Almost two full weeks had passed before Connie could claim she had the required containers to begin her special project. The reinforced, almost-body-length crates - she shook off that morbid thought and requantified it - yard-long crates, assorted plastic-reinforced cardboard boxes, and an arm's load of heavy padded manila envelopes obscured the corner of the vampire's "office."
Connie knew the articles would be safe where they were. Nyra never visited the office unless invited, perhaps recognizing it was the sole area of their shared lofts that was solely Connie's area. In the really strange eventuality that Nyra -did- go up there for some reason, the ex-photographer covered the pile with a dirty bedsheet.
"Thankfully a clean one."
"Well it's not your fault Nyra had her period this week."
"No, but that didn't make either of my urges any easier to contend with."
Picking up one of a pile of photo albums, Connie plopped carefully into her computer chair. She flipped through the sticky-plastic pages, mulling things over in her mind. Having purchased the needed albums in advance, Connie knew that, given the sheer age the majority of her work, the frailty of some of the pieces, certain steps would be taken to ensure their survival.
Professional - rather, expert - duplication and preservation was at the top of her list. A call to Bertrand a full week ago had proven fruitful; she had the names of several discreet and well-regarded photo duplicators and preservationists. She also felt, as payment for his consultation services, that Bertrand would likely enjoy the presence of another artist - albeit of a different media - in his Gallery. She had offered him first dibs on a showing, but under certain conditions.
It was with trepidation and a bit of anxiety that Connie set the empty album to rest on the stack with its family. She'd never shared her work before with anyone, and somehow, displaying it in a showroom to thousands of cultured, intelligent, rich people seemed less daunting than setting it in front of her lover. Turning to her computer, she nudged the mouse, disabling the random picture screensaver. She'd had some digital prints of Nyra's pieces made, and used it both at work and at home to relax when the stress of the office got to her.
Opening up her Excel spreadsheet, she began noting specific years and drawing up a layout of her photographs.
Shipping Restrictions (private)
It didn't take Connie much more than an hour after waking to locate her "book of Names," the not-so-little leatherbound volume of information she'd accumulated over the years. Contacts, names, addresses, old phone numbers. Flipping through the fragile pages, she realized it might be a good idea to have it converted to electronic format, but that was a task for another day.
"And likely another person."
"Ask Rachyl to do it, she'll have a lot of free time coming up soon."
"Oh, come on, she'll be pregnant. Though... maybe it might help keep her busy. We'll see."
Another twenty minutes of phone calls, and three crates of older photos were on their way from various locations across the US. She wished she still had the original cameras; most of them would likely fetch a fair price at auction. Instead, she comforted herself with the knowledge her memories had been carefully preserved.
Lying on the bed she and Nyra shared, she hugged the top pillow her lover used tightly against herself. She breathed deeply of the lingering scent Nyra left on the pillow, and sighed contently. She wanted to do something romantic for Nyra, but didn't have the slightest clue. Her brain was processing all that it needed regarding her photographs, and the event those photographs would instigate was, at the moment, more important.
Or so she believed.
Settling herself down in front of her computer, Connie realized looking at the calendar on screen that she and Nyra had been together nearly eight months. "Well, eight months since we met," she reminded herself, "eight months since Nyra called our first meeting, and eventual dinner together, a date."
Her mind wandered back to that night, the night Nyra took umbrage to Connie's adding in the blinds and the skylight to their neighborly lofts. A night of many blushes, freely flowing compliments and questions, and even a little bit of tension. "But happy good tension," she qualified. Connie felt the peaks of her nipples tighten and press against the pajama top she was wearing as she remembered the newness of their relationship and subsequent discovery of each other.
"It's all still new. It just so happens that we have a solid keel in place."
She wished she had a photograph of the first kiss they'd shared under the arch of blooming flowers, beneath the cool moonlight. Familiar heat bloomed in the vampire's loins and spread to her extremities; she leaned slightly in her chair and crossed her hands over her lap, sighing gently.
Straightening in her chair after a few minutes, Connie turned her attention to the computer, trying to drown out the pulsing need of her sexuality with the vapid inanity of work-related email.
Connie
18 years ago