by Lindsey Kelk
As if the location, the lighting and the personnel issues weren’t bad enough, I also had the pleasure of trying to make the wardrobe look like it hadn’t just been dragged out of Joan Collins’ ‘Save it for best circa 1982’ closet. The clothes that Artie had picked out of the Bennett vault couldn’t possibly be indicative of the fashion nous that had made his dad so successful. Unless his dad was exclusively clothing drag queens and the cast of The Muppets. Currently we had Ana in a baby-blue feathered affair that grazed her knees and dipped so low at the back that the make-up artist was having a wonderful time trying to cover up her tramp stamp. Martha had fared no better, stuck in a dropped-waist canary yellow silk number that had shoulder pads so big she could have just leaned her head over and had a little nap. Maybe that’s why she was so sad.
There were one or two outfits that had made Paige squeal with delight – some late eighties Gaultier, and a dress that she held up with such reverence I had to wonder if it was the Turin Shroud; but no, it was just vintage Valentino. I thought she was going to slap the taste out of my mouth when I responded with an ‘oh’. Sadly for the beautiful dresses, they were every one of them either red, pink or emerald green, all of which looked ridiculous in front of the pink palace, and so, instead, the models stood there, looking like someone had puked a rainbow against the wall. And it was my job to capture that rainbow.
‘Ana, to me,’ I called again. ‘More feathers.’
I did not really want to see more of the feathers. All I wanted to see was the inside of my eyelids and possibly the bottom of a toilet bowl. This was officially joining the day I got fired, the day things went to shit with Charlie and the day I dropped my favourite My Little Pony out of a speeding Ford Escort somewhere on the M1 and my mum wouldn’t stop to get it as one of the worst days of my life.
‘I’m just not sure it’s working,’ I said quietly to Paige, flicking through the images on my camera screen while the poor local make-up artist tended to beauty and the beast. ‘It just looks so forced.’
‘Then make it look better,’ she replied just as quietly. ‘Don’t fuck me over, Tess. Do not fuck this up. Artie is getting pissed off, I can tell ? we don’t have much longer.’
I looked up at her, a little startled. Me? What had I done? Oh, right, I wasn’t a real photographer and therefore the shitty pictures had to be my fault. Nothing to do with the fact that all I had to take photos of was a grumpy middle-aged man in a nasty suit lounging on a papier mâché throne, flanked by two models who would apparently rather be poking sticks in their eyes than getting paid to hang out in Hawaii wearing designer clothes for money.
‘OK, um, Martha, could you maybe sit down on the steps and pull the train out behind you?’ Oh yes, the yellow dress had a train. Martha did as she was told like a sad puppy and looked up expectantly.
‘Ana, I need you to give me something really solid, something really strong,’ I shouted.
Anything to offset the tragedy of the man on the throne, I thought to myself. I’ve taken better pictures in a photo booth. To Ana’s credit, after muttering something obscene under her breath, she struck a pose and it seemed to work. I fiddled with the camera for a moment, adjusted the height of the flash that would hopefully light up Artie’s face a touch better than his non-existent smile, and started shooting again.
‘Ladies, I’m really not terribly comfortable in this crown,’ Artie bellowed from his seat, disrupting the first half-decent shot I’d got out of the lot of them in over an hour. ‘I think it would be better not to use it.’
‘But the crown is the lynchpin of the whole concept, Artie.’ Paige used her most soothing tone of voice to try to convince Bennett Junior to keep his hat on. Personally, I thought he looked like he’d just crashed a fashion shoot on his way home from a boozy trip to Burger King, but my input was not required. As Paige had already told me several times. Every suggestion I’d made had been shot down. Any confidence I’d managed to build in my ability as a photographer, the confidence that she had worked so hard on helping me with, was completely shattered. But I had to remember Paige was in charge. Paige was the art director. I was the photographer. I was just there to do as I was told. And it was grating on my last nerve.
‘Looks … interesting?’
And just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Nick arrived.
‘I’m busy, we’re busy,’ I replied, not taking my eyes away from the camera and ignoring the prickling sensation running down my back. ‘Closed set.’
‘No, it isn’t. Anyway, I’m here to talk to Artie.’ He came nearer until he was close enough to whisper in my ear. ‘Feeling better, lover?’
‘If you don’t back up immediately, I’m going to throw up on you,’ I replied. And it wasn’t a lie. He had that effect on me. ‘Please let me get on with this.’
‘They look ridiculous, you know,’ he said, stepping aside and folding his arms. I took a precious second away from my camera to glance over at him. Messy hair, scruffy stubble, grey-blue eyes against a golden tan. And the outfit hardly hurt ? bright white V-neck T-shirt and perfectly fitting khaki cargo shorts. Bugger me, he looked good in shorts. Men hardly ever looked good in shorts. ‘What is Paige thinking?’
‘Why don’t you ask her? I’m just the camera monkey.’ I tightened my plait and looked back at the scene in front of me. It did look ridiculous. Mario Testino couldn’t have made this look good. Maybe Agent Veronica should have sent a chimp with a camera phone after all ? there was every chance he might have seen something in it that I couldn’t.
‘Memory card’s full. Give me two minutes everyone,’ I called over to my models. And Artie. ‘One more set-up, I promise.’
Me and my shadow went over to the table where I’d set up my laptop and plugged in my camera. More and more upsettingly average pictures of a depressingly tragic set. I couldn’t see a single one I was proud of.
‘It’s not your fault, you know,’ Nick said quietly, one hand on my back. ‘They aren’t bad pictures. This … all this …’ He waved his hand around at the hotel, at the models, at a foaming-at-the-mouth Paige. ‘It’s not exactly working for you.’
I looked up from the screen and out at the ocean. Waikiki beach was full of holiday-makers sunbathing, running in and out of the waves, building sandcastles and basically having a very lovely time. I wondered what would happen if I just cobbed the camera at Paige’s head and started running. I could reinvent myself as one of the slightly scary ladies wandering up and down the sand selling bits of mango. It was a good life.
‘I think we need to make more of the Hawaiian feeling,’ Paige announced, snapping me out of my daydream and slapping Nick’s hand off my back. ‘We need to add more fun, more playfulness. Kekipi, let’s do it.’
I was fairly certain that the playfulness was already very well communicated in the slightly off-kilter crown Paige had put on Artie’s head and in the fact that our models were wearing outfits it looked like they’d made themselves, but no. To Paige, ‘Hawaiian feeling’ and ‘playfulness’ could only be communicated by adding two girls in grass skirts holding ukuleles and a pile of pineapples.
‘Oh dear God, shoot me now,’ I whispered, wide-eyed and afraid.
‘If I could, I would,’ Nick replied.
‘Paige,’ I started with caution. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Yes,’ she shouted, her voice brittle.
‘It’s just … I mean, it’s not clichéd?’
Big mistake. Huge.
‘I’m really fucking stressed right now, Vanessa,’ she said with an awful lot of emphasis on my name. ‘So if you could try and take a half-decent picture out of what we’ve got, we can all get out of here before Christmas, yeah?’
‘Hey, Paige, I know you’re stressing, but don’t take it out on Vanessa.’ Nick leapt to my honour before I could say anything. And it did not help matters in the slightest.
Paige paused in her direction of the hula girls and turned to face us fully. I took a tiny side-step away f
rom Nick and looked at the floor while whispering ‘please don’t let her be the violent type, please don’t let her be the violent type’ to myself.
‘Nick, could you be a love and fuck off until you’re needed?’ she said sweetly. ‘We’re trying to get something done and you’re not helping. Vanessa can’t be distracted while she’s creating her masterpiece. Isn’t that right, Van?’
‘Vanessa can probably speak for herself,’ he responded, not moving. I shook my head, still focusing on the grass beneath my feet, and prayed for the ground to open up and swallow me. Why weren’t there active volcanoes in Hawaii? Where was a flowing river of molten lava when you needed it?
‘Vanessa probably could,’ she agreed. ‘But seriously, not the time or place. Nick, do one. We’re busy.’
My refusal to make eye contact with anyone other than the little brown bird that was pecking the ground beside my feet was probably a touch out of character as far as Nick was concerned. I felt his eyes on me, waiting for a snappy comeback or at least a ‘fuck you’ for Paige, but instead I shrugged, clicked a couple of buttons on my camera and kept my mouth shut.
‘Fine,’ he said, defeated. ‘I’ll be in the bar. Send Bennett in when you’re done.’
I met his eyes briefly, trying to explain without an explanation, but he just looked a little pissed off and a lot confused.
‘If the look you’re going for is that bit in The Jungle Book where Baloo dresses up as a monkey, then you’re right on the money. If it’s not, you’re buggered. Have fun, ladies.’
I looked at Paige. Paige looked at me. We both looked at the hula girls.
‘Lose the girls,’ Paige bellowed. ‘Keep the pineapples. Now let’s take some pissing pictures so we can all go home.’
The two dancers sashayed sadly away, their grass skirts swishing as they went. Even though I was this close to bursting into tears, I felt a chuckle bubbling up inside me. It was like someone had said something hilarious in science class and I had lost all control over myself.
‘Don’t you dare laugh,’ Paige warned me, taking a red lipstick out of her handbag and reapplying it perfectly without a mirror. ‘Just don’t.’
‘Thought hadn’t even crossed my mind,’ I said in the squeakiest voice possible. ‘Shall we just get this done?’
‘Yes.’ She pushed a long, Veronica Lake wave out of her face and breathed out purposefully. ‘I need a cocktail. Sorry. I just want this done.’
‘And I need a miracle,’ I said, turning back to the set. Still shit. ‘But I will settle for a cocktail.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, even crappier, mega crap, crap …’
What felt like days later, I scrolled through the fruits of my photographic labour back in the cottage. I had downloaded – hundreds of shots to my computer – hundreds, and every single one looked shit. ‘Crap, crap. Mega crap. Super crap. The crappiest piece of crap I’ve ever seen. Oh, awesome, this one’s just regular old crap.’
I curled my legs up underneath myself and continued to scroll through the pictures, trying not to sob. I had a throbbing headache from last night’s cocktails and the epic quantity of coffee I’d mainlined to keep me conscious during the shoot. All I wanted to do was fill a bucket full of crystal-clear water and dunk my head in it, but there wasn’t time. Paige was due to come over and look through them with me any minute, and I couldn’t bear the thought of her seeing such shit. Objectively, they looked fine, I told myself. Objectively, there were shots where the models looked amazing, where Artie looked regal and elegant, where the hotel looked kitsch but classy at the same time. Photos where you could barely see the pineapples. Sadly, none of these elements occurred in the same photo. Not even once. I hoped someone back at Gloss was very, very good at Photoshop, because I wasn’t. I had no idea how Paige was going to react. I paused on a particularly awful picture of Ana posing on one leg, Martha sobbing and Artie checking his phone. At least my hangover hadn’t mattered. I could have turned up to the set, shot up in front of everyone and still struggled to get a usable image. It was almost funny. I’d been so worried about being the weak link in the chain, it hadn’t occurred to me that the chain would be about as strong as a roll of soggy Andrex in the first place.
‘All right, let’s see them.’
For a shocking change, Paige had let herself into my cottage without knocking. In her hand was a huge silver travel coffee mug which she held out to me. I shook my head.
‘It’s got whisky in it,’ she explained, holding it out again.
I took it, swigged it, retched ever so slightly and shuffled up the sofa so she could see the laptop.
‘Oh dear,’ she said, taking the cup back. ‘Oh dear.’
It wasn’t nearly as bad a reaction as I’d anticipated.
‘I know they’re awful,’ I said, starting slowly and holding my hand back out for the spiked coffee. It was amazing how quickly it took away my headache. ‘But I’m sure there must be something we can do.’
‘They’re not awful,’ Paige replied with as much diplomacy as she could muster. ‘They’re not my favourite pictures in the world, but they’re not awful. They’re not actually as bad as I thought they were going to be.’
I could tell she was trying to be nice after her outbursts on set. It was touching but unnerving. I sat looking at her, biting my bottom lip and waiting for her to shout, ‘Fooled you!’ then punch me in the face.
‘What do we do?’ I asked, letting her move the mouse back and forth until she settled on one shot for more than a second. It was one of the better images. For just one moment, almost everything had come together. The lighting looked soft and beautiful, Ana’s steely gaze set off the sad, faraway look on Martha’s face. Artie, on the other hand, just looked like a tosspot. ‘Is there anything we can do?’
‘This is what we’ve got,’ she replied carefully. ‘I’m just going to have to suck it up and go with it.’
It wasn’t really the gushing compliment I’d been hoping for, but it was better than the slap I’d been expecting.
‘That crown was a mistake, wasn’t it?’ Paige pulled a face and placed her thumb over the offending accessory. ‘I wonder if we can Photoshop that out.’
No one likes to hear ‘I told you so’, so I didn’t say it. At least, I didn’t say it out loud. In my head I was bouncing up and down, shouting it in her face and doing a very unappealing dance, very Tom Cruise on the Oprah sofa.
‘I’m sorry I was such a dickhead ? I just panicked. And I never panic.’ She highlighted a couple of the pictures, the same ones I’d mentally cleared as ‘not the most awful’, and nodded slowly. ‘If you can do a bit of a clean-up on these, just basic stuff, I’ll send them over to Stephanie and she can get back to us. Nick should be able to file his interview tonight, and then we’re done. Thank fuck.’
‘We’re not doing the portrait?’ I asked, boldly adding one of my least hated pictures to the approved collection. ‘With Artie?’
‘After this afternoon, he suddenly doesn’t want to do it,’ she explained. ‘So right now, no. Honestly, I have no idea what’s going to happen when I speak to Steph tomorrow. The whole point of this feature was a retrospective on Bertie, not a big old wankfest over Artie. Everyone in fashion loves Bertie ? he’s, like, one of the last of the old guard. But Artie … he’s got kind of a horrible reputation. I heard that once Anna Wintour called him a brat.’
‘Wow. Given what he’s like now, I can only imagine what he was like as a little boy.’
‘Oh no, this was in Milan last season.’ Paige raised an eyebrow.
‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t really helping earlier,’ I said. I could tell she was on the verge of giving up and I just couldn’t let her. If Paige went down, we all went down. I couldn’t let it happen. ‘I was just so worried about not cocking up the photos, I hadn’t really thought about the big picture.’
‘And I was focusing on you not cocking up the photos because I couldn’t deal with thinking about
everything else,’ she said, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling and giving a wan smile. ‘I’m sorry I made it so hard for you. I know this didn’t exactly come about in a conventional way, but I’m glad it’s you here and not Vanessa. And not just because she’s an evil demon bitch from hell. You’re a really good photographer, Tess. I mean it. Shit, look at what you managed to drag out of this trio of defects.’
She waved towards the laptop and I felt a tiny glow light up inside me. Her words were almost all compliment, and it had been a while since anyone had had anything nice to say to me. Well, except for Al. And Nick. And when I thought about it, how long had it been since three different people had compliments for me? Hmm. It was a pleasant change not to hate myself for just a moment.
‘I’m sure Steph will understand,’ I said, not sure in the slightest, but it felt like the right thing to say. ‘I don’t see what else you could have done under the circumstances. You’re going back to London with a story and a photo spread. You can’t be held responsible for the invisible man, can you?’
‘No, I know.’ Paige leaned back against the sofa and knocked back the rest of the coffee with a whisky-fuelled wince. ‘But she’s fired people for less. And I like my job.’
‘I liked mine and they fired me for nothing.’ I pursed my lips and put the laptop to sleep. ‘It won’t come to it, you know it won’t ? but seriously, if they fire you over you working your arse off to try and save a disaster situation, then bugger them. You’ll find someone else who actually appreciates what you do.’
‘Is that what you said when you got laid off?’ she asked, sitting the coffee mug on the white wooden side table.
‘I didn’t get out of bed for a week, got hammered at a family christening, shagged my best mate in my childhood bedroom – on a bunkbed, Paige, a bunkbed – and then ran away to Hawaii,’ I shrugged. ‘So I’ve set the bar pretty high for unpredictable behaviour in the face of a firing. I can’t see you doing quite so badly.’
