"I'm serious," she pressed now, as his silence continued to linger. "Whatever you need."
"I'll find her," Wyatt said. "I have time."
"Not much," she countered. "I need the prints ahead of time for the catalog, not to mention installation. Keisha's already getting twitchy," she added, referring to her boss. "We don't usually cut it this close."
"I know. It's going to be--"
"Twenty-seven days to the show, Wyatt." He could hear the tension in her voice, and hated himself for being the cause of it. "But about half that before you need to deliver the prints. We're running out of time. If you can't find the girl, then you need to just find a girl. I'm sorry, but--"
"I said I'll find her. You have to trust me on this."
Right then, she didn't look like she'd trust him to take care of her goldfish, but to her credit, she nodded. "Fine. In that case, all I need today is to see the latest print so I can think about the promotional image. And you'll email me a file for the catalog?"
"Sure. This is it," he added, walking to a covered canvas centered on the nearest wall. He pulled down the white drape, revealing a life-size black and white photograph of a woman getting dressed. At first glance, it wasn't the most titillating of his images, but that was because it was such a tease. The woman stood in a dressing room, and hidden among the dresses and coats were at least a dozen men, peering out to watch her.
The woman, however, was oblivious. She was bending over, one foot on a stool, as she fastened a garter. The view was at an angle, so at first glance the audience saw only her skirt, a hint of garter, and the woman's silk-sheathed leg.
Then they noticed the mirror behind her. A mirror that revealed that she wasn't wearing panties under the garter belt. And even though absolutely nothing was left to the imagination, it still wasn't a particularly racy or erotic photograph. But then you noticed the reflection in the mirror of another mirror. And another. And another. Each with an image of that same woman, and each slightly more risque, until finally, as the mirror approached infinity, the woman was nude, her head thrown back, one hand between her legs, the other at her throat. And all those men from the closet were out in the open now, their hands stroking and teasing her.
Most important, the mirror was so deep in the image that you had to stand practically nose-to-print to see it.
Wyatt couldn't wait to see how many people did exactly that at the showing.
"This is fabulous," Siobhan said with genuine awe in her voice.
"It was a hell of a photograph to set up and then develop. Lots of work on the set and in the darkroom."
"You could have set it up digitally."
He scoffed. "No. Some of the images, sure. But not this one." He turned his head, regarding it critically. "This one had to be hands-on. It's as much about the process as the product."
"I get that." She met his eyes, and the respect in hers reminded him of why he didn't just take photos for himself. "I want to take it back with me right now and show Keisha," she added.
"Soon." Although Siobhan and Keisha had wanted him to deliver each print upon completion, Wyatt had balked, explaining that he needed the art surrounding him in order to ensure the continuity of story in the overall exhibit. And the size of the canvas and the particulars of the way he handled the image in the darkroom were such that duplicates weren't adequate.
That meant that when Siobhan needed to see a piece, she came to him. And now that she was not only putting together the official catalog, but also doing promotional pieces from the images, she was coming a lot.
Wyatt was adamant that the images not be revealed prior to the show, but Siobhan's team had promised him the rapidly expanding catalog mockup would be kept under lock and key. More important, the pre-show promotion wouldn't reveal any of the artwork--while at the same time, teasing the art's sensual and daring nature.
So far, they'd not only managed to do just that, but the campaign was already a success. The gallery had been releasing one image a month--one of his photographs, yes, but only a sexy snippet shown through a virtual barrier laid over the image. Once, it was yellow caution tape. Another time, it was a keyhole in a hotel room door. Clever, yes, but also effective. Wyatt had already been interviewed and the exhibit pimped out in no less than five local papers and magazines. And he was booked on two morning shows the day the exhibit opened.
Not bad, all things considered, and he told Siobhan as much.
"If you rea
lly want to see a bump in our publicity," she replied, "we should get your grandmother on board."
"No." The word came swift and firm.
"Wyatt . . ."
"I said no. This exhibit is on my shoulders. I can't hide who I am, but I don't have to advertise it. If we trot my grandmother out, book her on morning shows, make her sing little Wyatt's praises, then everyone is going to come. You know that."
"Um, yeah. That's the point. To get people to your show."
"I want them to come for the show. Not because they're hoping to get Anika Segel's autograph."
"But they'll see your art. They'll fall in love then. Who cares what brings them through the door?"