Still Image

by Allie Parker

  ‘Great, I’ll be right over.’

  Byron could see Simon’s email account open and hoped he wasn’t sending emails of a personal nature to a certain client. ‘Do you mind if I give you a sort of mini-pitch? It’ll be good practice,’ Byron asked Meg.

  ‘Sounds good.’ Meg smiled and grabbed a muffin. She really didn’t believe she could contribute anything of substance, but she’d hear them out to be polite.

  ‘Well, we started with the original logo design and worked it into a more contemporary look.’ Byron took Meg through a number of images showing the gradual transformation of the logo. ‘Then we used those colours to create stationary mock-ups, a new glossy A5 brochure, and of course the website.’ Byron laid out a large sheet with images of envelopes, letter-head paper and business cards on it. Then handed Meg a mock-up of the brochure.

  She took everything in and admired Byron’s handy work. She was starting to get a grasp of his creative ability and eye for colour. ‘This is really good. Classy yet contemporary. It certainly brings them into the 21st century.’

  Simon joined them and grabbed a muffin.

  ‘Thanks. What do you think about the use of colour here in the logo?’ Somehow Byron knew Meg wouldn’t hold back if she felt it could be improved. She didn’t let him down.

  ‘Well, back when the business first started – I’m guessing that was a time when men made the big decisions and women made dinner.’

  ‘The business was established in the 50s, so yes I guess so.’ Byron waited for her insight.

  ‘Well, and this is just an observation, they are all very rich masculine tones. If we’re looking at marketing at a subliminal level, there isn’t anything there in the logo that appeals to feminine interest.’ She waited to see if she had offended, then continued. ‘I’ve never dealt with Ferguson Real Estate. I’ve never met Mr Ferguson, but I’m guessing he is a he. I made the assumption that his business has been passed down through the generations, and I’d also guess that it’s a bit of an ‘old boys’ club. Am I way off the mark?’ Meg squinted in anticipation.

  ‘Right on all counts so far.’ Simon mused and sent Meg one of his killer smiles.

  ‘Well, I got all that from the original logo. You’ve certainly bought it a long way, don’t get me wrong. But I believe you could still add some subtle, gentle tones here and there and broaden appeal without losing the heart of the design.’ She sat still for a moment while the men pondered her suggestion.

  ‘You know what, I’ve been so focused on modernising the design I didn’t even consider the target audience,’ Byron answered after a moment.

  ‘You know your stuff, Meg,’ Simon said. ‘I’m interested to show you my designs, and unlike my brother here, I have considered target audience but only in a website navigational sense. So I could definitely incorporate some colour changes and even font tweaks in some areas, if necessary.’ Simon proceeded to take Meg through his web mock-ups and they analysed the completed home-page in detail.

  Byron watched them over his coffee mug and thought they all worked pretty damn well together. He briefly cast his mind through Cassidy Designs’ current portfolio and wondered what else he could rope Meg into. Even though he and Simon worked well and bounced off each other, he still believed a third element was needed to really drive the business forward. Not just a female view but a unique perspective. After all, he and Simon where brought up together, went to the same university, with basically the same lecturers, worked for the same agency, and now owned the same business. They had a distinct style, which he appreciated, but he didn’t want to be pigeon-holed. This interesting, impromptu conversation was confirming the notion that had been plaguing him lately.

  ‘Well, By, I have a good solid list of edits here. I’m not just paying you lip-service little lady, you do know your stuff.’

  Meg was a bit embarrassed, but chuffed at the same time. She finished off her cold coffee and chased it down with a mini poppy seed and orange muffin. She glanced up to see Byron watching her. She would love to be in Byron’s head right now, to listen to those thoughts so obviously roaming behind those dark eyes.

  ‘I’d love to pick your brain for a bit longer, if that’s ok. Would you mind going through some colour samples with me,’ Byron asked.

  Meg and Byron worked through the logo and brochure designs while Simon put the finishing touches on the website. When they finally came up for air, the sun was fading and the clock was nearing seven.

  ‘Wow, Meg, I really appreciate your time and energy on this. I hope I haven’t kept you from anything.’

  ‘No, no, I’ve actually really enjoyed myself.’ Meg didn’t mean to sound quite so surprised. She was willing to add comments and ideas because ultimately she was not responsible for the job, the client or the outcome. It just felt good to work through the creative process, like flexing muscles she hadn’t used for awhile. Maybe that was the reason Meg felt drawn to the Cassidy brothers.

  Byron noticed that Meg was happy to keep working. Not once looking at the clock and needing to phone someone who might be expecting her home or out and about.

  ‘I guess I should get going soon.’ What was the remorse Meg felt at the thought of going home? It was definitely new; usually she couldn’t wait to get home. Then she remembered how lonely it had felt the other night.

  ‘It’s Chinese night if you’re keen? It’s the least we can do,’ Simon piped up. ‘I’ll order while you guys pop the top off some cold ones. Any special requests?’

  ‘Just get the banquet and we’ll share a bit of everything. If that’s ok with you, Meg,’ Byron asked as an afterthought.

  Meg thought she wasn’t left with much of a choice. But she wasn’t upset by that. Why not just go with the flow for awhile? She didn’t want to go home to her dark, empty house just yet anyway.

  They did indeed pop the tops off a couple of cold beers and they barely heard the delivery man; they were laughing so much when he knocked on the studio door.

  ‘You’re a breath of fresh air, Meg, I’ll give you that.’ Simon was up to his usual charm. ‘And a constant source of amusement.’

  ‘Oh, stop the bull shit, your charm won’t work here. We’re just a bunch of mildly creative people having a mildly witty conversation.’ And with that, Meg stole the last spring roll.

  ‘Mildly? Speak for yourself,’ Simon laughed.

  ‘At least she’s realistic about your charisma,’ Byron threw in.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’ve usually got the ladies lined up at the door. I’m just not your type.’ Meg flashed a dazzling smile of her own. Which, even though aimed at Simon, wasn’t lost on Byron.

  ‘What about you, Byron, is there a special someone you’ll be going home to?’

  ‘Only Boof, my border collie.’ Byron smiled at the thought of his beloved pooch.

  ‘Ah, the unconditional welcome home,’ Meg commented.

  ‘Yep, she’s five and the best foot-warmer you could possibly ask for.’

  ‘And a mean suede thief,’ Simon added.

  ‘True,’ Byron said to Meg. ‘You wouldn’t want to leave your Manolo Blahnik’s laying by the bed.’ Byron’s beer stopped half way to his lips when he realised the connotation of what he had just said. He caught Meg’s eye to gauge her reaction.

  A silence fell over the room. Simon looked from Byron to Meg, who remained in a silent gaze, dying to see how this played out.

  ‘I don’t know if I’ve got any Manolo Blahnik’s, let alone any suede.’ Meg held Byron’s gaze just a little while longer, then smiled, more at Simon’s blatant enjoyment of the situation than anything else. ‘So maybe I’m safe to meet Boof one day.’ Meg didn’t know why she felt like being cheeky, though she did enjoy watching Simon’s response.

  ‘I’m sure Boof would be very sensitive to whatever footwear you choose, isn’t that right, By?’ Simon smiled like a Cheshire cat at Byron who remained silent and a slight shade of pink.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you bo
ys, but I’m stuffed full.’ Meg held a hand on her belly and made movements to suggest she was getting ready to leave.

  ‘Yep, I couldn’t fit in another bite either.’ Simon glanced at the clock and knew Bella wouldn’t be calling him this late. ‘I might go to the pub and meet the guys.’

  Byron walked Meg to the door. ‘Thank you for your input today. You’ve really helped us tighten the pitch. I feel like you should invoice us or something.’

  ‘No worries, I actually enjoyed it. And you did pay me, with dinner and good conversation. ’ Meg smiled at Byron and started walking down the stairs. ‘I’ll call you about the skincare range once I’ve finished working through the shot-list.’

  ‘Good night, Meg.’

  ‘Good night, Byron.’

  At home, Meg didn’t feel tired so she turned her computer monitor on and waited for it to boot. She went back through portrait shots she’d taken for some friends of their two year old daughter. She played around with different colour filters and washes and ended up with at least three different versions of each shot. As much as she enjoyed playing with personal projects, Meg was on a nice rush from the spontaneous brainstorming session with Byron and Simon. Though she knew she wasn’t ready to take on commercial clients again, she couldn’t deny the thrill of deciphering what a client thought they wanted and what was best for their brand. She let her mind wander briefly. It was fun working with Simon and Byron. The dynamics were energetic and creative, but most of all, they were fun. Meg loved every minute of quizzing the boys on their client, making sure they fully understood who they were working with and where they were going, not just with that person’s brand, but their business. The rush of ideas and creativity that flowed with the casual back and forth between them was stimulating. And she would enjoy it as long as it lasted.

  Chapter Seven

  After taking Boof for a walk, Byron decided to get out his laptop and make some notes ready for a business meeting scheduled for the following day. As he typed, questions that Meg had asked him about the Ferguson account popped into his mind. He jotted down a couple and tapped his finger absentmindedly on the edge of the keyboard. There was something disjointed about Meg’s work which he couldn’t place. It was obvious that Meg had worked with big clients before. When she was first recommended to him by a friend, she tendered for a large corporate account Cassidy Designs had won and needed a lot of specialised photography for. She pitched, got very close to winning the gig, then turned around and pulled out at the final stage of the tender. Lately, it seemed she was only working on small accounts, which he would bet money on, weren’t challenging or stimulating her. Why was that?

  One of the reasons Byron was so drawn to Meg, was the zest she exuded for her craft, which he’d seen when they’d first met months before. She had been animated and alive with ideas and excitement. He was miserable when she fell off the radar, kicking himself that he hadn’t had the chance to ask her out. He kept cycling back to the difference in her now, wanting to bring that passion back and see the sparkle in her eye once more.

  Out of curiosity, Byron opened Google and entered Meg Sullivan into the search engine. Dozens of page listings for actors and random Facebook and You Tube links popped up. Byron changed the search to Meg Sullivan, photographer. This time page listings for gallery’s, calendars, wedding sites, and articles from local art journals popped up. He clicked on a gallery link and read about how a number of a well known artist, Avery Cooper’s, work was inspired by photographs taken by Meg Sullivan. Nice plug, Byron thought.

  When he clicked on a link to a local art journal, Byron read about Meg’s motivations, her enthusiasm for capturing the out-of-the-ordinary, and her love of colour, light and texture. The journalist was interviewing her because of her award-winning bushfire shots, from the summer just gone. The pictures of Meg which accompanied the article showed a vibrant, more animated version of the woman he had met with lately.

  He continued his search, viewing collections of unique wedding photography and unusual portraits. When Byron opened Meg’s personal Facebook and professional LinkedIn pages, he found something really interesting. The status of both had been inactive for six months. After a quick look around the profiles, Byron clicked back to Goggle, where something caught his eye buried on the fourth search page. He clicked on an official looking document, reading Meg Sullivan, photographer and small business owner, suspected of money laundering. Patrick Heathcliff, interior designer and photographer, not yet located for questioning.

  Byron sat up straighter in his chair. He continued to read, and attempted to make sense of the formal legal document which seemed to be an insurance company notation. He was surprised he found the document on Google as he hadn’t heard anything about it on the grape-vine or in the print media. But he was glad it was, as it gave him the insight he was craving. It read as if Meg had lodged a large insurance claim and it was being investigated for authenticity and legitimacy.

  Money laundering ... large insurance claim... The words jumped out at Byron.

  He stopped abruptly and realised he was digging too deep. He closed the site and his laptop. Although he stumbled across information that was both interesting and shed light on the complications in Meg’s life, this was not the way to find out. He felt like he had crossed a line with a colleague and, more importantly, he felt as though he’d betrayed a friend.

  *

  Simon rolled over and checked the time on his phone. Too early to be up and too late to be awake. He stretched out and felt the emptiness beside him. He closed his bloodshot eyes and tried to force himself into a state of rest. His mind, slowly hazing over into a dream state, wandered into the all too familiar corners of his brain that beer and bourbon couldn’t erase. He could see her face, smiling at him. He could smell her hair in his fingers. He could feel his heart soaring out of control.

  The cafe was quiet and she was washing down the coffee machine. Her skirt floated about her knees as she walked. She chatted to him about the customers she’d had that day. They laughed about the different terminology people used to order their hot beverages. Then, when she finally turned over the ‘closed’ sign, they danced to the music playing softly on the radio. He loved the fact that she didn’t hide her passion for Freddie Mercury in his glory days. She giggled when he sang the chorus at the top of his lungs out of tune. As the music faded into the distance, her smile faded too. She looked into his face the moment before he bent to place his lips upon hers. Her eyes smouldering. The softness of that first kiss escalated to passion and lust that engulfed his entire being. The twelve hours that followed was etched on his brain for all of eternity. She was the only person he’d ever made love with. Everything before and since then paled by comparison. He had felt like they were one person, breathing two breaths. The tenderness and the passion, both in equal measures, were totally in sync.

  He had desperately tried to recapture that passion on many occasions following that day. But she was seeing a big hotshot who had more money, more time, and ultimately more of a life to offer her than Simon ever could by comparison. Although he knew in his core that she had felt what he had that day, he also knew when to take a back seat to see her happy and content with the choices she’d made. To be a friend.

  Simon rolled over and hit the alarm on his bedside table with such ferocity that it left his hand tingling.

  He showered and pulled on an old pair of dark jeans and a Metallica t-shirt. When he reached the office, Byron was already at his desk deep in thought. Simon wasn’t in the mood for a lecture from his brother about drinking on a school night, but his headache was fierce. ‘Do we have any pain killers in the first aid kit,’ he asked as he passed through the main room of their studio.

  ‘Last time I checked.’ Byron rubbed his hand over his face but knew better than to start on Simon when he was in his old jeans and heavy metal t-shirt. ‘We’re on top of things here, Simon, why don’t you go and –‘

  ‘I’m fine.’ Simon snapped before guzzl
ing a bottle of water to chase the four paracetamol he’d found.

  They stayed out of each other’s way most of the day. Simon buried himself in a local musician’s website upgrade and Byron redesigned a restaurant menu and put the finishing touches on a bridal boutique catalogue.

  At the end of the day Byron was washing up his coffee mug when he heard a knock at the studio door. He heard Simon answer it and stuck his head out to see Kate, Simon’s latest conquest. He seemed to have a different woman every week at the moment. And Byron knew why. He knew who he was trying to forget and knew it wasn’t working. He decided to busy himself in the kitchen awhile longer. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Kate, he felt sorry for her if anything. She seemed to really like Simon, or the parts of him which he allowed her to be near. But Byron couldn’t help feeling that Simon just used her to fill a void. Like so many others before her. He heard the door slam and knew, from the silence that hung in the air that they had both gone. Byron knew not to try and get to know Simon’s girlfriends. They were never around for long and Byron felt bad for them, and couldn’t, in good conscience, participate in their delusion. He couldn’t fret over Simon’s moods either. Simon had always been the broody one. While Byron remained a constant calm.

  Simon and Kate had just sat down in the restaurant when his phone beeped. He tried not to pounce on it, scolding himself for being needy. ‘Be back in a sec,’ he said and absently kissed the top of Kate’s head before he walked away from the table.

  The message read, Si – can you meet me in the car park of the hotel in 20 minutes – B.

  ‘Shit,’ he mumbled under his breath, dragging his fingers through his hair.

  Nineteen minutes later, Kate was a distant memory and Simon was sitting in the car park of their usual rendezvous. He watched her in the rear vision mirror, her hair flowing in the cool night air. Her heels clicking seductively on the concrete. She opened the passenger side door and slid into the car. Her scent instantly filling the small space. He breathed it in as if it was his last breath.