Chapter 10
In the morning light, Paul studies the contact sheets he’s developed from Judith’s self-portrait negatives.
Not all of them—it was too much work, and too slow, to do all of them, and he figures if Judith said the stalker was in all of them, he should see him in any of them, right?
So he studies the selection under his loupe, moving slowly as he goes.
He’s afraid to see the figure—much as Judith must have been afraid every time she developed a self-portrait—but he longs to see it, too. Longs for proof.
He doesn’t find it. Sets the loupe on the table and sighs.
Maybe he’s chosen the wrong ones? There shouldn’t be wrong ones.
Or he’s missed it somehow, in these small versions?
He could—and probably should—print them full-sized.
He could—and probably should—print more of them, despite what Judith said. He should be thorough.
But it’s eleven o’clock, his energy for the project has flagged, and he’s anxious to call Marty now, while the day is fresh.
He has his little speech about Judith memorized, and he wants to get things going.
If it works out, he and Marty can discuss the elusive stalker another time.
If it doesn’t—well, he can’t even think about that.
—
Thirty minutes later, he’s on the phone with Tom sharing excellent news: Marty wants to see Judith’s pictures—this Friday. Tom hardly reacts, which shouldn’t surprise him, but it makes Paul rush awkwardly ahead without a careful transition.
“I’m sorry to say I struck out with the self-portraits.
I, uh, redeveloped them and looked them over carefully, but…
nothing. No sign of the man. I wish I had better news to report.
It’s possible I missed him, you know, though I did look thoroughly,” he adds, practically broadcasting to Tom with preemptive defensiveness that he hasn’t looked thoroughly, that he’s done a half-assed job.
“Okay,” Tom says at last. Paul swallows his surprise.
But he knows Tom simply distrusts him. He would have given the same response even if Paul had developed and scoured every last self-portrait for hours, for days, and found nothing.
He only asked Paul because he had no other recourse, because Paul was the “expert,” loathsome as he was.
“I don’t know why I couldn’t find anything,” Paul says, sounding desperate to his own ears but unable to stop talking. “Just so you know, I believe Judith, too. If I have time later I can go through them again—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tom says stiffly. “Let me know when you find the pictures you want to show the magazine. Tom Junior and I are anxious to see them.”
The words are delivered without malice, but Paul clenches all the same.
When he phoned Marty and told him he had some “incredible work” to share with him, work that wasn’t his own and had a story around it as good—or better than—the photographs themselves, Marty said he was “keen” to see it.
When they hung up, Paul was shaking from head to toe—as if Marty had said he wanted to see Paul’s own photographs, or as if Paul’s personal artistic reputation were on the line.
Regardless, Marty is eager to see the photographs in Paul’s possession—and Paul is filled with urgency to bring Marty the very best set he can.
But what if he shows them to the Toms, and they veto them?
He tells himself to slow down. First he has to get Marty’s approval; then he’ll deal with the Toms.