lips. That's not money to turn down, but I don't know if I can do this. Raising my shoulders, I shake my head, and Connie's face falls. “I just don't know.”
“You can do this,” she says firmly. “And anyway, I don't have time to find anyone else.”
I inhale deeply, thinking about the last shots I took of the sunsets in Thailand. It was worlds away from a muscly half-naked guy in a seductive pose, but there's no way I can let Connie down when she's put herself on the line for me. That, and I need the money badly.
She grins, taking a long sip of her pink drink that leaves sugar over her red-glossed lips. “It's going to be great. I know it…and if you need any help oiling up the models, you just let me know. I'll be happy to whizz across town to assist.”
Connie's confidence in me is likely misplaced, but we'll find out one way or another tomorrow. This could be interesting or a disaster, but as Connie says, every experience can be learned from. I guess I'm going to be learning tomorrow!
4
Conrad insists that his driver drops me to the downtown warehouse where I’m going to be working. I don’t argue because I’m still jetlagged and have no energy to work out where I’m going or how I’m going to get there.
As I step out of the limo, I don’t miss the interested looks that turn disinterested as soon as they see me emerging in my baggy orange Thai-style pants and loose black linen blouse. There’s no designer bags or celebrity outfits here, despite the luxury of the car. I hold tightly to the handle of my camera bag, tugging my large embroidered purse onto my shoulder as a gust of wind whips my short hair across my face. Gazing up at the huge warehouse building, I take a deep breath, designed to steady my nerves.
I spent much of yesterday afternoon browsing online for book covers, noting the poses and lighting used to bring out the best in the male models. I’m as prepared as I could possibly be with no direct experience and little notice, but that hasn’t banished the fluttering butterflies from my belly. I couldn’t even stomach breakfast, so I’m running on a double espresso. Maybe that’s why I feel so wired.
It’s now or never, I think, psyching myself up to push the door open.
The reception area is cavernous, and a single woman sits dressed in white at a clear glass desk with just a laptop and headset to work with. I approach slowly, gazing around at the polished concrete walls and floor.
“I’m Natalie Monk. I’m here for the shoot.”
The woman nods and taps on her keyboard. “Take the elevator to the third floor. Andre will meet you and show you where to go.”
The elevator is slick, moving faster than I’m expecting. Andre is at least six foot five, with pretty almond-shaped eyes and an outfit equally as white as that of reception lady. “Natalie,” he croons. “So happy you could make it. We really didn’t know what we were going to do when Alistair Cristie dropped out.”
Alistair Cristie was the photographer they had lined up for this shoot? Shit. I am out of my depth. If the publisher is prepared to pay for someone that established for this shoot, they really are expecting this book to be a huge seller.
I follow Andre into a large space, which is set up like a hotel room. A king-sized bed with crisp white linen and enough pillows to cushion Satan’s fall from the heavens stands next to a gorgeous ornate window. There’s a desk and a plush sofa too. My mind starts to flick through all the possible shots I could get.
“You can set up here,” Andre says, waving to a large table. Connie had assured me that they had much of the larger equipment that I would need, including lighting. I dump my bags on the table and begin to pull out my camera, flash, and lenses. I clean everything meticulously while Andre disappears through another door. A young girl who can’t be much older than eighteen pushes a clothing rack into the room. There’s a screen set up – I’m assuming for the model to change behind – and the costumes are set to the side.
“Can I get you anything,” she asks. “Coffee? Breakfast muffin? Croissant?”
Whiskey, I think, but I don’t verbalize it. I don’t want her reporting back that I’m a morning