Ari reveals his background to Burt and Max tries to keep the lid on Sam.
Chapter 7
An old and weathered hand of deep golden brown inched its way along the surface of the Bentley’s white leather, pausing now and again to reach up and adjust the goose-neck work light. Experienced fingers then returned to inspect for the slightest water stain.
From a second story window, a group of waiters and bus boys gawked through a swarm of moths clustered about the hotel lights at the classic parked beneath the palms that surrounded the complex. The old man, known affectionately as Juan, suddenly raised his head from a close inspection of the leather to catch his young helper preparing to commit the cardinal sin. He lunged across the seat at the Mexican boy about to soak his rag with solvent. “Hey, don’t you be usin’ dat chit on his leather. What you crazy?”
The waiters laughed as Juan kicked the pants of the boy, sending him running. “And I don’t care if you tell your father. You work crazy!”
A waiter leaned out the window, “Hey, you going to get it now.” The rest of the group laughed again. Juan dismissed their comments with a wave of his hand and a nod toward a cardboard box. “Right is right. Right is right.” He quickly rummaged through the container, whipped out a can of saddle soap and flipped off the lid. As he grabbed a cloth and dabbed it into the cream, the waiters laughed again.
“He’s going to get Haraldo to keek your ass,” said the waiter at the window.
Juan muttered a tirade of Spanish under his breath as he carefully began the task of removing the water stains from the white leather.
The waiters went back to donning their black bow ties and fresh starched white coats as the restaurant manager stormed into their locker room. “Inspection in three minutes! Three minutes! What is taking you so long?”
From outside the window the old voice cackled back, “They are crazy, like all the rest. No one is not crazy anymore!” The manager turned and walked to the window. “Hey, Juan. Nice set of wheels, eh?”
Juan looked up from his smooth circular working of the leather. “Least this car not crazy!”
“You’re right, Juan. You’re absolutely right.” The manager smiled and stepped back into the locker room, gave a quick look at the group and walked toward the door. “You guys must be playin’ ‘crazy’ with Juan, again, hey? Three minutes. Look sharp. Full house tonight.”
***
The image inside the telephoto lens framed an elegant dining room. Antique crystal chandeliers refracted in the lens, scattering light-spills across the guests seated at the tables of white linen heavily laden with more crystal and silver. Center frame was Max and Sam, formally attired in dinner jacket and cocktail dress. A waiter poured champagne as they laughed together.
Burt leaned over from the driver’s side. Even after learning the boy’s name, he felt peculiar uttering it. “Can I take a look…Aristotle?”
“You enjoy making my name sound weird? I told you it was easier to not know what Ari stood for, right…but you wanted to know, so I told, and now, just use Ari, okay? Ari pressed his eye to the viewfinder. “And why would you want to take a look, Burt?”
Burt knew cameras too, and had carried many a tourist’s camera case, but this one…this was designed special. “Cause my ass is numb and…” He changed position and looked out the window of the cab at the moonlit parking lot. “And I think you’re looking at something you shouldn’t with that fancy camera.”
“Oh, that was brilliant. If your ass is numb, get out and do what you need to do to un-numb it.”
“You told me to sit still and you’d only be a little while, remember?
“Yes.”
“So?”
“So, what?”
“So how long is a little while? I’m hungry, tired and tomorrow is a long drive.”
“You want to check into a room, go ahead.”
“Yeah, sure,” Burt laughed.
“You’ve got enough money. Go have a ball.”
“Just because I’ve got your publisher’s money, doesn’t mean…”
Suddenly, Ari interrupted and leaned forward with his camera. “Yeah. That’s it. A little honeymoon peck. Yes! And it’s not my publisher’s money, it’s mine. More I use, less I get to take home, you know? Little respect, Burt. I didn’t have to give you a thousand. You just seemed like a nice guy.”
“Oh, please, I don’t need to be conned by a kid.”
Ari handed the camera over to Burt. “You already have been, Burt. Take a quick peek at what I ‘shouldn’t’ be looking at. Oh, and don’t let the little lights in the viewfinder scare you. Digital stuff.”
Burt lifted the camera to his eye and through the telephoto lens saw the majesty of wealth and luxury like he’d never seen before.
“That’s how some do it on their honeymoon, Burt. You married, Burt?”
“Jesus! Yeah. Will you look at that spread.”
“Check out the wine bottle. Here…” Ari leaned over and adjusted the digital zoom. “Zoom her in and you’ll see a vintage occupying only a few wine cellars in the world and this hotel isn’t one of them.”
“Holy shit. That’s old vino, eh?”
“The guest didn’t get that bottle from their cellar, Burt. Brought it from home. He’s got a great one at home.”
“Cellar?”
“Yep.”
Burt handed the camera back. “How come you know so much about these two?”
Ari positioned himself again and pressed off a quick half dozen shots. “Info before my time. Harry Baker before me. He got inside Quinlan’s house, the cellar, everywhere. Then, about a year ago, Quinlan broke the guy’s nose with his own camera one day, started a big stink and now, well I came on 9 months ago, after the courts said celebs had a right to their privacy, etc. etc. But, when they’re out in public, okay.”
“You like peeping like this?”
“Just because you see me with a camera, doesn’t mean…forget it”
“That’s what it is, right?”
Ari paused. He didn’t like explaining himself to anyone. He had come a long way in his short life and had almost lost if several times. Why should he try and explain to this Burt guy.
“You going to answer me or not?” repeated Burt.
“Peeping. Well, let me tell you Burt, for those who see it as peeping, it’s better than Bosnia.”
“You were there?”
“Gulf War, Bosnia, Iraq. Yeah, I was there. I was there.”
“Your publisher just sends you around where ever to peep?”
Ari took the camera away from his eye and stared into the distant dining room. “My new publisher. PROFILE is the only journal out there with a publisher I think might have some balls and integrity. At least he sends me where he knows I’ll be honest and bring back pictures that go beyond just documentation. The computer holds the real work, though.” He patted his iPad. “Know what’s in here, Burt? Computerized images created from digital pictures. Sometimes a sketch. Sometimes a painting. Sometimes just unconnected stuff trying to connect. Textures, colors, form. Random impressions Burt, because they’re there and I see them.”
“You lost me,” muttered Burt.
“I know,” said Ari as he opened the door and climbed down from the Winnebago, sliding the camera strap over his shoulder. “You wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“No, no, no,” Sam said with intoxicated delight. She took another sip of wine, while Max motioned for the wine steward. “You mustn’t confuse true bourgeoisie with a vacation fantasy,” she continued.
“Oh,” Max said with surprise. He squinted as he perused the room with a patronizing arch of the head. Trying to maintain the toll of the fine wine he had consumed, he snorted a quiet laugh. “You mean these fine men and women are not who they appear to be?”
Sam slipped another inch down the silk embroidered throne-like chair as she giggled approval of Max’s precise incision through the heavy air of class and status struggle that consumed the room. She was enjoying the moment as Max suddenly realized he was not with Sam any longer. It was Samantha now who was opting for Max’s attention.
As the wine steward approached the table, Max cordially waved him off, as he knew corking another bottle of wine was the last thing Samantha needed now. “They are not only frauds, Max,” she said with evangelic authority, “but frauds I have already consumed, digested and reconstituted, unless…” She stood to her feet and swayed subtly for a moment, looking over the formality of black and white colors that dominated the guests, “…unless, there is one fresh counterfeit among them. What do you think, Herr Director?” She looked down at him. He was gazing at her now with the concerned look she had grown to accept. “Or should I say Herr Doctor?”
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Love ya!
Jane
http://rjh.f2s.com/fractalchemy/index.php?
I didn't realize that a bottle of fine old wine could turn a woman's personality so easily. But then, I recall how one beer would make my future sister-in-law all giggly.
As for the white leather on a classic Bentley. I'm all for taking good care of fine workmanship, regardless. And cars are one form of art that is especially wonderful because they move in both mysterious and wonderful ways. Three cheers for the Juans of this world who appreciate fine leather. As far as Haroldo [Geraldo or Jeraldo?], I'm certainly glad he wasn't allowed to ruin that leather with a rash use of chemical.
Ron