‘And then I had a meeting with the movement choreographer,’ Amy said, stuffing a meatball in her mouth as she spoke. ‘Because that’s a thing. Can you believe that’s a thing? We’re paying someone to tell the models how to move and they aren’t even moving. They’re coming in, standing on platforms and that’s it. We’re paying someone to choreograph standing still.’
I nodded, pushing a sliver of garlic around my empty plate.
‘Then me and Al went over the guest list and then we had a conference call with the factory and then I went to the venue to make sure everything was ready for the run-through tomorrow.’
‘Is it?’ I asked.
‘Yeah,’ she said with an easy shrug, her pink cropped jumper riding up to show her bare belly. Amy never felt the cold the way I did. ‘More or less. It will be.’
‘I can’t believe how relaxed you are about everything.’ I took a long drink of my cocktail and shivered at the vodka in the bottom. ‘I’d be freaking out by now.’
She eyed my empty glass with suspicion. ‘I can’t believe how quickly you put that away. Are you feeling all right?’
‘Yes,’ I lied. I was not a good drinker and Amy knew that all too well. ‘Long day, jetlag, I’m just tired.’
‘Yeah, work has got me literally knackered all the time, I don’t know how you coped doing this for all those years,’ she said, grabbing a chip from the bowl between us and inhaling it. ‘I’m so glad you’re here though. I can’t wait for you to see the presentation; it’s going to be incredible. Al says it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.’
Amy’s dad took off about the same time my parents got divorced, only her mother never remarried. Or had a nice word to say to anyone, ever again. If anyone else was deserving of some positive reinforcement from my surrogate granddad, it was Amy.
‘I can’t wait,’ I said, snaffling a chip before she ate them all. ‘I’ve never seen you work so hard on something.’
‘I worked very hard that time I was handing out yoghurts at Wimbledon,’ she reminded me. ‘They were delicious.’
‘No you didn’t,’ I corrected her. ‘You turned up late, spilled a pint all down your tennis whites at lunch and then you nicked off early with two hundred yoghurts. I was eating those things for a month.’
‘Oh yeah,’ she sighed. ‘Didn’t they give you the shits?’
‘I should have checked the sell-by date,’ I said stiffly. ‘That was my fault. But still, I’m impressed.’
‘And you didn’t think I could do it,’ she said, shimmying her shoulders. ‘Oh ye of little faith.’
‘I never said that,’ I replied, only slightly awkward. ‘I’ve always believed in you.’
Amy stared hard at me across the table.
‘I have!’ I protested with slightly less conviction. ‘I’m so proud of you.’
Possibly, I was a little bit surprised. And maybe a tiny bit jealous. And perhaps I was expecting things to go a tiny bit wrong while really hoping that they wouldn’t. But she didn’t need to know that, it really wasn’t constructive feedback.
‘I’m glad you’re going to be here,’ she said, raising her own half-full glass. ‘I really, really want you to see it. Now tell me everything about your shoot tomorrow. Are you nervous? Is that what’s wrong?’
‘Yes?’ I pulled out my phone to reread Cici’s email. ‘A little bit. The brief looks good, it’s a New Year’s resolutions thing. Sounds simple enough but you never know. I’m more excited, I think. It’ll be good to be the one taking the photos again instead of doing everything but. Kekipi is going to play assistant – Domenico has given him a day off wedmin to help me out.’
‘Oh, good,’ Amy said, clinking her glass to mine. ‘I was going to take some time off so we could hang out but it’s cool. I know how important work is to you.’
‘You have a massive event in two days,’ I reminded her. ‘That’s important too. We can hang out after.’
‘Not as important as my best mate flying all the way out to New York to see me,’ she countered. ‘I had kind of cleared the morning but it doesn’t matter.’
‘Well, you could come with me,’ I offered, trying to change the disappointed expression on her face. ‘You could be my assistant again? If you really want to hang out?’
‘That’s not really hanging out,’ she said. ‘And you’re right, I should be working.’
I nodded, chewing on a piece of delicious bread while Amy gave a small sigh that I couldn’t quite translate.
‘Who are you shooting?’ she asked, changing the subject and spearing one of my uneaten meatballs, popping it into her mouth without asking. One of the benefits of being best friends since before you could speak was unspoken permission to steal each other’s food without retribution.
‘Call time, location, phone number, phone number, phone number,’ I muttered, scrolling down the email on my phone. ‘Oh, James Jacobs and Sadie Nixon.’
Amy’s fork clattered loudly against her plate.
‘James Jacobs?’ she asked through a mouthful of meatball. ‘The James Jacobs? You don’t know who he is, do you?’
I shrugged.
‘Excuse me …’ Amy prodded a checked-shirt-wearing man at the next table. ‘Do you know who James Jacobs is?’
‘The actor?’ he asked, pushing his black glasses frames up his nose. ‘The British guy?’
‘See?’ Amy turned back to me without replying to our table neighbour. ‘He’s so famous hipsters can’t even pretend not to know who he is. And this man is wearing plaid. I bet those glasses aren’t even prescription, are they?’
The man shook his head at her through his nonprescription glasses.
‘See’ she said, triumphant.
‘Whatever,’ I said while the man at the next table continued to stare at Amy as though she was insane. It wasn’t a rare occurrence at dinner with her. ‘It’s fine. That probably makes this easier anyway, doesn’t it? He’ll have had his photo taken loads of times.’
‘Yeah,’ she said, raising her eyebrows. ‘By everyone. Like, loads of proper, famous photographers.’
‘Thanks, Amy.’ I picked up my glass, rattled the ice cubes around and emptied what dregs were left in the bottom before looking for the waitress to order another. ‘You’re really helping build my confidence.’
‘I mean, he should be thanking his stars that he gets Tess Brookes to take his photo right at the beginning of her career,’ she squeaked, quickly correcting herself. ‘How bloody lucky is he? And if he gives you any shit, I’ll ban him from Al’s party – pretty sure he’s on the guest list. Seriously, he even looks at you the wrong way and I’ll rip off his balls and give them to you for Christmas.’
‘Just what I wanted,’ I said. ‘I still need to fill your stocking. Anyone’s balls you’re after?’
‘Other than that twatknacker, Wilder?’ she answered with a grimace. ‘Seriously, I can’t believe you’re being all buddy-buddy with him again. I can’t stand it, Tess. He’s a cock. He’s a cocking cock who should be sent to The Island of Lost Men, abandoned until he goes completely batshit mental and then blown up by a drone.’
‘Do you even know what a drone is?’ I asked, giving her a look she understood.
‘That’s not the point,’ she said. ‘The point is, he’s a cock.’
‘And it was very well made,’ I said. ‘But we’ve been friends for a long time and I missed him. Can’t you just pretend none of it ever happened?’
‘Uh, have you met me?’ she asked.
‘Fair point,’ I replied.
‘And you’ve not been friends with him as long as with me,’ she pointed out. ‘So I should get some say in this.’
‘He wants to add you on Facebook,’ I said. ‘He said he’s missed you.’
Her face lit up for half a second.
‘He did?’
I nodded.
‘That’s so sad. Oh wait, no it isn’t. Let him miss me, he’s a cock.’
‘I feel better knowing things are OK with me and him,’ I said, attempting to draw a line under the cock banter. ‘So can we just leave it at that?’
‘Only if you promise not to bone him ever again,’ Amy agreed. ‘Seriously, I’ll rip—’
‘Off his balls and wrap them up for Christmas, I know,’ I finished for her, ignoring the looks from our plaid-wearing table neighbour. ‘I’m not planning on boning him, I promise. He did offer me a job though.’
She stopped what she was doing, her fork halfway to her lips.
‘You’re not going to take it though,’ she replied with a statement, not a question. ‘You’re not going back into advertising?’
‘I don’t know.’ I pushed my food around my plate, concentrating on my hands. ‘We’ll see.’
‘But you don’t want to?’ she asked. ‘Do you?’
‘No, not right now,’ I said again, putting down my cutlery and pulling my sleeves over my hands. ‘But what if something goes wrong at the shoot?’
‘Nothing is going to go wrong at the shoot,’ Amy assured me. ‘The worst that could happen is Kekipi and James Jacobs fall in love and we have to cancel next week’s wedding and Domenico comes after us all with a machete. Which, now I think about it …’
‘James is gay?’ I asked and she nodded, gulping wine. ‘Well, at least now I understand why Kekipi was so keen to volunteer.’
‘Also because he loves you,’ she said. ‘But yeah, I think the allure of James Jacobs was probably a little stronger than the thought of spending the day holding up lights.’
‘Amy, I need to talk to you about something,’ I said abruptly, incapable of holding it in any longer. ‘I saw Nick today.’
‘WHAT?’
Amy’s knife and fork clattered to her plate before falling to the floor.
‘I know,’ I said, reaching down to pick them up and smiling broadly at our table neighbours. ‘He was at Spencer Media when I was there. But he didn’t see me.’
‘What was he doing there?’ she demanded. ‘Is he stalking you? Oh my God, he’s stalking you. This is so romantic.’
Typical response from the girl who thought Fifty Shades was the most romantic film she had ever seen. I decided to leave out the part where I was actually the stalker for now.
‘He was probably just there for work,’ I reasoned. ‘He is a journalist, they do have magazines there.’
‘No, he’s definitely stalking you,’ she said. ‘I’ve decided. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me until now. What happened next?’
‘I didn’t know what to say,’ I looked at my friend, hoping I’d know what I wanted to do after spending all afternoon obsessing over our encounter. But I hadn’t got a clue. ‘To him or you. He was gone before I could say anything.’
‘God, if only there was some way to contact him,’ Amy said, blowing her hair up out of her eyes. ‘I mean, if only someone would invent some sort of telecommunications device you could use to send him a message. Damn this dark age of communication we live in.’
She took her phone out of her handbag and hurled it at me across the table.
‘Call him!’ she shouted.
‘Very funny,’ I said, fumbling to catch her phone before it could assault anyone at the neighbouring tables. ‘I know, I could email him.’
‘Or text him,’ she added. ‘Or Facebook, tweet, WhatsApp, Snapchat, Viber or Instagram him.’
‘I bet he isn’t even on half of those,’ I sniffed as she held her hand out for her phone.
‘Oh, you bet?’ Amy said. ‘As if you haven’t internet stalked the shit out of him. Even I’ve found him on Twitter and, dear God, have you read his blog? What a pretentious tit.’
‘I know he has a Twitter,’ I said quickly. She was right, his blog was terrible and even though he hadn’t updated it all summer, I had read every single entry. ‘But he doesn’t tweet.’
Amy grinned. ‘Now who’s the stalker?’
‘Yeah, I know,’ I said with a sigh. ‘I just check in sometimes. I like to know he’s OK.’
And by sometimes, I meant almost every day.
‘And maybe I followed him a bit.’
‘Of course you did,’ she replied, all matter of factly. ‘Why wouldn’t you?’
‘Because that would make me a mental?’ I suggested. ‘It did feel like I was losing the plot, a bit.’
‘It would make you human.’ She reached across the table, dipping her sleeve in butter, and took my hand in hers. ‘And you haven’t lost the plot, you’ve fallen in love. That’s what happens, Tess. What happened next?’
‘He was having lunch with his friend.’ I cringed at the memory and tapped around my eye lightly. It was still quite sore. ‘And they were talking about me. He said he thought we were going to be something but that we’re not because I’m no different to the others and we’re all the same.’
‘That cockwombling weasel.’ Amy’s eyes burned. ‘I’ll kill him. I’ll do worse than kill him. I’ll skin him alive. I’ll sign him up for the Justin Bieber mailing list. I’ll—’
‘Amy, it’s fine,’ I said. ‘It threw me a bit though.’
‘Well, yeah,’ she replied. ‘But he clearly didn’t mean it. He was having lunch with his friend, you said?’
I nodded.
‘Then that totally explains it,’ she scoffed. ‘Trying to save face in front of the dudes. He’s hardly going to tell his mate that he got all over-emo and left a drama queen note about his poor broken heart, is he?’
She had a point. ‘I suppose,’ I agreed half-heartedly.
‘The fact that he’s still talking about you says enough really,’ she went on. ‘If he didn’t give a shit, why would you even cross his mind? Why would he bring you up? Men don’t work that way.’
It wasn’t like I had a lot of experience in the ways men worked but it was certainly true that Charlie stopped bringing up his exes in conversation as soon as they were out of the picture, especially when he felt as though he was the wronged party.
‘He was acting the big man, Tess,’ she reasoned. ‘But enough about him, are you OK?’
‘No,’ I replied, pushing my hair behind my ears. I’d washed and dried it properly since my afternoon adventures and my big, bouncy curls were completely at odds with how I felt inside. ‘It was so surreal. He was right there in front of me.’
‘I get it. The first time I saw Dave after we broke things off was strange.’ She looked down at her empty plate, pinching her delicate features together. ‘They really should have the decency to stop existing when they skedaddle, shouldn’t they? But no, there he was, walking around town, wearing a T-shirt I’d never seen before. That was the main thing that weirded me out. That he had this new T-shirt on. Even though I’d been the one to end things, I felt totally offended that he was going on with his life.’
‘Is it still hard?’ I asked, watching as she wrinkled up her nose and her eyes glassed over for a moment. ‘Do you still miss him?’
‘No …’ She didn’t sound sure. ‘Maybe. If I think about it, I suppose it is. He’s in London, having a baby, I’m in New York, working. It’s all changed anyway.’
She shook herself off, blinking away the tears in her eyes, and took a quick swig of her cocktail.
‘Anyway, enough about Boring Dave and his shit T-shirts,’ she said. ‘Let’s go back to what we were really talking about. How did you feel when you saw Nick?’
More shrugs from Team Tess. It was no wonder I’d turned to photography to express myself, I am useless with words.
‘You miss him though,’ Amy stated, not a question. ‘I know you do.’
‘Yes,’ I admitted. Now that I’d seen him in the flesh, there was no hesitation. ‘But it’s complicated.’
‘Then call him,’ she said, her eyes wide and kind. ‘You’ll never know how he really feels unless you ask him. He’d probably be mortified if he knew you’d heard all that shit at lunch.’
‘But what if he—’ I started, only for Amy to reach across the table and clamp a hand over my mouth.
‘I’m going to stop you there,’ she said, hitting me lightly on the top of the head with a pepper grinder. ‘My Tess doesn’t live with “what ifs”.’
It was news to me.
‘She doesn’t?’
‘Not any more,’ Amy confirmed. ‘You’ve got to call him. Please? It can be my Christmas present.’
‘Then what will I do with those Topshop boots I bought you a month ago?’ I asked as her face lit up. ‘Remember the ones you had to have and “accidentally” ordered on my credit card?’
‘Oh yeah,’ she said, eyes on the ceiling. ‘I forgot about those. And no, I’m having them. And you’re calling him.’
‘What if I text him?’ I bargained as the waitress carefully set our drinks on the table. I’d been mentally composing messages all afternoon. Now I’d seen him, now I knew how he felt – or how he claimed to feel – I couldn’t imagine actually talking to him. But texting could be OK. How did anyone get together before texts were a thing? ‘And you don’t leave my side until he replies?’
‘Done.’ She picked up her glass and clinked it against mine. ‘And if he in anyway disappoints, hurts or fails you, you can keep the Topshop boots and I’ll chop his balls off, box them up and put them under the tree for you.’
‘I have been very good this year.’ I gave Amy a half-laugh, half-sob, relieved that I’d made a decision, excited that I was going to text him and already terrified of what his response might be. ‘And balls are so versatile.’
‘I’ve heard they’re all the rage for spring–summer,’ Amy replied, pulling down the hem of her neon-pink sweater to reveal half an inch of her bright yellow bra. ‘I think they showed them at Chanel.’
‘And who can argue with Chanel?’ I asked, looking down at my not-in-any-way-revealing blue stripy top.
‘No one,’ she answered. ‘Did you see where that waitress went? I physically need dessert before we write this text message.’
I sipped my drink and thanked my lucky stars. Pudding and Amy Smith. The only two things on earth that were 100 per cent guaranteed to make everything better.
‘I can’t believe I’m going to meet James Jacobs,’ Kekipi said, sitting in the back of a black Lincoln town car with his hands pressed against his mouth. His brown eyes were alive with excitement and I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him this excited, not even when we stayed up until 3 a.m. so he could make sure he got Taylor Swift tickets.
‘You’ve met a million famous people,’ I reminded him. ‘What’s so special about this one?’
The look on his face suggested I’d just made a truly terrible joke about his mother’s sexual proclivities. Which I would never do – because he would have done it first.
‘James Jacobs is an icon,’ he replied. ‘And James Jacobs was on Downton Abbey. I’ve never met anyone who was on Downton Abbey, this is a life goal realized.’
‘Well, I appreciate you coming to help out,’ I said, bouncing my camera bag on my knees and tapping my toes up and down. ‘I know how busy you must be with the wedding.’
‘Oh please,’ he said, straightening his hair. ‘I can have a hundred weddings. Who knows when I’ll get another chance to oil up James Jacobs?’
‘We’re not oiling up anyone,’ I pointed out. ‘He’s going to be fully dressed for the whole thing.’
‘Spoilsport,’ he muttered.
He had let his hair grow out since I’d last seen him and the extra length suited him. All these months away from Hawaii had taken an edge off his golden skin but the gently curling waves gave him a certain softness, and then I realized what it was. He looked happy. Falling in love suited him. In love with his fiancé Domenico, that was, not James Jacobs.
‘Maybe you can help the stylist,’ I relented. ‘I’m sure we can engineer some semi-nudity as a thank you for helping me out. I really appreciate you helping me, I know it’s a boring job.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not really going to be much help, am I?’ he said, pushing his glossy black waves into place. ‘What is it I’ve volunteered for anyway? Other than to make sweet, sweet love to my celebrity crush?’
Really, I should have known better.
‘How is your fiancé?’ I turned to look him straight in the eye. ‘So nice of him to leave everything behind in Milan and follow you to New York. Monogamy working out well, is it?’
‘Oh, splendid,’ he said, smiling in the face of my sarcasm. ‘He’s the love of my life.’
‘Apart from James Jacobs?’ I asked.
‘Oh, Tess.’ Kekipi gave me a pat on the shoulder. ‘I would sell my grandmother for a go on James Jacobs and I fully expect Domenico would do the same. As long as he filmed it and let me watch, I would completely understand. I’m very excited to marry him and that’s one of the reasons why.’
‘Relationships are confusing,’ I sighed, watching the townhouses trail away and a grey, frozen river take their place as our car sped down the west side of Manhattan.
‘Speaking of which …’ He never missed a good segue. ‘Miss Amy tells me you and Mr Wilder are on speaking terms again.’
I nodded. ‘Yep. We’re friends again.’
‘I see,’ he purred. ‘Friends.’
Turning my attention out of the window, I concentrated on the sights that sped by, beginning to regret my decision to bring Kekipi along on the shoot.
‘And I also heard you happened upon a certain Mr Miller.’
‘When did she tell you all this?’ I asked. ‘We were together all night.’
‘She texted me when you were in the toilet,’ he replied, taking a bite out of a bagel. I had declined Genevieve’s offer of breakfast to go when the nerves Amy had asked after had showed up and brought all their friends with them. ‘And she said you sent him a text message?’
‘Then I’m assuming she also told you he didn’t reply,’ I said, looking at my watch. ‘And still hasn’t, twelve hours later.’
And every minute that went by was killing me.
The rush of anticipation, every time my phone buzzed, followed by the crushing realization that it wasn’t from him. Every minute that passed by I felt less and less like he was going to respond. The only obvious explanation was that he had got so cold the day before his hands had fallen off and he was in hospital, waiting for replacements so he could text me.
‘How long has it been exactly since you last spoke?’ Kekipi asked.
‘A while,’ I replied. If by a while, he meant one hundred and forty-one days.
‘Then I think we can give him a bit longer than twelve hours,’ he said, patting my knee. ‘Have a little faith. It is Christmas, after all, goodwill to all men and all that jazz.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to wait until Easter if I want to crucify him then,’ I muttered. ‘When is that exactly?’
‘What did your text say?’ he asked, ignoring me. ‘Amy wasn’t specific, the swine.’
‘Just, you know, hi.’ I tried to give the impression that I couldn’t remember word for word what I had written but given that Amy and I had spent nearly forty minutes crafting the perfect breezy, noncommittal but totally genuine and heartfelt message, clearly that was a lie. ‘I think I said I was in New York and that it would be great to see him if he’s in town. That kind of thing.’
‘That kind of thing, right,’ Kekipi echoed. ‘And what exactly are you hoping he’ll say?’
That he’s sorry and he loves me and he wants to try again, I answered in my head.
‘I don’t know,’ I answered out loud. ‘There’s no point thinking about it because he’s not going to say exactly what I want him to say, is he?’
‘Probably not,’ he agreed. ‘Have you thought about what you’ll do if he doesn’t reply at all?’
‘Murderous Godzilla-esque rampage in downtown Manhattan?’ I suggested. ‘But you know, wearing a Santa hat so it’s nice and seasonal.’
‘Can it be after the wedding?’ Kekipi asked. ‘We’ve spent a freaking fortune.’
‘Go on then,’ I promised, as we slowed down and turned onto a narrow cobbled street, still sparkly and white. New York was like a Christmas snowglobe come to life. ‘I have to tell you, I’m pretty bloody excited about this wedding. My expectations are high.’
‘Your expectations have nothing on what we have planned,’ he assured me. ‘Wedding of the century – of the millennium, even. It’s going to be a great big gay Hawaiian-Italian Christmas spectacular. Did Domenico tell you he wanted Kylie to play the reception?’
I shook my head.
‘I nixed it of course, too much of a cliché,’ he said. ‘We’re going much classier.’
‘Who did you get?’ I asked, a little bit sad not to be able to live out Tiny Tess’s Locomotion fantasies.
‘Amy lobbied pretty hard for Justin Timberlake but there was something about a restraining order?’ he asked, plucking my phone out of my hand as I checked it one more time. ‘Anyway, it’ll be a surprise. I’m taking your phone away. You need to concentrate and you can’t do that when you’re waiting for a man to send you a message that will no doubt be infuriatingly vague even if it does come.’
‘You’re right,’ I admitted, Business Tess taking over. ‘I need to concentrate on the job and the more I think about Nick, the harder that’s going to be.’
‘Good girl.’ Kekipi grinned, straightening his hair. ‘You concentrate on the job and I’ll concentrate on James Jacobs’s wang.’
I flashed him a stern look as the driver opened the car door onto the snowy street.
‘And look after your phone and be a fabulous assistant,’ he added. ‘Professional to the end, of course.’
‘Of course,’ I replied, staring up at the big black building where we were supposed to meet Cici, excitement for the shoot bubbling up inside me. ‘I didn’t doubt it for a second.’
‘I wonder what he’s wearing,’ Kekipi pondered, jumping out behind me and striding straight into the studio. ‘Do you think he’ll sign my butt? As a surprise for Domenico?’
Professional to the end.
‘Oh look, you showed up.’
Cici was already in the studio, a cup of coffee the size of her head in one hand and an iPad in the other. Angela had sent me an email explaining that because her art director was stuck in LA, Cici had graciously offered to step in. Lucky old me.
‘Are we late?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
I looked at my watch: we were twenty minutes early.
‘But I’m kind of surprised that you showed up at all. So thanks for that.’
‘This is Cici?’ Kekipi whispered over my shoulder. I nodded, gripping my camera bag tightly. ‘She’s a delight,’ he said. ‘Permission to spend the day insulting her with very clever asides that go right over her head?’
‘Permission granted,’ I whispered back.
‘Cici!’ Kekipi opened his arms for a hug and was greeted with a look so filthy, it made me want to pop home for a shower. ‘I’m Kekipi,’ he said, lowering his arms to his side. ‘I work for your godfather. We haven’t met but I know your sister somewhat.’
‘Then why are you here?’ she asked, not even slightly impressed. ‘Aren’t you his butler or something?’
‘Or something,’ he replied coolly. ‘I’m assisting Tess today.’
‘Fantastic, another amateur,’ she said with a dramatic sigh, beckoning the two of us through the reception and into a large empty space. ‘If we could all pretend to be professionals, that would be awesome.’
‘What a proper, good old-fashioned bitch,’ Kekipi said, giving her outfit the once over. ‘Under any other circumstances, I’d like her.’
‘Under any other circumstances, I’d kill her,’ I replied. ‘But I really want this job to go well. These shots need to be amazing.’
‘James Jacobs is going to be in them,’ he reminded me. ‘They’re going to be the best photographs ever taken.’
‘The idea is New Year’s resolutions, so we have two set-ups,’ Cici explained, ignoring our whispered conversation as we followed her through to the studio. ‘The first is black-tie wardrobe and we’re shooting against a green screen. We’ll drop something behind them later—’
‘Something?’ I asked.
Cici turned her blue eyes on me.
‘Something,’ she repeated. ‘You don’t need to ask questions, you just need to take the picture.’
‘But shouldn’t I know?’ I asked, flashing back to the photoshoot debacle in Hawaii. I had learned my lesson about not thoroughly discussing the brief before the shoot got started. ‘I mean, I’m the photographer.’
‘I mean, you’re not really,’ Cici sniped back. I heard Kekipi take a deep breath behind me as he gripped my elbow tightly. ‘And if I knew what we were putting behind them, I’d tell you. But I don’t know, we’re still working on it. Just tell them it’s a party or something. It’s a New Year’s party.’
‘Do you want me to find an image?’ I asked. I’d worked on some greenscreen stuff with Ess so I knew what I was doing. ‘I think I’d rather, if it’s OK with you.’
‘I want you to take a photograph,’ she said, speaking very slowly. ‘The art team are on it.’
‘Fine,’ I muttered. Some people didn’t want you to be helpful. ‘Then what?’
‘Second set-up is individual portraits to run with their New Year’s resolutions, James first, then Sadie. We want them to look like normal people – only not. At home in their pyjamas, putting on a face mask, eating ice cream, watching TV.’
So the concept was dressing a supermodel up as me. As if I didn’t feel bad enough seeing a supermodel in a bikini, now I had to feel inadequate when I was watching Netflix in my PJs.
I shunted my camera bag up my shoulder. ‘Do we have the resolutions, do you know what they are?’
‘No,’ she replied, still messing about with her iPad. ‘So don’t ask me for them. Angela is writing the piece today.’
‘Got it,’ I said. ‘I’ll just stop talking altogether.’
‘And the world will be a better place,’ Cici said with a big smile. ‘Like I said, we don’t have a lot of time. I can’t believe that bitch dropped out at the last minute yesterday. I hope her film flops so hard she ends up in reality TV.’
I really, really wanted to know who it was. The internet gave away nothing.
‘That’s it. Do you think you can manage?’ she asked, a look of faux concern forcing her Botoxed eyebrows as high as they could go. Which wasn’t very high. ‘You’re representing my magazine today and I know Angela wants to throw you a bone or whatever but this is still important.’
‘Tess is an amazing photographer,’ Kekipi answered before I could punch her perfectly aligned teeth out. ‘You’re going to be blown away.’
‘I’ll settle for mildly disappointed as long as I have usable photographs at the end of the day,’ she said with a saccharine smile. ‘So don’t let me down, yeah?’
‘Christ, she’s better at guilt trips than my mum,’ I said as she marched away to the make-up area where two girls stood quaking in their extremely stylish boots. ‘They should send her out to schools to tell kids not to do drugs.’
‘Please, do you know how many of her I’ve come across over the years?’ he huffed. ‘She’s ten to a penny, all hair extensions and attitude. And she’ll stay that way until her husband has an affair with the nanny.’
‘Have I mentioned that I love you?’ I asked him, setting my equipment on a table and giving him a hug. ‘I owe you one.’
‘Anything for my bridesmaid,’ he said, squeezing me back. ‘Although I will hold you to that. I do hope you won’t end up regretting it.’
‘Me too,’ I agreed, tossing my ponytail over my shoulder, Cici-style. ‘Now, can we at least pretend to be professional?’
‘We can try,’ he said. ‘But I make no promises.’
‘Good enough for me,’ I told him, unzipping my camera bag and smiling for real. ‘Let’s do this.’
‘I don’t want to do this!’
Two hours later and Sadie Nixon, my gorgeous model, was standing in front of me in a gorgeous midnight-blue gown that fell all the way to the floor, intermittently slashed with sheer panels that showed off her perfect body. Combined with her gorgeous hair and gorgeous make-up, she pretty much looked gorgeous.
‘I look awful,’ she pouted as I tried to line up the shot. ‘I am hideous.’
‘You look beautiful,’ I told her, glancing over at Kekipi for support. But Kekipi was too busy watching James Jacobs getting an epic make-up job on the huge bags underneath his eyes. Shockingly, I really did feel like the most professional person on set. ‘That dress is incredible.’
‘I look like a fat cow,’ she replied, grabbing at a tiny ripple of fabric and somehow mistaking it for a slab of human flesh. ‘Look at this. I’m enormous. I can’t wear this.’
‘Uh, I think you look amazing,’ I searched the room for Cici. Nowhere to be found, of course. ‘Incredibly beautiful. Unreal, even.’
‘Fine, just take the shot.’ Sadie stopped sulking for one second, stared directly into the camera and became the most beautiful creature on the planet. I clicked off ten fast frames before she started pouting again and the moment was over. ‘Have we met before? You look familiar.’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, reviewing the images on my camera. It was amazing how she had transformed. Models really were a different species to the rest of us. ‘I haven’t been to New York before.’
‘Did you shoot me in Paris?’ she asked, picking up the skirt of the dress and letting it fall, another second of perfect beauty. ‘Maybe it was London?’
‘No, I’m pretty new,’ I replied, trying to capture the shot before her mood changed again. ‘We definitely haven’t met.’
‘I’m really only doing this as a favour to Angela,’ Sadie said, turning away from me and glancing back over her shoulder. She was so beautiful I could barely stand to look at her. ‘I’m kind of a big deal.’
‘Must be nice for you,’ I said. ‘That’s amazing, what you’re doing now. So beautiful.’
‘I broke up with my boyfriend last night,’ she said in a stage whisper. ‘I feel awful.’
‘Clearly he’s an idiot,’ I said, checking in on Kekipi to see him holding a glass of water and a straw up to James Jacobs’s lips. ‘You’re a goddess and he’s not worth it and, um, forget that guy. Could you stand on that mark right there?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, her eyes brightening a shade. ‘Forget that guy.’
‘I know …’ I held up my camera triumphantly, hoping to get her on side. ‘Let’s take the most incredibly beautiful, sexy photos and make sure he sees them. That’ll teach him. And could you please stand on the mark?’
‘Uh, yeah, there’s a photo of me in my underwear in Times Square,’ she pointed out. ‘And like a million on the internet. I’m a model?’
Model break-ups were presumably very different to civilian break-ups.
‘Oh yeah.’ I walked over to the green screen and physically moved her onto the taped-out mark on the floor. ‘Well, let’s think of something else.’
‘Guys always break up with me over the holidays,’ she whined. ‘Or around my birthday. Or Valentine’s Day. It’s like any time there’s a thing, you know?’
I nodded, although clearly I did not know. Personally, I would have broken up with her any day that had a ‘y’ in it, but, thankfully, I did not have a penis and it would never be a problem I had to deal with.
‘It’s like, every time I meet a guy, he only wants to date me for five minutes.’
Without a second’s warning, she sank to the floor and rested her chin in her hands.
‘I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. It’s super-confusing.’
‘I’m sure you’re not doing anything wrong,’ I told her, running over to pull the hem of the dress off her spike heel before twelve hundred dollars’ worth of shoes tore through five thousand dollars’ worth of dress and I was fired immediately.
These were the situations where an assistant was useful, I told myself, looking back at the Kekipi/James Jacobs love-in. If only I’d thought to bring one with me …
‘Yeah, I totally am,’ she sighed and rubbed the heel of her hand against her eye, destroying the make-up that had taken fifty minutes to apply. ‘I mean, it’s got to be me, right? It’s like my roommate says, I’m the only common nomination.’
I frowned and sat down beside her.
‘Nomination?’ It took me a minute to work out what she meant. ‘Well, I think all it means is you haven’t met the right man. You shouldn’t have to change yourself to make a man happy, should you?’
Sadie pursed her lipstick commercial lips into a perfect pout for a moment while she thought about it.
‘I guess,’ she said finally. I was very glad she’d taken so long to come up with such a considered response. ‘I’m, like, so nice to the guys I date.’
‘There you go then.’ I began to stand up but she grabbed by elbows and dragged me back down.
‘You’re right,’ she said, the pout replaced with determination. ‘I’m gonna be me and when the right guy comes along, he’ll appreciate that.’
‘Hell yeah,’ I said, holding out my hand for a high five. And holding it. And holding it. Eventually, I put it back down by my side. Apparently we weren’t there yet. ‘You be you.’
‘Yeah.’ She sounded more and more convinced by the second. ‘I mean, it’s their problem if they can’t deal with my job, right?’
‘Right,’ I agreed.
‘And it’s not weird to want to do nice things for your boyfriend, is it?’
‘No,’ I said, frowning slightly ‘What kind of nice things?’
‘And what kind of dude doesn’t want to give his girlfriend a key to his apartment?’ She held up her hands in despair. ‘I mean, clearly he is the one with intimacy issues there.’
‘Well, I don’t know if a man would want to give you a key right away,’ I said. ‘But you know—’
‘And he should want to buy me gifts.’ Oh dear God, she wasn’t finished. ‘And I don’t see why he would be mad at me having his cat re-homed when I am so allergic. Who chooses a cat over the love of their life?’
I placed a hand on her wrist as two bright pink spots developed in her cheeks.
‘How long were you going out with this man?’ I asked. ‘Just out of interest?’
‘Forever,’ she said, whacking down the billowing edges of her gown. ‘Like, two months.’
My breath caught in my throat and I choked down a gasp, coughing like a dying seal instead.
‘Forever, right?’ she blew a strand of hair out of her mouth. ‘What an A-hole.’
‘A-hole of the highest order,’ I nodded. ‘You’re better off without him.’
And lucky he didn’t take out a restraining order, I added silently.
‘Your boyfriend would never behave like that,’ she said, patting my hand absently. ‘I can tell. You wouldn’t take that shit.’
‘I don’t actually have a boyfriend,’ I said.
‘Girlfriend?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘No, not gay, just single,’ I replied. ‘Did you think I was gay?’
‘Not so much,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Just maybe your shoes. And your pants. And—’
‘Well, I’m not,’ I interrupted, folding my gay feet underneath my gay jeans. ‘Just single.’
‘But there must be someone you like,’ she said, a conspiratorial smile on her face. ‘There’s always someone.’
‘It’s complicated,’ I said, returning her smile. ‘When is it not?’
‘You just gotta go for it,’ Sadie said, shrugging her delicate shoulders as though it was that simple. ‘You gotta know what you want and you gotta go get it.’
‘Good advice,’ I admitted. ‘But what if what you want isn’t a good idea?’
‘Oh, it never is,’ she laughed. ‘But since when did that stop anyone?’
I wriggled my toes, shaking off pins and needles in my left foot. She had a point. But was I really going to take romantic advice from a woman who gave her boyfriend’s cat away because it made her eyes water?
‘I hate being single,’ she went on with a moan in her voice. ‘All my friends are coupled up. I’m the last old hag who can’t keep a man.’
‘If you’re a hag, I’d hate to think what I am!’ I laughed as Sadie opened her mouth to respond. ‘That was a rhetorical question,’ I explained. ‘You don’t have to answer.’
‘I wasn’t going to call you a hag,’ she said, laughing as she spoke. ‘Silly. You’re not a hag. You’re just normal.’
Normal. Was that what I was?
‘And normal’s OK,’ she whispered, as though it wasn’t something everyone needed to know. ‘I’m sure you’ll find a normal dude to date eventually.’
‘Shall we take some photos?’ I asked brightly. ‘Before we run out of time?’
She gave a nod and shrug before rising from the floor, her dress floating out all around her, her face soft and delicate.
‘You look incredible,’ I said, speaking without thinking. I’d worked with what felt like a lot of models over the last few months but Sadie was something else. Maybe it wasn’t so irrational of her to expect a man to lose a cat on her behalf.
‘Thank you.’ She shook out her loose blonde curls and leapt on her mark, all drama over, all concern forgotten, suddenly the consummate professional. ‘Is this good?’
‘Perfect,’ I told her, snapping ecstatically. It was impossible to put a camera on this woman and take a bad photo and I was almost guaranteed to get something for the competition. Relaxing into the shoot, I felt a wave of certainty wash over me. I’d got this. I knew exactly what I was doing and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
‘I’m not sure about this,’ I said, watching a group of deliverymen wheel two giant black boxes onto the set. ‘Cici, they seem awfully big for the space.’
‘They’re perfect,’ she snapped, signing the clipboard of a large, greasy man who seemed far too sweaty for the temperature outside. ‘And you should be grateful I managed to get hold of them at all. Maybe now we’ll be able to get a photo we can actually use.’
‘I thought the photos looked good,’ Sadie whispered, checking the monitor over my shoulder. ‘Don’t they look good?’
‘They look great,’ Kekipi said. ‘She’s actually lost her mind.’
‘We’re going to do the picture of the two of you one more time.’ The edges of Cici’s voice frayed as she spoke to James and Sadie, ignoring me. ‘But with a snow machine. For the drama.’
‘I don’t know if we need to do this,’ James said, flapping his hands at Kekipi as he fussed with his bow tie. ‘I really do think we’ve got the shot. We’ve been at it all day, darling.’
‘We’ll have it in five minutes,’ Cici said. She gave the clipboard back to the large man and wiped her hands on her skintight jeans. ‘Trust me.’
Sadie stared her down for a moment, then turned to me.
‘Tess, what do you think?’ she asked.
‘What do I think?’
I blinked as James, Kekipi and the make-up artists all turned to look at me. I’d been contemplating checking my phone if Kekipi would let me. Surely Nick must have replied by now? Across the studio, I saw Cici with her hands on her hips and a foul expression on her face.
What I thought was that we already had the shots we needed.
Everyone was tired and bored and wanted to go home; it had been a long day in the studio and there wasn’t a person there who wasn’t ready to swing for Cici Spencer, but Cici Spencer was technically the client. And wasn’t it my job to keep the client happy? Could I even say no? We were taught never to say no to a client in my old job. If this were an ad campaign, I’d put together a couple of other options to humour her and eventually talk them round to the original idea. Surely this was the same?
‘The longer you all argue with me, the longer it will take,’ Cici said before switching her attention to the men who were setting up, while James and Sadie reluctantly hovered around the make-up chairs. ‘It’s all set up and ready to go?’
‘Uh-huh.’ One of the men nodded, talking directly to her cleavage. ‘Press the green button to start it up. The red button turns it off.’
‘Can we stop wasting time?’ Cici said, waving the deliveryman away. ‘This is going to make the shot and you’ll all be thanking me once it’s done. Start now and we’ll all be home inside an hour.’
Was it possible we really did just want the same thing? I looked outside at the pitch-black sky and then back at the set, trying to imagine the image with the snow. Maybe it could work. Maybe she was right.
‘Let’s try it,’ I relented as everyone around me deflated with a mass of sighs. ‘It won’t take long.’
‘Thank you,’ Cici crowed. ‘You wait and see, this is going to be epic.’
Taking a deep breath, I climbed my little stepladder and set the camera as Sadie and James found their marks. ‘OK, Cici, turn it on.’
The second after she flipped the switch, I asked myself a thousand questions. Why didn’t we test the snow machine before we put Sadie and James in the shot? Why did I think it was a good idea to climb a ladder in front of a wind machine? And why had Kekipi crawled underneath the food service table?
But there was no time to answer any of them.
As soon as Cici switched on the wind machine, I was blown right off the ladder into a blizzard of wet snow. I came crashing down into James, who tried to throw out his arms to catch me. Unfortunately, even though he was a tall man, the laws of physics were against us. Tall man plus tall woman holding heavy camera and blown off a stepladder by twenty-mile-an-hour winds was only going to end one way.
‘My camera!’ I yelped, trying not to hit the movie star in the face as hundreds of pounds of photographic equipment clattered onto the floor. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Never better,’ James grunted, flat on his back on the ground as I curled around my camera, protecting it from the mounds of watery snow blowing towards me, just in time to see my laptop go flying on the other side of the snowstorm. ‘Thanks for asking.’
‘Hey you guys, how’s it going? Is everything—?’
Blinking through the driving snow pinning us all to the ground, I saw a tall, curly haired woman I vaguely recognized from Angela Clark’s office wall walking into the studio.
‘Holy shit!’ she yelled, stopping dead in her tracks. ‘What the hell is going on?’
It was a fair question from where I was standing. Or rather, lying.
‘Stop screaming!’ Cici yelled over the roar of the powerful snow machine. ‘Everyone stop screaming.’
There was actually only one person screaming but Sadie was doing such a good job of it no one could have been blamed for thinking we’d brought a bus full of toddlers into the room and introduced them to a knife-wielding circus clown.
‘Turn it off!’ I shouted as loud as I could, cradling my blinking camera as James tried to scramble to his feet, grabbing a handful of boob as he went. ‘Please just turn it off!’
‘I’m trying!’ Cici wailed back. ‘The button is stuck.’
‘Help! Sadie screeched. She was pinned to the green wall behind us, the wind machine hurling relentless gobs of semi-frozen snow at her beautiful face. ‘I can’t move.’
Dropping her handbag by the door, the woman pulled off her suede high-heeled boots in the doorway and ran across the studio.
‘Get out of my damn way!’ She gave Cici a shove as she took over the controls of the snow machine, bashing every button with the flat of her hand.
‘Make it stop!’ Sadie wailed, ineffectually flapping her hands at the oncoming blizzard. ‘I can’t see!’
‘Cici, get her out of there!’ the woman shouted. Whoever she was, Cici knew not to mess with her. Without so much as an eye roll, she nodded and crawled into her homemade snowstorm on her hands and knees, spitting out snow as she went. I was impressed. I couldn’t even get her to stand up to pass me a pencil earlier in the day.
‘Oof,’ I grunted as a boot hit me in the back of the head as I tried to wriggle towards dry land.
‘Sorry,’ James called as he scurried out of the danger zone and joined Kekipi underneath the table. ‘Didn’t mean to.’
‘No problem, gents,’ I shouted back, spitting out a mouthful of snow and shoving my camera down the front of my jumper. ‘I’m fine.’
‘She’s fine,’ Kekipi insisted, grabbing hold of James’s hand. ‘She’s a feminist.’
‘I have a T-shirt with that on,’ James replied cheerfully, brushing the snow out of his hair. ‘Good for her.’
‘I can’t turn it off,’ my curly-haired hero yelled, hitting the snow machine with the heel of her boot before turning her attention to the power cable. I watched as she followed it to the wall and gave the plug a short, sharp tug. ‘But there’s always a way.’
I opened my eyes as the swirling snowstorm petered out into a delicate dusting of soft flakes and took a deep breath.
‘Are you OK?’ a loud American voice asked. Looking up, I saw a hand reach out towards me and pull me up to my feet. ‘I’m Jenny.’
Glancing across the studio, I watched while Sadie kicked off her insanely expensive and utterly destroyed shoes and turned them into weapons, bashing Cici in the head as she attempted to slither away from the scene of her disgrace.
‘Tess,’ I said, snapping my wet jumper away from the cold skin on my belly. ‘Should we stop them?’
‘Eh?’ Jenny slipped her boots back on, holding onto my arm for support. ‘If we help Cici now, she’ll never learn, and between you and me, I think there are a few lessons she could stand to learn the hard way. Is your camera OK?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, taking it out and pressing the on and off button. Nothing happened. ‘Is the laptop all right?’
Kekipi reluctantly emerged from his James Jacobs occupied den and picked it up from the floor.
‘I’m sure we can fix it,’ he said, holding the screen in one hand and the keyboard, mostly parted from it, in the other. My stomach dropped to my feet and I felt the sudden urge to sit down and never get back up.
‘Come on.’ Jenny pulled me out of my trance and back into the safety zone behind the snow machine. ‘You need a drink.’
I nodded and watched a supermodel chase a Park Avenue princess around our accidental winter wonderland, cracking her across the arse with a shoe.
Now, there was a photo. If only I had a bloody camera so I could take it.