David Morrell - Double Image

PREOCCUPIED, he worked in Packard’s darkroom, filling the time until Tash would phone him. Having purchased the necessary equipment and chemicals on his way back from the South Coast Plaza, he processed the negatives that he had taken at the clothing boutiques. The next step, that of making eight-by-ten enlargements, would be not only time-consuming but tedious. These were snapshots, after all, not composed artistic images. There wasn’t any creative challenge in developing them or stimulation in debating how to manipulate and crop them for the maximum aesthetic impact. Just get the job done, he told himself.

In this case, a one-hour photo-processing company would probably have done as well, but following Randolph Packard’s example, Coltrane had never used a photo-processing company in his career. Besides, there was always the chance that the film he surrendered would be lost or damaged somehow, and he was too impatient to see the results of today’s effort to take that risk, not to mention be forced to have Tash go through today’s dangerous charade for a second time.

His thought about Packard made him imagine the countless times that Packard had come into this darkroom and done what Coltrane was now doing, transferring prints from the developing tray to a tray filled with chemicals that stopped the development process. He gently agitated the stopping solution, careful to rotate the prints from top to bottom to make sure that the stopping chemicals touched them evenly. Then he shifted the prints to a tray filled with chemicals that fixed the image on the paper, making it permanent. He repeated the process of agitation and rotation, finally placing the prints in a tray filled with slowly running water that would wash the chemicals from them.

He imagined Packard standing in this same spot, lovingly developing the photographs that he had taken of Rebecca Chance. Indeed, he could almost sense Packard within him as he gave in to the irresistible urge to make prints from a different negative entirely, from the film that had been in the camera that he had taken to Tash’s house the previous day. Had Packard felt what he now felt as he made an enlargement and carried the eight-by-ten-inch photographic paper to the developing tray, holding his breath as he gently agitated the solution? Had Packard exhaled as Rebecca Chance’s features appeared before him, just as Tash’s identical features now came to life before Coltrane?

The alluring posture of the two women as they emerged from the ocean was identical. True, Tash wore a formfitting diver’s suit, whereas Rebecca Chance had a more revealing wet, clinging bathing suit. But for all that, they were the same, just as Coltrane felt eerily that he and Packard were the same. Both loving the same woman. Making love to the same woman – in the same bed.

The phone rang, its jangle startling. Despite his anticipation, Coltrane had become so absorbed in Tash’s image that he had stopped thinking about when she would call. He jerked his head toward the phone that he had brought from the kitchen and plugged into a jack in the darkroom. As much as he wanted to grab it, he couldn’t bear letting Tash’s image be ruined by keeping it too long in the chemicals. Quickly, he removed it from the fixing solution, shook fluid off it, and set the print in the washing tray.

By then, the phone had rung two more times. In a rush, he picked it up.

“I’ve been waiting for your call. How did it go?” he asked.

The person on the other end didn’t answer right away. The voice was faint. “Somehow I suspect I’m not the one whose call you’ve been waiting for.”

“… Jennifer?”

“I told myself I wasn’t going to do this.”

Coltrane felt a weight in his stomach. “How are you?”

She swallowed, as if trying to suppress emotion. “How do you think?”

“I meant to phone you today.”

“But you didn’t,” Jennifer said.

“I couldn’t. Something interfered.”

“I can imagine.”

“I wanted to explain about the misunderstanding last night.”

“Oh?” Jennifer’s voice was strained. “What misunderstanding is that?”

“Why I was with Tash instead of with you at your parents’ house.”

“I’m not sure there was a misunderstanding. I think I understood very well.”

“We have to talk.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Jennifer…”

“Get it over with. Talk.”

“I…”

“Or maybe this isn’t a good time. Maybe I’m interrupting something.”

“No. I’m alone.”

“Then why don’t you let me in? I’m using a car phone. I’m outside your house.”

JENNIFER LOOKED SMALL IN THE DARKNESS. In place of last night’s Armani dress, she was wearing faded jeans, an orange Southern California Magazine sweatshirt, and a matching baseball cap – the same outfit she had worn the day she set out with Coltrane to find Rudolph Valentino’s Falcoln Lair. The memory made him ache.

“Hi.”

“… Hi.”

“You’re sure it’s safe to come in?” Jennifer’s eyes looked red, as if she’d been crying.

“The coast is clear.”

She entered uneasily. The way she peered around made it seem that everything was strange to her, the house unfamiliar.

“Can I get you something?”

“Yeah, a little arsenic sounds good.”

Coltrane didn’t know what to say to that and used the motion of closing and locking the door to mask his awkwardness.

“I’ll settle for scotch.”

Coltrane couldn’t help remembering that scotch was what Tash had wanted the previous night. Reaching the kitchen seemed to take forever. But at least it was motion; at least it, too, masked his awkwardness, as did preparing her drink.

“You’re not going to have one with me?” Jennifer asked.

“No. I’ve got a lot of work to do in the darkroom, and I don’t want to get sleepy.”

“This is tough enough as it is. I’m not sure I can get through this if you make me drink alone.”

Coltrane’s heart went out to her. “Of course. Why not? Let’s have a drink together.” He got out another glass, poured the scotch, added ice, and put in some water, more motions for which he was grateful.

He raised his glass and clicked it against hers. “Cheers.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Maybe ‘Here’s mud in your eye.’ But definitely not ‘Cheers.’” Jennifer took a long swallow, made a face, as if the drink was too strong, and looked at him. She was standing exactly where Tash had stood the previous night. “Talk.”

“I’m not sure how to begin.”

“As long as it’s the truth, however you tell it will be fine. I’ll make it easy for you. The way you looked at her last night – are you in love with her?”

Coltrane glanced at his hands.

Jennifer nodded in discouragement. “You fell in love with Rebecca Chance’s photographs. Then you fell in love with Rebecca Chance’s look-alike.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Of course. You’re a complicated man. Is she really Rebecca Chance’s granddaughter? Is that why she looks so uncannily like her?”

“That’s my suspicion,” Coltrane said. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Jennifer took another long swallow and shuddered. “Well, as I told you on New Year’s Eve, I can’t compete with a woman who’s that beautiful. Not with a ghost. Really, you should have called me today. You should have put me out of my misery.”

“I never meant to… I had a good reason for not calling you.”

“Make me believe you weren’t planning to dump me without bothering to let me know.”

“I… Can I show you some photographs?”