she could help us with the location and lighting or whatever.”
Cindy holds up her makeup trunk. “I brought a few things to get an idea of the look you want.”
“Cool. Cool. Thank you.” He stands back and opens the door wider. “Come in.”
The place is neater and tidier than I expected now that Pamela’s gone. Although the furniture has been replaced and rearranged.
“You were right,” Andrew says over his shoulder as we follow him through the house. “Pamela barbequed all my furniture after New York.”
I snort and choke on my laughter.
Cindy taps my shoulder. “That’s Pamela’s ex?” she whispers.
“Yup.”
“Jesus, he’s hot. And I don’t even like rockers.”
“He’s a serial cheater,” I warn.
“And that’s why I don’t date rockers.” Her mouth twists down. “Sorry.”
I’m not offended. Chaser’s nothing like Andrew. “Nope. I hear you.”
Andrew stops at the sliding glass door that leads to a patio of sand-colored slate leading to a kidney-shaped deep blue pool the size of a small lake. The property curves to the right with lush trees and shrubbery providing the allusion of a private, island oasis.
“This is beautiful, Andrew,” Cindy says, staring at everything.
He stands by the pool and throws his arms out wide. “This is my Zen. My peaceful, happy place, you know?”
Cindy’s intrigued and keeps studying the pool and trees. “What’s your vision?”
Andrew stares at one of the elegant black, iron lounge chairs scattered around the pool deck. “Maybe some old Hollywood glam with a punk rock vibe?”
Even with his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses, when he turns my way, my skin sizzles. “Can you make her hair all wavy.” He flips his hands around his face. “Like Cleo Moore? Mallory always reminded me of that actress.”
That’s news to me, but okay.
“Definitely.” Cindy pulls me closer and pushes me into the lounge chair. “Mallory’s hair is longer, but I can curl it away from her face. Give her some sophisticated loose waves. Here.” She brushes my hair back from the side of my face. “And here.”
“Yeah, that’s good.” While Andrew seems excited, I’m more and more weirded out with every passing second.
“Who are your other models?” I ask.
“A couple girls from the clubs and um, this kid from another band.” He turns to Cindy. “You mind working on some other people too?”
“Not at all. I can handle all of it.”
They end up walking over the grounds, talking about which spots might work best. My inner matchmaker thinks they’d make a cute couple but then my practical side says Cindy doesn’t need the heartache.
“Oh shoot!” Cindy stares at her watch. “I’m so sorry. I have to go.”
“That’s all right. You’ve been a huge help, Cindy.” Andrew pulls out his wallet and hands her some cash. They speak in low tones for a few minutes while my gaze lingers on the gate leading to the driveway. I plan to make my escape with Cindy.
Andrew walks us out front with a hand at each of our backs. Cindy breaks away from us and jogs down to her car. “See you Saturday, Andrew. See you tomorrow, Mallory.” She waves before taking off.
I grab my car door handle, but Andrew presses his palm against the glass. “Hey, can you come back inside for a second? I have something I want to show you.”
“Uh… sure.” I follow him back into the house. “Do you feel better about the shoot now?”
“Yeah, I meant to take some test shots of you but we can do that Saturday.”
Inside the house, I’m not sure where to go. He bounds up the stairs. Instead of following, I perch on the edge of the couch.
Andrew returns a few minutes later and holds up a navy blue T-shirt about ten sizes too small for him to his chest. “What do you think?”
“Oh! Is that one of your shirts? It’s cute.” I stand and move closer so I can study the fairy-tale-like scene depicted on the material. Except, on closer inspection, it’s kind of gory. The busty, blonde, barely dressed princess wields a bloody knife and wears a deranged smile. “Wow, that’s…something.” I stare at it a little longer. “It’s so…detailed. You drew that?”
He shrugs. “I like drawing crazy stuff. Always have.”
“It’s incredible.” I return to leaning against the couch, my gaze straying toward the door. “Maybe you should publish comic books, instead of T-shirts?”
“Maybe.” He slings the shirt over his shoulder and approaches. “Thanks for being so cool about my art. Pamela always told me how lame it was.”
“It’s not lame at all. You’re really talented.” My eyes