Cabaret Delancey 04 - The Collector
David sees Mona again.
It was a little over a month later when David saw Mona again, though not in person. It was a Wednesday, ironically, when there was a knock at his door.
Something had changed inside of David after the whole Mona affair. He was jumpy. It was like he was waiting for something. For the other shoe to drop. It was like he was ready for some new part of his life to start, but nothing had happened.
Through the peephole, he saw a stranger in a black suit, with a vintage-looking overcoat, and black leather gloves. He was perhaps forty, white, dark-rimmed glasses, intellectual looking, short salt and pepper hair with a slight widow’s peak.
Against his better judgment, David opened the door.
“I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I’m afraid I didn’t have any other contact information for you. I was wondering if you could confirm that you took this picture,” he said, pulling an eight-by-ten out of a manilla envelope and holding it up.
Mona, on her knees, facing away. David’s familiar apartment a blur behind her. His heart stopped for a moment and his hands grew cold.
“Yes,” he said simply before he could think.
The man nodded and put the picture away.
“My name is Harold Roth, I’m a collector,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“David Lin.”
“I’m a fan of your work, especially this collection. I’d like to speak to you about a commission. I don’t want to take up any more of your personal time though, I was passing by this area and since, as I said, I didn’t have any contact information other than your address, I thought I would drop by. Here is my business card. Email or call if you like and we can set up a meeting,” he said simply, handing David a very stiff, very white card.
With that, he gave David a little bow and headed for the stairs, as opposed to the elevator.
David just stood there for a moment, the surrealness of his visit making him look around the hall for cameras or witnesses. He closed the door and sat down on his couch, the card in his hand and his heart still racing.
“Harold Roth, Collector. New York - London - Berlin,” read the card with a phone number and an email address.
That card sat on David’s desk for almost a week. He looked up at it many times, as he checked his email, as he ate his breakfast, it seemed to haunt him. Finally, one night after a few drinks, he dashed out an email.
“Mr. Roth. I’m the man who took the pictures of Mona. I would be happy to meet with you to discuss a commission. Those pictures are a bit of an anomaly for me. To see samples more representative of my work, please see my website, listed below. Thank you, David.”
The reply didn’t come for five days. David had almost forgotten about the strange hyper-formal man and the whole mystery as he started a large catalog job that took him out to Westchester every day for a week.
“Mr. Lin. I host theatrical experiences. Often I will construct elaborate tableaux that I would very much enjoy having professionally documented. Since these works are often intimate, discretion is of the utmost importance. I am willing to go to great lengths and expense to see that all of my needs are met. If this sounds intriguing to you, please let me know if you might be available to discuss.”
David sat and read the message over a few times. He chuckled at himself, because there was no real debate, he would do it of course. He wrote him as such. Roth’s reply was quick.
“I’d prefer to speak in person about the details. Could you meet for lunch today? Perhaps at 1 pm at Balthazar? My treat, of course.” Again, no debate.
David had been to the restaurant before and it had always been one of his favorites. It was prohibitively expensive and a bit out of the way, so he didn’t go often, though he would occasionally stop by the small bakery connected to it for a baguette or a fancy donut.
It was a classic New York City style French brasserie. A vast room with huge aged mirrors on the walls, a marble bar, black and white tiled floor, and a well-dressed wait staff. Spotless white tablecloths and the buzz of a crowd of mostly affluent well-dressed cosmopolitan types. David’s favorite part, though, were the enormous mirrors that lined the walls and reached almost the ceiling.
David felt a bit out of place in jeans and a black t-shirt, but no one batted an eye. Mr. Roth seemed to be wearing the same suit. His dress shirt was a spotless white. His tie a simple black. At his wrist was a very expensive-looking gold watch.
“I took the liberty of getting us a bottle of red, I hope that suits you,” he said, standing to shake my hand before we sat.
It was good wine. He seemed very adept at making small talk without telling me anything about what he did for a living, or giving away any personal information. He mostly nodded and smiled. After we ordered, he got down to brass tacks.
“While I very much enjoy theater, there is an ephemeral nature to performances that I admit, has made me a bit frustrated. I’ve attempted to hire photographers before, but some of my guests are very concerned about anonymity and pictures getting out, so I’ve had to figure out a way to ensure total control of the photos. From what I understand, you only shoot on film and develop and enlarge your own prints?”
“I shoot digital as well, but I prefer film. I develope black and white as well as color. Though I often have to send color out.” Roth nodded at this.
“Well, I may want color. We will see. Let’s start with black and white. My idea is that you shoot the event with a specific quantity of film. All film canisters will be numbered and recorded in my ledger. I will have a darkroom set up to your specifications in the apartment next door to the theater. I can also provide an assistant. You develop and print there and neither the film nor the prints ever leave the premises. Does that sound reasonable?”
David nodded. “You’ll have access to the apartment next door for maybe three or four hours?”
Roth smiled. “I own the building and maintain all of the apartments on the second floor for my personal use. Does my plan seem like something you would consider?”
“Oh, yes. I can do that. I can even bring some of my equipment-”
“That won’t be necessary. Just give me a list of what you need and I will procure it. I’ll only ask that you use your camera and that you don’t bring any film of your own. In fact, I’ll have to insist on having your bags checked for film. This is for the safety of my guests.”
David considered that, and nodded. “I-um-I want to preface this question by saying it would not necessarily change my answer, but will I be recording anything illegal?”
Roth’s face broke into a wide smile very slowly. He slapped his knee and chuckled. “Nothing overtly illegal is planned. No one will be doing anything they haven’t consented to. Everyone there will be past the age of majority. Theoretically, there may be some drug use, but that’s something I would prefer didn’t make it into the photographs. I’m glad that your desire to participate in this project is not encumbered by such pedestrian matters though. It is good to be aware of such factors, of course.”
They ate steak frites and Roth quoted David a generous but not absurd rate. A touch above what he made on a catalog shoot. Roth was impressed when he was able to list the equipment and chemicals he would need, from the expensive enlarger to the specific developing trays to a filter he could get for a normal kitchen sink to control temperature and air bubbles.
“There is a performance coming up, which I’d like to invite you to. It will be too soon to shoot and I think it would make sense for you to see one of the shows before deciding.”
Roth took out an envelope with a beautifully printed invitation. The invitation had no location on it. “Would you say you have a good memory, Mr. Lin?”
David considered the question and the tone of their conversation. “I would say much of our discussion today would be difficult for me to forget.”
Roth smiled again, his eyes sparkling with appreciation. He was a man who liked it when people got into the spirit of what he put forth.
“The theater is located at 300 Attorney Street. I discourage people from writing this address down and insist people don’t record it digitally in any way.”
“300 Attorney Street. I got it.”
“If you’d like, you can stop by on Monday, before the show and see the space,” Roth offered. David agreed, feeling excitement rising. At first, he thought it was for the job, the money, the show, but he realized it was also because there might be a chance to see Mona again.
Roth gave him one more grin, then they shook hands and parted ways.