A Gift in Disguise Ch. 12

There was only one message. It identified the calling number but did not associate with any names already in my phone's contact list. Still, the number sounded familiar. I listened to the message. It was from Misako Sato. She had left it at about four p.m. my time, about the time Robyn and I were in the restaurant.

She had called to tell me that the bound book of her photos of me was being sent via UPS overnight to my apartment's address. She had contacted Sharon who had instructed her to send it directly to me and had provided Misako with my address. She concluded her brief message by thanking me for being such as easy model to photograph and expressing her hope I would like the photos.

It was a little after 7 p.m. when I walked into my apartment. I felt badly about missing Misako's call, so I decided to return it. The caller ID number on my cell phone matched the cell phone number Misako had handwritten on the back of her business card she had given to me.

My call to Misako went instantly to her voicemail. Not knowing who might be with her when she checked her messages, I wanted my message to sound businesslike.

"Hello. This is Tom Connors. I'm returning an earlier message left for me ..."

There was an audible click-like sound in the phone, then, "Hi, Tom, it's Mikki. Sorry about the voicemail, but I screen most of my calls. I take it you got my message today."

"Hi, Mikki. Yes, and first I apologize for not picking up. I had my phone on vibrate during a meeting and just forgot to turn the ringtone back on. I'm sorry I missed your earlier call."

"That's okay, Tom. Sometimes vibrators don't deliver all the punch we wish they would." She punctuated her sentence with a giggle.

I had to chuckle, too. She clearly knew what she was implying, and I was rather pleased she figured I would, too.

"Anyway, Tom, my bookbinder really did a great job putting together your photo book so quickly. I think you'll be pleased with their work. Bookbinding is fast becoming a lost art. It's a lot more than just glueing, stitching, and throwing the content into any old cover."

She told me a bit more about her bookbinder whom she described respectfully as "the nice older Nisei couple next door."

Then she went on. "Of course, I hope you'll be pleased with my photography. And I hope you don't mind that I called Sharon to tell her I was ready to ship the finished book to her. She stopped me right there and asked that I send it to you directly so you'd be sure to get it by Friday night. I didn't have your address, so she gave it to me. I sent it UPS overnight this morning, so it should be delivered to your apartment tomorrow morning. I hope that was okay?"

"That's really great, Mikki. Thank you! Yeah, I've got great neighbors here. If the delivery person leaves the package in front of my apartment door, one of the neighbors will pick it up and hold it. And if the carrier won't let anyone other than me accept the package, I'll have plenty of time to go to the carrier's office and get it by tomorrow night.

Would you mind if I call you when I get it to let you know it arrived okay?"

"That's very thoughtful of you, Tom. I'd appreciate that very much."

"So you obviously made it back to the Bay okay. Have you heard any more from the folks up here about the presentation you did for them last Friday?"

"No, they said it could be ten days to two weeks before they got back to me. I'm anxious, of course."

"Mikki, did Sharon explain to you why she wanted me to have your photo book in my hands by Saturday?"

"No, she didn't. Why?"

Without going into any personal details, I explained that Sharon Madison had given me two symphony tickets to use with a date, and she had suggested Bethany would be a good date for me and that after the concert, I ought to show Misako's photos of me to Bethany.

"I wanted to check with you, Mikki, to see if you would have any objection to my showing the photo book to Bethany on Saturday. Would you mind?"

"No, I wouldn't mind at all, Tom. Sharon engaged me to do the photography with the contractual understanding that any rights I had to it ended when the photos were delivered to either her or you. When you receive it, the book becomes your exclusive property, and you can use it in any way you choose. It's a standard business arrangement. Sharon is sending me a letter formalizing her transferring complete and exclusive rights and ownership to you.

What that means, Tom, is that whether those photos I took of you are in the book or not, I can't even show any of them to anyone else for any purpose without your expressed permission. The only exception is that because my sister, Risa, is my business partner, she sees any photos I will be delivering to a client.

I look at my photos with a photographer's eye; Risa looks at them with a presentation designer's eye. She's the one who worked with the bookbinder on how to best present your photos to you.

Risa has an amazing gift. Even if she's never spoken with a model or subject, she can skillfully develop her own profile of them. Then she can translate her profile into a presentation of the photos that consistently pleases the client. So if you're happy with the way your photos are presented in the book, you can thank Risa.

Even on a personal level I certainly don't mind if you show the book to Bethany. It may help her and her family make up their minds one way or the other about whether to do business with me. But it's completely up to you. Still, thank you for asking."

My curiosity was killing me.

"Mikki, did you have any particular reaction to your photos of me?"

She answered with some hesitation. There was an odd uncertainty in her measured words.

"Technically most of them were just fine. I took 24 photos. Two of them I rejected because there were some water droplets on my watertight camera housing in front of the lens. Sometimes that adds to the artistic effect, but in this case I felt the droplets degraded the effect. Your book will have 22 photos in it.

Overall, I was very pleased with the book. Then again, what would you expect me to say?" she laughed. Then she continued.

"But I suspect you're diplomatically asking if they had any erotic effect on me.

Like I explained to you when we first met, I don't really know exactly what I see that causes me to take the photos at the instant I do. I know, though, that I don't consciously see sexuality or feel sexual arousal per se. I take my photos based on my photographic instinct or intuition.

It seems rather detached, but my opinion of the model's or subject's ease and performance in any photoshoot is usually a more consistent indicator of how my work will turn out and how it will affect viewers. I can't explain it, but if I am comfortable working with the model or subject and they're comfortable with me, the work product is almost always at least pleasing and more often than not, arousing to some extent.

You really were possibly the best model I've ever worked with for these types of photos. You were completely natural. You did exactly what I asked you to do and hoped you would do: You ignored me and my camera and just swam. You didn't worry about how you looked or if I wanted you to do something in particular. You just swam. That freed me to hopefully capture the moment of artistic sexuality in each photo. So using that standard, I'd say your book could turn out to be the most erotic work I've done to date.

Of course, that determination will be made individually by each person whom you allow to look at the book."

Then Mikki lowered her voice rather conspiratorially, and the sound coming out of my phone sounded as if she had cupped her hand around the phone's microphone.

"Just between you and me, Tom, — because Risa will kill me if she ever finds out I told you this — I watched her fingering herself until she came while she was examining the galley proof of your book. She prefers trans women and newhalfs. Straight men very rarely excite her, but your photos really created a volcano. I don't think she completely believed me when I repeatedly assured her that you are straight."

I chuckled audibly into the phone.

"As for me," Mikki continued, "I very rarely become sexually aroused from my photos. Almost never, in fact. That's one of the things that's puzzled the shrinks who have examined me. One doc coined a new phrase to describe my behavior. He said I must have a 'photographer's notch' that prevents me from becoming aroused by some of my photos which, he admitted, even aroused him and some of his colleagues."

Mikki paused briefly. When she resumed, her voice had changed slightly to sound softer and more vulnerable.

"But with yours, Tom, there was no photographer's notch."

I immediately understood what Mikki was saying.

"Thank you, Mikki. That's a very nice and welcome compliment," I said sincerely. I meant that though by all rights I should probably have been somewhat embarrassed or even alarmed.

There was a rather long and awkward pause. Mikki may have been as surprised as I was to hear the words I had just spoken. Honesty can have that effect on people who may not be used to hearing it.

Finally, she said in a still friendly but definitely businesslike tone, "Well, Tom, once again, thank you for returning my call. I'll wait to hear from you either tomorrow or Thursday to confirm you received the book."

After Mikki and I ended our call, I showered and went to bed.

On Wednesday after my last class I met Kim at her office to pick up some more medical reading material she had for me. Although she was pushed for time, she wanted to talk briefly about the Tuesday meeting and my later meeting with Robyn. She was reassured to hear that Robyn was as interested in confidentiality as the rest of us. Kim said she had an appreciation for Robyn's understanding of the breadth of the sexual adaptability of the human brain.

Kim had loaded me down with reading material, so I dumped it in my car and went directly back to my apartment. There was a note on my door indicating a package for me had been left with my neighbor in apartment 108. I retrieved the package from my neighbor and opened it on my kitchen counter.

Inside the seemingly indestructible cardboard outer shipping box with its various barcodes and labels was several layers of bubble plastic surrounding and protecting an elegant inner box. Its snug cardboard lid was covered with rich-looking gold cloth.

I carefully removed the gold lid from the black container it covered. I had expected to see the book, but instead there was a sealed envelope with my name neatly handwritten on it. I removed the envelope and set it aside.

Beneath the envelope inside that black box bottom was a piece of luxurious-feeling white cloth. It had been placed in the box first, then the contents inside, and finally the cloth's remainder had been carefully folded over before the envelope was inserted and the gold lid replaced.

With the cloth's excess carefully folded back, I saw an indescribably beautiful and detailed antique-looking tooled camel brown leather book cover with an intricately embossed design I did not recognize. The cover's four-hole binding was clearly hand done and absolutely flawless. The cover was so artistically elegant that it almost felt sacrilegious to consider touching it with my bare hands. So I didn't.

Using the folded back edges of the white cloth as a sling, I carefully lifted the book out and set the cloth and book on my counter.

At that moment I had an uncharacteristic attack of common sense and decided it might be wise to first examine the contents of the plain brown 9 x 12 envelope that had been on top of the book.

The envelope contained a two-page, legal-sounding letter on 'Misako Sato - Artist' letterhead with his studio address and telephone number. It was dated Tuesday and was addressed to me.

The letter informed me that Misako had been paid the sum of $250.00 in full payment for the bound book of photographs which he went on to describe in some detail. He further stated he had been instructed by the sum's payor to provide a notarized certificate of authenticity for the book.

Immediately thereafter Misako certified that he was the photographer who had taken the photos of me and had selected them for inclusion in the book.

Unnecessarily it seemed to me, he then went on to identify by name and address the bookbinder who had crafted the leather cover and completed binding the book.

He included an attestation of truthfulness which was signed and dated by him and by the bookbinder in the presence of the notary whose certification and seal were included.

His letter thanked me for allowing him to photograph me. He stated that upon instructions of the payor, ownership of the book became mine upon receiving the package.

Weird, I thought. It was a book of photographs taken at a private swimming pool on a Saturday afternoon. Why the legal mumbo-jumbo?

I felt that I needed to make a timely inspection of the book to make sure it hadn't been damaged in shipment. I washed and dried my hands thoroughly, then very carefully opened the front cover. I completed a page by page inspection, mainly for damage, all the way through to the book's back cover.

The photos Misako had taken were nice, but frankly, I wasn't at all sexually aroused by seeing myself swimming. What had aroused both Misako and his sister completely eluded me. Probably a good thing.

Risa and the bookbinder had done truly remarkable work in selecting the cover and papers to best present the photos. I made a mental note to ask Misako to compliment Risa and the elderly Asian bookbinder couple on my behalf.

Since Bethany had specifically asked me to bring the book on Saturday night I carefully repacked the book in the inner and outer boxes and put it in my bedroom closet.

Just before going to bed Wednesday I called Misako to thank her and let her know the book had arrived safely. My call went to voicemail, so I left my message with profuse thanks to him, his sister Risa, and the bookbinders.

Then I called Sharon Madison to give her essentially the same message. Her phone went straight to voicemail, so I left my message. I included that I planned to show the book to Bethany Saturday night after the symphony, and I would call Sharon Sunday afternoon on her cell phone to let her know how our date went.

Just as I was climbing into bed, Sharon returned my call.

During our conversation, I mentioned being puzzled by the letter Misako had included. Sharon had requested it because as she had explained to Misako, she expected Misako become a world-famous photographer some day, and her photos' values would dramatically increase. Sharon had made the request to sincerely uplift and encourage Misako while at the same time documenting the authenticity of her gift to me. As for including the bookbinder in the letter, Sharon was puzzled by that, too.

Sharon said she had already mailed to me a copy of the bill of sale transferring ownership of the book to me. She suggested keeping copies of both Misako's and her letters with the book and storing the originals in a safe deposit box or at least a fire box.

"I owe you big time, Sharon. How will I ever repay you?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, it's Family Night at the Club two weeks from this coming Saturday. If you're free, I'd like you to go as my guest."

"You mean 'cum' as your guest, don't you?" I chided in a failed trying-to-be-clever effort. "But what's Family Night?"

Sharon got my meaning. "That assumes you've recovered sufficiently from your date with Bethany this Saturday. And Family Night is just what it sounds like. Mommies bring their sons, and daddies bring their daughters. Although in some cases mommies bring daughters and daddies bring their sons. Suitable substitutes are allowed, however. And 'cameras on' in the rooms is encouraged."

While Sharon talked I looked at my calendar. Nothing on the schedule for me that Saturday, so, "I'm marking it on my calendar now."

I thanked Sharon once more before we disconnected.

Thursday afternoon I picked up my suit and tie from the dry cleaners.

On my way home with that dry-cleaning fluid smell drifting through my car, I called Marta Cruz to fill her in on my meeting with Robyn Broadsword. Before getting into the gist of my meeting with Robyn, Marta asked what I said that had lit a fire under Robyn. Marta explained that late Tuesday afternoon she had received a call from a Captain in the Judge Advocate General's Office. She said the Captain had been instructed to set up the meeting with Robyn, Marta, and Jamie as soon as possible.

I went over my meeting with Robyn in considerable detail with Marta. Marta had already talked with Jamie, and both of them hoped to get Robyn in a conference call by COB Friday. I told Marta I had not spoken with Jamie yet simply because she had said it would take about a week for her to recover from her annual crud. Marta suggested I call her anyway.

After arriving back at my apartment, I called Jamie. She still didn't sound well, but she told me she nevertheless understood and appreciated my reason for not calling. She told me not to worry, that she would contact me after the conference call among Robyn, Marta, and her.

Friday was a normal class day, but my mind had already fast-forwarded to spending time with Bethany on Saturday night.

Immediately following my last class early Friday afternoon, I called Bethany. I expected it to go directly to voicemail, but Bethany picked right up.

We both expressed our eager anticipation for our date. We also agreed that since the concert began at 8 p.m., I should call for her at her townhouse at 7 p.m.. If traffic was light and we got to the concert hall too early, we could always enjoy a lemonade and talk for a while.

When I told Bethany that Misako's photo book had arrived on Wednesday, she urged me to bring it. If I didn't want to leave it in the car at the concert, I could leave it inside her townhouse when I called for her. Either way, she said she hoped I would come in after the concert and look at it with her.

I spent Saturday doing my laundry and cleaning my apartment. Then I napped briefly before showering and shaving to get ready for my date with Bethany. I was wearing my freshly cleaned dark blue business suit with a white dress shirt, a tastefully colored tie, black dress socks and highly-polished black dress shoes and a pair of black low-rise hip briefs. I figured that regardless of what Bethany wore, my choices of attire were fashionably safe even if mildly boring. Judging from what Sharon had told me about seeing Bethany when she was dressed to impress rather than for business, no one would notice me anyway. Not a bad thing at all.

With the rather inelegant cardboard shipping box in hand, I rang Bethany's doorbell at exactly 7 p.m. Somewhat to my surprise, I wasn't at all nervous. I liked Bethany very much. She was interesting to talk with, and she had a remarkable gift for immediately putting people at ease.

Nevertheless, when she opened her door to welcome me, I was completely stunned and momentarily dumbstruck at the beauty of the woman who stood in front of me.

Aside from the one time at the University pool, I had only seen Bethany in her workplace. The professional Bethany always wore her dark hair in a bun, maybe to make her seem taller.

Bethany had always dressed attractively but professionally, never provocatively. Tonight she was wearing a sleeveless black scoop neck dress that ended very tastefully just above her knee. It had a slightly flared bottom that together with the heels she wore made her five-feet-one-inch height look taller. The scoop neck on her dress revealed just enough cleavage to hint at more but leave it to my imagination. But the single pearl on the delicate gold chain necklace visually enhanced my imagination. The matching pearl stud earrings were a perfect contrast to her black shoulder length hair. And sheer stockings!