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The Report

Posted on February 22, 2007
Filed Under The Stories |

She didn’t inhale.

Okay she did inhale but it was only because she was more focused on watching than she was on not smoking.

Yes she knew it was a stupid thing to light the damn cigarette but she really was beginning to get bored and playing with matches seemed like a good idea at the time. What else was she supposed to do? It wasn’t like she was busy and had chosen to interrupt herself to smoke a cigarette. She was just sitting there. She had been sitting there for fifteen hours with barely any breaks. He had no idea what it was like to sit there for that long knowing her ass was spreading and varicose veins were firing up their blue hues as she waited and watched.

Nobody checks the colour of a girl’s lungs but they sure do pay attention to her cellulite! Yes she knew it was the fault of the magazines, yes she knew better than to place too much stock in what they said about beauty and self esteem. So what the hell right? You only live once, do whatever you like. That’s what she wished anyway but bills and rent made it impossible for her to just lie around drinking tequila and having her nails done.

No that’s not what she wanted to do but it did make for an enticing picture didn’t it? Oh yeah and having sex, lots and lots of sex, not necessarily with the same person. But what the hell did she know right? This was probably just her subconscious mind forcing her to rave about the things she hadn’t done in a long time.

Nails? She bit them more often than she painted them. For the record, she had bitten her nails and sucked on three iced coffees before she had ever touched the matchbook. She hadn’t had a drink in months and sex, forget about it! She was no longer one of the cool kids who smoked dope and had unsafe sex. Hell no! Now she was one of those school marms who was more interested in knitting and the preparation of tea. Well not really but he got the picture didn’t he? She might as well be for all the social life she had and the time off she got…

Oh yeah so anyway, unintentional cigarettes and the lack of a sex life aside, the client was right. Her husband was definitely getting some on the side.

As the photos slid across my desk I could already tell that this was some of her best work yet. Sister had mad skills with a telephoto lense. I had hired her right out of school, that’s Fed school for those that care about these things and I hired her because she had a breakdown. Seemed she had a stomach for the wait, watch and grab stuff but not so much for the torture and listen to them spill stuff. Hell I’d choke too if I had to listen to Slipknot and whatever else the kids allow to pass for music these days. Ironic isn’t it, that human rights activist get upset about the inhumane conditions prisoners are forced to endure when they’re probably going home to their parents’ basements and cranking up the same shitty tunes the Government uses to keep the country safe…When did it become okay for rock bands to assume that a beat was something to administer rather than to be maintained?

But I digress. My miracle worker with a Nikon was going to ensure that our client, a rich, not-so-young Mrs from the Upper West Side of the richest part of town had cold hard proof of husband dearest’s hand in the cookie jar, so to speak. Which means that she was smiling at a huge divorce settlement and the opportunity to move the pool boy or chauffeur or tennis pro into the main house when the ink had dried on the settlement cheque.

Ours was a really simple arrangement with the clients, a high single digit percentage in exchange for photographic, videographic or any other graphic evidence that would guarantee their retirement as long as they invested wisely. And my girl across the desk was the one to get it for me.

Only trouble was, all this smoking was going to kill her, or her eyesight at the very least. And that was not good for business.

Maybe I’ll hold a percentage of her earnings until she really learns to kick the habit. Nothing reforms like a blow to the pocketbook. Ask the people our clients take to the cleaners. Oh yeah, and be sure to drop by anytime, as long as you have an ironclad pre-nup and an unwavering mistrust for your better half.

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