The following morning, Simon found me sitting in a chair while Noah separated, pulled, and straightened my hair, getting me ready for the last day on the set. I was taking mental notes from Noah, who was offering me pointers on how I should take better care of my hair. Good grief, Noah has way too much energy this early in the morning. I sat there like a noodle, the rhythmic sound of the blow-dryer putting me into a trance. My eyes were half-closed, exhausted from yesterday’s shoot—not that I was complaining. Actually, am I even getting paid for this? It would have been smart to ask before we’d started, but I was so blinded by excitement to be part of the shoot that I’d jumped at the chance without thinking about anything else. Then again, some opportunities can’t be summed up with money.
“Howzit goin’?” Simon sat in the empty chair beside me, giving me a side-glance. “I hope I didn’t tire you out from yesterday?” he said, as I straightened myself higher.
“Are you kidding me? Please, yesterday was a piece of cake.” What he didn’t know was that, when I’d gotten home, I’d passed out in my bunk bed. Slept like a total baby. “There’s nothing you can put me through that will slow me down. I got stamina.” I smiled. Yeah, maybe after a morning coffee—or two.
“Stamina?” Simon repeated it. “You think you could keep up with me?” He slightly shook his head.
“Haven’t I already?” I raised my brows.
“True, but I can’t wait to hear what you’ll say after today.”
I caught myself staring at Simon. His hair was worn back, but not snug enough. Some sandy-brown locks had come undone, trailing in front of his face when he looked down at the papers resting in his hands. I wouldn’t say Simon was eccentric, but he had hints of it in his style. On his wrists he wore an arrangement of colorful leather bracelets with silver links. I didn’t know any other man who wore that much jewelry, but on Simon, everything suited him.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” I said, now able to reposition my head, catching his eyes through a large, cheap, black-framed mirror that leaned against the wall in front of us.
“I wanted to bounce ideas with you before we shoot.” He playfully rolled the papers in his hands.
“Sure,” I said.
“I think we’ll do the first half on the roof, and, if the lighting is perfect, we could get some shots in the studio, too.” His voice was deep but cheerful. “So, Gloria went through the collection, and she has this idea of a theme … a mixture of seventies rock and downtown art scene vibes.” His eyes scanned the walls. “Think … Debbie Harry.” He motioned with his hand. Another thing I’d noticed about Simon was the use of his hands as a way to express himself. He accentuated it more when he talked about something he felt passionate about.
“Debbie who?”
“Are you kidding me?” Simon’s eyes grew wider.
“No. I kid you not. Does she, um … have a reality show or something?”
Simon made a clicking noise with his mouth, like I’d said something offensive. “How could you not know? She’s a legend.” His voice went up at the end.
“Surprising, right? Not all intellectuals know about everything. So spare me.” I shrugged. “I’ll just Google her later.” My phone was out of my reach.
“You know who I’m talking about, mate?” Simon looked up at Noah, who was now teasing my hair, which stumped me, because he had spent twenty minutes smoothing it out. But he was the stylist, who was I to question him? I’m going to have so much fun getting those knots out later.
“She’s the lead singer of the band Blondie … ‘Call Me’?” Noah said to me.
“But you’re right here.” I winked.
“It’s a song, love,” Simon added.
“Yeah … I got that.”
It went over Simon’s head, and he sang a few verses.
“God, here we go again.” I murmured. “Oh-oh, the dog’s howling again.”
I glanced at Noah, and he chuckled.
“For heaven’s sake, Simon, cut me some slack. I wasn’t even born yet.” I groaned, but it was useless. Another thing I’d learned about Simon: he didn’t know when to let go.
“Know this one?” I watched Simon scroll down his phone. When Noah caught me in the mirror, I half-rolled my eyes.
“Aye?” He held up his phone for us to hear. Noah sang along and swung his shoulders, getting into it as I laughed. My gaze found Simon’s bright eyes reflecting back.
“Sorry, Simon, I’m not from your generation … old geezer,” I said, finally seizing a moment to drink my now-cold coffee.
He stifled a laugh. “Who are you calling old?”
“Well, close to thirty is pretty ancient,” I teased, giving Simon a wide grin.
“Oh, I see how it is.” Simon playfully narrowed his eyes at me.
“What?”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls?"
“What girls?”
“Crazed fangirl who likes bands that don’t know how to play an instrument, and it takes six guys to sing one song,” he laughed.
My mouth dropped. “First, there’s five of them. And don’t judge me or make fun of them.” As we speak, there’s still a poster of Harry hanging up on the wall of my old bedroom, but I’m not about to tell him that.
“They’re top blokes, but the most untalented bunch of guys I ever met,” Simon said through the mirror.
“Wait? You met them?” My voice got louder at the end.
“Yeah. I shot them for the cover of Rock magazine last year.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously?” He mimicked me, his voice hitting an upward inflection. “Oh, that got your attention. Which one are you crushing on … Liam?”
“No way … I’m more of a Harry kind of gal.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“I would never think the dude with the messy hair would be your type.” He stood and tapped my knee with the rolled paper and walked away. I couldn’t help but think he was on to something. Maybe I have a weakness for guys with messy hair. Like Simon.
“Hey, Simon,” I called out.
“What?” His voice echoed from the other room.
“Can you get me Harry’s number?” I howled out. Joking, but not joking.
“No.” His voice bellowed. And suddenly the music changed on the speaker. Simon blasted the music, playing some seventies song that I had never heard of. Noah and I laughed.
Later, Simon had me sitting on a stool in front of a deep green curtain with props behind me. He took a couple of shots, then stopped and walked over to his laptop, where he analyzed the pictures. He leaned over to Gloria, said something unclear, but my eyes watched the shape of his mouth, which spoke some sort of praise just before he returned. I repositioned myself, and we started the process over again. A hundred shots will be taken before one is considered good.
Chick che … flash.
Chick che … flash.
Nobody ever tells you how exhausting this process can be, the continuous lights flashing in your eyes. The repetitive movements: bring my collar up, put my collar down, extend my leg, retract my leg. Sometimes I ended up in the most awkward positions, but it had to look natural. I’ll do anything to give him that perfect shot.
At this moment I was fighting for Simon’s approval, offering my all to get something back from him. Praise, admiration, maybe even love. In this case, I wasn’t talking about romantic love, but the kind that every model wants from a photographer. If you make him fall in love with you, make him believe the most amazing shots are created only when you’re around, then he will ask you to work with him again … and again. This was supposed to be a one-time deal, but I still couldn’t help wanting to be Simon’s muse.
“Beautiful, perfect, great … keep doing that,” Simon said.
Chick che … flash.
Everything was going well until she showed up.
I would be lying if I said I was surprised to see her again. After witnessing what had happened yesterday, I would have been crazy to think she would go quietly.
“What are you doing here, Vanessa?” Gloria met her at the doorway, trying to block her from coming in farther. “I thought Simon made it clear to you we won’t be using you for this shoot. You need to go home.”
Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing, including Simon, who now placed his camera down on the floor.
“I need to talk to Simon.” Vanessa plowed through Gloria, making her way toward Simon.
“Vanessa, I’m working … please go home.” Simon attempt to take her by the arm, but she jerked away.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you’re not returning my calls.” Vanessa’s eyes only focused on Simon, disregarding everyone else in the room. Her uncombed long brown hair clung to her bare face, and her sweatshirt and jeans looked stale. I wondered if Simon was the reason for her condition.
“I’m not doing this in front of everyone. Let’s take this outside,” Simon said, his head slightly tilted down. When Vanessa looked away, her eyes settled on me, and her face went to a paler white.
“Who the fuck is she? Is she taking my place? I can’t believe this … are you fucking her now?” Her eyes felt like daggers, her long finger pointing right at me. “A fucken retard?”
“Oi, that’s enough.” Simon’s agitation reached its boiling point. “Leave Mable out of this. It’s me you have a problem with.”
This was not the first time someone direct their hate without a good reason for it. Though I wasn’t new to the drama, I’d once lived with two other models, and there was never a shortage of melodrama in the apartment. Still, this was something else altogether. I’d been called a retard before, and I’d thought, as an adult, I would stop attracting bully behavior. It’s funny how people seem to focus only on what makes you different instead of seeing the person you are. But I wouldn’t let her get under my skin or engage, because I wasn’t the one with the problem.
“I will not allow you to come in here and abuse the people I care about. You lost this gig on your own merit, so own up to it … go home.” This time he caught her by the arm, and she didn’t resist. She stopped halfway and turned back.
“Hey, bitch, watch out for this guy. He will screw you over like he did with me,” she yelled out, flipping me the bird, sending everyone in the room into a shuffle.
“She’s delusional,” Noah said, when they were out of sight. We stood there, all fifteen of us pretending not to eavesdrop on the shouting match outside the door. I couldn’t help wondering, what made Vanessa so out of control? And had Simon played a part in it?
“Are you okay, hon?”
I looked up and met Noah’s velvety brown eyes.
“Oh, I’m fine.” I wasn’t, and I couldn’t bring myself to smile.
“Don’t take it personally. That girl … she’s got a lot of issues.” His mouth slightly hung in midair. “Look, what she said back there, making Simon out to be a jerk. It’s not what you think.”
I nodded. I didn’t know why Noah felt compelled to clarify. Nothing was going on between Simon and me. Whether what Vanessa had said was true made no difference. But I felt something. Vanessa’s attack had triggered heavy emotions. Even if I knew her anger wasn’t intentionally directed at me, it didn’t make my feelings less real.
My eyes caught the camera resting on the floor, and something came to mind. I’d once read somewhere that there is a spiritual belief that taking a photograph steals a person’s soul. After witnessing Vanessa’s behavior, I had to question it. Vanessa was a model at the top of her game, and I guessed something must have happened that got her caught in a downward spiral. Who knew— maybe the business had stolen Vanessa’s soul. I felt it in her eyes. Past the anger and the jealousy, there was an unmistakable essence of loss.
The lights are so bright, and just like a moth to a flame, the outcome seems inevitable.
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry … I didn’t mean to walk in on you.” Simon diverted his eyes away from me. “I thought you were dressed.” He had come into the back room, catching me in the middle of getting ready to go home, and I made no effort to cover up. I was only glad my undergarments matched, and that they were half-decent.
“It’s alright.”
I felt good in my skin, and you had to, to be in this line of work. But I found it endearing the way Simon was showing signs of embarrassment.
“Is there something you wanted to do over?” I asked, pulling on my light wash jeans, thinking the shoot hadn’t gone so well in the second half. After Simon got Vanessa to leave, he’d come back in the room like nothing happened, but his demeanor had changed. He went from being playful to tight-lipped on the set. Simon couldn’t even meet my eyes, which was hard, since we were still shooting. I understood. He was exposed, his dirty laundry out for everyone to see. That was probably why the crew didn’t make a big deal about it, which made me believe either this had happened before, or they didn’t want to agonize him any further.
“Ah, no … No, everything’s great. I was heading out with the gang to the bar across the street. You’re more than welcome to come along.”
He still couldn’t bring himself to look my way, and my smile widened. Where had the overconfident man I met at the Little Orange gone? I couldn’t say he appeared different from the man I’d first met—just a little less self-assured. Maybe the dynamics of our relationship had changed. Whatever it was, it only made me like Simon more, in a platonic kind of way. Or at least that’s what I keep reminding myself.
“Are you always this well behaved?” I asked, sliding on my black bomber jacket.
“What?”
“You have a half-naked girl in front of you, and you haven’t attempted to sneak a glance.”
He took a second to reply. “I’m always a gentleman … when I need to be.”
I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear the smile in his voice. I rather enjoyed these innuendos between us. I grabbed my purse and secured the long strap across my chest. I’m taking no chances this time. If anyone wanted to take my satchel, they would have to take me along with it.
“You could turn around now. I promise not to scandalize you any further,” I said, walking closer to him. “So now that we officially work together, we have to keep this strictly professional,” I teased. Was it wrong that I wanted to provoke him to cross the line?
“It would be best. Well, you had your chance.” His lips curved slightly, the look in his eyes making me think he wanted to say something more, but it remained unsaid. Though, if I wanted to, I knew I could change his mind.
But I had rules of my own. Never chase after a guy—ever. I was interested in them until they weren’t. So I dismissed, deleted, and moved on to another horizon. I swept my hair to the side, placing the right hearing aid in as Simon stood there watching.
“How long have you had them?”
“Since I was a kid,” I replied.
“Can you hear without them?” I like the softness in his eyes and the fact that he was curious about it, about me. This was more than just a disability; it was a part of me.
“Yes, I can, only the sound comes to me muffled. It’s like being under the water, and the aids help filter the sounds.” A smile grew on my face. “Do you know what the best part about having these things?”
“Tell me.”
“I just have to take them out, and I don’t have to hear your jabbering, Walter,” I said.
He laughed, and he pointed at me, his hands fluttering across his face.
“What did you say?” I giggled, amazed he knew ASL.
“You don’t know sign language?”
“No, I was raised in the hearing world. So there was never a need to learn.”
“To be honest, I’m not fluent, but I know some signs. My cousin Jack is deaf,” Simon said. He was always surprising me. The more things I discovered about him, the more I wanted to know. I wish I had more time.
“Shall we go?” I asked, knowing everyone was waiting for us. I didn’t want to give any more reason for them to gossip today.
“Hold up, what’s that you’re wearing?” Simon asked as I walked past him. I shook my head, not connecting.
“I thought you didn’t listen to seventies music,” he said, taking a second glance.
“I don’t.”
“So why on earth are you wearing a Black Sabbath T-shirt?” He chuckled.
“Because I liked the print.” I tugged at the cotton fabric I’d found it at a thrift shop. Simon gave me a cocky smile just before he distanced himself from me.
“Hey, are you going to tell me what you signed?” I asked.
“I signed … you’re a cute and funny bird. But if you call me Walter one more time, I will kiss the hell out of you,” he said, over his shoulder, just before disappearing around the corner.