“No problem!” He hustled off to refill Wylie’s beer and hopefully get another drink for Kate. So far, the meeting with Wylie had gone surprisingly well. He nodded appreciatively along with her as she explained her thesis project and drank his first beer. He peppered her with questions about the current happenings at his alma mater while he ate his dinner and drank his second beer.
While reminiscing with Brandon Wylie about Professor Potter’s notoriously boring lectures or the finicky vending machine near the darkrooms was somewhat amusing, Kate was more eager to discover what insight he could give her into the enigmatic relationship between Reed O’Connor and Sam Rhodes. She felt a growing urgency to unravel the mystery of why the once devoted couple was no longer together.
According to Vanessa Allensworth, Wylie was the only assistant that O’Connor had employed on a regular basis, and the only one he had used at all once he started doing portraits full-time. Kate was curious why the reclusive photographer had hired the ruddy-faced man to begin with and equally curious why he had fired him. According to Vanessa, Wylie was around the same age as O’Connor, but Kate thought he looked at least a decade older.
“So, Mr. Wylie—”
“Nah, you’re buying me beer. You can call me Brandon.”
“Thanks. I just wanted to let you know I’m not publishing anything about Mr. O’Connor’s personal history in my thesis. This is purely for research and my own understanding of his work. I have absolutely no plans to write anything—”
“Oh,” he interrupted her, shrugging. “You can publish anything you want, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve got no loyalty to that asshole. What do you want to know?”
“Oh… okay. So, how long did you work for him?”
He sniffed noisily. “It was almost a year and a half, I guess? It was sort of a job-to-job thing at first, with the fashion stuff, then I worked for him full-time when he started doing portraits. I pretty much got stuck as O’Connor’s errand boy. He didn’t need my help with the portrait work as much as the fashion, but he kept me around to clean stuff up in the studio, get rid of curious people, run errands. Stuff like that. Then, after he got weird, he kicked me out of the studio altogether, and I just answered phones and did what Lydia—that’s his agent—told me.”
Kate leaned forward a little, one phrase catching her attention. “What do you mean ‘after he got weird?’”
“Oh, come on,” he snorted. “You must know his reputation. Trust me, it’s well-earned. At first he was an okay guy. I mean, he was always an asshole, especially when he was working, but he kind of had a sense of humor about it. Then he…” Wylie trailed off, suddenly looking uncomfortable.
“What?”
He finally looked at her. “Fuck it. I don’t owe that guy anything. He was totally messed-up over a chick. Not that you could tell by the company he kept, you know what I mean?”
“Not really. I’ve never heard about him having any company. All my research indicates the man is pretty much a loner,” Kate said calmly, though inwardly, she was practically bouncing in anticipation at the unexpected treasure trove of information the former assistant had turned out to be.
“Oh, he doesn’t anymore. That’s probably true. No, when I first worked for him, he actually had a normal—well, sort of normal—girlfriend, if you can believe it.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. Uh… Sam was her name. She was from around here somewhere, and they went to school together. She was a painter. Not that I know much about painting, but she was around. She worked in another part of the studio and was real private about her work, so I don’t know if she was really an artist, you know?” He smirked as if sharing an inside joke.
Kate smiled back, amused that the photographer seemed to be unaware that one of the state’s foremost landscape artists was the subject of his musing. She prodded him a little.
“So, this painter… was she the one O’Connor was messed-up about?”
Wylie nodded, frowning before he took another large bite of steak. He hadn’t finished chewing when he continued. “Yeah. I never really got it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she was hot. Blond, pretty brown eyes. Total girl-next-door hot, if you know what I mean.”
He took a gulp of the beer the server had just set on the table. “She had a nice ass, too. No offense or anything.”
Kate fought the urge to kick his knees under the table. “So she was hot? What was the big deal? I mean, O’Connor did fashion photography. He must have been surrounded by gorgeous women all the time.”
Wylie nodded. “That’s part of the reason I took the job. His agent is the one that hired me, to tell the truth. He didn’t want an assistant, but she insisted. She said O’Connor didn’t want ‘a little New York shit.’ Said he wanted someone normal. I’d just graduated from Foothill and moved to New York. I guess someone at the college told her I was around.” Wylie shrugged.
“So you got the job because… why? You were a Foothill grad?”
“Probably. The guy’s fucked up, but he’s got school spirit or some shit. Lydia told me once he set up this huge scholarship at the college with some money his dad left him. Totally anonymous. He didn’t live rich, so I guess you’d never know, but I think he was pretty loaded.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. And I bet he’s really loaded now, with all the celebrity portraits. Those have got to pay good. But for the first year I worked for him—before he broke up with the girlfriend—he was like a hermit. He had a few people that hung around, but it was mostly just him and her… and his agent, I guess. But they never went out, or at least, not much. Openings every now and then, when one of their friends was showing and they had friends visit from California sometimes.”
Kate shrugged. “I don’t know, he sounds pretty normal from the way you describe him. I don’t know why everyone thinks he’s such an asshole.”
“Probably 'cause of the way he is when he’s working.” Wylie paused to wave the server for another beer as he finished the one he was drinking. “He was in his own world when he got in that mode. Fucking brilliant, but he didn’t notice anything or anyone but the subject, you know? Maybe that’s why he kept Sam around.” He snorted a little. “She was like his guard dog—a little blond pit-bull!” Wylie laughed at his own joke before settling down again.
“A pit-bull, huh?”
“Yeah, she and I didn’t get along very well. She was usually a super-moody bitch. She’d act all stuck-up most of the time, unless O’Connor came into the room, and then it was all about him, you know?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I don’t know. The sex must have been amazing or something, ‘cause she was super jealous, too. With all the models and shit?” He shook his head and looked down at his almost empty plate. “I guess she had reason to be. I mean, I’m sure he was fooling around on her.”
“Yeah? What makes you think that?” Kate asked with an incredulous snort, remembering Dee, Javi, and Vanessa talking about how dedicated and loyal the two were to each other.
“Maybe because he kissed a chick right in front of her after a photo shoot one time?” Wylie said. “Well, I mean, he didn’t know she was there. He was in his ‘work mode’ and I guess he must not have heard her come in the studio.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I saw the whole thing.”
“What?” She felt her heart plunge, and her voice was barely audible in the crowded restaurant. Her mind rushed back to Cody’s betrayal, and she swallowed the lump in her throat, determined not to lower her guard around the obnoxious man in front of her.
“Yeah, first time I ever really felt sorry for the moody bitch. She looked like she’d been punched in the gut. I thought she was gonna hurl on the equipment for a minute, and I’d have to clean it up.”
Kate sat speechless, fighting the unexpected tears that wanted to come to her eyes. She felt a sudden urge to rip up every complimentary word she’d ever written about Reed O’Connor. “So, what—” She cleared her throat a little befor
e continuing. “What happened when she saw him?”
“O’Connor turned around after a second, saw her, and started yelling at the top of his lungs for everyone to leave.” He laughed. “Including the chick he’d just been kissing! I was the last one out, and I heard them start fighting. She was ripping into him, that’s for sure. I was tempted to stick around, but I wasn’t that interested in O’Connor’s love life, you know? I guess they broke up.”
“So, uh…” Kate swallowed thickly, determined to get as much information as possible from the interview. “You never saw her around again?”
“Nope. I turned up at his studio downtown the next day and everything was locked up. I kept coming by for a few days, but no one was ever there. I finally called Lydia, and she told me to just stay home for a while. Didn’t hear a word from him for like… six weeks? Kept getting my paycheck, so I couldn’t complain about that. Finally, he calls me up, tells me to be in the studio the next day for work and that was that.”
Kate paused, remembering what the man had said earlier. “And that’s when he got weird?”
He nodded dramatically. “Yeah, big time weird. He barely talked unless he absolutely had to. The fashion stuff sort of stopped. 'Course, maybe he just ran out of fresh models to screw, or after the girlfriend left, the thrill was gone. He did start banging new chicks about six months later, though.”
“And then?” Kate said, her lip curling at the man’s callous attitude.
“Then, if you can believe it, he got even weirder. He worked alone, mostly at night. I snuck in the studio one morning, and he was sleeping in the corner. Had the light kits set up at all these crazy angles. I could never figure out what he was shooting. 'Course, crazy must sell, because all the celebrities started showing up right after he and the painter broke up.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, Lydia sort of had to baby him at first, but for some reason, they all loved the guy. He was the hottest ticket in town all of a sudden. And the ironic thing was, O’Connor didn’t give a shit about any of it.”
Wylie smiled, but shook his head in confusion. “So, I worked for him like… half of 2005 and through 2006. Then right after New Year’s, he sat me down and said he didn’t really need an assistant anymore.”
She felt wooden, going through the motions of the interview while her heart ached in disappointment.
“Were you pissed off?”
He grimaced. “To tell you the truth, I was sick of New York at that point. Too much drama. Shitty weather. Too damn expensive.” He took a deep breath and finished his beer in one gulp as Kate stared at him sullenly. “I was ready to come home. Nothing beats SoCal, you know? Sun and surf, baby.” He smiled with a satisfied grin.
“Yep,” Kate said bitterly. “You’ve got it made, Wylie.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Brooklyn, New York
March 2005
The tiny Asian woman paced in the middle of the room, swinging her arms wildly as she tried to get through to her friend.
“You have to hire someone! This is getting ridiculous. You spend twice as much time on shoots as you need to because you refuse to hire anyone for more than a day. If you had a regular assistant, they would already know what equipment you liked, what lighting you prefer, and how to set everything up. Then, you could show up, do your work, and leave.” Lydia threw her hands up at Reed’s complete and utter disinterest.
He was sitting at the kitchen table in their apartment in Williamsburg, examining a contact sheet from his latest job. He moved the loupe deliberately across the page, oblivious to his agent’s frustration.
“Argh!” Lydia rolled her eyes and sat down on the plush green couch Sam had picked out six months before when they finally found a decent-sized apartment. “Sam, help me out here. Wouldn’t you like your boyfriend to work less hours?”
The painter, who was working on sketches for a series featuring street performers, refused to look at her friend and agent across the room. She sat at a drafting table, her pencil adding quiet background noise to the open room.
“Lydia, don’t even try to draw me into this one. This is between you and Reed. I’m staying the hell out of it,” she answered and continued sketching, turning a page in her book to capture the look of intense concentration on her lover’s face as he worked.
They had been together for almost five years, but Sam continued to be fascinated by the subtle variations of expression that crossed Reed’s face, particularly when he was working. They were still each others’ preferred model for almost everything, though Sam conceded she had neither the patience nor the stature for the fashion work Reed had become known for.
He had been working much longer hours, but as always, if it didn’t bother Reed, it didn’t bother Sam. They both trusted Lydia implicitly with the management of their careers, and they were as fiercely loyal to her as she was to them. The agent did occasionally try to use their influence over each other to her advantage, as she was trying to do at the moment.
Usually, both Reed and Sam laughed it off. This time, however, the temperamental photographer looked at Lydia with irritation. “Lydia, give it a rest. Don’t you have something to do? We’re both trying to work here.”
Lydia kicked her feet up on the small couch and settled in, tucking her long hair behind her ears and lifting an eyebrow.
“I know you are, but I have a date later. Hanging out with you guys when you’re both working gets me revved up. It’s like vicarious foreplay.”
Reed only shook his head. He did, however glance over at Sam, who met his eyes with a sexy wink. Just Reed’s eyes on her gave Sam a few ideas for how they might fill the time when they could finally kick Lydia out.
Lydia shivered. “See? Just keep eye-fucking each other like that. It’s so damn sexy. Speaking of your swirling sexual chemistry, how about some pictures or canvases of the two of you together? That would be stunning. I could sell the hell out of something like that. Tastefully done, of course. Or not,” she mused. “I could sell either.”
“No,” they said simultaneously from across the room.
Lydia sighed. “I’ll ask again tomorrow…” She trailed off before piping up in a more cheerful voice. “Hey, Vanessa’s going to be in town next month for her show.”
Sam smiled. “We haven’t seen her in… How long has it been? Reed, do you remember?”
He looked up and furrowed his dark eyebrows in concentration. “Has she been here since we moved into this place?”
“I don’t think so. I think we were still crashing with Lydia when she visited last time.”
“Well, shit, it’s been almost six months then,” he said before returning to work.
“Hey, Reed?” Lydia called his name in a slightly sing-song voice.
“Yes, Satan?”
Sam snorted from across the room.
“Will you do Vanessa’s pictures for her show? Pretty please? You have the time right now. I know your schedule.” Lydia grinned slyly.
“Hmm. Imagine that. I do have time right now. How did you know?” He rolled his eyes. “Of course I’ll do pictures for Vanessa. She’s great in front of the camera. Does she need shots of her work too, or just publicity portraits?”
“Both. Dee has some pictures for me from the stuff she’s seen, but if you could shoot the new stuff, that would be great. Her portrait’s the priority though, and I’m hoping to do some cross-promotion for you both. I want something that screams ‘mysterious and sexy,’ all right? Nothing weird.”
“I know how to shoot a portrait.”
“Oh, I know you do, I just don’t want—”
“I’ll shoot her the way I want to, Lydia.”
Sam smirked at the undercurrent of annoyance in Reed’s voice.
“I just don’t want to have to explain the irony of publicity photos featuring the painter’s ear or something.”
Sam pursed her lips, waiting for the fight their friend had started, whether she knew it or not.
Reed sat
back in his chair. “Are you questioning my ability or talent?”
“No, I just—”
“Training?”
“Reed—”
“I’m sorry, has a client been unsatisfied with my work in any way?”
“Yes, but you usually just tell them to throw the proofs away and hire someone else. Which, of course, they never do.”
“Because I know what I’m doing better than they do, which is why I will shoot Vanessa exactly the way I want to, Lydia. And you’ll like it, or you won’t ask me to do another freebie portrait for you—ever. Got it?” His voice was dripping with irritation, and his blue eyes glared at the agent.
Lydia glared back. “Fine. Just remember, I do all this shit for you guys. And none of you have to worry one bit about marketing, or little things like—oh, I don’t know? Selling the stuff you produce? So don’t pull the artistic temperament bullshit with me, Reed.”
Sam frowned as she felt a twinge in her lower abdomen. She stretched her arms up, hoping the sharp pain on her right side was caused by the angle at which she was sitting. Unfortunately, as she stretched, the pain grew worse, and she swayed a little, dizzy even as she sat on her stool.
Reed’s eyes cut to her immediately, forgetting the argument with Lydia. “Sam? Are you okay?”
The painter stood up slowly. “Just a cramp, I think.” She waved her hand dismissively as she walked over toward Lydia on the couch. Her friend eyed her, noticing how pale she was and the slight tremor in her hands.
“Sam, honey, did you forget to eat today?” Lydia asked cautiously. She had to force her to eat sometimes; Sam would forget after days of working on a canvas. Yet despite the lack of sleep and poor diet, Sam was almost never ill.
Reed stood, forgetting his work on the table and striding toward her. Sam saw the frightened look in his eye an instant before she passed out.
Hours later, she lay silently in a hospital bed after emergency surgery, painfully recalling the panicked ride in the ambulance and the confusion in the emergency room. She curled into herself on the narrow bed, taking shelter in the dark room and the feel of Reed’s hand as it cradled her own. He was sleeping in the chair next to her, pulled up close to her bed.