Eddie
“Whoa! Be careful with that, dude.” I lean back as far as I can in the chair, blinking rapidly while the makeup brush keeps coming at me. This is worse than the dentist. Not to mention my sixties British rock and roll outfit. How do they expect guys to wear pants this tight? You can see the outline of my junk. My mom will have an instant heart attack if she sees this. She won’t, right?
The makeup guy sighs for, like, the tenth time and shakes his head. “This isn’t a painful process, darling.”
Yes, it totally is. “Sorry,” I mumble. My gaze drifts sideways, and I catch a glimpse of a blond with her hair standing straight up in the air. Even through the dress, the shape of her body is familiar. Suddenly, she snaps around, a glare already planted on her face.
Finley.
She stomps toward me, glancing around to see if anyone’s watching. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Wearing makeup, apparently.” She really did seem sweet last night.
“Right. You’re wearing makeup. At the same Marc Jacobs shoot as me.” She shakes her head. “A whole apartment full of guys, and this is the one I hook up with.”
A mixture of hurt and amusement hits me at once, and I’m not sure which one to give more attention too. Why does it even matter? Last night wasn’t about today. It was about last night. As it should be. I needed that.
Finley’s glare dissolves, and her expression shifts to reflect guilt. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.” I shove a pointy pencil out of my face, pissing off the makeup guy even more. “You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed.” I flash a grin. “I can have that effect on women.”
She rolls her eyes but looks calmer than a minute ago. “Sorry, it’s not really about you. I just tend to fail at anything impulsive.”
Finally, Eliza says, “I’ve had enough, manservant. If you need something from me, I’ll be on the couch.” He storms away. For good, I hope.
I turn to Finley. “Trust me, you did not fail at the important stuff.”
“Yeah?” Her cheeks turn a brighter shade of pink, but she nods, looking pleased, and turns around. “It was pretty fun.”
I watch her walk away behind a curtain. Her dress falls to the floor, exposing her bare shoulders. I shift in my chair and command myself to look away, but I can’t. The makeup assistant turns his gaze and follows mine, then looks back at me, cocking an eyebrow. I shift my attention forward and shrug. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Emmy walks over with some steampunk accessories for me to wear and leads me down the hallway to the other set.
“We had to rent two studios for this job. Marc decided he wanted to go with the grungy London alley–style lookbook and not the birthday cake set. It’s probably a bit cooler for your book.” I finally figure out what the hell she’s talking about when we pass a huge, life-size debutante cake.
“So Finley was on top of that?” I nod toward the set.
“Yeah, she was a cake adornment. Precious concept, isn’t it?”
I can just imagine Finley up on that cake, fuming about hooking up with a guy who ended up at her job the morning after. I shouldn’t laugh, but I have to.
When we finally arrive on set, everyone introduces themselves in one rapid procession.
I run through all the names a few times in my head. It’s impolite to not address someone by their full name after they’ve given it. Alonzo, Roberto, Emmy, Alan, Eliza—who’s clearly still not happy about our makeup session before—and Eliza’s assistant, who still remains nameless.
“Okay, you can take your place on set,” Alonzo says.
I make my way between a “God Save the Queen” poster with a yellow mustache and a turned-over red garbage pail.
“Here is your story,” Alonzo says. “You are a rich schoolboy, cutting class to go smoke and drink with his friends.” I stand there unchanged. I didn’t know I’d be playing a character from “Smokin’ in the Boy’s Room.” “I know it sounds like a lot of emotions to get into one picture, but just see what you can do with it.” Without warning, Alonzo starts snapping pictures like a fiend. “Okay, change up your pose. Let’s see what you got.”
I still haven’t moved. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to be doing? It’s not like I have a drink in my hand or a cigarette. My stomach is in knots all of a sudden. I give what probably looks like an aloof expression and cross my arms.
Alonzo shakes his head. “No, no, no. I don’t want it to feel posed. It should feel lifestyle cool.”
So pose without looking posed. Sounds easy. Plus, I’m in the middle of a cheap replica of an alley in Hackney. This is really not helping.
I see Finley off to the side, watching. When Alonzo pauses to adjust the lights, she steps closer and whispers, “Don’t think about the camera. Imagine you’re back at the party last night, hanging out.”
Returning to the party leads to thinking about the walk up to Finley’s room and everything that happened after.
“Perfect, bello!” Alonzo calls, startling me. “Keep that expression. Just change your pose.”
Finley gives me a smile from her spot in the corner. The sweet Finley returns.