Nightlife Read Online Free Page B

couples, no guys, transvestites or otherwise. Very classy. The management is pretty strict on that.” He plucked out a folder with a satisfied nod. “Yah. Here we go.”
    He handed a few proof sheets to Justin, who scanned the miniature images with wide eyes and a longing heart. Three different women, looked to be from midtwenties to late thirties. One per proof sheet. Obviously, they knew how to pose and Erik knew how to capture the moment.
    “We’re supposed to destroy the proofs after they place their orders.” Erik made doubly sure they were alone. “But sometimes I fudge and tuck them away. The really good ones. An artiste’s life has so few rewards, you know.”
    Justin handed them back, and away they went. “I hate you. I bet you make out like Don Juan in this job.”
    “Huh. Dream on. There was only once that the client-photographer relationship got a little heated.” Erik sighed, settled in his desk chair. “I’d say at least ninety-nine percent of the women who come in are having them shot for someone else. They give them to husbands, boyfriends. So it’s a lost cause. Or they’re giving them to a girlfriend, in which case it’s really a lost cause. You kind of have to be a real philosopher to not go crazy in this job.”
    Justin slid down to the floor, back to the wall. The vodka buzz was waning. Have to remedy that soon. Hung over by early afternoon was not the most ideal proposition.
    “So why the switch from shooting news? I thought you loved that job.”
    “I did.” Erik’s eyes grew cloudy. He laced his fingers while gazing at the ceiling for inspiration. “But with some of the stuff I was shooting—man, it really takes a certain mind-set to not get to you. The drug wars, especially. I mean, this isn’t Miami, but we’re not immune here by any means. I was shooting pictures of these people—men, women, kids, everybody gets caught in the cross-fire sooner or later—and I was seeing some really hideous stuff. Shootings, knifings, beatings. Murder by automobile. One guy they found—one of his arms wasn’t anything but bone from the elbow down. Coroner said somebody had stuck his arm in with a bunch of piranha, if you can believe that. So I’m seeing all this through my viewfinder, and I find that it’s not making much of a dent in my head anymore.”
    Justin nodded. “But you’re supposed to bring a certain amount of objectivity with you.”
    “Objectivity is one thing. Not giving a damn anymore is another. I was burning out big-time. And I just didn’t want to end up one of these grizzled old guys trading their worst murder stories over coffee and doughnuts every morning.” Erik pulled up from his slump, rested his elbows on his knees. Smiled and upturned his palms. “So now ... all this is mine.”
    “Lord of the thighs.”
    Erik wrinkled his nose. “Crass.” He dug through the center desk drawer. He pulled out another sheet of photographic paper. Withheld the image for a moment. “I’ve got all kinds of stuff lined up for us to do the next few days, get you out and introduced to a few people.”
    Justin grinned. “So you’re not stuck with me the whole time, right?”
    “All for your own good, dear boy. We’ve got to get you circulating among single women again. You’re probably out of practice.” He handed the picture over. “Here’s someone you’ll be meeting tomorrow night. And don’t drool on the picture.”
    This was no proof sheet, best served by a magnifying glass, but a full eight-by-ten glossy. The girl was mid- or late twenties. It wasn’t a standard lace-teddy shot and was therefore all the more provocative. Faded ancient jeans, unsnapped and halfway unzipped. Blue denim shirt, completely unbuttoned as well, with only the inner swell of each breast showing. Bare feet, luxurious dark hair bunched messily around her shoulders. Her face looked vaguely exotic, as if she carried within a few drops of Oriental blood.
    Yes, it could be love.
    “That’s