Part 16

(Go to Part 1 for the beginning.)

(Continued from Part 15)

 Katrina oohs and aahs at the proofs of Annie and says she'll run a quarter page ad in LA Magazine. I won't forget your photo credit and I'll even give you bold type. I'd rather have money than bold type but I tell myself, It's a start. When Katrina receives her advance copy of LA Magazine I rush over and she takes me into her office and shows me the ad with a proud smile. It's better than I could have hoped for, she says, and I give her credit for her own creative touch, printing the ad in shiny silver tones which make the image of Annie beaming in the breeze stand out so strikingly that the other ads look cheap in comparison. And there's the credit. Photo: Frank Capri. I grin and Katrina claps her hands with joy. It's magic, isn't it, Frankie?

She pulls out a bottle of champagne and tells her secretary to hold her calls. Ahead of me two glasses to one she says, I haven't told you but I find you very sexy. Her eyes are dancing over me and my blushing gives her a chuckle. Don't be embarrassed. It's a compliment. You look like Al Pacino and he's my favorite actor. Tell me, Frankie, what do you want? I go on about how I want to make a statement in photography, an artistic statement and not just a commercial one. I was hoping there was something else, she says, and casually she describes the prime properties she owns in Beverly Hills from this husband and that one and tells me she's in constant need of new pictures but she'd like someone who's not just a photographer because those are a dime a dozen. To be honest, she begins, which is a phrase I've always hated because whenever someone begins with, To be honest, it sounds like a rare exception. ...I need a lover, Katrina says, someone who would give me one or two afternoons a week, that's all, and you look like you could handle that. She slides a well-manicured hand around my leg and her eyes are dancing again. I'm married but not happily. She's got so many chunky sparkling rings on her fingers that I never noticed the wedding rock. I admit I'm a hypocrite, she says. I mean if my husband did this to me I'd kill him. I can't help myself, Frankie. Look into my eyes. See how hungry I am? Her lake-blue eyes and her partly open lips are like a grotto, inviting me to sail inside for some spellbinding excitement. Yes, I can see her hunger and I'm getting pretty damn tempted to grab her and show her who's really the hungry one here. The famished one.

Katrina slowly hikes her dress which sends my brain into hibernation. There's a stirring between my legs and suddenly the word "gigolo" rises to the top of my career goals. I can't believe I'm actually giving pause to her offer and that the word gigolo is soaring to the top of my career goals. Katrina certainly isn't that old or bad-looking and she must have a ton of money, a foreign substance I haven't seen a trace of since I decided to become a professional starving artist. In my gut, though, I know that whatever I win has got to be on my terms or it won't mean a thing. Not a damn thing. And it's that party pooping thought that makes it easier to stand, and now I'm wondering whether to kiss Katrina goodbye or be smart and shake her hand. She decides for me, coming to her feet and giving me the gift of her full luscious lips. I know I should back off but it's the best thing that's happened to me since I came to LA and I'm not about to end the pleasure any faster than I have to so I kiss back, melting in the wetness of our lips. Sorry, Katrina.

She gives a Mona Lisa smile. Never say never, Frankie. Sleep on it. It's an offer that doesn't come along every day. If you don't keep me company someone else will, someone smart. After that day I never stopped in Spirals again except in my fantasies. Sometimes though when I walked by the store I'd give a quick look to see if Katrina was around, and even though I didn't see her a smile would come to my lips at the memory.

As for Annie, I never saw her again. Last time I talked with her on the phone she said she got a restraining order on her lunatic boyfriend because he started hitting her. She said she tried to get the order before but the police said, Our hands are tied, lady. We can't do anything to him till he does somethin' to you. So when he beat her up again that qualified her for the restraining order and she went to a shelter, and promising me to secrecy, said she was moving to New York to become a Rockette.

At Christmas time, when they show newscasts of the Rockettes on TV, I drop everything and squint to see if I can spot her in the long-legged line-up. I've never found her and I guess I never will. I miss Annie and just hope that wherever she is, she's safe and happy.

(to be continued every Tuesday)