Flash Fiction Friday: The Almost Infamous Scandal of Randal

The Flash Fiction Friday starter sentence:

The old camera had been in a box for decades, the pictures never developed, and now with the prints in his hand his blood ran cold from looking at the images that came from it. Randal couldn't believe his eyes. A marriage ruined, a career down the tubes. Lives shattered, and all for naught. "Well, I'm not going to let all of that go to waste," Randal insisted (to himself). He flipped through the pictures and had to admit they looked better than he'd imagined, or rather, he looked better than he remembered. He didn't even try to stop the tears now. He felt a strong mix of relief and humiliation that he knew would take time to assimilate into an acceptable and livable ambivalence, unless....

With his and Ingrid's careers out of the way and his children all grown, what did he really have to lose? He called up Frank over at the New York Times to say, "Frank, this is Randal, Randal Groves, remember me? I've got something I really want to show you. Can you meet me at The Corner Café at 8:00. Look, if you're not there, I'll call another reporter." And, then he hung up. Thumbing through the pictures again, he felt his too rarely used member rouse a bit, as he nearly skipped off to shower and shave.

Randal knew ordering coffee at 8:00 at night would normally be something he regretted, but he didn't care that day. He wasn't going to sleep much, anyway. These days, since he usually woke up at 4:30 in the morning, he thought maybe staying up late was just what he needed. Hell, maybe he'd be able to sleep until 7 for a change. Frank showed up his usual five minutes late with a briefcase and his hat in his hands. He put his briefcase down to shake Randal's hand just as Randal leaned in for a hug that crushed Frank's hat between them. "How are ya, Randal," Frank asked as a big grin spread all over his face. Randal had been a pain in his ass all those years ago when that sex scandal broke, but here he was still going, and strongly at that, at the looks of it.

"Randal, my man, how can I help you today, sir?" Frank knew this had to be good, but did worry a bit about dashing this man's apparent hopes. Randal's smile left no secrets. The pictures. He has the pictures, doesn't he? Frank knew in that moment.

"Frank, it's the pictures. The pictures of Ingrid and me, well of Ingrid. But, I am in them, too." Randal had behaved lugubriously enough when news of an affair between him and Ingrid Bergman had come to light in the Times, but when some, mainly Vince Stevens, asserted the whole thing was a hoax he created to improve his business, Randal had suffered greatly, as did Frank, since he had been the one to break the story that was later alleged false.

Groves Investments never could reach its previous clientele and wealthy investors, fearing a ruse, turned the other way on him, to Vince, and eventually he went under. Now, Randal was a handsome man, that was never in question, but even Ingrid couldn't shake the stigma of being a home wrecker in addition to being a cheater, a fate she ironically had to face with Roberto Rossellini a few years later anyway, and ended up denying the whole affair. Vivienne, Randal's wife, was torn. She was hurt he had cheated, and then confused as to why he'd lied about the whole thing in the end. Both Ingrid and Vivienne had gone to their graves hurt by his love, and here in the folder in his hands were pictures which would have at least confirmed he was not a liar, even if he had been a cheat.

When Randal slid the folder to across the table, Frank barely lifted it, just to confirm he had in his hands what he thought he had in his hands, the pictures of Ingrid and Randal on their trip to Costa Rica in 1946, before Ingrid had divorced Lars. There were pictures of Ingrid on the beach, Ingrid in the nude in their bungalow, and pictures of the two of them together, one even kissing, that were taken by passersby. Randal knew he had those pictures, but had accused Vivienne of hiding the camera or the film in a effort to further humiliate him when he couldn't locate them. In the end, he'd lost both Ingrid, who he never really had, he knew, and Vivienne. His business losses seemed small in comparison,especially since he was able to switch to a career in photography after that. He never tired of being teased about losing his clients' pictures, because he knew in the end, his name recognition was better than the alternative.

Frank assured Randal, he would handle the matter as delicately as possible, but he warned Randal he might be in for some unwanted attention. "At my age, Frank, any attention is good attention. I'll take a little justice for a change."

Randal walked away from his and Frank's meeting feeling satisfied that horrid chapter of his life was finally over. He knew that what was before him was a showing of his art, one he'd worked hard to make happen. This was just the push he needed.

When Randal looked up to cross the street, he saw that he had, actually, waited too late to look.