Kamille
“Okay, baby girl! Let’s have you stretch across the bed and prop yourself up on your elbows,” Heinrich told Kamille. “Stare straight at the camera. That’s it, perfect! Now pout your lips! More! Give me naughty!”
Kamille pouted her lips and tried to look naughty for the famous German photographer, feeling extremely foolish as she did so. She was starting to ache from posing for so many hours, and in such uncomfortable positions, and with a giant fan blowing her hair this way and that.
Also, she wasn’t crazy about wearing so little clothing and so much body oil in front of the entire crew and also her mother. Especially her mother. Granted, Kamille wasn’t exactly naked. But she might as well be, in her white cotton nightie. And did they have to flatten her boobs with duct tape? Mario, who was the director of the photo shoot, had actually told her that her breasts were too big, and that the photos required a look that was more consistent with the name of the perfume, Lolita. (Giles had to explain to her, privately, that Lolita was from a famous novel by a Russian writer named Vladimir Nabokov, in which an old guy became sexually obsessed with a twelve-year-old girl. Ew?)
Right now they were shooting in one of the large penthouse suites at the Chateau Marmont, a gorgeous, glamorous hotel on Sunset Boulevard frequented by celebrities. Earlier in the day, they’d shot out in the garden, with Kamille leaning against a flower-covered stone arch . . . then lying on the ground covered by Barbies and rose petals . . . then standing in front of a palm tree, licking an ice cream cone that kept melting and having to be replaced. Kamille had no idea that photo shoots took so long, and were such hard work. She’d always imagined that the whole thing was superquick: get your makeup done, put on some cool clothes, and take pictures for an hour. She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Giles was in one corner of the massive bedroom, checking out the photos of Kamille on a computer monitor. Every once in a while he glanced up and gave Kamille a thumbs-up sign. She couldn’t believe that their chance encounter at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, less than two weeks ago, had resulted in this. The whole thing was beyond amazing, really—a fairy tale come true.
“Um, excuse me, but could somebody cover up my daughter a little?” Kat called out to a random crew member.
“Mom! I’m fine!” Kamille said, blushing. She reached back and tugged at the hem of her nightie, whereupon Heinrich stopped shooting and Mario started yelling and half a dozen assistants swarmed around her, rearranging and powdering and fluffing. Great. Why did her mother have to come along today? Kamille was twenty, not two. Besides, she had Giles here to take care of her. She’d wanted Kat to be proud of her and cheer her on from the sidelines—not act all overcontrolling and overprotective.
“Okay, people, let’s try this again,” Mario ordered. “Heinrich, can you get some shots of her in that chair?”
“Fine. Somebody please move those lights for me.” Heinrich pointed to a row of large, boxy lamps, then repositioned his tripod and gazed through the viewfinder. “Scheisse, her nose is shiny. Why is her nose shiny? And her breasts got crooked. Where is the damned duct tape?”
As the assistants continued fussing over her, Kamille closed her eyes and wondered how much longer the shoot was going to take. She would kill for a double cheeseburger and fries, screw the calories; she’d basically been living on carrot juice these past few days, trying to get thin for today. Maybe with Kass later tonight, if she wasn’t doing anything? Kamille hadn’t seen much of her older sister lately, and when she did run into her, at home or the restaurant or the family’s house, Kass was quiet and preoccupied. Why was she acting like this? Maybe she got an A-minus on a test, Kamille thought bitchily.
The photo shoot was finally over at six o’clock. They had been there since seven that morning. The mood in the room lightened immediately as soon as Mario uttered the words “And that’s a wrap!” The crew cheered and clapped and buzzed excitedly.
Giles rushed over and hugged her. “Kamille, you were brilliant!”
Kamille beamed. “Really?”
“These photos are exactly what we needed,” Mario called out from the computer monitor, where he was in a huddle with Heinrich. “You’re a natural, Kamille!”
“Ohmigosh, thank you!”
Kat appeared and thrust a terry-cloth robe at her. “Put this on, doll. How do you feel? Are you okay? Let’s get that makeup off your face, and that . . . that . . . olive oil off your body. God, you look like a salad. Or a hooker. Just kidding, honey, but please, put on this robe.”
“Mom!”
“The girls here will take care of Kamille, and we can send her on her way,” Giles said, smiling reassuringly at Kat. “You should be proud of your daughter; she did a super job today.” He turned to Kamille and squeezed her shoulder. “As I mentioned before, this ad is on a rush schedule. It’s going to start appearing in magazines in a few weeks—the October issues. And be prepared, because it’s going to change your life. You’re going to be a star someday, I can feel it!”
“Really?” Kamille whispered, feeling dazed.
“Really. Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you . . . I got a call from the Flower Power people today. They want to talk to me about maybe using you for their next campaign.”
“No way! Flower Power jeans? I love them!”
“So she’ll be wearing clothes for that one?” Kat inquired hopefully.
Kamille bit her lip to keep from screaming. She was going to have to chain her mother to her desk or something for all future shoots.
But she wasn’t going to let Kat’s psychotic personality ruin her good mood. Giles had said she was going to be a star someday. A star! She couldn’t wait to tell Kass.
If she would stop being PMS long enough to listen, that is. The real PMS, not the Psychotic Mom PMS.