Resonance

Chapter 25. The Softer Side of the Ys

  Since we'd been linked before, we didn't need any transition time to get used to it, so it was decided to link us in the morning, after we'd had a night's sleep, and insert us into the Ys on the morning of the day of the photographs, October ninth. Alan had determined that the McDowells left for the school from the rented studio, and he thought they hadn't spent the night there.

  So the Ys, with us aboard, woke up on the morning of October ninth on the floor of the back room of the studio on Border Street. Alan was right that they hadn't actually slept there but had been transferred out of Kirk A's TSA, because they were dressed and shaved and so on when they woke up, and there wasn't anyplace in the studio to do that, or any beds.

  They were wearing white dress shirts with long sleeves and dress trousers—Yancy's were charcoal gray and Yarnall's were dark blue. There was a mirror in the room, but they didn't look in it. I knew from Shep through Yarnall's eyes what Yancy was wearing and vice-versa.

  This looks like they must use it as a work room, said Shep. The Ys gathered up a lot of equipment there, cameras and lenses and a tripod and a folding backdrop and lights and so on, and carried it all through the front room of the studio and out to a van parked on the street in front.

  The front room was done up like a shop, with a counter and photos on the walls of weddings and children and picnics and stuff, picture frames, albums, just what you'd expect, and an assortment of the same things in the window. On the door was painted "McDowell Brothers Photography, Hours by Appointment."

  That's interesting, I said. They've fixed it so they won't get any drop-in business. They don't even give a phone number—pretty hard to make an appointment.

  And they have their name on the van, but there's no address or phone number, added Shep.

  They locked the door and got into the van, Yancy of course behind the wheel, and drove to the Snyder-Prestwick School on Weaver Boulevard. It was a big place, pre-K through Grade 12, and Shep and I had both heard of it—our schools played them in football and basketball and baseball. I thought to wonder if it was where Angel went, because it was pretty near where she lived.

  Seems likely. Shep answered my thought. You can ask her.

  Ms. Balzoni had recruited a parent or a TA, another youngish woman, to help her. She was waiting in the hall when the Ys arrived, and she escorted them to what I think was the teachers' lounge and an adjoining conference room. They moved the big table in the conference room back into a corner, took the chairs into the teachers' lounge, and had the backdrop and lights and a stool for the one being photographed and the camera tripod all set up much quicker than I would have expected.

  The TA brought in all twenty-three kids, and the Ys arranged them in front of the backdrop, short kids in the front, taller ones in the back, with Ms. Balzoni on the stool in the middle. He took a group photo, then the TA took the kids into the lounge and had them sit down in alphabetical order by last name.

  She and Ms. Balzoni kept them occupied: they had Show and Tell, they sang songs, they played number games, she read them a story, and so on. It was probably pretty much what they did every day anyway.

  Yarnall sat down at a table near the connecting door to the conference room and called them one at a time, using an alphabetical list.

  The first one he called was one of the early victims, Jessica Abersold, a cute little girl with long blond hair in braids. She came over, kind of shy because she was the first.

  "Good morning, Beautiful," he said to her. "What's your name?" He had the list, and he'd just called her name, and he already had a folder with her name and address on the outside, so I guess he was double-checking or maybe just making conversation to put her at ease.

  "How old are you, Honey?" he asked, and "Do you have any brothers and sisters?" "Do you have any pets?" "What's your favorite TV show?" "Do Mommy and Daddy both live with you?" "Do you have a nanny or an au pair? Does she live in your house?" "Who stays with you when Mommy and Daddy go out?" "What's your favorite food?" and a lot more.

  Why is he asking that stuff? asked Shep.

  I don't know, but he shouldn't be, I said. It's creepy.

  He smiled a lot and joshed her as he noted all her answers in the folder, and she got all giggly and flirty with him.

  I can't believe Ms. Balzoni isn't picking up on this, I said. It's not the kind of thing a school photographer should or would be asking a four-year-old.

  Maybe she thinks it counts as part of putting the kid at ease, suggested Shep.

  Once Yarnall had filled in all the answers, he passed Jessica on to Yancy in the conference room, who greeted her with, "Hel-lo, Gorgeous! You ought to be on TV. Would you like that?" He took a lot of photos very fast, like a fashion photographer, having her turn her head, drop her chin, smile, pout, sit with her back to him and look over her shoulder, lick her lips, play with her hair, all the time telling her how pretty she was and what a great picture it was going to be, all this in about five minutes.

  Some of these poses are totally not appropriate for a little girl, I said at one point.

  Like you said, responded Shep, creepy.

  When Yancy had finished, he gave Jessica a lollipop. She obviously thought he was the bee's knees.

  And so it went with the whole class. The Ys called all the girls Beautiful, Princess, Honey, Gorgeous, Sunshine, or Angel, and all the boys Ace, Champ, Rocky, Slick, My Man, Dude, or Handsome.

  The kids all really love these goons, marveled Shep. Who would have thought they could be so warm and fuzzy?

  Look at Ms. Balzoni, I added. She's obviously also very favorably impressed with them. If one of them asked, she'd go out to dinner with him like a shot.

  It wasn't really surprising—the Ys called her ma'am and were very respectful but flirted with her too.

  They were also very quick. They did the whole class in less than two and a half hours.

  They really know how to take photographs, said Shep.

  We haven't seen the finished product yet, I warned him.

  On the way back to the studio the Ys stopped at a Burger King for a couple of Whoppers each, two double orders of fries, and the largest size of soft drinks, all of which they took with them.

  The back room was indeed a work room, and they got right to work putting the memory sticks into the computer and printing photos, chowing down as they worked. If I ever ate that fast, let alone that kind of crap, my mom would really be on my case, I told Shep.

  My case too, he answered. It was true—my mom is equal opportunity where things like that are concerned, and I've totally internalized it—I practically got indigestion by proxy.

  Despite the garbage they were ingesting, they were, Shep and I agreed, much more businesslike and speedy and efficient than we would have expected. By the end of the afternoon, they had twenty-three packets, one for each child, consisting of the group photo, the most school-picture-like photograph of that child, eight-by-ten format, in a cardboard frame, twenty-five wallet-size, and an order form, all in a big manila envelope with a cardboard back, stamped "Do Not Bend." They had a sheet with a preprinted address label for each child, and the envelopes were printed with the name of the studio, all very businesslike. No address or phone number, though, also not on the order form.

  No way those parents are going to be able to order any more photos, commented Shep.

  It's slick, I said. They'll probably think it's just a mistake, because the studio's new. Most of the parents probably won't want to order any more photos, which are free anyway—

  And which are really good, by the way, Shep interpolated. I was right—they do know how.

  And even if the parents do want more copies, and can't get hold of the Ys, they'll just copy them and print them from Photoshop or something, I finished.

  Then the Ys split up, for the first time since we'd been secretly enjoying their hospitality this trip. Yarnall took the twenty-three envelopes and raced off to the Lincoln Central Post Office, ge
tting there before six, so he could mail them off the same day.

  The addresses are mostly right in Lincoln, so they should be delivered by the end of the week, I said. Shep and I were still connected even though the Ys weren't together. It was neat.

  Wow, are those parents going to be impressed, answered Shep.

  Meanwhile, Yarnall was working on a huge, expensive-looking, leather-bound album, making a two-page spread for each child. He arranged the more edgy, adult-pose photos artistically, along with a printed sheet on colored paper, like you might put in a scrapbook. The sheet for Jessica looked like this:

  DAISY

  My name is Daisy,

  and I'm four and a half years old.

  Pink is my favorite color.

  I don't have a kitten,

  But I want one,

  A white one.

  I like to swim.

  I love strawberry ice cream

  and pizza

  and Hannah Montana.

  Yarnall got back in about forty-five minutes, and the two of them took turns, one sticking the photos and the colored papers on the two album pages and the other one typing and printing the colored sheet and sorting out the other stuff for the next child.

  They had lists of names they were using: the list for the white girls had Rose, Pansy, Daisy, Lily, Jasmine, Violet, Ivy, Peony, Marigold; for the black girls, Ruby, Opal, Sapphire, Emerald, Jewel, Topaz, Beryl; for the white boys, Albert, Walt, Jasper, Simon, Alfred, Roy, Clarence, Herbie, Ned; for the black boys, Rastus, Cletus, Justus, Crispus, Rufus, Fuscus; For the Latino boys, of which there weren't any in the class, Juan, Jose, Ramon, Paco, Pablo, Cesar, Jorge; for the Latina girls, Maria, Clara, Concepcion, Lupe, Lourdes; for the Asian kids, just one list for both: Ming, Ling, Cho, Chang, Chong, Jing, Soong. They didn't need all of the names.

  Yancy held onto the album as they lay down on the floor and injected themselves. There was a period of grogginess, and we woke up, along with them, in the living room of their apartment. There must have been an intervening step, into and out of Kirk A's TSA, because I don't think you can go directly from one world to another without passing through a TSA, but we didn't wake up for that part.

  The Ys left the album there and went out for dinner, to a steak house, where neither one of them ate their vegetables.

  Maybe they take vitamins, suggested Shep.

  When we were here before, they didn't totally avoid everything green, did they? I asked.

  Maybe they hadn't discovered vitamins yet, was his comment.

  At about ten they went back to the apartment and watched some porn on TV. Neither of us thought it was very good, not that I've seen all that much, and I don't think Shep has either, but this was just sleazy. Anyway, then they went to bed—they must have been tired, after the long day they'd had. And we were pulled out.