“Women are able to do things and have their tits out,” Marlow said with a tut. “They do it all the time.”
“You go native,” Jen said. “War photographers do it, investigative journalists do it. I don’t have a problem with your usual kit.” Marlow snorted at that. “But you’re going to stick out like dog’s balls wearing it. Go glam, blend in, catch people when their defences are down, and capture the real them. That’s what Dad’s looking for.”
“Except for the sex and drugs and…what?”
“Not that kind of photoshoot,” Jen said with a smirk.
“What, so you want me to catch everyone…going for it?” I blinked as both their smiles widened. “Exactly what kind of photoshoot is this?”
“I told you the brief, and I meant every word. This will be beautiful, decadent, unfettered, and sometimes, downright debauched. Think Annie Leibovitz and the Stones in ’75, think Cocksucker Blues.”
“Think Snoop’s porn videos,” Marlow said with a grin.
“Or Rammstein’s,” Jen’s nose wrinkled, “though with considerably less dad bod. Madonna’s sex book!”
“You want me to shoot porn shots?”
“No, I want you to shoot this like any other documentary photographer would. Shoot what you see, what’s there. Make it beautiful, luscious, sweet, but don’t balk from anything else. Don’t self-censor. Daddy’s embarking on something brand new. Everyone knows what A-listers get up to, and people comb the tabloids for tiny scraps of evidence. Well, we’re going to give it to them. The more…adult images will be behind a paywall, to protect minors and to give value to it. No one desires something that’s free. But for the first time ever, people will have unfettered access to those they worship, and you’re going to be the means to give it to them.”
“We’ll wait outside, Miss Rutherglen,” Mark said as he re-entered the room. Paulie’s eyes raked up my well-dressed form, but Mark only paused for a second, nodding to each of us and then leaving, his colleague in tow.
“You’re overthinking it,” Marlow pronounced with a shake of his head. He rolled to his feet in a well-practised move, then retrieved two things from the racks. The first he presented with a flourish, smiling when my lips parted, because there he held a pair of green sequined Chuck Taylor’s. “See, no need to worry about falling over. Now, let’s see if this helps.”
Marlow dropped the shoes into my limp hands, produced a mask with the other hand, and then moved in closer to put it on me. It was stiff and a little uncomfortable in the way the material refused to mould to my face. My vision was slightly impaired by the elongated holes cut within it, but I saw the moment he gestured to Jen to retrieve my camera from the change room clear enough. Something settled inside me when she placed it in my hand, then she sat back on the couch in an elegant sprawl as I lifted it. I turned it on and looked down the barrel, the sounds around me dropping away as I focussed the lens, composed the shot, and then…
Click.
Jen turned to look at the camera, not me, a kind of indolent challenge now burning in those familiar blue eyes.
Click.
The artificial light bleached her to the bone, her eyes bright as stars. Those terribly red lips curved further into a kind of silent mirth, looking all the while like a little girl caught doing something oh so naughty. Then her gaze flicked up.
Click.
“I’ve been dealing with prima donnas and hotties all bloody morning,” Marlow said as I shifted the viewfinder around to catch him in it. His fingers went to the hem of his shirt.
Click.
Then he smiled, something entirely devilish. His head was thrown back as he removed it with a quick movement, and he was lying down on the couch in the next moment, his body very close to Jen’s. She looked down at his very nice bare chest with interest.
Click.
He wasn’t as bulky as Paulie or Mark, but the guy obviously kept himself in good shape. Jen put out a finger and trailed the weird tattoos he had inscribed on his ribs.
I zoomed in.
Click.
“Mmm…” one or both of them said. I zoomed back out again, catching the moment they leant into each other, her red lips almost against his.
Click.
Then they laughed. All tension left their bodies as they flopped back on the couch, relaxed now, looking more like siblings than potential lovers.
“And that’s how it’s done,” Jen said. “Let’s take a look at what you’ve got.”
I felt kinda light headed when Marlow got to his feet and removed the mask, my eyes blinking in the light. He rubbed my arm for a second and then took the camera from me, passing it to Jen. Her smile widened when she saw what was on the viewfinder, sharing the images with Marlow when he joined her. His smile mimicked hers, and then they both turned to look at me.
Was this what the night was going to be like? Me feeling really uncomfortable, trussed up like a chicken, while beautiful people looked at me with sly smiles? My fingers itched for my camera, a symbol, an acknowledgement of my purpose.
“So what do you think?” Jen said to Marlow.
He just smiled. “She’s perfect.”
“You hear that?” she asked me. “This was your audition. Marlow is the creative director of the whole event.”
“Yes, and you’ve given me nowhere near enough time to complete it. Alright, sweetheart, jump up on the box for me, will you? I need to stare way too long at those nicely turned ankles while I hem your dress up.”
Twenty minutes later, I emerged from the room in a bit of a daze.
The process had been made more complex by the many ruffles of fabric in the skirt. Each one had to be hemmed separately to keep the fluttery effect intact. It had been weird, standing on the podium as Jen chattered to me about all the different guests. Little was required of me but to nod along and give appropriately enthusiastic responses.
“Stay still for this,” Marlow had said, his hand going to my knee. My eyes instantly jerked down to see two green eyes looking up at me as he’d put a few pins in his mouth and went to work, pinning up the falls of fabric closer to my waistline. The dress actually had a massive split in it running up the centre of the dress, and only the plentiful ruffles were enough to preserve my modesty. This would not be a granny pants night. Even Spanx would be out of the question.
“Don’t worry,” he’d said in a low voice. “We’ll have something pretty for you to wear tomorrow night.”
“How did you…?”
He’d shrugged and said, “It’s what I’d be thinking if I had to wear something like this.”
5
“OK, so now the traumatic stuff has been done, come and look.”
I loved Jen. She barrelled through life like it was one long adventure, even if she felt somewhat hampered by being tucked away in Gisbourne, but today she was next level. She fairly glowed with excitement as she led me past the reflection pool into the main house proper. The place was teaming with staff as well, but they all melted away as we entered. Well, that and because Mark loomed behind us.
I refused to make eye contact with him when we exited the room. I didn’t normally much anyway, torn between wanting to treat him like an actual human being and the fact that he was hot. But now, Marlow’s pronunciation that he’d looked like Jamie Fraser in Outlander positively burned in my brain. I was a hot-blooded heterosexual girl, I’d seen Sam Heughan in all his considerable glory on the show, and the comparisons weren’t completely accurate—I think Mark might have been taller and bigger—but now that I’d been up close and personal with Mark’s manly, manly body, I knew a date with a certain battery operated boyfriend was on the table tonight. But right now, I wanted to pretend that being near him, Marlow, and all those mostly naked guys wasn’t giving me a full on moisty. Of course, when was what I wanted ever on the cards?