Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,47
reflector pointed right at her face.
Worst of all was the giraffe. Hugo had the bright idea that we should shoot with actual animals—first an ostrich, then a Masai giraffe on loan from the zoo. The handler came along to make sure he behaved. But the giraffe wasn’t liking Hugo’s shouting one bit, or the flashes from the lightboxes. He ended up galloping off, one massive hoof the size of a dinner plate barely missing Ivory’s face. After that she didn’t want to stand anywhere near the animals. It took over an hour for the handler to get the giraffe back, chasing after him in our dune buggy.
Anyway, we’re behind schedule now. Hugo has decided we better get through a couple of outfits with just Ivory and me and the sand dunes before we run out of light.
“Lift that handbag up, Simone,” Hugo says. “No, not that high—this isn’t The Price is Right. Do it casual. Natural.”
There’s nothing natural about contorting myself into the perfect position to showcase both the jacket and the bag just the way Hugo wants, but I don’t even bother to roll my eyes at him. I’d like to wrap this up as well.
“Alright,” Hugo says, once he’s got a couple hundred images of this set. “Who’s gonna hold my snake?”
“I really hope that’s not a euphemism,” Ivory says, wrinkling her nose.
“Ha ha, very funny.” Hugo sniffs. He’s short and lean, with a salt-and-pepper goatee, a long nose, and a penchant for baseball caps. Ivory says it’s because he’s balding and doesn’t want anyone to know.
He opens up a large chest with suspicious-looking air holes in the side.
“I mean an actual snake. A Burmese python, to be exact. Why don’t you drape him round your neck, Ivory—he’s an albino, too. You two should get along perfectly.”
“Fucking hell no,” Ivory says, taking a step backward. It’s difficult to tell, but I think she went about three shades paler at the sight of Hugo lifting the massive snake out of the crate.
The thing must be twelve feet long. It looks heavy from the way Hugo is struggling to heft it out.
“Let me help,” the handler says, grabbing the lower half of the snake. The handler still looks sweaty and dirty from his romp across the sand to recover the giraffe.
The snake flops around at first, then perks up once it realizes it’s out in the open air.
It’s quite lovely—cream colored with yellow patches. It reminds me a little bit of buttered popcorn. Its skin looks smooth and dry.
“I’ll do it,” I say.
“Alright, switch to the white prairie skirt,” Hugo says. He’s not talking to me—he’s instructing Danielle, the wardrobe specialist. She runs to get the skirt in question, and a different pair of sandals. She helps me strip off my current outfit so I can change. I do it right out in the open, stripping down to a nude-colored thong. Nobody pays any attention to my nakedness. Nudity is as common as vape pens and Instagram posts in the modeling world.
“Which top?” Danielle asks.
“None,” Hugo says. “You don’t care, do you Simone?”
I shake my head. I don’t give a damn about going topless.
Hugo drapes the snake around my shoulders. It really is heavy—over a hundred pounds, I’d guess. The handler helps support the tail while I get into position between two sand dunes.
The snake’s tail hangs down over my bare breast. Its body runs across my shoulders, then down my left arm. He’s wrapped himself around my forearm, his head resting on my open palm. I cover my other breast with my free hand.
“Oh that’s perfect,” Hugo says. “Okay, stand straight on like that . . . alright, now turn a little to your left and look over your shoulder at me. Yeah. Extend that arm and see if the snake will look right at you . . .”
Modeling can be very peaceful. You become almost a human statue, poseable and moveable, but not feeling much. You know you’re making something beautiful. It’s always fun to see the images later, after cropping and editing. You get to see what you were that day—a goddess. An angel. A diva. A party girl. A CEO. An explorer . . .
But the real reason I started modeling was for money. After my blow-up with my parents, I realized how much they owned me. Without money, you have no independence. So I took the first job I could find that would give me that freedom.