She narrowed her eyes slightly, falling into concentration (and a numb despair) about the day ahead of her. For the past two weeks and into the next, she was shooting a select number of assorted new stars who had broken through this year to the upper ranks of stardom, for cult magazine Black Dot’s Hot List. It was considered the touchpaper to the zeitgeist, the kingmaker, and everyone who wanted to be Someone wanted to be in it. Forget running through Sniper Alley in Beirut, this was nearer her idea of hell, but it was a prestigious gig and they paid her an obscene sum to do it. She had sworn this year would be her last time at the helm – but then she’d said the same thing last year and the year before that too, and Bart had taken to teasing her that she was ‘pulling a Daniel Craig’ – feeling tainted by her association with something so unashamedly commercial, but not quite able to turn down the money . . .
She felt a disdain for her subjects, all chasing fame as though it meant a damned thing – popularity, talent, success – when in fact it was pure vanity and ego. None of the stars sitting for her even objected to being cast as a redux of someone else already famous and so far she’d done the ‘new Naomi’, the ‘new Tarantino’, the ‘new Ronaldo’, the ‘new Ellen’, the ‘new Trudeau’ . . . Today they had the ‘new Kit Harrington’, though she didn’t go in much for TV herself. What was his name? Max something . . .
Whatever, she already knew today was going to require juggling his ego (her role) and his PR’s nerves (Bart’s). A high-profile shoot like this, for a publication like Black Dot . . . these were his first steps into the big time and he was going to want the fantasy – the fawning, the prepping, the flirting. They all did. Her only nod to that was getting Bart to buy the king-size, traditionally baked stroopwafels from the Lanskroon Bakery on his way in.
‘So remind me – this guy we’ve got today . . .’ she asked Bart, walking over to the set and picking up a speck of lint that would glow like a firefly against the black drapes.
‘Matteo Hofhuis.’
‘Hofhuis, right.’ She clicked a finger as though in recognition, though her eyes remained blank. A frown developed. ‘And who is he again? Why do we care?’
‘Played the lead in the Netflix series Liar Liar and now the object of housewife fantasy across Europe. Supposedly Barbara Broccoli’s eyeing him as the new Bond.’
Lee emitted a small groan.
‘And he’s just been announced as a new Unicef ambassador.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh God, of course he has,’ she muttered.
‘Bills, Lee.’ Bart gave a shrug every bit as cynical as her words. Lee walked back over to the two-metre-long workbench where she saw he had left Matteo’s file open. She grabbed her heavy-rimmed glasses and studied the headshots again – black-and-whites, slumped on a chair, muscular legs long and splayed, his shirt half-open to reveal gym-honed muscles, aggressive eye contact with the camera. He was good-looking and he knew it. She looked at the other images. Tuxedo looks. Barefoot in jeans with a chunky jumper. So far, so clichéd. He was the handsome stranger, the boy next door . . . She glanced across at the rail of clothes the stylist had sent over – some well-cut suits, crisp shirts, an overcoat, a fine roll-neck sweater. Everything was manicured, precise, so very tasteful and safe. His managers clearly wanted her to stay on message.
The sound of voices in the hall made her and Bart both look up. They could hear the PR’s shrill voice as she issued directives. He was here already? He was twenty minutes early. Christ, he really was keen. The rest of her own team – hair and make-up – wasn’t even here yet.
‘Pastries?’
‘Done,’ Bart murmured, jerking his head in the direction of the Sub Zero fridge just as the door burst open and a young twenty-something redhead in black skinnies, boots and a grey blazer led the charge.
‘Hi! Lee?’ she asked, almost breaking into a run at the sight of her standing by the bench.
Lee shook her hand, forgetting to smile for a moment. ‘Hey.’ She pushed her glasses further up her nose, feeling extra tall and mannish in her battered boyfriend jeans, slouchy polo neck and hi-tops compared to this petite waif. It wasn’t a particularly unusual feeling for her, nor an unwelcome one.
‘I’m Claudia, Matt’s PR.’
‘Hi, Claudia. Lee.’
‘We’re so pleased this was booked. It’s been a personal ambition of Matt’s to work with you. He’s a huge fan of your work.’
‘Oh. How kind.’ Lee knew the ‘work’ in question was her commercial stuff, the images where she was paid to flatter, not reveal.
‘No, really – he says you’re a visionary. That your eye is completely unsurpassed. He says no other photographer—’
‘—can get to the essence of someone the way you do.’
She looked up to find the man himself standing there. His hair was longer than in his photographs, a five-day beard getting to the point where it was soft and not scratchy (Lee knew beards). Only his eyes remained true to the pictures she had seen – beautiful, arrogant, imperious. She was expected to fall in love with him, she already knew, even though he had to be eight, ten years younger than her.
As he came over with his hand outstretched, she saw him realize he was only an inch or so taller than her. They stood toe to toe, almost eye to eye, hands clasped. ‘It’s a real pleasure to finally meet you, Lee.’
‘And you, Matteo.’
‘Matt, please.’ He made a move to say something else and she guessed he’d reflexively been about to ask whether she’d seen the show – it would be all anyone ever talked about to him, she knew, his standard patter; but from the way he deflated fractionally again, she could tell he sensed she hadn’t, that she wasn’t one of the housewives he’d left in a flutter. He dropped her hand, breaking the gaze and casting a curious eye around the space, catching sight of the rail of sober clothes nearby. ‘So, what are we doing today?’
‘Well, as you can see . . .’ She paused, not quite able to suppress the boredom in her voice.
Did he pick up on it? His gaze came back to her again. ‘I am happy to put myself completely in your hands. I’ll submit to your vision, whatever that may be.’
Claudia gave a small startled sound that quickly became strangled under one of Bart’s delighted, arched-eyebrow looks.
Lee shifted her weight as she stared back at her subject, a small light climbing into her eyes, though it was scarcely visible behind the reflection of her glasses. ‘Really? . . . Are you quite sure about that?’
Chapter Three
‘They’re going to hit the roof,’ Bart said as she shrugged on her coat, her eyes on the clock. Their guests had just left and she had fifteen minutes to collect Jasper.
‘Good. Reaction is the whole point, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but there are still protocols to observe, as well you know. You didn’t use a single item of clothing they sent over. Couldn’t you at least have put him in a pair of trousers? I mean, they’re a magazine, Lee, they need to keep their advertisers happy—’
‘That’s their problem, not mine. I did my job and got the shot. That shoot will make the cover and the cover will sell out the issue and that’ll make the advertisers happy instead.’ She wound her scarf around her neck and pulled her hat on over her hair, making sure the little ears were on straight. She leaned over Bart as he sat on the high stool, resting her chin on his shoulder; he was looking at the images on the contact sheets on screen and she felt another small thrill of professional achievement, so rare these days. Matteo Hofhuis was utterly transformed from the cookie-cutter heartthrob who’d walked through the doors seven hours earlier. The beard was still there, but the hair was not (Lee always kept a pair of clippers in her props bag for just such moments as these) and his bare, tanned skin had been blackened, daubed and smeared with mud Bart had had to quickly gather from the pot plants in the lobby, mixing soil and water to her desired consistency. She had been adamant he had to look like a rough sleeper, a soldier, someone living by instinct, opportunity. She wanted to scrub off the starry artifice that was already layering upon him like a golden glow, to show him stripped back and raw.