His random comment made her start. No, of course they hadn’t met before. Jeanie doubted they even inhabited the same planet. Xander Fitzgerald and his film crew were totally alien to her way of life. “Not unless you’ve visited Oldbridge before. I’ve spent pretty much all of my life here.”
He shook his head and a heavy shock of hair fell across his forehead, adding to his disheveled air. Jeanie’s fingers tingled and she resisted the urge to sweep it back so she could see his eyes again.
“It’s the planes of your face, the way the light falls. You remind me very much of … ”
“Marilyn!” Her grandmother’s voice interrupted jubilantly from across the room. “With her hair pushed back from her face, she’s just like Marilyn, you know with Clarke Gable in The Misfits.”
He turned his head following Norma’s finger as she pointed to the poster in the back right hand corner of the room, tucked between the last delivery of flour and the pile of new Pink and turquoise checked tablecloths. The soles of his lace-up boots made a squishing noise on the linoleum floor as he walked over. The sound set Jeanie’s teeth on edge.
“You’re right. Amazing.” He moved his head from the poster and back to her face as though he was watching a tennis match, then he folded his arms — the tanned skin was lightly covered with blond hair. “Amazing!”
A mixture of anger and embarrassment curdled in Jeanie’s tummy. “Oh, for goodness sake, Gran. Give it a rest. You’ve been saying the same thing for years.”
Giving up on her burning face, she turned to him to explain. “Gran’s hobby is movies, especially old movies, as you can see by all the posters. She says it was the heyday … ” Oh, God. She was babbling and sounded like some kind of tour guide.
As always, Norma came to her rescue and patted her arm. “The scripts of those movies are better than poetry … pure Shakespeare.”
Jeanie let the breath ease out between her lips.
“Why don’t you go and take the coffee orders, cherub. And I’ll make Mr. Fitzgerald his. You like it short, strong, and black I hear.”
“Yes, thanks.” He had his hand on his chin, gently running his thumb against the stubble. Fascinated, Jeanie watched the rhythmical movement. Her fingers quivered, wanting to reach out as she imagined the heady sensation of running her thumb over his chin.
Turning, Jeanie grabbed the order pad and pencil before she made even more of a fool of herself. A man like Xander Fitzgerald wouldn’t be interested in her. He’d be able to take his pick of any of the most beautiful women in the world. Why would he be interested in a twenty-three year old waitress who lived at home with her grandmother because she was too scared to face the real world? As she glanced up, she caught his gaze in the mirrored wall. It sent shivers scuttling down her spine. He blinked once. His sparkling navy eyes studied her with intent and she imagined she heard a click.
She’d swear he’d taken a photograph of her but his cameras still dangled over his shoulder. Shivering again, she stepped outside into the early morning sunshine.
• • •
“Ah, there you are. About time.” Jaz waved her stylus at Jeanie like some frenetic conductor then tapped the screen of her iPad three times. “Ask the girls about their coffee order and leave the bottled water.” Jaz stared around, frowning. “The water. You forgot the water.”
For goodness sake, what was it with the water? Anyone would think they were in the desert.
“I’ll take your coffee orders and then come back with the water.” Gritting her teeth, Jeanie offered her CWA smile to the first of the stick insects sitting on the wall outside the library.
“Long black.” The terse reply hit the footpath and the eyes never left the mobile phone.
Why, it would be my pleasure, and thank you for your friendly communication.
Drawing a deep breath, Jeanie moved crablike down the line, deciding speed was of the essence and common courtesy could take a back seat.
“Any other long blacks?” For every muttered grunt or heavy sigh, she made a tally mark on her order pad. Hopefully the coffee would wake these poor waifs who had probably been up since before dawn to get to Oldbridge at this ungodly hour in the morning.
“Cappuccino? Latte? Flat white?” Not one responding grunt. She mentally slapped her forehead.
Of course not.
“Soy latte?” Her tally marks grew. “Anything else?”
“Bottled water.” Amazingly the chorus sounded almost enthusiastic.
“Won’t be long. Any cakes, slices, pies? We’ve got some lovely lamingtons baked this morning.” Jeanie thought she heard a sigh like waves gently lapping the sand, but no response she recognized as an order.
“Right then, coffee and water coming up.”
• • •
The crew had put up a large white gazebo style tent and it filled most of the lawn in front of the library. A rainbow assortment of clothes and huge silver metal suitcases were being carted inside. Poor Wilma would have to kiss goodbye to her border plantings.
As the day wore on, the models strutted from the tent to the café and back in a continual parade, stripping down and dropping the assortment of clothes where they stood. Old Mr. Brown from the hardware shop spent the whole day polishing — he’d have the cleanest windows within a hundred mile radius. If they were lucky, Jeanie thought, he’d move onto the café windows next.
Every available inch of floor space inside the café was taken up with shiny silver umbrellas and huge incandescent spotlights. A crowd of black crow-like figures jumped to attention after every flash and moved a stool or a metal milkshake cup half an inch to the left or right.
And all the while Mr. Fitzgerald, photographer to the rich and famous, stood and twiddled his lenses and clicked his buttons, oblivious to everything except the scarecrows in his viewfinder.
Jeanie jumped as a shot of hot steam spluttered and coughed from the coffee machine, narrowly missing her arm. He turned his navy blue gaze on her for just a moment. A stunning half smile lit his face and every one of her totally uncoordinated limbs became liquid. Obviously he wasn’t as in the zone as he appeared, or else he could do two things at once.
“I’d love another coffee if you could manage it.”
“Short black?”
“Thanks. I’ll send Jaz to get it.”
There was his smile again, tossed carelessly over his shoulder, eyes crinkling as he walked out, leaving his crew to follow in his wake.
The coffee machine gave another bellow and Jeanie wiped the end of the steam nozzle, not sure which was hotter — her face or the stainless steel monstrosity their livelihood depended on. “Come on, baby, you can do it.” She polished it gently with the damp tea cloth, hoping the brief respite would give them both time to recover.
• • •
The sunburst clock on the wall above her ticked over the hour — only a little longer and, according to Jaz’s spreadsheet, it would be over and they’d be gone, apparently to a night in the motel up the road and then on to some other location like a swarm of locusts passing through, sucking all of the energy out of the atmosphere.
She had to talk to Gran. And soon. There must be a better way to sort out the mortgage than this torture. If necessary, she’d go out and get another job and they could plough the money back into the business to keep it afloat, but these location gigs were so not going to happen again if she had any say in it.
“How are you, petal?” Norma’s face was bright with excitement as she danced up to the coffee machine. “Just lovely. Such a lovely day. And such wonderful people. They work so hard. Those poor little girls, they have hardly eaten a thing, no wonder they’re wilting.”
Jeanie patted the seat of the stool. “Why don’t you sit down, Gran, before you wilt. I’ll make you a coffee, or maybe a nice cup of tea.” The pink plastic cushion squeaked as Norma gave a little hop and sprang up as sprightly as ever. Jeanie had no idea how she did it — years of practice, she guessed.
“Oh! He’s such a lovely man.” Norma settled her chin in her hand. “I think I’d like tea this time, all the coffee has made me a little excited.”
Excited?
Jeanie definitely wouldn’t describe her own emotions as excited. The continual parade of people confused her more than anything else. City folk. But obviously her Gran had seen another side of the day.
“Such a lovely man,” Norma repeated.
“Who, Gran?”
“That Mr. Fitzgerald, of course. Reminds me exactly of a young Robert Redford. Now, if Alma Ashbridge hadn’t beaten me to that poster I would be able to show you what I mean. I’ve never forgiven her for getting it before me. You know she only did it to spite me.”
Jeanie groaned inwardly. Alma Ashbridge, poor old dear, wouldn’t remember that far back. It was only the fact she bought the same cake every Saturday she even remembered what she’d come into the café for, but Gran had a memory like an elephant. Every minute detail of every film she’d ever seen and the ins and outs of every scandal in Oldbridge since the day she’d arrived with her parents as a child.
“I’m sure it was all a mistake, Gran.” She put the stainless steel teapot on the counter.
“But it was The Way We Were. Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand. I knew it would become a classic.” Her eyes grew dreamy and Jeanie cringed, knowing from experience she’d be up for a complete run down on the plot and several large chunks of perfectly quoted dialogue. She had to intervene, get her grandmother onto her other great love.
“He was a lovely man and I’m sure he would have loved your passionfruit pavlova.” Jeanie smiled soothingly and placed the rose patterned cup and saucer next to the teapot.
“Was? He is. He is such a lovely man. Robert Redford reincarnated as I live and breathe.”
Maybe passionfruit pavlova wasn’t going to work today. Jeanie’s tummy gave an unexpected lurch and she peered carefully at her grandmother’s lined face as she poured the tea into the teacup. “Here you are, Gran.”
“Mmmm. Stunning, except for the eyes just a little bit different, dark, and it seems he’s searching for something. Robert Redford didn’t have such dark eyes. I think it’s the hair too.”
“He’s probably searching for the right camera angle,” Jeanie said, intrigued by the caustic note in her voice.
The bell above the door tinkled and Norma shot off the stool.
With his camera slung around his neck, the man in question sauntered through the door and Norma’s eyes lit up. “There you are. We’ve been waiting. Where would you like her?”
A little bit of a snaky tremor sneaked up Jeanie’s spine at Gran’s words.
There’d been several times in her life when she had been thrown into a situation where she was totally out of control, and she knew instantly the churning in her stomach heralded another. The awful memory of being the centre of attention surfaced, reminding her of walking away, head held high, refusing to turn and listen to the taunts following her home from the living hell that had been high school.
Oink! Oink! Miss Piggy.
“We’ll take the shot on the stool over there in the corner.” Robert Redford smiled, his perfect white teeth flashed at her, and one eyebrow rose in question.
“Hang on a minute? What exactly are we planning to do?” She forced the words out between her uncooperative lips.
“Darling, Mr. Fitzgerald has kindly agreed to take your photograph for me,” Norma said.
Oh no!
Jeanie’s tummy lurched again and landed somewhere near her feet. “Gran, you’ve been organizing again.”
“You know I was only complaining the other day I hadn’t got a picture of you since your Year Six school photo when you were twelve. You refused to go to your graduation so I haven’t got one of those.” Norma fixed her beady stare on her granddaughter, “That’s over ten years since you had your photograph taken.” Her delicate sniff emphasized her disappointment. “It’ll only take a moment, and most people would give their eye teeth to have Mr. Fitzgerald take their photograph.”
Photograph!
The word screeched through her brain like a freight train and her teeth clamped together so tightly the threatening scream stayed trapped.
No!
She didn’t do photographs and her grandmother knew it. Not since the last year of primary school. Not since they’d put her in the very middle of the class group and Billy Westward had told her she was the fat in the sandwich. She did not do photographs.
“No!”
“Oh, darling! Please. Just for me.”
“Not even for you, Gran. You know I hate having my photograph taken.”
The discreet cough reminded Jeanie they weren’t alone and a flush of shame spread across her face. In her five years of high school purgatory, her counselor had taught her several things. Number one, hold your head high, and number two, don’t let them see they’d hurt you. No blushing, no red face, no tears, just a small polite smile, shoulders back and head up. She’d almost forgotten the rules.
“Norma, I’m sorry, but without the model’s permission I can’t. I need a signed release.”
Jeanie flicked her head around so fast she thought she’d heard her neck snap. Her grandmother stood on tippy-toes, patting his shoulder. A shot of anger flashed somewhere deep inside her; maybe it was jealousy. Her grandmother was meant to soothe her, not her tormentor, not the one with the camera.
Whose side is she on?
“I’m sure she’ll come around if I ask her nicely. It was just a bit of a shock, wasn’t it, sweetie?”
Whether it was the long and very busy day or the threat of being photographed, Jeanie didn’t know but the whole situation took on an almost surrealistic quality, as though she was watching the events play out on a screen, in a movie.
Heaven forbid.
“Why don’t you let Mr. Fitzgerald take a couple of shots just for me.”
Jeanie gave a bemused nod of her head. The staccato sound of Norma’s hands acted like a clapperboard. She whipped around to see her grandmother’s beaming face. She’d agreed. She hadn’t meant to but it seemed she had. “I really don’t want to.”
“It’ll be fine darling, you see.”
She closed her eyes in surrender as her grandmother’s hand patted her cheek gently and she inhaled the familiar scent of lemon and passionfruit.
“Jaz.” Xander Fitzgerald didn’t need to raise his voice — its depth and clarity cut through all the babble and chatter of the sticky beak models grouped outside on the footpath and like a flock of birds they stilled.
“Jaz, may I have a release form?”
“They’re all signed and sealed. Did it this morning.” Her black fingernails tapped the iPad for reassurance.
“No. I need another one, for Jeanie.”
“She’s not in any of the shots nor is the old lady, and we’ve got the property releases.”
“Jaz, may I have a personal release form please? Now.” His voice didn’t brook any argument and it appeared even Jaz knew it.
“Yes, sir.”
Jeanie heard a sound that might have been Jaz’s heel bones clicking together.
“The hard copies are in the car. I’ll go and get one.”
“Oh dear.” Jeanie ran her fingers through her hair, combing it back off her face, listening to the slowly revolving ceiling fan tapping in time to the pounding blood in her ears. Such a ridiculous overreaction. Agoraphobia? Arachnophobia? She’d heard of those. But camera-phobia? No. Then what the hell was wrong with her?
“Can you come and sit on the stool here?” He patted the old timber stool in the corner and pulled one of the incandescent lights behind it. Now, I want you to look in the mirror above the bar.”
Jeanie settled on the stool and discovered if she breathed sensibly in through her nose and out through her mouth her shoulders dropped below her ears.
“What can you see?” the photographer asked.
“The other side of the bar, the poster, oh, the back of my head in the other mirror.”
“Tell me about the poster.”
“It’s Audrey Hepburn.”
“Describe her.”
“Beautiful, aristocratic, thin, gamine.”
“Tell me about her pose.”
“She’s got her legs like this and she’s leaning forward a little and her hands are up to her fa — ” The sudden firing of the lights blotted out the poster. Jeanie blinked, rapidly trying to get rid of the black and silver blobs dancing in front of her eyes.
“Okay. We’re done.”
“But what about … ?”
“We’re done.”
A slight feeling of disappointment curled in the base of her tummy as she swung off the stool. Initially she hadn’t wanted her photograph taken, but once on the stool it hadn’t seemed so bad. And now … she shrugged; obviously she hadn’t made the grade. Oh well. Nothing changed.
“Here you go. Sign here.” A piece of paper on a clipboard appeared and Jaz handed her a battered pen rather as though it was inferior technology.
“But he didn’t take any photos.” She scratched her signature at the bottom of the piece of paper. “I suppose I should read the fine print.”
“They won’t be used. It was much too fast. But we have to cover ourselves. Just in case. Company policy. You never know, we might be able to crop out the mass and use an odd corner or two.”
“The mass?”
“Yeah. The body of the photograph.”
Excellent.
All the fussing and carrying on just to have her mass cropped out. Jeanie gave an undignified snort and stood up to see Norma stretched up to the display screen on the back of the camera. A beatific smile stretched across her face.
“See, what did I tell you? Come and see, darling,” Norma said.
His startling navy eyes bumped hers again and she ignored the little stab of pain somewhere below her ribs.
Jeanie wished the long day over before she made a thorough fool of herself. She’d done that before and she wasn’t about to do it again. All she wanted to do was to sit quietly with Coco on her lap and stare vacantly at a screen — a television screen preferably — watching some reality show. Survivor might fit the bill today, a little bit of total escapism on some deserted island.
Xander Fitzgerald stepped forward and offered the back of the camera to her. A series of images flashed across the tiny screen almost like a home movie — her movements seemed jerky and uncoordinated.
“I thought you were taking stills, not a movie.”
“They are, but a lot of them run off at a very high speed. They’re easier to see on the computer when they’re downloaded, but I thought you might like a quick preview.”
At the word computer her grandmother turned to her for advice. “Can we put them on our computer? Jeanie?”
“No, Gran we can’t download them here, but if Mr. Fitzgerald sends us a file or a DVD we can put them on the computer.”
“Xander, not Mr. Fitzgerald. Once I’ve taken your photograph, you get to call me Xander.” His eyebrows disappeared into his shaggy fringe and her heart leaped into her mouth.
“Xander.”
“And then make real photographs?”
“Yes, Gran. Then print the photographs.” She had a sneaking suspicion she might be inhabiting a parallel universe, one where disappearing eyebrows spoke a language all of their own and real life went on regardless.
“Jaz will organize all of it for you, Norma.” He reached out and took her grandmother’s hand and Jeanie thought for a moment he would bring it to his lips and kiss it but instead he patted it comfortingly with his other hand. “Thank you for all your help today. It’s been wonderful. Goodbye, Jeanie.”
Bemused, she stood rooted to the spot and lifted her hand in farewell as he walked her grandmother to the door.
“You’re very lucky, you know,” Jaz said.
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re very lucky, you know. Mr. Fitzgerald doesn’t do plus sizes as a rule. Such a problem with storage on the computer, the images take up so much file space.”
Jeanie spun on her heel, recognizing Jaz’s knowing grin in an instant. She’d been bullied by the best. Somehow she resisted the temptation to scratch the perfectly manicured eyebrows off Jaz’s face and kick her skinny arse out of the door. Instead, she resorted to her old stalwart. Jeanie held her head high and smiled sweetly and closed the door with total control behind her evil tormentor.