Jake looked over Mioko's shoulder as she labored at a monitor in his self-aggrandizing--if nearly unaffordable--midtown corner office. Her hand rapidly manipulated color adjustments on a photo of two emaciated models in native African states of undress, their lips so close, their next move would involve swapping spittle. And for reasons beyond Mioko's comprehension, their Sapphic intimacy was supposed to evoke a mad consumer rush, propelling women to run to the mall and empty their purses for the overpriced cosmetics encrusting the models’ faces.
It was a familiar refrain in the photographer's studio; Jake scrutinized as Mioko adjusted his work.
"My God, that props stylist was absolute fucking garbage, wasn't she? Look at that hut. Looks like a lean-to built by hobos after downing a case of Listerine. I could've built ten times that hut. Stupid cow."
Jake lifted onto the balls of his feet.
"Speaking of hobos."
He pulled a black and white photo of a junkie on the nod from the corkboard above Mioko's computer.
"Little Miss Old School," he said with the usual touch of a sneer. "You're the only person I know who keeps pouring chemicals. Still got that second rent-controlled pad for a darkroom?"
He glanced back at the monitor.
"More in the greens. No, not that much."
Jake's attention found the photo in his hand again.
"That your RB67?"
Mioko nodded, knowing better than to take her eyes off the screen.
"How'd you manage to keep that extra place anyway?"
"Trey’s name is still on the lease," she said. "He shows up in court for me when I ask."
"Your ex? That happen a lot?"
She pushed the histogram, cooling the highlights.
"No. More magenta." He took a step back and studied the screen sideways. "Your landlord must absolutely L-O-V-E you. Yeah, boost the mids. Can't even imagine the market value on those two shoeboxes."
"A couple years ago, Axlerod, my landlord, actually offered me a ten thousand dollar buyout."
"What? Really. Don't do it." He said.
"Yeah?"
"There's only sixteen-hundred rent controlled apartments in the entire city left. I read it in the Times."
"No kidding?"
"This looks like shit. We gotta start over."
Mioko closed her eyes, not turning back to look at her torturer. Her phone began to ring.
"Do you mind?"
Jake rolled his eyes. Mioko hesitantly stepped out into the hallway.
"This is Mioko," She said quietly, the glass pressed to her face as she tried to move from a neighboring studio blaring death metal. "Hey, yeah. Sure, no, I think the high-contrast black and white thing is a strong choice." She listened to the agency art director with a smile, even as she blathered sycophantic about how Romen Gold--the arrogant and infamously temperamental Lamerica CEO--would be on set, and what amazing vision Romen had, and that they’d developed a lasting trust over two years of intimate collaboration, and that he’d seen exactly the same spark in Mioko’s fantastic work that she had. "I'm really glad Romen's excited."
Mioko's suspicious mind immediately began to wander into conspiracy, was this fodder for some deeper manipulation--with Mioko lined up as some kind of pawn in the art director's agency power grab--only to be unceremoniously dumped as soon as the art director made her play. Mioko could barely handle the art director's phony effusiveness, but she was too adrenalized to do anything but grin and try to put one word in front of another.
"I love his stuff. He's a marketing genius," she heard herself saying. Selling out was so much easier than she'd imagined.
But as the art director got back to specifics, Mioko's panic rose. She was actually going to have to do this thing. Her own crew. Her lighting design. Calling all the shots. "Please. Sure. Of course. Sounds good. Yeah, just email me the headshots. Perfect. My guys are all lined up. Right."
She knew it was of the uttermost to remain judicious in her expectations, but despite herself she was trying on self-confidence for the first time in years.
"Wednesday. 10 o'clock. Fast Ashley's Studios. Perfect. We'll see you then."
As Mioko hung up and walked back, she lingered to take in a couple of bars of death metal. The thought of having to slave as Jake's magic hands for the rest of the afternoon was like an arthritic curse.
Jake. What had she done to deserve him?
Then she couldn't help but wonder if she’d stolen a client from her boss. But the notion was so unpleasant, she did a little shimmy with her hips to drive off the albatross, and remind herself of what a fantastic professional coup this was.
That evening as she rode a crowded F home, she found herself caught between either having to lean against the cool train doors, or letting her body press against a clean cut kid in a v-neck. It wasn't really much of a choice she decided as she relaxed towards his ample chest. As the fabric that separated their bare skin brushed, Mioko's eyelids fluttered, betraying the electric pulse that rushed her body.
BEHIND THE KEYBOARD
Selling out was so much easier than she'd imagined. Over my career this has become a truism that I’ve had to fight against with all my will. Especially when it involved new potential clients.
Clients. What can I say? For over 20 years I’ve had them “They can kill you but they can’t eat ya.” That’s what my dad always said when I was dreading dealing with someone. Essentially, what’s the worst that could happen? With some clients it became a constant refrain. It was always good to remember that they’re just people, but people can be pretty good at torturing you.
Since this will indelibly be written into the blockchain, I’d also like to stress that I’ve had plenty of wonderful client experiences and made friends with quite a few. “Work with people you like,” that’s my wonderful producer friend Toni’s company motto. And that’s what it comes down to. Be selective in your work and surround yourself with good people. It makes all the difference. Let’s see how Mioko’s luck with that pans out. Gulp.
Yours In The Chain,
Doug Karr
SPECIAL THANKS to my wife @zenmommas for years of support during the writing process, @ericvancewalton for his trailblazing, inspired collaboration and incredible guidance, @andrarchy for his mind blowing insight and friendship, @bakerchristopher for being an inspiration as a human artist and bro, @complexring for his brilliance and enthusiasm, Masie Cochran, Taylor Rankin and @elenamoore for their skillful help in editing the manuscript, and to @opheliafu for the fantastic illustrations she created exclusively for the novel's launch on Steemit and to Elena Megalos for her wonderful character illustrations. I’d also like to thank Eddie Boyce, Jamie Proctor, Katie Mustard, Alan Cumming, Danai Gurira, Stephan Nowecki, Ron Simons, Dave Scott, Alden Karr, Missy Chimovitz, my dad Andy Karr and late mother Wendy, and everyone else who helped lead me to this moment.
I am a Brooklyn based writer, film & commercial director, and crypto-enthusiast, my projects include @HardFork-series an upcoming narrative crypto-noir and my novel Dwelling will soon be premiering exclusively on Steemit, and you can check out more of my work at dougkarr.com, piefacepictures.com, and www.imdb.com/name/nm1512347
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