"Steele Photogenic"
by Nancy Eddy <nancye@flash.net>
"Night, Chief!" Mildred Krebs called out as she took
her purse from the desk drawer. "Night, Miss Holt!"
"Good night, Mildred," Remington Steele called back.
"Just a second, Mildred," Laura Holt said. "I'll
go downstairs with you." Glancing at Remington, she asked,
"What time?"
Remington glanced at his watch, figuring his timetable. "Oh,
I should have everything ready by seven, I think."
Laura smiled at the thought of another of his gourmet delights.
"Seven it is. Shall I bring the wine?" she offered.
Remington shook his head, pulling her closer. "Just dessert,
Miss Holt," he said.
At the merest touch of their lips, Mildred's voice rang out again.
"You coming, Miss Holt?"
Laura pulled away and grabbed her purse. "On my way, Mildred.
Seven," she confirmed with Remington once more. "Don't
forget to lock up when you go."
"Laura, have I EVER forgotten to lock up?" he asked.
"How often is it that you're the last one here?" she
returned, flashing him a teasing smile before joining the impatient
Mildred. "What's the hurry, Mildred?" she asked as she
and the older woman went to the doors.
"Bowling practice," Mildred explained. "The Dragon
Ladies are playing in a big tournament this weekend. Gotta get
all the practice I can."
Remington shook his head stood up, intending to follow Laura and
Mildred out. He tried to ignore the telephone when it began to
ring, thinking that the answering service would pick it up. But
after the fourth ring, he frowned. Didn't the service usually
pick up on the third ring, he wondered. Five rings, and he reluctantly
picked up the reciever. "Steele here."
"Is Mildred there?" a female voice asked.
"No. She just left."
"Darn. I really needed to get in touch with her. She wanted
some information about one of our former patients-"
"Former patients?"
"Sorry. This is Happy Meadows Rest Home. Miss Krebs called
the other day wanting information about a Sylvester Tompkins-"
"Ah, yes. The Tompkins case." Mildred was handling the
case, Remington recalled at last. It was a relatively simple one-
something to do with Mr. Tompkins' will and his having married
a nurse that had worked at the Home just before his death. His
family was contesting the fact that the old man had left everything
to the young woman who had made his final days pleasant ones.
Of course, none of them had come to visit- thinking he was practically
a pauper. It was only after his death that they had discovered
that the sly old man had made a fortune in the stock market which
he had kept hidden. "Can you call back tomorrow?"
"No. I'm leaving on vacation tonight- I'll be gone a week.
Can you take the information and give it to her?"
"Of course," Remington said, beginning to look for a
pen- why was it he never had a pen at his desk when he needed
one- he wondered.
"Tell Miss Krebs that Shirley Grayson was employed here for
six months before she married the old man-"
"Just a minute. Have to find a pen," he said. "Be
right back." He pressed the hold button on the phone, and
went into Laura's office. She always had a pen at hand. Sure enough,
there was one in the cup on her desk. "Paper," he said,
knowing he would need something to write ON as well as with. Laura's
desk was cleared off- not unusual for her at the end of the day,
he thought. Everything in its place, neat as a pin. Opening a
drawer, he pulled out some paper, and something fell to the floor
as he picked up the telephone again. "What was that again?"
he asked, reaching down to pick up the stray square of paper,
glancing at the writing on the white surface as the woman on the
telephone began to speak.
"Veenhoff Photography Studio." Flipping the eight by
ten around, Remington's eyes widened at the sight that greeted
him.
"Hello? Mr. Steele?"
"Uh- I'm sorry," Remington said, forcing himself to
concentrate on what the woman was saying. "What was that
again?" He dutifully wrote the information she gave him on
a piece of paper, then said a distracted goodbye as his eyes remained
on the photograph before him.
The photograph of Laura, posed provocatively, with only feather
fans as cover for her obviously naked body, was a decided shock
to Remington. She had claimed that Veenhoff hadn't taken any of
his "Boudoir" Photos of her during the Bedside Babes
case. And Veenhoff himself had backed that up, admitted that he'd
used Laura's head on someone else's body. Curious, Remington dug
further into the drawer that he'd found the photo in, and came
up with several more similar photographs, all in the same vein-
Laura, posing practically in the buff, covering herself with fans-
Remington was stunned. When had she had these done? He wondered.
Picking up the telephone, he dialed the number for information.
"Veenhoff Photography, please," he told the operator.
He made a mental note of the number, then hung up and dialed it.
There was no answer. Considering the man's penchant for selling
photos to racy magazines, Remington couldn't believe that Laura
would have consented to having these made, he told himself, looking
at the pictures again. And again. More digging in the desk revealed
a packet of negatives as well, of the same pictures that were
spread across the desk. Plus a couple that hadn't been developed-
Remington loosened his collar as the room began to grow warm.
"What are you doing?" Laura asked, and Remington froze,
caught red handed. "Ohmigod!" she said, seeing what
he had on her desk. "Where did you get those?"
"YOUR desk," Remington told her. "Why? Are there
other copies that I don't know about somewhere else?" he
asked, deciding to go on the defensive.
Laura grabbed the pictures up. "You had no right to be going
through my desk!" she declared.
"I was looking for a pen," Remington replied. "I
never expected to find --that! I think I deserve an explanation,
Laura."
"I don't have to explain anything to you," Laura insisted.
"I thought you told me that Veenhoff didn't take any-"
"He didn't- THEN," she clarified.
"You mean you went BACK?" She held the pictures to her,
looking at him with uncertain eyes. "Laura, didn't you learn
anything from our last experience with that -pervert? He sells
pictures to magazines like Bedside Babes-"
"He won't sell these," Laura informed him.
"How can you be so sure?" he asked.
"Because I made him develop them before I left the studio.
I have EVERY copy and ALL of the negatives."
"You mean these?" Remington asked, holding the dark
slips of film up. Laura closed her eyes.
"Did you-?"
"Look at them? Yes. Why did you do it, Laura?"
"I thought it would be a way for you to see part of that
fan dance you're always asking about," she said at last.
"Then why hide them away? Why didn't you give them to me?
How long have you had them here?"
"I had them done a month ago," she confessed. "And
then I- lost my nerve, I guess. Got scared and decided that it
wasn't a good idea."
"If it's any consolation, they're very good photos."
Laura took a fast peek at one of them. "You think so?"
she asked, a dimple appearing on her cheek-along with a decided
blush.
"Of course, I need to study it a bit more-" he stood
there, waiting for her to make the decision. "Be a shame
to waste the money you paid Veenhoff, wouldn't it?" he asked,
hoping to appeal to her frugal side.
"I didn't pay him," Laura admitted. "After what
happened, he said he owed me a session."
"Ah." So much for that tack, he decided. Taking a deep
breath, he thought of another. "See you at seven," he
said, hesitating only a moment before dropping the negatives onto
the desk before he turned toward the door.. "Don't forget
to lock up, will you? And turn on the answering service- that's
why I needed a pen. There's a message for Mildred on your desk."
Smiling, he slipped on his sunglasses. "Don't be late."
*********************************************************************
Remington glanced at the clock for the tenth time as he finished
dinner. He'd taken a very big gamble by leaving Laura that way,
without pressuring her any further about the photographs. Seven
o'clock.
BUZZZZZZZZ!
He smiled. Right on time, as usual. Now, to see if the gamble
had paid off, he thought, wiping his hands on a towel before going
to the front door and opening it. "Ah, Laura. Right on time.
Dinner's nearly ready. Be a love and pour the wine, will you?"
he asked, trying to keep the mood as light as possible. Judging
from her expression, she was more than a little nervous. He noted
the manila envelope in her hand, but didn't mention it as he returned
to the kitchen to bring out the food.
He seated Laura, then went around the table to his own chair.
"Looks good," she said.
"Of course it is," he said.
Laura slowly slid the envelope across the table toward him. "You
might as well have these," she said. "Since you've seen
them already."
Remington glanced at the envelope, then served her plate and then
his. "Thank you."
Laura watched as he picked up his fork. "Aren't you going
to look at them?"
He put down the fork and opened the clasp, sliding the photos
- and negatives onto the table top. "Pretty fanny,"
he commented with devilish gleam in his eyes.
"The fans were a lot- smaller," she told him. "A
LOT smaller."
"In Acapulco, you mean?" She nodded. He continued through
the photos, until he came upon the two that he hadn't seen. The
two from the negatives. He was very glad that he was sitting down,
and that there was a table between them. "I can't believe
that you posed for Veenhoff like this."
In the photos, Laura was reclining on a bed, a strip of satin
cloth placed strategically over her body. Suddenly the idea that
she had posed that way for another man turned his stomach sour
and he pushed his plate away, then rose from the table and went
to the window.
He heard Laura stand as well. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"You play Sadie Hawkins for clients, Gypsy Rose Lee for your
banker friends and a photographer, but I get Rebecca of Sunnybrook
Farm," he said. "I don't understand it, Laura. I've
never understood it. Mildred said once it was because I frighten
you."
"She's right," Laura said, and Remington turned to look
at her. "It's not you, really. It's what you make me feel.
I'm afraid of how easily it could overwhelm me- "
"We're back to your becoming like your mother," Remington
sighed. "Laura, I'll say it again. You are NOT your mother.
And I don't think you would ever be like her."
"I was with Wilson," Laura said in a quiet voice. "Oh,
I did wild, crazy things, yes. But I put Wilson at the center
of everything. When he left-"
"And you're still afraid that I'm going to leave like he
did? Like your father did? I've been here for almost five years,
Laura," he told her.
"You said once that you can't make any promises," Laura
reminded him.
"No one can. All any of us can do is live our lives one day
at a time, Laura," Remington said, pulling her to him and
resting his chin on the top of her head. It never failed to amaze
him how perfectly they fit together. "And enjoy whatever
comes our way. I can promise you one thing, though, for what it's
worth."
Laura looked up at him. "What's that?"
"That I'm not PLANNING on going anywhere- unless it's with
you."
She sighed and rested her head on his chest again, her arms tightening
around him. At last she looked up at him, her dark eyes shining.
"Wanna see a fan dance, Mr. Steele?"
The End