Ring, ring, ring...
The phone rang again. Ronald picked it up, demonstrating for his neighbor, Patty Webb.
"Good morning, Ronald Lee Photography. How may I direct your call?... Yes, I have an opening. I've noted your name and number. Your appointment is at 2:30 PM. Thank you."
Ronald hung up. "See? It's simple, right?" he smiled at the teenager, his temporary receptionist.
Ring, ring, ring... The phone rang again a few seconds later. Ronald picked it up.
"Ronald Lee Photography... Yes, yes, let me check the schedule..."
He hung up.
Ring, ring, ring...
"Ronald Lee Photography... Tomorrow afternoon? Let me squeeze you in..."
He hung up, clearing his throat.
Ring, ring, ring...
"Ronald Lee Photography. Are you calling to book a session?" Thankfully, Miss Webb immediately took over.
From 10:00 AM onward, the phone did not stop ringing. The appointment book filled up rapidly. Soon, all the daytime slots were booked, and Ronald had to start scheduling evening sessions under artificial light.
By mid-afternoon, there were so many people arriving that his small apartment ran out of space.
Girls were queuing in the hallway. There was no dedicated place to change clothes or wait. The chatter of nervous actresses made the living room feel like a chaotic casting call.
He didn't finish shooting the last client until 8:00 PM.
Ronald slumped onto his sofa, exhausted but exhilarated. The advertisement's effect had far exceeded his expectations. Today was Christmas Day, tomorrow, word of mouth would bring even more people.
If he didn't optimize his workflow, his reputation and his sanity would collapse.
After pacing the apartment for an hour, Ronald made a plan.
First, he went next door to speak with Mrs. Webb. He immediately raised Patty's daily wage from $5 to $20. He also offered Mrs. Webb a flat rental fee to temporarily use her living room and bedroom as a waiting area and changing room for his clients.
In the following days, the operation became a machine.
Patty Webb was promoted from receptionist to Studio Manager as she booked appointments, handed out numbered tickets, directed clients to the Webb apartment to wait and do their makeup, and called them over when it was their turn.
Mrs. Webb was hired as the Archival Manager. She logged each customer's film rolls, drove them to the Kodak processing lab on Santa Monica Boulevard twice a day, and retrieved the developed prints.
To prevent mix-ups, a disaster when dealing with dozens of young blondes who all looked vaguely similar Ronald bought a Polaroid instant camera. He took one Polaroid of each client before their session. Mrs. Webb clipped the Polaroid to the client's file, ensuring the right prints went to the right actress.
Ronald stopped taking location shoots entirely. He only shot inside his apartment, controlling the lights and the background. He shot all day, archived and sorted prints in the evening, and mailed them out the next morning.
Working non-stop from morning to night, Ronald tallied his earnings at the end of the holiday week.
He had taken in over $14,000 in cash.
After deducting the wages for the Webbs, the cost of Kodak Tri-X film, and the rush processing fees, his net profit was over $12,000.
Ronald sat at his kitchen table late at night, staring at the stacks of greenbacks. It was a staggering amount of money for an eighteen-year-old in 1978.
The celebrity endorsement strategy had worked flawlessly. As soon as the aspiring actresses walked in and saw the framed portraits of Demi Moore and Nastassja Kinski, they were sold. They wanted that magic.
Ronald's demographic was specific: young women, eighteen to their early twenties, making up 80% of his clientele. Most had never booked a real acting job. They were like Kris and Marla from Rock 'n' Roll High School, full of youth, invincibility, and desperate dreams. They all believed that if they just had the right photo, they could be the next Olivia Newton-John dancing with John Travolta in Grease.
Ronald played the part of the Hollywood Insider perfectly. He would briefly explain the psychology of casting directors, drop a few pieces of on-set gossip he'd picked up at New World, and casually mention that Roman Polanski had personally requested Nastassja. The clients eagerly handed over their cash.
Ronald never explicitly claimed that his photos had gotten Nastassja cast by Polanski. He just let the framed photos and the proximity to the name do the heavy lifting in their imaginations.
Even the local Kodak lab manager was thrilled, tentatively asking Ronald if he wanted a dedicated corporate account to handle his massive volume.
Logically, if Ronald's only goal was to make a living, he had struck gold.
The next steps would be obvious, register an LLC, rent a commercial studio space, hire permanent staff, and negotiate a bulk discount with Kodak.
Once stabilized, he could expand into shooting fashion editorials or commercial print ads.
But Ronald's dream wasn't photography as his dream was cinema.
A portrait photographer, even a famous one, didn't have the cultural impact or the creative control of a film director. The scale of the audience, the financial upside, and the sheer thrill of creation were not on the same level.
So, should he run another ad? Milk the cash cow for another few weeks? Maximize his earnings so he could comfortably cover four years of NYU tuition and self-fund his graduation film?
Ronald hesitated.
The constant flow of beautiful women in and out of a cheap Venice apartment building was already drawing stares from the neighbors. Ronald knew that if this continued, two things would happen, he would attract thieves, or he would attract the IRS.
Venice Beach was transitioning, but it still had its rough elements. Having $12,000 in physical cash sitting in a shoebox was begging for a break-in.
The IRS was an even bigger threat. In the 1970s, the tax rate for self-employed freelancers was punishing and any annual gig income over $400 was taxable. Furthermore, freelancers had to estimate their quarterly earnings and prepay their taxes, or face massive penalties. California's state tax board was equally ruthless.
A single mistake, underpaying by a few dollars or filing a day late could trigger an audit. That's why the gig economy ran on cash but cash had its own problems.
If Ronald walked into Wells Fargo and deposited $12,000 at once, the bank was legally required to file a Currency Transaction Report (CTR) with the federal government and he would be on the radar immediately.
Wishing he had a financial mentor, Ronald called Aunt Karen to wish her a Happy New Year and ask for advice.
He kept it vague, mentioning he had done some freelance photography over the holidays and made a good amount of cash, but he wasn't sure if he should expand the business or return to his studio job to learn editing.
Aunt Karen gave him a classic American pep talk.
"Don't be afraid, Ronnie. God will guide you," she said. "If you don't have a clear answer on paper, trust your gut. That is God's guidance. Every time you overthink things and ignore your intuition, you stumble."
Ronald hung up the phone and made his decision.
He was going to listen to Aunt Karen. His gut was telling him that the photography hustle, while lucrative, was a distraction from his true goal.
Ronald walked to the payphone and called the LA Times classifieds department. He canceled his recurring ad. From now on, he would only take high-end clients recommended by word-of-mouth on weekends. It would keep his skills sharp, generate pocket money, and keep him off the IRS radar.
Next, he tackled the cash problem. He took the $12,000 and broke it up. Over the next two days, he visited several different US Post Offices and Western Union branches, using the cash to buy Postal Money Orders in increments of $300 to $500.
Money orders were as good as cash, wouldn't bounce, and were fully insured if stolen. More importantly, they didn't trigger banking red flags.
He divided the money orders. Half he kept in a locked firebox under his bed and the other half he sealed in a Ziploc bag and taped to the back of his refrigerator's crisper drawer.
He planned to deposit the money orders into his checking account gradually one or two a week flying comfortably under the IRS radar.
With his finances secured, Ronald felt a massive weight lift off his shoulders.
The holiday rush was over and where he would be living in six months was entirely dependent on the mailmen delivering letters from USC, NYU, or Columbia. If he had to move to New York, shutting down a commercial studio lease would have been a nightmare.
Not wanting to alarm Aunt Karen with sudden wealth, Ronald mailed a modest $500 money order home, planning to bring the rest of her cut when he visited New York.
The New Year rolled in. The manic energy of the holiday shoot faded.
It was time for Ronald to return to New World Pictures. It was time to learn how a movie was truly made: in the editing room.
Authors Note:-
Bonus chapter.....
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