Lyrical Lights

by Maria La Serra

  “I—Well, it’s more than that.” I faltered. “I made a deal with my dad. If my career went nowhere within a year, then I would come home and continue my studies.”

  “Tell me something,” he said, eyeing me. “What made you want to do this in the first place?”

  As I stared at him for a moment, I was trying to figure out how much I wanted to reveal.

  “Growing up, I was made fun of because of the way I talked.” I swallowed, turning away to empty out another box. “I don’t know. I thought if I were pretty enough, maybe all my troubles would go away. So it became a long-held dream of mine.” My mom had been a model in the eighties, mainly for catalogs, but she gave it up once I was born. I guess I wanted to be just like her, but I left that part out.

  “You don’t need to be a mannequin to validate your self-worth, Mable. You’re beautiful, and I think there’s nothing wrong in the way you talk. But if this is your dream—”

  “It is.” My stomach flipped. The thing that stuck in my mind was that he wasn’t bothered by the sound of my voice— he thought I was beautiful, was nice too.

  “So, what’s stopping you?” He frowned.

  “I told you.”

  “No, that’s not a reason, it’s an excuse,” Simon said. “The only person who’s stopping you is—you. This agent … whoever the fuck she is, I bet she’s never modeled a day in her life. You should respect only the opinion of someone who’s been through it.” He gently brushed my hair away from my face. “You need to find someone who will push and support you. Bottom line, you need the right person to represent you.”

  He was genuine, wanting to encourage me, even though he barely knew anything about me.

  “You need to fight for the things you want in life, Mable, or else what’s the point of breathing?” His eyes expressed tenderness, and it touched me more than words could say.

  “Try not to destroy the dress, Emily. I have to get it back in one piece.” We both looked up to find Gloria talking to the girl steaming the dress in the corner.

  “Uh—Simon? We’ve got a problem.” Gloria watched Simon as he straightened up.

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Vanessa—”

  “Nope, I’m not listening.”

  “She didn’t show up.” Gloria quickly added.

  He sucked in a breath. “And that’s what I was afraid of.” He walked a few feet and set up his equipment.

  “So what’s the plan?” Gloria said, following him in his steps.

  “Not my circus, mate,” he answered without glancing up.

  “Oh no, no—this is your spectacle, and you’re the ringleader,” Gloria said, glancing my way. “Simon, seriously, we have so many samples to go through and I don’t want to be here all night. What’s the solution?” She leaned over, smacking his arm.

  “Mable, you’re my witness, see the abuse I get?” He gave me a teasing smile, sighed when he glanced back at Gloria. “You want me to repeat it? Vanessa is unreliable, a poor choice for the shoot. This is Elaine’s fault. Either she comes up with a quick fix, or we’ll handle it.”

  “Ugh. You know it will blow our budget. Maybe we should call Elaine and let her decide what to do.”

  “What? Is she not here? Hmm … I was wondering why the temperature hadn’t dropped.” Simon smirked.

  “Get serious, will you?” Gloria looked at him flatly.

  “Who’s Elaine?” I asked.

  “The most wretched woman you’ll ever meet,” Simon said, allowing his camera to hang by his side. “That woman is off her rocker.”

  “The editor of Elite magazine,” Gloria clarified.

  “Hey, Simon, the first drama of the day and you’re mellowed out?” Noah said from across the room.

  “I’m calm, mate, but internally it’s a whole different story.” Simon tapped his chest and shot a look my way. “I have to keep a cool head; we have family here today. I don’t want to scare her off … not just yet.”

  He winked at me, bringing his attention back to my cousin.

  “Please, Gloria, see if you can get ahold of Vanessa.”

  “Not my circus.” She sang his words back to him. “I’m the stylist, not your assistant.”

  “Come on, mate. I’m asking you for a favor—as a friend. You know it’s bad enough I have to work with Vanessa. I can’t call her, and you know that.” The way he said it led me to believe that there was something that had happened between them.

  “All right, but you owe me, Simon.”

  “Whatever you want, consider it yours.”

  “I’m not joking; one day I will collect,” Gloria said, storming out of the room.

  “Mable?” Noah, the hairdresser, was cleaning his brushes and setting them aside.

  “Yes.” I looked up from the table. Gloria would be proud that I had everything unpacked and color-coordinated.

  “I couldn’t help listening to your conversation with Simon. I know someone who works at Next agency. I could call them, if you like?” Noah’s dark hair flopped when he spoke.

  “I appreciate it, I really do, but I don’t think it’s for me, quite frankly.” I smiled.

  “Well, don’t feel bad, honey. It’s not for everyone. The competition is fierce, and this business has its setbacks. I’m sure you’ll find something better for yourself.”

  Before I could say another word, an unrecognizable girl came rolling in. She walked in with such force, as if expecting people to stop what they were doing just to look at her.

  She tossed her glasses on the table, revealing the dark circles under her eyes. Her auburn hair had a straw-like texture that was hidden under a black beanie. She looked so defeated, I almost didn’t believe it was the same person I’d seen on the cover of all those fashion magazines. And, for a moment, I caught her attention.

  “What are you looking at?” she yelled, and I diverted my eyes away. I didn’t bother getting into the drama. Instead, I piled up the cardboard boxes and placed them off to the side.

  “You’re late, and you look like shit. A night of partying when you know we have the biggest issue to shoot the next morning? Not smart,” Gloria said, walking into the room.

  “Why don’t you mind your own business? I don’t have to answer to you,” Vanessa snapped.

  “Hey, don’t speak to Gloria like that. Her job depends on your showing up—have a little more respect.” Simon glared, walking in right behind Gloria.

  “What are you, my father? I could talk to her any way I want,” Vanessa hollered back.

  Simon’s expression went flat.

  “Noah, Steve, let’s get her prepped and see what we can work with before Elaine shows up,” Gloria said, trying to defuse the situation.

  “Gloria, forget it. There’s no amount of cake that will cover a night of partying. Send her home.” Simon turned to walk away. “I can’t work with unprofessional people.”

  “Oh, screw you, Simon,” Vanessa shrieked.

  Simon paused in his steps before turning around.

  “You’re embarrassing yourself, Vanessa, and you’re embarrassing me. It’s obvious you’re not here to work, so just go home, please,” Simon said calmly. Realizing everyone in the room was watching, he walked out.

  Vanessa grabbed her purse with such force, darting straight after Simon and slamming the door to his office on the way in.

  “Drama, drama, drama,” Noah murmured.

  “Crap, if we don’t shoot soon, we will lose the light and this day will be a complete loss,” Gloria said, picking out a few accessories and placing them aside.

  “What’s her problem?” I asked.

  “She—” Gloria stopped, interrupted by the loud voices coming down the hall.

  “Yeah, well, I’m fucking done,” Vanessa yelled. “Who do you think you are? This is bullshit … I will sue your ass off, Simon,” the model said as she stormed down the hallway, her exit followed by a big thud.

  “Vanessa! Vanessa,” Gloria called out.

  “Let her
go.” Simon appeared, leaning against the doorframe.

  “Way to go, Simon.” Gloria looked utterly defeated.

  His lips were tight. “You know I refuse to work like that, and I’ve given her plenty of chances before.”

  “So now what? We’re definitely in a pickle,” Gloria murmured.

  Simon’s eyes pegged me from across the room. “No, we’re not.”

  “Plan B? Oh hell, Simon. Elaine won’t agree to it.”

  “She will. I’m Simon Rowe,” he said, his eyes radiating with confidence.

  “You can’t just do whatever you want.”

  “Watch me.” Simon pushed himself off the doorframe and walked farther into the room. “Let’s get Mable ready.” He turned to Gloria, talking as if I weren’t even in the room.

  “Ready for what?” My heart raced.

  “What’s the worst that can happen?” Simon shrugged.

  “We won’t get paid,” Noah snorted.

  “Hello? Guys?” I was trying to get a word in, but no one was listening.

  “If Elaine is not happy with the results, I’ll pay for everything,” Simon said.

  “You’re insane,” Gloria pressed.

  “Sure I am.” Simon gave her one of those confident, sexy smiles that I loved. “Trust me, she’ll be right.”

  “Guys! Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” I asked. They were both staring at my face as if they’d seen me for the first time.

  “We have a problem, and you’re the solution.” Simon stepped closer.

  “Me? But you haven’t seen my portfolio—I’m not.”

  “I don’t need proof. I know how the camera will react to you. But I have to warn you, I’m very demanding on the set. I don’t want you to hold back, not from me—ever. I want it all … all of you.”

  I gazed at him for a moment. I was balancing on the fence. On one side, I wasn’t willing to move away from the pain of disappointment, and on the other, I wanted to give him my wholehearted all. This was my opportunity to see my face inside Elite magazine.

  “I don’t know—” I twisted my fingers in my other hand.

  “Mable, don’t throw in the towel. You walk away now, think about the future you might be sacrificing. If you don’t buy the damn ticket, how do you expect to win the lotto?”

  “It’s kind of impossible to win.” I gave him a sideways smile.

  “Not with me.” A big smile plastered across his face; his eyes had magic in them, like he could make anything happen. Simon thought this could be monumental for my career. He believed in me, and when someone has that kind of faith in you, you can move mountains.

  “So are you in?”

  And an unstoppable force squeezed a yes out of me.

  The following morning, Simon found me sitting in a chair while Noah separated, pulled, and straightened my hair, getting me ready for the last day on the set. I was taking mental notes from Noah, who was offering me pointers on how I should take better care of my hair. Good grief, Noah has way too much energy this early in the morning. I sat there like a noodle, the rhythmic sound of the blow-dryer putting me into a trance. My eyes were half-closed, exhausted from yesterday’s shoot—not that I was complaining. Actually, am I even getting paid for this? It would have been smart to ask before we’d started, but I was so blinded by excitement to be part of the shoot that I’d jumped at the chance without thinking about anything else. Then again, some opportunities can’t be summed up with money.

  “Howzit goin’?” Simon sat in the empty chair beside me, giving me a side-glance. “I hope I didn’t tire you out from yesterday?” he said, as I straightened myself higher.

  “Are you kidding me? Please, yesterday was a piece of cake.” What he didn’t know was that, when I’d gotten home, I’d passed out in my bunk bed. Slept like a total baby. “There’s nothing you can put me through that will slow me down. I got stamina.” I smiled. Yeah, maybe after a morning coffee—or two.

  “Stamina?” Simon repeated it. “You think you could keep up with me?” He slightly shook his head.

  “Haven’t I already?” I raised my brows.

  “True, but I can’t wait to hear what you’ll say after today.”

  I caught myself staring at Simon. His hair was worn back, but not snug enough. Some sandy-brown locks had come undone, trailing in front of his face when he looked down at the papers resting in his hands. I wouldn’t say Simon was eccentric, but he had hints of it in his style. On his wrists he wore an arrangement of colorful leather bracelets with silver links. I didn’t know any other man who wore that much jewelry, but on Simon, everything suited him.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?” I said, now able to reposition my head, catching his eyes through a large, cheap, black-framed mirror that leaned against the wall in front of us.

  “I wanted to bounce ideas with you before we shoot.” He playfully rolled the papers in his hands.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “I think we’ll do the first half on the roof, and, if the lighting is perfect, we could get some shots in the studio, too.” His voice was deep but cheerful. “So, Gloria went through the collection, and she has this idea of a theme … a mixture of seventies rock and downtown art scene vibes.” His eyes scanned the walls. “Think … Debbie Harry.” He motioned with his hand. Another thing I’d noticed about Simon was the use of his hands as a way to express himself. He accentuated it more when he talked about something he felt passionate about.

  “Debbie who?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Simon’s eyes grew wider.

  “No. I kid you not. Does she, um … have a reality show or something?”

  Simon made a clicking noise with his mouth, like I’d said something offensive. “How could you not know? She’s a legend.” His voice went up at the end.

  “Surprising, right? Not all intellectuals know about everything. So spare me.” I shrugged. “I’ll just Google her later.” My phone was out of my reach.

  “You know who I’m talking about, mate?” Simon looked up at Noah, who was now teasing my hair, which stumped me, because he had spent twenty minutes smoothing it out. But he was the stylist, who was I to question him? I’m going to have so much fun getting those knots out later.

  “She’s the lead singer of the band Blondie … ‘Call Me’?” Noah said to me.

  “But you’re right here.” I winked.

  “It’s a song, love,” Simon added.

  “Yeah … I got that.”

  It went over Simon’s head, and he sang a few verses.

  “God, here we go again.” I murmured. “Oh-oh, the dog’s howling again.”

  I glanced at Noah, and he chuckled.

  “For heaven’s sake, Simon, cut me some slack. I wasn’t even born yet.” I groaned, but it was useless. Another thing I’d learned about Simon: he didn’t know when to let go.

  “Know this one?” I watched Simon scroll down his phone. When Noah caught me in the mirror, I half-rolled my eyes.

  “Aye?” He held up his phone for us to hear. Noah sang along and swung his shoulders, getting into it as I laughed. My gaze found Simon’s bright eyes reflecting back.

  “Sorry, Simon, I’m not from your generation … old geezer,” I said, finally seizing a moment to drink my now-cold coffee.

  He stifled a laugh. “Who are you calling old?”

  “Well, close to thirty is pretty ancient,” I teased, giving Simon a wide grin.

  “Oh, I see how it is.” Simon playfully narrowed his eyes at me.

  “What?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls?"

  “What girls?”

  “Crazed fangirl who likes bands that don’t know how to play an instrument, and it takes six guys to sing one song,” he laughed.

  My mouth dropped. “First, there’s five of them. And don’t judge me or make fun of them.” As we speak, there’s still a poster of Harry hanging up on the wall of my old bedroom, but I’m not about to tell him that.

&
nbsp; “They’re top blokes, but the most untalented bunch of guys I ever met,” Simon said through the mirror.

  “Wait? You met them?” My voice got louder at the end.

  “Yeah. I shot them for the cover of Rock magazine last year.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously?” He mimicked me, his voice hitting an upward inflection. “Oh, that got your attention. Which one are you crushing on … Liam?”

  “No way … I’m more of a Harry kind of gal.”

  “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “I would never think the dude with the messy hair would be your type.” He stood and tapped my knee with the rolled paper and walked away. I couldn’t help but think he was on to something. Maybe I have a weakness for guys with messy hair. Like Simon.

  “Hey, Simon,” I called out.

  “What?” His voice echoed from the other room.

  “Can you get me Harry’s number?” I howled out. Joking, but not joking.

  “No.” His voice bellowed. And suddenly the music changed on the speaker. Simon blasted the music, playing some seventies song that I had never heard of. Noah and I laughed.

  Later, Simon had me sitting on a stool in front of a deep green curtain with props behind me. He took a couple of shots, then stopped and walked over to his laptop, where he analyzed the pictures. He leaned over to Gloria, said something unclear, but my eyes watched the shape of his mouth, which spoke some sort of praise just before he returned. I repositioned myself, and we started the process over again. A hundred shots will be taken before one is considered good.

  Chick che … flash.

  Chick che … flash.

  Nobody ever tells you how exhausting this process can be, the continuous lights flashing in your eyes. The repetitive movements: bring my collar up, put my collar down, extend my leg, retract my leg. Sometimes I ended up in the most awkward positions, but it had to look natural. I’ll do anything to give him that perfect shot.

  At this moment I was fighting for Simon’s approval, offering my all to get something back from him. Praise, admiration, maybe even love. In this case, I wasn’t talking about romantic love, but the kind that every model wants from a photographer. If you make him fall in love with you, make him believe the most amazing shots are created only when you’re around, then he will ask you to work with him again … and again. This was supposed to be a one-time deal, but I still couldn’t help wanting to be Simon’s muse.