TWENTY ONE - RYDER

Ryder Pictures of attractive women were scattered all over my workspace. After examining each one, I divided them into two piles: yes and no. There was no "maybe" category for me. They either matched or didn't match what the producer had envisioned for the final product. I tried to shake off the doubt that I wouldn't find the perfect one here by rolling my shoulders back. My eyes started to itch as the stunning, symmetrical, dark-eyed women blurred together. Collaborating with artists who were still establishing themselves wasn't my usual practice, but the producer, Julius Lewis, was one of my closest friends. Andrew, a mutual friend, sat back in one of my conference chairs and quipped, "It's kind of like Tinder." I chuckled, "Except you keep printing garbage." He lounged with one ankle crossed over his knee, scrolling through his phone and casually tossing one of my signed baseballs in the air. "I'm old-school," I replied, unfazed. Moving the latest picture aside, I stared at the stac