LA, ‘56. The Valley vibed vicious and volatile. Weinie-wagging Wesleyans dropped dirty dinero to keep heinous habits hidden. Nervy noir narcos nightcrawled needles to swinging Dick Contino’s accordion accompaniment. Bent badges bopped braceros bloody, back to Cabo Who Cares. Gluttonous governors glided from state house to cathouse. I peeped the sun-sick scene, creeped the pervo pavement, reaped the rancid results.

Business boomed. The mail – basic black.

The mags billed Pete Rockward as the heir apparent to the matinee throne. He smiled pure Hollywood, cut diamonds with his jaw, flashed some prime starlet specimens on his arm. Desperation Alley. Thunder Over Teton. What next? Anything. The world swung its shells open for Pete to come pluck its pearl. I had a front-row view from the shrubbery outside his house. I shoulda brought popcorn. Pete popped pills. I popped pics. I rang the doorbell, prints in hand. Pete knew my face. Pete knew my rep. Pete knew the score.

“What do you want, you – you – little worm?” Sweaty. Stammering. Not an Oscar performance.

I let him twist. I watched him twitch. “Why don’t you make me an offer and we’ll go from there?” He glared. Glazed. Goggled. Then, before he could start, I spoke up again to knock him off-balance. “Actually, you know what I’d really enjoy? I’m tired of cowering in that darkroom all the time like some kind of vampire. I’m tired of inhaling those chemical fumes. A man in my line of work needs a good photo printer.”

“Yeah. And?” Still playing it tough. An actor all the way.

“I’m talking about the kind of printer than can also scan and copy. The kind that can print borderless 4×6 photos. The kind with a six-ink system that can handle resolutions up to 4800×1200 and crank out 30 pages per minute in full color. I’m talking about the Kodak EasyShare 5100. Unless you’d rather I had a talk with your bosses at Global Pictures. I’d hate to ruin their day.”

Silver-screen shoulders sagged. Pete was beat. Pete knew it. The Kodak 5100 was waiting for me at my office the next morning. The cheap ink and convenient multi-function features nudged my profit margin that bit higher. And Pete’s pill preferences stayed off the record, on the QT, and very hush-hush.

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