SHOOT: A Novel (8 page)

Now that I was
alone in the studio with Brad I could feel my palms starting to sweat. I had
absolutely no idea what to do, so I waited for him to take the reins.

“Let’s get
started,” he said, looking at me and smiling before walking toward one of the
clothing racks. He looked through assorted pieces and hummed at the same time,
sometimes pulling things out to put together an outfit and then shaking his
head.

“Is there a
process to this?” I asked, trying to learn as much as I could.

“Not really,” Brad
said, “we just have to find something that accentuates you in just the right
way.” His dimpled smile made my breath stop.

Then I saw him pull
out an indigo dress that was pinched at the waist and had a flowing, pleated
skirt. He selected a matching pair of slate-gray stilettos and promptly turned
to face me.

“Try these on.” He
said, handing them over. I immediately looked around the studio and then turned
back to look at him, skeptical.

“Here?” I asked, my
throat going dry. The thought of dropping my robe in front of him turned my
stomach with a somersault.

 
“I can give you some privacy if you need it,”
he told me before turning out from the doorframe, but not bothering to close
the door. I heard the sound of his footsteps start to fade before they came to
a stop. I gripped the dress and stilettos, looking around again even though I
knew there was no changing area. My eyes landed on the racks of clothes and I
went to stand behind them to quickly get dressed. Brad came back a few minutes
later.

“Ready?” he asked,
seeing only my head and shoulders poking out from behind the rack of clothing.

“Yea, just…” I was
struggling to get my second stiletto on, “one…” It was catching on my heel,
“second…” Just as I secured it in place my other foot rolled over. The room
filled with my panicked scream as I lost my balance and started to fall over. In
a frantic-last-ditch-effort to save myself I reached for a dress hanging on the
rack as I fell back.

“Shit! Are you
okay!” Brad yelled as he ran over to me just in time to watch me fall through
the clothing rack and rip the dress I was clutching onto for dear life. I
landed on the ground with a heavy thud and stared up at the studio ceiling,
cursing myself for being such a clutz.

“Are you okay.”
Brad said as he tried his best to stifle a laugh. He reached down to help me
up. I quickly took his hand and stood up, brushing off my dress as I did.

“Shit…” I muttered
as I looked at the damaged dress on the clothing rack. It was a sheer gold
dress that looked closer to a curtain than a piece of clothing. “How much is
that?”

Brad caressed his
hand on my shoulder and looked me up and down to make sure I was okay. “Oh that
thing?” he looked back at the tattered piece of cloth barely hanging on the
rack, “I dunno, probably a thousand dollars or so.”

I sucked in a deep
breath and looked at him with shock. “A thousand dollars!”

“Give or take.
Don’t worry about it.” He quickly grabbed it off the rack, “We’ll just…” He
looked around the studio, “put it over here.” He laughed as he tossed it into
some dark corner out of sight.

I stood there
trying to catch my breath and slow my racing heart. I had never felt like such
an idiot. I looked up at Brad to see him staring at me. His face of concern was
slowly turning up into a huge grin. “You really took a tumble there. Not used
to those things.” He said, pointing down at my shoes.

“No. I mean yes.” I
drew another deep breath as Brad’s contagious grin was starting to make me
smile. “No I’m not used to them.” Our eyes locked for a brief moment before we
both filled the room with laughter.

“Well, how do I
look?” I asked as our laughter started to die down. I figured I had to look
good by the way his eyes raked over me from head-to-toe.

“Stunning.” He nodded
in approval.

I was gripping the
pole of the clothing rack. I felt even more unsteady in the stilettos than I
had in the pumps Nadine lent me when we went to Roses. Luckily, I’d spent the
weekend trudging about the apartment in heels to be at least a bit more used to
them before work rolled around, but apparently I still wasn’t use to them
enough.

Brad walked
forward and placed a hand on my waist to tug at the dress, making sure it was a
good fit.

“Sonja has quite
the eye for picking sizes,” he commented. He gave me a warm smile, “You look
great. We can get started.” Everything he said was genuine, but he said it so
casually it threw me off sometimes. It was the same as when we first met, only
this time I felt even more of a draw to him. Maybe it was our shared laughter
or the way he looked at me afterward? He nodded toward the center of the
backdrop. I headed over to it, trying my best to walk steadily on the sky-high
stilettos.

 
“Alright, place a hand on your hip.” Brad said
as he brought the camera to his face. “But your body, you know, do something.
Stick your hip out just a bit. Good.” Multiple snaps of the camera’s shutter instantly
filled the room. Then he did some more with a flash, the bulbs blinding me
momentarily.

“Now turn to face
the door with your body and look at me over your shoulder. Hand on your hip, no
the other hip. Right.” More snaps and repeated flashes. I could practically
feel him studying every inch of my body through the lens. By the third set of
instructions, I figured out each set was done with and without a flash.

I was rather stiff
at first but, much like last time, I started to relax thanks to his coaxing and
undeniable natural charm. He handed me a clutch and placed a necklace on me for
a few more sets with the indigo dress before deciding it was time for an outfit
change. This time, he went straight to the dresses and pulled out a slinkier
dress, but it was still tasteful in its own way. It was burgundy, skin-tight,
and somewhat short. He handed me black stilettos and an edgy but chic choker
before stepping out.

“You don’t need my
help changing do you?” He laughed as he made his way toward the door.

“No! I think I got
it this time.” I shot back with a smile.

“Okay, just
checkin’.”

As soon as I
changed clothes we started off with the same basic poses as before. I was sure
this time my photos would end up looking much better now that I wasn’t nearly
as stiff as I had been at the beginning. It was two hours in when I had to take
a seat on the stool, my feet killing me from standing in so many different
pairs of awkward shoes. We’d gone through a total of three outfit changes, all
of which were dresses, before he called Carol in to style my hair in a messy
ponytail.

Once that was
finished, Brad had already selected a more casual outfit for me to wear. Tight
black leather leggings, a salmon-colored tube top that flowed over my figure,
and black pumps. He handed me large bracelets with shining studs and matching
earrings before stepping out so I could get dressed. This time around I had to
poke my head out into the hallway to call him in.

“I’m ready,” I
told him with a perky smile.

 
“Getting bolder by the minute.”

“What?” I asked in
surprise as he walked past me into the studio, not bothering to hide his glance
up and down my body. In any other situation it would have felt awkward, but I
knew it was part of his job to make sure I looked good.

“Don’t feign
innocence. You can’t play me!” he teased but his smile gave him away.

“I wouldn’t be so
sure about that,” I shot back cheekily before popping my hip out and posing
playfully, but he was quicker than me. He’d snapped a few photographs in quick
succession before I gasped and stood up straight.

He lowered the
camera and tilted his head, “That was good.”

I stared at him in
mock anger. I had just been playing around, but that seemed to have impressed
him the most. “When you’re natural and free, the best photographs happen.”

 
I looked into his forest green eyes. I felt a
jolt course through my body. Just like last time however, I couldn’t tell if he
felt even remotely the same way. This time, however, I had at least a small
inkling he was interested in me or, at the very least, found me charming. Then
again, maybe he was just doing his job and making me feel comfortable.

 
“Maybe if I find you a farm-themed outfit
you’ll be a lot freer,” he joked.

“High-fashion
photo shoot of me selling blueberry pies?” I said with a wink. “I think not.” I
flashed a big grin and stretched out both arms to wag my index fingers back and
forth. The room filled with a dozen more clicks of his camera.

“Damn,” he
muttered, looking down at the screen on his camera. “That would have been one
hell of a photo if your outfit matched your spunky attitude.”

“Really? That?”

He looked up at me,
eyebrow cocked. Maybe I had gone too far in my newfound comfort with him and he
took it as me questioning his vision and professionalism. Really what I was
questioning was my ability to take good photos. I recalled looking at pictures
of models in magazines and being particularly impressed by those who seemed
full of life. I had hoped to one day give the same impression through my own
photos.

Brad placed his
camera on the stool and walked over to the rack of clothes, pulling out a pair
of black denim shorts, a loose knit gray top that was sheer, and a black
bralette. Then he grabbed a pair of thigh-high gray socks and a pair of dark
green, heeled boots.

“Try this outfit
on,” he told me with a half smirk before walking out. My eyes couldn’t help but
trail down his back and check out his cute butt wrapped up tight in his jeans. I
felt a sudden spark course through my veins. I needed to calm my budding
feelings—no need to push this beyond being professional.

I stood there,
staring at the door, wondering if I had done something wrong. He didn’t seem
angry or annoyed, but he had suddenly gotten serious and requested an outfit
change. I also noticed the outfit was very different from everything else he
had selected so far. This had edginess to it, everything else was sexy and
somewhat elegant. After pulling it on I wished more than ever there was a
mirror in the studio so I could see how it looked on me, but then decided maybe
it was for the best I couldn’t. Maybe that was why there wasn’t a mirror after
all. The photographer wouldn’t want the models to start feeling self-conscious
in anyway.

Brad stepped in
and looked at me and I could have sworn he gulped hard at the sight.

“I was right,” he said,
walking over to pick up his camera off the stool. “That outfit is perfect for
you.” He nodded toward the backdrop and I went to stand at the center.

“Hold on,” he
said. I exhaled and mindlessly tugged at my ponytail. I heard a few clicks of
the camera’s shutter and I whipped my head around to look at Brad who continued
to click away. I felt tricked, but something told me he hadn’t done it on
purpose. He grabbed the stool beside him and placed it in front of me.

“Sit down,” I
followed his instructions, instinctively putting a foot on the lower bar so
that my knee was bent. Brad snapped a few photos before looking back and
spotting another stool.

He went to grab it
and pulled it over to where he stood before. Taking a seat, he stared directly
at me, studying me more intently than ever. There was something about the way
his eyes raked over my body that made me feel nervous.