by Camryn King
“What?”
“Yes, I know. Crazy, but necessary. Drive to the corner across the street from the doggy park. I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”
“Kennedy . . .”
“Just a little while longer, sister, and this will all make sense.” She stood and gave Gwen a hug and quick wave as she walked to the elevator. It opened quickly.
“Hey, Ken.”
“Hey, Glenn, how are you?”
“Good. Haven’t seen you at the gym lately.”
“Yeah, I’ve got something going on with my back. The doctor told me to take it easy, so for the next few weeks you might not be seeing me that much.”
Glenn’s concerned expression made Kennedy feel bad for lying. “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, I’m fine. In fact, I’m thinking about going to California. An old college buddy lives there and has invited me over to recuperate.”
“Alright, then. Take care of yourself.”
“You too, Glenn.”
Kennedy arrived on her floor, resisted the temptation to go inside her place and instead headed straight for the stairwell. She quickly pulled her hair into a ponytail and stuffed it beneath a floppy hat she retrieved from the cheap jacket she wore. At the bottom of the stairs she pulled a pair of sunglasses from the other jacket pocket, then shimmied out of the jacket and threw it in the trash. Feeling properly incognito, she headed out the side door toward the park. Anyone observing closely would have noticed the changes but if questioned, those who saw a curly-haired woman with a pink jacket go into the building would probably not equate her with the short-haired woman wearing a black tank top who left it.
Kennedy kept her head down, frowning a bit as she saw Gwen’s car. Instead of parked in a space like someone shopping or walking their dog, she was right on the corner, car idling like a robbery had been committed and she was driving the getaway car. Shaking her head, she reached for the handle, tapping the window after discovering it was locked. As soon as she heard the lock disengage, she opened the door and slid in.
“Do you think you could have been any more conspicuous?”
“What? You said meet you on the corner by the doggy park?”
Kennedy sighed. “You’re right. That’s what I said.”
“Where are we going?”
“Just drive for now. I want to make sure we aren’t being followed.”
Gwen glanced at her. “Where’s your jacket?”
“I threw it away.”
They drove a few blocks without talking. “Kennedy, you need to tell me what’s happening. My constitution can’t take this suspense.”
“I’m sorry to put you through all of this but I had no choice. I have to be very careful. When I was in the Bahamas taking pictures of that beautiful rainbow, I also took pictures of a very clandestine meeting happening on that island. I didn’t see the images then, didn’t know what I’d captured until the photos were digitally enhanced.”
“Who was it?”
Kennedy eyed her friend. “I’m not sure you want to know, or that I have the right to tell you. It involves some very influential people, some of the most powerful men in the United States.”
“The president?”
“A political figure would be easier to deal with. These guys tell the White House what to do.”
“I can’t imagine who that would be.”
“Few can, unless you’re a truth seeker. Many believe there is a secret society that not only runs America but the entire world, and that one of their members is Braum Van Dijk, who feeds their agenda to the masses through his network.”
“Are you talking some Illuminati nonsense? I don’t believe that group really exists.”
“You and ninety percent of the rest of the population. But it’s not just who he was with, but what he was doing.”
“What?”
“Let’s just say his evangelical viewers wouldn’t be happy. And neither would his wife.”
11
Kennedy and Gwen drove around for an hour before going to the store where Kennedy’s car was parked. During the ride, Kennedy told Gwen about her plans to lay low for a while, which in addition to moving and changing cars, would eventually include closing her bank account, even though she had no idea how that would work, and to stay off social media. She was going to correspond from a new email address, too. Gwen tried to sound supportive, but Kennedy knew that her actions seemed extreme. Gwen couldn’t understand why Kennedy didn’t just sign the contract with Anita, return the pictures and put the whole mess behind her. With the chance of a six-figure payday, who cared that a coddled media mogul and member of a secret society was somewhere naked, getting their freak on? Kennedy understood Gwen’s position. Her friend hadn’t seen the pictures. If she had, she’d know why Kennedy felt this was something that should not be kept hidden, and that what some might pay to take the pictures public was even higher than the pot of gold Anita offered for the rainbow. Kennedy promised that she’d be careful, and Gwen vowed to keep her secret safe. Kennedy headed to her temporary home hoping she could stay safe as well.
After meeting the delightful sixty-something owner of the condo and explaining that a large project with a tight deadline would likely keep her holed up in the room, Kennedy set about trying to finish all the items she’d compiled on her list. Disappearing was hard work! Even though temporary, she hoped to throw off whoever was after her—the government she now presumed—long enough to figure out exactly what she wanted to do. Did she really want to expose Van Dijk and topple the empire generations had built? Could she handle the pressure, the scrutiny, the controversy that would surely follow? Even if done anonymously, it was hard to keep secrets in today’s electronic world. And if she decided to go through with it, how much was what she possessed worth, and who should she approach about buying it? Getting ahead of the process was giving her a headache so she focused on what she could control—setting up a company to remove her items, creating a new email address, and going on her social media to tell a few friends who’d notice that she was taking a break to get caught up. Don’t shut down everything at once, one of the websites had admonished. It would look too obvious and have those you’d normally interact with wondering what was going on. She sent out a group message to her friends and another one to her colleagues and acquaintances. She was just about to leave the site when a new message arrived. It was from her college friend Tamara, one of the names on the latter list. Other than social media they’d not spoken in years. She clicked on the message.
Hey Ken! I was just thinking about you. Saw your article the other week in the Star. Yeah, I’m all GC on the outside but still Chi where it counts. Your piece was great and the pics . . . wow! I understand you pulling back from social media to get work done. I need to do the same. Would love to catch up. Call me! 555-375-9290. T . . .
Kennedy sent back a quick reply that she’d love to catch up, then ended the night with a reply to Anita’s earlier query regarding the agreement.
Dear Ms. Ford, Thank you so much for your interest in the pictures taken recently in the Bahamas. As a photographer, it means a lot that a company such as yours, and the island of the Bahamas felt them of the quality that would work well in the next tourism campaign. Unfortunately, due to the constraints of the agreement as written, I will not be able to accept your offer. I would be open to returning to the island and doing another shoot specifically for your marketing efforts. Please let me know if this is something you’d like to discuss further. Sincerely, Kennedy Wade.
The next morning, Kennedy’s phone rang at eight a.m. That rarely happened. Her heart jumped as she raced to the phone from the bathroom, hoping it wasn’t family with bad news. It wasn’t. She recognized the Bahamian prefix and knew it was Anita. Kennedy let the call go to voicemail. She’d just gotten out of the shower and hadn’t brushed her teeth or had her coffee so now was not the time for her to conduct a negotiation. An hour later, however, sitting in a coffee shop p
arking lot with latte in hand, she returned the call.
“Hello, Ms. Ford. It’s Kennedy Wade.”
“Oh, hi Kennedy! Please, call me Anita.”
“Sorry I missed your call earlier, Anita. Did you get my email?”
“Yes, and I must say I was disappointed with your reply and am hoping we can come to terms that would work well for both of us. As I told you earlier my clients were very impressed with your work, especially the photograph of the rainbow, and are willing to do what we can to obtain the rights and move forward with our campaign.”
Kennedy wasn’t surprised that Anita had zeroed in on the very set of photographs that had captured the money shots. But she wanted to be sure it was that specific picture of a rainbow, taken that day, that the “client” wanted.
“Interestingly enough, Anita, it’s that very set of pictures that preclude me from being able to sign the agreement. As you know some of them were featured in the Chicago Star, and since their website mirrors the print editions, they are not able or willing to remove them.”
Kennedy hadn’t actually spoken to the Star about it, but this was her story and she was sticking to it.
“There is also a personal project I’m working on where that setting—the rainbow and the island—and those pictures would be perfect. The island is beautiful and I’d love to work with you. Is it possible that I could come back and do another shoot as I suggested in the email? I can research the weather patterns and plan my trip accordingly.”
“Thank you for that suggestion but, no. My client wants those pictures specifically. How about two hundred thousand for those photos? I have connections in the world of publishing who may have a bit more sway than you or I.”
“I’m sorry, Anita, but I will not be able to release those photographs to your clients. I sincerely apologize.”
On the other end of the line, silence. Kennedy held her breath. When next Anita spoke, gone was the bright, cheery tone that she’d had at the greeting.
“Ms. Wade, I can understand how as an artist you might become more attached to some work than others. But my clients are not only involved in tourism on the island, but they are very influential in other parts of the world. It would be in your very best interest to accept this gracious offer. I will get the release from the Chicago Star in writing, revise the agreement to specify which pictures are being sold and amend the amount to the newly agreed upon price of two hundred thousand.”
“There’s no need to call the Star, Ms. Ford. My pictures are not for sale. Again, I do appreciate your interest. Have a great day. Goodbye.”
Kennedy thought that she’d feel triumphant following the phone call. Instead her body began shaking. It took several minutes before she stopped. Fortunately, a call from Monica, the office manager at Chicago Sightings redirected her thoughts. She wondered if Kennedy could come in that day instead of next week. Absolutely! They scheduled the interview for two hours later. Kennedy returned to the apartment, changed into a casual navy suit, and headed to the area of Chicago known as Pilsen and the condo where the up-and-coming business was housed.
Kennedy arrived in Pilsen thirty minutes before the interview was set to begin. She’d done so purposely to check out the area. One of the well-known facts about Chicago was how separate and distinct the neighborhoods were. She’d lived in the city for ten years and couldn’t remember having been there before. Like many neighborhoods in and around the downtown loop it was being regentrified. What was established as a German, Polish and Czech neighborhood had become one of mostly Mexican-Americans in the 80s, and was continuing to evolve and diversify, With the skill of a photographer’s eye, Kennedy took in the architecture reflective of the citizens who’d lived there. The Romanesque revival style of Thalia Hall. The vibrant Mexican art. As she found a parking space near the condo and pulled in her car, she was sure that if not done already, the makings of a rich Chicago Sightings article was all around her.
Monica had told her what to expect upon arrival, so Kennedy wasn’t surprised to see a blended combination of office and living space as she stepped inside. Monica looked totally different from how she’d imagined. From the slight raspiness of her voice which Monica blamed on years of smoking, she’d imagined an older woman with a rough exterior, hair the color of a swatch on a bottle. Instead she was a vivacious redhead with smooth porcelain skin and a spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose. There was a desk near the doorway but the chair behind it was empty. So far it looked as if the two ladies were the only ones there.
“Hi, Kennedy. It’s a pleasure to meet you. We’ll go down the hall to my office later but for now let’s just sit here, shall we?” She motioned to a couch behind them, sleek and modern like the rest of the room.
“Sure, thanks.”
“Would you like something to drink? Coffee, lemon water . . .”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“I really appreciate you rearranging your schedule to come in today. We had someone filling in for the position and she was just not working out. So, after rereading your resume and checking out some of your work on the internet, I told Scott we needed to grab you before you went to work somewhere else.”
They continued to chat pleasantly with Monica outlining the art director responsibilities and Kennedy answering Monica’s questions and asking a few of her own. After a while Monica invited her to come back and see the office they’d share, one of two bedrooms that had been converted into a work space.
“How does all of this sound so far?”
“Like something I could really get excited about, especially since it’s a company that’s just starting out. I’m starting over myself, in a way, reinventing myself. I think this would be the perfect opportunity to do that.”
“Why do you feel the need to reinvent yourself? I scrolled through quite a bit of your photography. It’s very good.”
Kennedy paused and composed herself. Here is where she’d have to be careful. In order to stay hidden it was very important that her name not appear on the byline. This explanation had to work.
“Reinvent may not have been the best word. What I’m wanting to do is expand my brand, and in doing so make very specific distinctions professionally. As a photographer, I’m known as Kennedy Wade. Here, if I have the pleasure of being hired, I’d like to use a little-known pseudonym connected mostly with writing—KW Wright.”
“Hmm, interesting. But I can understand that, I guess. We’d have to run it by Scott and if he doesn’t have a problem with it, then we’re fine.”
The front door opened. Footsteps were heard coming down the hall. A handsome young twenty-something stuck his head in the door.
“Good morning.”
“Ah, there you are. Good morning, Scott. Scott, meet Kennedy. She’ll hopefully be joining us as the art director.”
He walked over, his hand outstretched. “Hi, Kennedy. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise. And please, I prefer KW.”
“Ah, my bad,” Monica said. “I forgot just that quickly.” Monica explained Kennedy’s desire for a slight name change.
“I don’t see a problem with that.”
Kennedy was more than relieved. “I think what you’re building here is great. I’d love to be a part of it.”
“We’re just about to finish up. Should I send her down to your office afterwards?”
“Absolutely.”
They watched as he reached the door, did a final wave and closed it behind him.
“So . . . I’m really impressed with your skill set and think you would be a great fit. There is one thing, though. We’re like family here, and are trying to build a team that can grow this paper together. You’ve freelanced for the past two years. I’m a bit concerned that even with the flexibility of working both in and out of the office, you might decide this isn’t for you, and I’d have to do this all over again. We’re looking for someone who can commit to the magazine, help us get bigger and better year after year. Five years from now,
we hope to be a national magazine.”
“Monica, I have thoroughly enjoyed working in a freelance capacity these past few years. But an excellent company, great group of people, shared vision and long-term security is exactly what I’m looking for. If hired, I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”
After meeting with Scott, Kennedy returned to Monica’s office to work out the details of her position and agree on a salary. Monica said she’d type it up and have Kennedy sign it when she reported for work on Monday. Just like that, Kennedy was hired. She left feeling hopeful, accomplished and satisfied. She called her mom, shared the good news, and made plans to come home for the Fourth of July. After the tumult of the past few weeks, getting the position as art director made her feel anchored, secure. When she said she’d be there for a long time, she meant it. Sometimes life didn’t go as we’ve planned.
12
That Monday, Kennedy awoke bright and early to what she hoped was a brand-new life. The offer from Chicago Sightings couldn’t have come at a better time. Not only would she have a steady salary, but she’d have a place other than burglars and the Bahamas to place her focus for forty to sixty hours a week. She’d appreciated Scott’s honesty, that it was a regional magazine taking a long shot and doing so with a shoestring budget and paper-thin staff. He’d laughed after saying this and adding, “yes, that lame pun was intended.” Kennedy had assured him that what he said was not a problem, and she’d meant it. The past month had taken the thrill out of the endless search for next month’s meal ticket, and made her more than ready for something different, and steady, and local, and safe. Scott had also told her that the office atmosphere was casual, probably because said office also served as his home—a two-bed, two-bath condo in the artsy Pilsen neighborhood, just miles from the Loop on the city’s Lower West Side. Still, Kennedy took care with her appearance. A black linen pantsuit with wide legs and a cropped jacket was funky enough to fit the casual bill while still giving off a professional air. She paired it with a white knit top and black sandals, pulled her hair into a high ponytail, grabbed her laptop bag, and headed out the door.
