CHAPTER 12
For the next three hours Cole is serious. He tells me what to do and I do it. I’m standing, bending, kneeling and doing the assistant’s job. At one point I have to reset the model’s hair. She moved and it’s no longer in place. It’s when she’s wearing that shelf bra. Her perfectly man-made boobs fill the thing up. To make the ad compliant with the company’s guidelines, there can’t be any nipples showing. Cole was right. Most of the shoot hasn’t felt weird, not once I realized that she is covered. The only thing that’s awkward is this.
“I’m sorry, Cole,” Angela says, her sultry voice matches her curvaceous body. I’m slightly envious, but she’s too tall. In real life it must be hard to find someone to kiss without bending down. That sucks for a girl.
“It’s not a problem,” he says. “Miss Lamore will reset your hair. Don’t move. Everything else is still perfect.” Cole gestures for me. I step onto the set of the white room, and he says, “Take that strand of curls and drape it over her breast. Ask her before you touch her. Company policy.”
I feel stupid. She’s leaning backward over the chase. Her hair is spilling all around her and I’m asking to move a strand over her boob. I ask, and do as I’m told. She smiles at me and grants permission. I take the lock and drape it across her flesh, but I can’t see if it covered her properly from the angle Cole is shooting.
“Is that okay?” I ask and step back.
“No, I can still see her. Use more strands,” he replies. He’s looking at his camera and adjusting settings. “Make sure I can’t see anything through the center of the curl.”
I ask the model if I can touch her again and move more curls. Her hair doesn’t want to stay. It slides off her breast and I’m starting to make it frizz. The hairstylist is standing in the corner with her arms folded over her chest. The make-up artist is watching from her chair on the other side of the room. No doubt they both think I’m going to screw this up. How hard can it be to get some hair to stay? She has enough of it and it’s insanely long. I try again, but the curls slide off. I’m starting to get bent out of shape. I’m blushing horribly, touching some girl’s breast and I still can’t do it. I refuse to ask Cole for help, but he’s already next to me.
From over my shoulder, he says, “Hook the edge of the curl on her nipple. The one curl will hold and then you can place another over it.”
I freeze when I hear him speak, and shiver. The way he says it, like he uses the word nipple frequently, shoots up warning flags in my mind. His proximity puts me off kilter. I feel his eyes on my back, waiting for me to do it. Suddenly I wonder if I can do this job, and everything it entails. Being comfortable around bodies changing in the gym is one thing, touching to make the poses right is another.
I swallow hard, my fingers hovering above the curl. Cole seems annoyed—or disappointed—and says, “Come on, Anna. This is the last set for today. Once we shoot this, we’re done.” He hoovers, waiting for me.
My hand is shaking for some reason. It might have something to do with Cole being so close. It might have to do with paying such careful attention to someone else’s nipples. Irritated with myself, I blow out a huff of air between my lips and take the curl.
I chose this. I passed up Sottero. This was my choice.
I do as he says and the curl stays. I beam like an idiot, and then quickly drape the other locks in place. They all hold. I step back into Cole, smashing his toes with my bare feet. He’s not wearing shoes either. Cole steadies me, his warm hands on my elbows.
From behind my shoulders, he says, “Don’t be shy when you’re shooting. It makes your job harder. You could have used fashion tape to hold the hair in place, but we don’t want to do anything we don’t have to. Tape in hair sucks. The temperature in the room is warm, but it’s still chilly enough—for obvious reasons. I thought you’d be okay with this kind of stuff.” His hands slip away from my elbows and he passes in front of me. The sound of the shutter snapping fills my ears. He’s so at ease, moving, speaking, and acting like this woman is anyone else and not a nearly-naked super-model.
I don’t answer.
I didn’t want this job, but I chose it. This wasn’t my career goal, but here I am. I’m perplexed because this shoot isn’t what I thought it would be. I moved at ease through the room, right up until this last part. And the only reason I hesitated was because of Cole. It wasn’t like I didn’t notice the half nude person in the room, it’s that I wasn’t as uncomfortable as I thought I’d be.
And Cole, he was nothing like I thought he’d be. I expected him to be sleazy, touchy, and filled with innuendo. As the shoot progressed, I don’t know if he even realized the woman he was shooting wasn’t clothed. This was second nature to him. It’s like he is a fish and this scandalous world of his is water. He doesn’t notice it, and he moves through it with ease.
Today I learned that Cole Stevens isn’t the photographer I thought he was, and neither am I.