For a split second he thought about telling her the film had been ruined and that they would have to do it over again. Then he realized she wouldn’t buy that and, besides, it would be a reflection of inefficiency on his part. “They’re O.K.,” he said non-committally.

He heard the sound of her swallow over the phone and then her voice was brisk and businesslike. “Good. Are you willing to continue working with me?”

“More photographs,” he wisecracked and almost blew the whole deal right there.

The heat of her anger came through the miles of wire. “Don’t be smart, Mister Shelton.”

“Sorry.”

“All right. Here’s what I want you to do.

First: I need to get in touch with at least three different… ah ‘wife-swapping’ organizations. I want to know the name of each of the club’s leaders. It would be better, I believe, if they were from another part of the state. They must be high-class people, however, No tramps! And… one of them has to be an all-Negro, or mainly Negro, club. Is that understood?”

Shelton blinked and scratched his right ear thoughtfully. “That may be a tall order, Mrs. Akron. Christ! I’m not even sure where to start.”

“At two hundred dollars a day plus expenses, I’m sure you’ll find a place.”

“It’s liable to take a week or so…” he began.

“I don’t care. I’ll give you a retainer. Will a thousand dollars be enough to start?”

Shelton, speechless, merely nodded and then, suddenly realizing she couldn’t see his nod of acceptance, said quickly, “That will be fine.”

“Good. Incidentally, I don’t know anything about these organizations, but I would suggest you begin looking at the Santa Barbara Royal Yacht Club for a group. It’s common knowledge that they have an active bunch that swaps with other yacht clubs. Perhaps you can find the all-Negro group in the San Francisco Bay Area. For my plan, I will need at least twelve couples altogether. No more than fifteen couples though.”