pete nodding to one of the two mirrors in the corner of the ceiling. From those mirrors the bartender could see anything going on in the bar.
"I never saw that guy before in my life, why would he spike my drink?" I asked rhetorically.
"That's the sixty-four dollar question," whispered Big John, "Pete and I were just discussing the best way to handle this; we can call the cops, or take him in the men's room and find out ourselves." He looked at me like he wanted me to tell him what to do...so I did.
"I'd like to find out what's going on gentlemen, I vote for a little men's room persuasion."
"Then let's do it," said Pete.
The stranger had just glanced over his shoulder in our direction as we all started walking toward him. He tried to make a run for it but Big John was on him before the guy got three steps from his stool. We dragged him into the washroom to, 'talk.' At first he denied drugging my drink, then Big John cracked his knuckles and the guy started singing like a canary.
It seemed the drug was phenobarbital; when taken with alcohol a person tends to get dizzy and sleepy making the person look very much like he's had too much to drink. My new chum was supposed to watch me and I when I started to exhibit those effects he was going to waltz me out to my car where my old friend Irv Peterson was waiting; it seemed Irv was bent on that revenge he promised. Between the two of them I would have been toast.
"What do you want to do, Dalton, call the cops?" Pete asked me.
I sighed, "The problem with that is Peterson will just deny it, it's his word against this guy's, nothing will happen and I'll have to keep looking over my shoulder. Nah, I want to end this right here and now," I declared.
None of us knew, or course, if the guy we caught was an asshole buddy of Peterson's or just some guy he hired, but the general consensus was that nobody trusted him, so Big john cuffed him to one of the stalls. We'd hand him over to the cops along with Peterson if everything went right. It was decided I would go stumbling out in the parking lot by myself and hope that Peterson would still have the balls to try something.
I made it look as real as I could; I stopped and leaned against the door frame on my way out, then stopped and leaned on the fender of a few cars on the way to mine. I saw neither hide nor hair of Peterson and thought he lost his nerve but continued my little charade when I got to my car by fumbling with my key in the door lock.
Finally I saw the reflection of someone approaching in the side window of my car and turned around while still keeping in character. When I did he stopped about five feet from me; he was standing there holding a knife; not a very big knife, it was a pocket knife with about a four inch blade, but still a knife. I saw the doubt in his face whither as he watched my eyes droop and my body weaving; a big grin stretched across his face as he took his next step, which put him with-in range. I swiftly advanced with my left foot then kicked with my right, catching him in the shin as hard as I could.
His reaction was typical, the knife dropped as he reached for his leg with both hands bowing down in a forward roll as he hit the pavement. I knelt down putting my knee in his chest and gave him four short right hands to the face. He was already pretty much down for the count, but damn it, this was the guy who ruined my life. I stood and hauled him back up to his feet by his shirt before slamming my fist into his gut. He folded at the waist with a loud groan; I straightened him up and measured him for one more good shot to the jaw; he flew back against my car and slid to the asphalt again. Big John had been watching from the corner of the parking lot in case something went wrong. He called the cops from his cell before dragging me from my intended assailant.
Once again my long standing association with the police played to my advantage; I knew three of the six cops who responded on a first name basis. With Big John as a witness, they arrested Peterson for assault with a deadly weapon. That was no misdemeanor, he wouldn't be getting out on his own recognizance this time; he would have to make bail, and if he couldn't, he would be in jail until his trial. The only thing spoiling my delight at Irv's plight was thinking about his wife and kids; they were innocent victims in the whole thing.
After giving my statement at the station I went home to soak my hand in some ice; it was throbbing like hell and really swollen; I wasn't even sure I could hold my camera for a while.
The next day was Saturday; summer was gone and it had turned down right cold over night; I was in the mood for nothing and that's exactly what I did, absolutely nothing. It's really not in my nature to lay around feeling sorry for myself two days in the row though, so Sunday I grabbed a shower, went down to Denny's for breakfast, and headed down town in search of something to do. More than likely I would wind up at Lincoln Park Zoo but I was still open to other suggestions from myself.
I was getting off the expressway when I remembered the art gallery that Carl's sister ran and wondered if they had my photograph displayed. I didn't know the exact address of the place but I knew it was down town and on State Street, it couldn't be that hard to find; I just wondered if it would be open on a Sunday.
As it turned out, I found it with very little trouble and it was open. I was immediately captivated; the place was big and had quite an array of impressive looking artwork on the walls. Right in the middle of the floor stood an easel holding my photo of Judy; hoping to eavesdrop, I joined the couple people standing around looking at it, but they moved away as soon as I walked up. I was about to go look at a couple of watercolors I saw when I heard a female voice behind me.
"It's an amazing photograph, isn't it?"
I turned and almost gasped out loud; standing in front of me was a beautiful, golden haired woman with striking blue eyes and a smile that would melt a glacier. I heard what she said but upon seeing this vision of loveliness, my mind went blank, so I answered the sophisticated lady in suave, James Bond like fashion..."Huh?"
"The photograph," she said again, "It's my sister-in-law, I think it's amazing."
Her sister-in-law; this was Carl's sister? I retrieved my mind from its maze of dumbfoundedness and actually spoke coherently. "Yes, I agree;" I said deciding to string her along a little; you can't be in the arts without learning some of the artistic colony's psychobabble.
I stood back pretending to ponder the exhibit, "The entire subject has such a fresh, innocent look; I love how the photographer used the low morning sun to highlight the hair; and look how it shines through the fabric of her blouse; it gives the material a translucent look and bathes the focal point of the shot with a warm, lustrous light. I see it was shot with a telephoto, I'm guessing a three hundred millimeter; you can tell by the softness of the background, then the corners of the print were darkened drawing the viewer's eye to the very essence of the shot?"
She looked shocked at my critique; Wow, you're either a photographer, an artist, or a critic," she said stretching out her hand, "I'm Tracy."
"How do you do," I replied shaking her hand gingerly, "I'm Dalton Conrad."
