The next morning I was back at the fight gym in Santa Monica nice and early, and thankfully so were Eddie, to let me in, and Jody, to work out with. As he preferred the cash, I handed Eddie a crisp hundred dollar bill when he opened the door for me, getting a bleary, “Thanks,” in response.
Jody was more awake than that, so I ditched my sweats and we got straight to work on more of the escape and counter moves we’d started last time. Like with Grant, we trained the moves over and over, slowly and gently at first, but eventually working up to real speed and strength. It felt good to work my stress out this way, and by the time we wrapped up I was sore in a good way and ready to face my first day of grad school.
Jody and I took a few minutes to set up the electronic payment while Eddie officially opened up the gym.
“This is really gonna help me out,” Jody said. “Money’s been tight, you know?”
Classes started at nine, so I had two and a half hours to go home, shower, get dressed and grab my things and make it to Anderson. Plenty of time if I kept on track, but not really enough to loaf around at all. Emmy was still asleep when I got to the apartment, so I went about my tasks quietly so as to not wake her. I figured Angela was down in the gym and wouldn’t finish her workout until after I left, so it was a solitary morning for me.
I got to the designated classroom about ten minutes early, taking the badge and desk name plate the teaching assistant handed me when I told her my name.
“Take any empty seat,” she said, indicating the desks arranged in a sort of arena style. This was the intro class to the whole program, so every new student for the year was required to attend. I figured this was probably the largest lecture hall in the entire business school, with maybe two hundred and fifty desks between the three tiers.
I grabbed a seat smack dab in the middle, middle tier. I wanted to keep my focus on the instructor, so the least possible distractions the better.
“Hey, I’m Li,” said the woman seated next to my desk of choice. Glancing at her desk name plate, I saw that it said ‘Lisa Quon- Snap, Inc.’
I set mine down, tilting it so she could see. “Leah,” I replied, reaching out to shake her hand.
“Royal Holdings?” she asked, looking at my desk plate. “Is that some sort of financial company?”
“It’s a private asset management company, yeah,” I agreed.
“That’s cool,” Li said. “What do you do there?”
“Manage private assets,” I said with a smile to let her know I was teasing. “What do you do at Snap?”
“I’m an engineer in the applied data division,” she said. “I’m hoping that this MBA will help me move into more of a managerial role in the company,” she confided.
By this time the seat to my right was claimed by a guy named Edward Jones, who worked for the County Of Los Angeles, according to his name plate. Ed merely gave me a little nod of greeting, then got back to setting up his laptop on the desk.
I wasn’t a fast enough typist to ever take notes on my computer, so I pulled out a notepad and pen- one of the few in the class who did so.
That first morning was mostly devoted to an outline of the program in general, a discussion of the various emphases we could choose as we progressed through the curriculum, and so on. Really, nothing much worth taking notes, anyhow.
After an hour and a half we got our first break, and those of us that didn’t bolt for the bathrooms or the coffee cart set up in the plaza milled about and either avoided or tried to make conversation with our fellow classmates.
I didn’t really have much in common with data analysts from Snap, so I parted ways with Li and looked for people with badges identifying them to be in my industry.
I spotted a tall, thin guy with a badge that said, ‘Myles Johansson- Angel City Realty Advisors’. Bingo, I thought. Here’s a guy who I might want to network with.
“Hey,” I said, approaching the guy. “My name’s Leah. I’m in real estate investments.”
Looking me up and down, he asked, “Leah Farmer? Your name seems familiar. I don’t know Royal Holdings, though.”
“You probably know a couple of our divisions- Loeltz Property Management, or Royal Real Estate Investment Trust?” I suggested.
"Loeltz- that’s mainly west side, right?” he asked, showing that he did know the company. “Royal REIT- isn’t that up in the Bay Area?”
Impressed that he did know the industry, I said, “Yes on both accounts. Mostly. Loeltz has a San Jose office, and Royal REIT is mostly Bay Area, but also in LA, Seattle, Vancouver, San Diego and Reno, but with a bit lower profile.”
“That’s right, I was reading about Royal on Nareit- you guys are growing like crazy,” Myles said.
“Yeah, we’ve been doing really well, providing high yield while growing like crazy, like you said.”
“I hate to even ask,” Myles said, “but the article I read almost made it seem like you guys must be some sort of Ponzi scheme. I mean, you’re beating the industry by a huge margin, and still growing at thirty per cent a year. How do you guys do it?”
“No, no Ponzi scheme, but we are attracting a lot of outside money,” I admitted. “We have deep penetration in Silicon Valley tech cash.”
“Must be nice,” Myles said. “So what do you do with Royal?”
“I own it,” I said with a shrug.
“No shit? Of course! That’s where I knew your name from! You’re much younger than I expected, though.”
“I get that a lot,” I said with a laugh. “So, Myles, what do you do at Angel City?”
“Market analysis,” he said. “Basically, I drive around all day and look at neighborhoods for signs of improvement, or if they’re starting to slide.”
“I know that drill,” I said, commiserating. “I’ve done that far too much, myself.”
“Yeah, that’s why I want my MBA,” Myles said. “Move up the food chain.”
Laughing, I said, “It’s not gonna do that for me.”
“No, I guess not,” agreed Myles.
The rest of the day went without any surprises, except for the fact that Myles sought me out when we broke for lunch. He suggested that we grab a bite to eat at the student center, and I took him up on it. The food court had reasonable choices, too, which was a good thing. I got some Thai curry fried rice, and Myles had a Caesar’s salad, explaining that he was trying to cut back on eating meat.
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“I’d never call myself a vegetarian,” he explained. “But I try to eat red meat no more than once or twice a week.”
“Really, that’s all the human body needs,” I said, agreeing with him. “But it’s just so tasty!”
“Yeah, it can be. I like to barbecue on the weekends- I’ll do up a tri-tip, slow smoking it overnight. The downside, of course, is now I can barely tolerate poorly cooked steaks, you know?”
“Yeah, I can relate,” I agreed. “We’ve got a friend named Rawson, in Austin, and his barbecues were so famous in his neighborhood that he finally got talked into opening his own restaurant. I’ve only been to the restaurant once, but his backyard barbecue was just amazing. Now, when we go out to a place that says they have brisket or whatever, I just skip right past it on the menu. Why be disappointed? It’ll never compare.”
“Yeah, exactly, you get it,” Myles said, waving his fork in my direction. “It’s a real problem.”
We chatted like that until it was time to go back to class, and it seemed as if I might have made a friend.
When I got back to the apartment that afternoon Emmy wasn’t home, but Angela was sitting at the kitchen counter, working on her laptop.
“Hey, Leah, come take a look,” she said. “I’ve been working on the pictures you took.”
I grabbed a sparkling water from the fridge and joined Angela, looking over her shoulder at the computer. Of course, I couldn’t help glancing down the cleavage revealed by her plunging neckline, but quickly focused my attention on the laptop screen.
She had one of the ‘implied nude’ shower pictures up, with the edited version side by side with the original. She’d cropped it and done some sort of photoshop magic to fill her long hair in a bit more to fully cover the nipple not hidden by her right arm. The colors, too, were somehow more vibrant and warmer-feeling.
“What do you think?”
“You want to know the truth? I think you look amazing anyway, but that picture is really something else. Everything about it looks fantastic,” I said, meaning every word.
“Does it make me look desirable?”
“Very,” I confirmed.
“Leah, would you take some more photos? This session turned out really well, and I would like to do some more, if you don’t mind. Unless you have things you have to do for university.”
“No, no homework today,” I said. “Let me get out of these clothes and we can take some pictures.”
“You’re going to take off your clothes, too?” Angela asked with a giggle. Once again I was struck by how expressive her face could be, thinking it was a perfect trait for a model.
“Yeah, I’m gonna take off my clothes,” I agreed. “But then I’m gonna put on other clothes.”
“Spoilsport,” Angela said, pouting.
Laughing, I went to change out of my work clothes and into a pair of comfy jeans and lightweight halter top.
I was surprised to see Angela in pretty much the same spot I’d left her, sitting at the counter in front of her laptop. The big difference, of course, was that now there was no need to look down her shirt to see her boobs, since there was no shirt to be seen. Or bra, for that matter. Or any clothing at all, actually.
She handed me the big Nikon and said, “I want to do some here, in the kitchen, and in the living room. Maybe some on the balcony, too?”
“Sure, whatever you want,” I said.
Standing up, Angela indicated I should sit in her seat. “I want to check the angles,” she explained as I did as instructed. “Put your hands on the keyboard, like you’re typing.”
Viewing the scene from different spots around the kitchen, she finally found the perspective she was looking for. “Stand right here,” she said. “And shoot from this height.”
I’d be lying if I said that watching a completely naked smoking hot fitness model wander around my kitchen was boring. The simple truth of the matter was that I found the circumstances completely fascinating, and enjoyed every moment of it.
Like before, we shot over a dozen photos in that scene, with Angela varying her poses each time. After the laptop scene, Angela wanted some with the refrigerator door open, and her reaching in to get something. First from one side, then the other, so we had shots with her half hidden by the open door, and shots with the door on the other side of her exposed (but sideways) body. Her poses were exaggerated, bending over at the waist but keeping her legs straight.
Finally satisfied we’d shot enough like that, Angela asked me if I minded shooting a few more. “But from right there,” she said, pointing almost directly behind her. “And low- angle.”
This obviously strayed far from ‘implied nude’ territory and straight into Playboy levels, since I’d basically be staring straight between Angela’s legs as she bent over. She gave me a sexy smile over her shoulder as I took the position she indicated and started snapping away. Just like every other scene we’d photographed, she varied her pose a little bit with every photo, until we had over a dozen like that.
“What do you think?” Angela asked when we finished with that scene. “Hot?”
“I thought you didn’t shoot those kinds of nudes,” I said, both disappointed and relieved we were done with that particular set.
“I don’t, commercially,” Angela said, pausing to take a sip of her Seven Up. “Those pictures are purely for, um, personal enjoyment.”
“And you were calling me an exhibitionist!” I protested.
Laughing, Angela reclined on the couch. “Not for my enjoyment,” she said, arranging her legs artfully. “Try from over there, sitting on the chair,” she said, pointing.
I shot a few from the angle she had indicated and was just checking the little screen on the back of the camera when Angela came over to look.
As she leaned in to peer at the tiny view screen, I felt her boob brush against my bare arm, her nipple leaving a trail of goosebumps where it grazed my skin.
“That’s good, I like that. Let’s shoot some more from that same angle,” Angela said, not noticing the contact.
She lay back on the couch again, one heel up on the back and the other foot down on the floor. She was playing with her long, dark hair, trying to get it to drape just right across her chest when Emmy came home.
Startled, I stood up, embarrassed, but Emmy just glanced at Angela on her way over to give me a hello kiss.
“Have you two thought about dinner at all?” Emmy asked, sitting down on the arm of the chair I was shooting from. “I am very hungry.”
“No, we’ve been taking pictures ever since Leah got home,” Angela said, sitting up. “I could cook something really quick, if you want. How does a chicken salad sound?”
“I would love you forever,” Emmy replied, sounding exhausted. “But I would hate to interrupt your photography session.”
“No, it’s O.K., we can take more pictures after dinner,” Angela said. “We got a few good sets in already.”
A bit bewildered by Emmy’s completely casual attitude towards finding Angela bare-ass naked in her living room, I asked Emmy, “Would a shower help?”
“A shower would be lovely,” Emmy agreed. “But I am too tired to bathe myself. I would appreciate it very much if you could help me with that.”
“I’d be happy to help in any way I can,” I said, setting down the camera and scooping Emmy up in my arms. I carried her to the bathroom and set her gently on her feet. We both quickly ditched our clothes and were soon relaxing under the gentle rain shower head. As I lathered up Emmy’s hair, I could practically hear her purring in contentment.
“What happened today, that you’re so wiped out?” I asked as I helped rinse the shampoo from her silky white hair.
“This new album is very challenging,” Emmy said as she leaned back into me. “Lee has a vision of a grand concept album- he hopes to make an OK Computer for our generation, and he is obsessing over every detail. I understand and agree with what he wants to do, but it is so very much work- far more than all of our previous albums combined.”
“Why is Lee the one who gets to determine this? You make it sound like it’s his record.”
“It is,” Emmy answered. “While we worked on our first album, we decided that after that one, we would each take a turn and make the record we each wanted. ‘Dark Times’ was my album, ‘Jay Cool’ was Jackson’s, and now this one is Lee’s.”
“Huh. I guess I didn’t know that, but it makes sense,” I said, soaping up Emmy’s back. “So after this one, do you get the next? Does the rotation start over?”
“I do not know,” Emmy admitted. “We have not discussed it. It may be that this will be our last as The Downfall.”
“Really? I have a hard time imagining that,” I said.
“I do, too,” Emmy sighed, then moaned as I soaped up that spot where her legs got together and really made an ass of themselves.
“Leah…” Emmy murmured. “I love the way you touch me.”
“I love to touch you, so that works out for both of us,” I responded, pulling Emmy upright and against me, so we got maximum slippery, soapy contact.
Emmy giggled, wriggling like a sexy eel in my arms. Eventually we got done fooling around, so I rinsed her off, then rinsed the soap off my own body. We toweled off, then threw on some comfy clothes and joined Angela (who was also now dressed) in the kitchen for the salad she’d made.
“Thank you for making dinner, Angela,” Emmy said as we ate. “This is perfect. Just what I needed.”
After dinner, Emmy relaxed on the couch while Angela and I shot some more photos. I was happy Emmy was there to see how the process went, since I knew Angela had shown her the pics we shot last time.
Angela wanted to shoot out on the balcony, using the distant lights of downtown as backdrop, so we did that for almost an hour before she got a little too chilled. It wasn’t a cold night, but when you aren’t wearing a stitch even a mild breeze can cool you off.
Angela took the camera and parked right next to Emmy on the couch, showing her the pics on the little screen on the back.
“Look- this one’s really good,” she said.
“That is very sexy,” Emmy agreed, taking the camera and looking more closely. “Angela,” she said, “I would like an art print of this photo. I would like to frame it, if that is O.K. with you.”
“Really? Angela asked. “I’d be honored!”
Later, cuddling Emmy in bed, I asked, “Did it bother you to come home and find Angela naked?”
“Not at all,” Emmy said. “I know she has a crush on you, and wants you, but I am the one who has you.”
“Yes, you do have me,” I agreed.