What a picture is worth

Jamie was with a client. He had paid for the whole night and she was looking forward to it being over. She came to New York to follow her dreams of becoming a model, but it never worked out for her. The man was going by the name of John. He was an executive of a brokerage firm somewhere on Wall Street. All of Jamie's clients were wealthy, and all of them required discretion. She had been an escort for two years now, and despite working for one of the more reputable and better services she hated what her life had become. She watched as "John" had lied to his wife three times that night about what he was doing, and she resented him for talking incessantly about his wife while he was inside of her. She never led on how she felt in that moment. Her job was to make her clients feel good, and her thoughts and her emotions were hers. She treasured her privacy. She looked at him while he was getting dressed and thought to herself, "I know I'm pathetic, but you have no idea how much of a loser you really are". A lot of her wealthy clients were married, and there wives having lost the beauty of youth or being trapped in a loveless marriage, they came to her. Jamie was by far beautiful, a stunning blond-haired, raven eyed beauty of 24. She knew she was using these men just as much as they were using her, but she always avoided thinking about the morality of what she was doing. She had even had several marriage proposals.

"Can I see you next week," He asked, as he put 3000 dollars on the table.

"Just call and make an appointment," she said as she took the money and put it in her purse.

"Bye sweetie," she said as you blew him a kiss and thought to herself, what a scumbag.

The air was cold and the city was alive at six thirty in the morning. She was exhausted, but in spite of it, she decided to walk home. She needed time to think, she needed time to breathe. It wasn't far from her apartment in Little Italy. As she was passing through Chinatown on Broom street, an antique store happened to catch her eye.

"I've never seen this store before," she thought to herself and decided to take a look inside. A bell rang as she entered the building.

The store was dimly lit, and smelled of old furniture and wood. She glanced around at all the different objects for sale, and than looked at the old Chinaman standing behind the glass counter.

"Hello," she said not quite sure what to make of him and to be polite.

"Come in, You look, You see you like, you buy, no problem, many tings, nice pretty lady need nice tings," he said in terribly broken English.

"Thank you," she said smiling politely. There was no one else in the store and it was quite crowded with all sorts of things. Shelves, paintings, lamps, tables, etc. As she browsed she became lost in the moment forgetting her worries. She stopped in front of a painting. It was an old house by a hill with a man sitting on a porch swing. The painting made her feel something she never felt before. There was a sadness to it, a loneliness.

She turned to the store owner and asked, "How much for the painting". She hated those words. Anything that had to do with money made her sick to her stomach, because of what she did for a living. Every bill paid, every lunch eaten reminded her of her profession as an escort. She had learned to block out the self loathing.

The Chinaman looked at the painting, "you do me one favor and you can have,"

Her whole demeanor changed, "What is the favor," she said with a slight tone of annoyance. She didn't like being jerked around.

"I no can leave shop, you deliver this letter for me you take painting," he said. She looked at him for a moment trying to discern. There was something strange about this man. Not threatening, but strange.

"How do you know I will deliver the letter," she asks, "I'm not going to take the letter all the way to the post office and than come back, I'm on my way home from work, and I have been up all night," she said stating her position and trying to gauge his response.

"No, you take both now, and you deliver letter, you no want bring bad luck on yourself, and you honest lady, I give letter and painting and you deliver me," He said.

She thought he was a very superstitious and naive old man.

"give me the damn letter," she said.

He handed her the letter and than walked to where the painting was and gave it to her, she watched him with her eyes trying to get a better sense of him. He was mysterious to say the least.

"okay," he said making a gesture with his hand for her to go.

She forced a smile to be polite, and than headed out the door. The bell rang again.

The autumn wind caressed her face, as she walked toward her apartment carrying her new painting. A block down the street was a mailbox, she looked the envelope over both back and front, nothing extraordinary, just a normal letter. Whatever, she thought to herself, if he wants to give paintings away I'll deliver his mail for him. She pulled open the small blue slot and tossed the envelope in. Thanks for the painting she thought, as she headed into her building.

Jamie loved her apartment. It was expensive, but quiet, and people in the building respected her privacy. She rarely saw her neighbors, and she preferred it that way. Her apartment was quite spacious for New York, despite the basicness of it. A kitchen, a bathroom, and one large room that served both as bedroom and living space. It wasn't much but it was home. She was exhausted, not just from the late night, but from years of self depreciation, she wished something would change, anything. Maybe I will get hit by a bus tomorrow," she said to herself. She didn't really want to die, really she wanted to live. She took of her red dress and through it on the queen size bed, and standing in her underwear she took down a painting of dogs playing poker and switched it with the one she had gotten today. She looked at the man in the painting. He was older than she was, in his forties,, but it was his eyes that captured his attention. The way he was looking out from the porch swing was as if he had lost something...or someone. She took a deep breath and headed into the bathroom and took a shower. The water hissed in the apartment.

Jamie exited the bathroom wrapped in towels and sat on the bed while she dried her hair. It was just a glance, but it caught her eye. Something is wrong. The painting. It's not the same. She shut the blow drier off with her hair partially dry and stood up cautiously and approached the painting to get a closer look. The man.....everything was the same....except the man....He was leaning on the railing of the porch looking out in a different direction. Jamie questioned her own memory as she stared at the painting. She knew that he was on the porch swing when she bought it, but now she was doubting herself because she was so exhausted. She ran into the kitchen and fumbled through the drawers. Getting her Kodak camera she snapped a polaroid of the painting. She checked to make sure she got the picture. The man was still leaning on the railing in both. Okay she thought, well I guess I'm just going crazy she thought. She jumped in the covers and placed the photograph on the nightstand as she just stared at the painting. She fell asleep after an hour of staring at the painting, but nothing changed, he was leaning on the porch rail looking out. She slept a deep sleep.

When Jamie awoke she felt refreshed. She looked at the painting casually, having quite forgot about the incident that happened last night, and immediately she remembered. "Oh, my God," she muttered as she reached for the polaroid. The man was in the field looking what seemed like toward her but she could see that he was looking passed her, and it was dusk. "okay, the man in this painting is moving," she said now convinced. She looked at the polaroid and her conviction was strengthened as the man in the photograph was leaning on the porch rail looking away. She held up the photo to the painting. She knew what had to be done. She quickly threw on a pair of blue jeans, and a white shirt and a hoodie. She slipped on some shoes and left, locking the door behind her. She walked, not panicked, but with importance. She was focused, and people despite her beauty who she passed by on the street could sense by her mannerisms. She headed down Broom street, and got to the end of it. No store. She walked back down the other way slowly this time looking at each store. No store. She looked at the Chinese restaurant that was next to the store where she bought the painting. She looked at the Nail salon which was where the antique store had been. She pushed the door open and walked to the counter.

There were several women getting their nails down by other women. Everyone was speaking loudly in Cantonese. She went up to the hostess, and said, "Excuse me, where is the antique store that used to be here,"

The young Asian woman smiled, "I'm sorry but there has never been an antique store here as far as I know, this is my mother's salon, she has been here for quite some time, maybe you have the wrong street," the woman spoke perfect English without even a trace of an accent. Jamie could tell she was well educated. Jamie looked at her for a while. "Yeah, okay my mistake, have a good day," offering a necessary quick smile.

"That's okay, if you ever want to get your nails done let me know, we are always here," she said kindly with sincerity in her voice.

Jamie looked at her, she thought about how she put that as she nodded her acknowledgement and said, "thank you".

She walked back to her apartment. Her heart and mind were filled with emotions and thoughts beyond the realm of processing. Her, past, her future, her present were all converging on her all at once. It was like an epiphany was getting ready to happen. The abuse she suffered as a child, boyfriends and old flames. Dropping out of college to start a modeling career, failing, selling her body for the highest bidder. She didn't even see the city around her she was beyond it in this moment. She reached her building and headed up to the second floor and unlocked her door. She walked in shutting the door behind her and locking it. She looked at the painting.

This time she was ready. She knew, she just knew. She looked at it from end to end. The man was no longer in the painting, and now it was daylight again. Just a wooden house with a porch. She was not in the least bit surprised. She stared at it for some time. It seemed to be calling her, she reached out to touch it, it was clearly an oil painting. As her fingers made contact with the painting she felt the breeze on her neck. She turned around to see the vast field sprawled out before her. It was beautiful she thought to herself. She turned around a couple of times taking in the landscape. She had a sense of some familiarity as she walked toward the wooden house. She looked around as she climbed the stairs to the porch. The boards creaked underneath of her. She looked through the window to see a furnished room. She felt a saddened warmth. She knocked loudly on the door. Waiting a few minutes, she grabbed the doorknob and turned it and pulled. The door wasn't aligned properly and it took a little force to open it creaked loudly when it opened. She looked before entering and gave a loud, "Hello....is there anyone here," Silence.

She walked in and intuitively started to get a feel of who lived here. She turned to her left and headed into the room she had seen from the window. She walked into the parlor behind it, and stopped looking at the stairs. She decided not to go up, and instead came back in the kitchen through the other door. She paused for a moment trying to process what she was feeling in this moment. She looked up at the wall at the painting hanging over the table. The red dress that she was wearing the night before was still on the unmade bed. The painting was of her apartment, just the way she had left it. It was an oil painting.

Jamie heard the sound of the boards on the porch creaking as they headed to the door. The door creaked loudly as it was opened from outside.........