Meet Anita Olsen. The most popular girl in high school, she ruled as president of The Hot Babes Club - and as a bully who tormented Freddie Simpson for being a nerd. Freddie grew up to be a tech billionaire who invented a system of mind control, and life got very different for The Hottest Babe.
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"She's so anxious that I'm getting worried," Anita said to Freddie.
That morning Frida spent three hours pacing up and down the hallway in their hotel. She couldn't eat breakfast. Anita kept trying to coax Frida back to the suite to sit down and try to calm herself.
"Just a few more minutes," Frida said as the hours went by.
"Tell her I want to talk with her," Freddie said.
Anita stepped out in the hall, found Frida, and called out "Freddie wants to talk to you!" Frida took the phone and went back into the suite.
"I hear things are going well, and the show hasn't even opened," Freddie said.
"It seems that way," Frida said.
They talked for a few moments, then Freddie said, "I am so proud of you. When I asked you to photograph Anita, I felt sure you could create wonderful art. You have exceeded all my hopes. Thank you for everything. I would take it as a personal favor if you would try to relax between now and the opening. It's just a few hours from now. You don't want to be a bundle of nerves when the public arrives. Will you do that for me?"
"Of course, Freddie. I'll stop fretting." Frida said.
And she did. Anita watched in wonder as Frida sat back in the chair and visibly relaxed. It was strange that all Anita's urging had failed to get Frida to calm down, but a few words from Freddie did the job. It seemed suspicious.
Did Freddie do anything to Frida like he did to me?
Anita asked herself. She'd never wondered before. Had she missed something? Had there been a sign that Frida was as much Freddie's slave as Anita? Had Freddie used mind control to get Frida to exceed old artistic limitations? For a long time, Anita had realized that Freddie forced her to be a better person. She was nothing like the woman she'd been before Freddie kidnapped her and began shaping her mind to his will. She wondered what he'd say if she asked him about Frida.
She wondered if she could even ask that question. It might be something Freddie had ordered her not to do. She might never know if she never tried. She realized she didn't actually care if Frida was also Freddie's slave. Being his slave was a good thing.
For whatever reason, Frida was finally relaxing, and Anita was relieved. They enjoyed a calm conversation on topics that had nothing to do with the upcoming opening of
Aphrodite
. Frida was actually relaxed by the time they needed to get ready to leave for the gallery.
Their outfits were dazzling. Frida wore a black suit with slacks. It featured tiny silver threads that sparkled in the light. Anita wore a slinky black dress with enough cleavage to be flattering, but not to call excess attention to herself. The short skirt displayed her shapely legs nicely. The car sent by the gallery arrived at their hotel, so the two women started the short trip to the event they hoped would change Frida's life.
They were greeted by Mari, who wore a bright red dress with matching eye makeup that looked bold and sexy. Mari knew that almost everyone who showed up at the opening would be wearing black and white. It was like an unwritten dress code for the art crowd. It was well known that wearing bright colors while standing in a sea of black and white always focused attention in a flattering way. Mari had enjoyed having sex with Frida and Anita, and she wanted to repeat the experience. She hoped the bright red dress would help when she invited the pair to go out for cocktails after the opening.
The gallery owner noticed that people were gathering outside more than half an hour before the doors were to open. "Well, that is odd," she said. "I can't remember that happening before." She verified that the caterers were ready to serve the wine and hors d'oeuvres, then she unlocked the doors early and greeted the first members of the crowd.
It wasn't the usual crowd. This gallery's openings usually brought out young people, artists and would-be art patrons looking to mingle and make connections. The people flooding into the gallery tonight had plenty of connections already. They were older. Richer. More famous. Anita spotted a woman who'd just won a Tony Award for Best Actress in a Musical. There was a man who ran his family's $300 million charitable foundation that supported emerging artists. A director of blockbuster science fiction movies was there with one of his famous actresses. There was an astronaut. An astronaut! That was unexpected.
How did this happen?
the gallery owner asked herself.
How did all these movers and shakers decide to come out tonight?
She'd made an extra effort to publicize the opening, but these were people who didn't come to an opening because they saw an announcement in an art column. It was word of mouth. A director heard about it from a producer. He told a studio executive. She told a magazine editor. He told a photographer, who told several models, who told their rich boyfriends, who told their bankers, and on and on and on.
This particular grapevine just happened to penetrate deep into the heart of New York's most powerful citizens. One thing they all had in common with average New Yorkers was a desire to see and be seen by important people. They had a feeling
Aphrodite
would bring out that kind of crowd, and they were right.
As in San Francisco, everyone wanted to say something flattering to Frida. This time they wanted to make similar comments to Anita. She was surprised and flattered to be treated as an artist herself. That was not anticipated. One thing she had expected was to enjoy standing in a crowd of people admiring her nude image. As in San Francisco, Anita watched as people looked at the pictures, looked at her, looked at the pictures again, and realized that the woman in the slinky black dress was the same as the nude model they were admiring. It was a particularly enjoyable kind of stimulation for Anita's inner exhibitionist.
"You are Frida, no? These are marvelous photographs. I wish you would photograph me like this," a tall woman said.
