by Kim Baldwin
“Shall we?” Kash led them to the elevators as Isabel tried to ignore the stares of the people around them and held her purse in front of her as she crossed the lobby. They rode up without saying much, Gillian and Kash both unsuccessfully trying to keep the smiles off their faces, much to Isabel’s annoyance.
“Someplace I can change?” she asked once they got inside the studio.
“Sure. There.” Kash pointed to the restroom before she started setting up her lights for the shoot. Gillian stood nearby, watching her.
“Are you bringing anyone along?” Gillian asked. “Assistant or…friend, or something?”
“Nope. Only me.” Kash paused to acknowledge Gillian, making no effort to disguise her slow and appreciative assessment of the tall young woman. Kash pegged her as about twenty-five or twenty-six, a bit younger than Isabel. She wore her clothes well, and her taste in fabrics and cut was superb. She was restrained in her use of makeup, and expert at what types and colors suited her complexion. That threesome idea sure went down the tubes. But it might be amusing to spend some time with this one. “Any particular reason you’re asking?” She stared at Gillian’s small but well-shaped breasts as she said this, to make her intentions clear.
Gillian waited until Kash’s eyes met hers again to answer. “I thought we might have some fun together.” She smiled, a little shyly.
Women who weren’t famous were often like this when they came on to Kash. They probably thought they didn’t stand a chance, but what the hell, why not go for it. She admired that attitude.
“No strings. Just some fun,” Gillian added.
Before Kash had a chance to respond, the door to the restroom opened and Isabel stepped out.
When Isabel saw the way that Kash and Gillian were smiling at each other, once again she had that feeling of disquiet that had bothered her earlier. Shrug it off. It’s really none of your business, anyway.
Kash directed Gillian toward the same couch that Isabel had occupied two days earlier. “You can watch from over there.” Then she asked Isabel, “Ready?”
Isabel had changed her top and run a brush through her hair. She still wore no trace of makeup, however, not even lipstick. Her fair complexion would be washed out under the studio lights, Kash knew, but she was loath to ask her to apply any cosmetics she didn’t ordinarily wear. Besides, the more pale and washed out Isabel appeared in the “before” makeover pictures, the more dramatic the change in the photos she would take once the professional hair, makeup, and fashion people had spent a turn with her. Miranda loved starkly contrasting before-and-afters. I’ll have to adjust my lights.
“Yes. Where do you want me?” Isabel asked.
“Here, on the stool. Turn three-quarters face front, to start.” While Isabel got into position, Kash fixed the correct lens to her Hasselblad. She fought the urge to laugh when she realized Isabel seemed to be taking exceptional care to watch where she stepped.
“Okay, Isabel, try to relax. Have fun with this. Think pleasant thoughts, and try to give me some different poses and expressions.” Kash moved a couple of the lights to minimize the washout of Isabel’s pale skin. “Think about how much fun you’ll have on the trip. All the sights you’re going to see.”
It was in her viewfinder that Kash first began to appreciate the nuances of Isabel’s natural beauty. It wasn’t the obvious kind of head-turning presence that some Hollywood stars had onscreen. Nor the surgically enhanced, Botox-injected, or cosmetically garnered appeal that usually contributed to a model’s or actress’s popularity.
Most women she photographed came to her after spending hours in front of a mirror, hiding imperfections and accentuating all their desirable features until the overall effect at any distance was one of effortless near perfection.
But this one came as is. And Kash could see that she really didn’t need any help to be attractive. Isabel had been blessed with a pleasing oval face, and her lightly freckled skin was flawless. She had a slightly upturned nose, high cheekbones, and naturally rosy lips over that memorably imperfect smile. The blond eyebrows and long blond eyelashes that framed her deep blue eyes might seem unremarkable from several feet away, but up close, Kash could appreciate their near-translucent purity.
No, she was nothing at all like the women Kash normally photographed and bedded. This one was comfortable in her own skin and not obsessed with how she came off on camera. Nor with how quickly she could flirt with Kash and get her attention.
When she zoomed out to take full body shots of Isabel, she could also appreciate for the first time how fit she was. And how nervous, too, though she was hiding it fairly well. Kash was used to the obvious telltale signs that so many of her subjects exhibited: fidgeting, tics, shaking hands, inane chatter. Some new models licked their lips a lot, or bit the inside of their cheeks, totally unaware they were doing it.
Isabel was trying to appear at ease. She was gripping the sides of the stool she was sitting on so tightly her knuckles appeared bony, but it kept her hands and body from shaking. Her smile was forced, though, and her breathing was shallow. And she was avoiding eye contact with the camera.
Her frail vulnerability made Kash briefly regret having given her a hard time about their first meeting. There was something very appealing about her naïveté and her thinly disguised efforts to appear more nonchalant about all of this than she really was. But I bet this one comes with more strings attached than I want to deal with. I’ve been the way I am much too long to be able to give someone like her what she needs.
“Chill, Isabel,” she said. “You look like you’re on trial for your life.” Miranda wouldn’t be pleased with “before” photos that made it seem as though the contest winner was hating every minute of this experience.
“I’m smiling,” Isabel protested halfheartedly. She had always hated having her photograph taken, and this occasion was certainly no exception. She wondered how it was possible that she always seemed to be caught with her eyes closed, or mouth hanging open, or with some other pictorial defect that made her dreadfully unattractive.
“That’s the smile you use with cops when you get pulled over,” Gillian remarked from the peanut gallery.
“And what does she get pulled over for?” Kash asked, clicking off a half dozen shots as she moved around Isabel.
“Speeding, mostly,” Gillian volunteered. “And occasional problems with her truck, usually missing headlights or taillights.”
Isabel frowned and, to her annoyance, Kash rapidly took several more photos in quick succession, close in to her face.
“You drive a truck, and you have a lead foot, eh?” Kash finally paused and took her attention away from the viewfinder long enough to achieve eye contact with Isabel. “I wouldn’t have guessed that. There may be hope for you yet.”
That remark turned the frown into a smile long enough for her to get a few usable shots.
Chapter Three
“How are we ever going to see everything in four days?” Isabel already had written an impressive list of must-see monuments, museums, and other attractions on the small notebook in front of her, and she wasn’t even halfway through the Paris travel guide. “How much longer before we land?”
“Ten minutes less than the last time you asked,” Gillian whispered. Everyone around them in business class was trying to sleep. “And if you ask me again soon, I’m going to have to drug you.”
They’d bought guidebooks at an airport bookstore, and Gillian was currently occupied with the others, busily marking pages about lesbian clubs and bars. “By the way, don’t forget you promised I can plan what we do at night.”
“Unless Kash wants to do night photo shoots,” Isabel reminded her. “I imagine she’ll want pictures of the Eiffel Tower lit up and the Champs Elysées, don’t you?”
“You’d think so. Has she given you any idea how this is going to work? I mean, is she going to follow us around and take pictures?” Gillian laid down the Rome guidebook and flipped through the one on Cairo. “I sure w
ouldn’t mind that, her hanging with us. Give me a chance to get to know her better.”
That feeling of odd unease came over Isabel again. I have no right to object if the two of them get together. Why is this bothering me?
“Or do you suppose it’s going to be the other way around,” Gillian wondered. “We get a lot of time to ourselves and meet up with her when and where she wants to take photos?”
Isabel shrugged. “No idea. But she probably has better things to do than stick with us when she doesn’t have to.” She half stood so she could see across the cabin to where Kash had moved. All the lights in that area were out. “Can’t ask her now—I bet she’s asleep.”
“No wonder, considering you bored her during half of our flight by talking about every work of art in every museum you plan to visit in Paris. You’re such a plan-every-minute, I-hate-surprises kind of person.”
“Hey, I can be spontaneous.”
Gillian laughed. “Since when?”
“Since always. You sound like I’m no fun at all!”
“Oh, you know that’s not true,” Gillian said. “If you weren’t a blast to be around, I wouldn’t be spending most of my free time with you. I’m only saying you plan everything way too much.”
“We need some planning on this trip or we won’t get to see everything we want to.”
“Balance, Izzy. Balance.” Gillian yawned and turned off her light. “You need to be more open to the unexpected—the cute French dyke who asks you to dance, or the hot Italian chick who catches your eye. Do you some good to let the evening take you where it wants to once in a while.”
“Just because we’re going overseas doesn’t mean I’m suddenly going to behave like a nymphomaniac.”
“I’m only saying you might be missing more than you realize.” Gillian leaned her seat back and spread a blanket over herself. “There’s a lot to be said for letting your body have what it wants and needs without attaching some heavy emotional baggage to it all. Think about it?”
Isabel did think about it, long after Gillian fell asleep. A part of her was indeed tempted to forgo her usual reservations about casual sex during this trip. The idea of merely having some fun and letting her body take over seemed very liberating, especially since she was in the midst of a rather long drought, sex-wise, and masturbation wasn’t all that satisfying.
What’s the harm, really? Other women do it all the time and don’t think twice. Like Kash and Gillian. She wondered whether her long-held views on sex and intimacy were too old-fashioned and unrealistic. You wait, you get to know them first, because you’ve always wanted it to be about more than mere quick physical gratification. Even though, in the end, that’s about all it boils down to anyway. You always want it to be more, but it rarely is. At least not for long.
Closing her eyes, she imagined giving in to Gillian’s advice and pictured herself in a darkened nightclub in Paris, letting a stranger touch her and kiss her. Or even better, imagining Kash doing that. Her heart picked up speed, and a warm flush spread through her body. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am missing out.
*
“Our driver will meet us out front,” Kash told Isabel and Gillian as they waited for their luggage at Orly. The sun had barely cleared the horizon. It colored the eastern sky with an orange glow. “I thought I’d let you have today to explore. We can wait until tomorrow to take photos.”
“You’re not coming with us?” Gillian frowned. “Gee, it would sure be a lot more fun with someone who knows the city. I mean, you’ve been here a lot, right?”
Kash had to smile at Gillian’s diplomacy. If she knew about her familiarity with Paris, she had learned about it from the lengthy tabloid accounts about her previous misadventures here. “Many times. Paris doesn’t hold any secrets for me, and I have some work. It’s better for you to do your own thing.”
After they collected their bags, they made their way to customs and got in line to have their passports stamped.
“So…you told me you’re going to shoot pictures tomorrow…” Isabel retrieved the list of Paris attractions she’d compiled during their flight. “Any idea how long that will take? I mean, I’d like to be able to kind of plan my time—”
“That’s an understatement,” Gillian volunteered, rolling her eyes.
“Hush, you.” Isabel swatted her lightly on the arm.
“Well, we get four days at each location,” Kash said. “The first day you can pretty much always plan to have to yourself. I’ll be scouting locations. We’ll do the magazine photos generally on the second or third day. But weather will be a huge factor since almost all the shoots will be outdoors, so we have to be flexible. Depending on the number of setups, it’ll probably take six to eight hours in each city. Oh—and your makeover has been scheduled for your second full day in Rome. That’ll take six hours at least. Hair. Makeup. Trying on clothes.”
“So with your photo day…that leaves me with only two days there to myself.” Isabel frowned as she dug through her bag for her must-see-in-Rome list. It was nearly as long as her Paris one.
Kash glanced over Isabel’s shoulder at the lists. “That’s quite a lot to cram in. You might want to trim those to the sights you want to see most, or you’ll burn yourself out before this trip is half over.”
“Oh, I have lots and lots of energy,” Isabel said.
Usually when women volunteered that information, Kash took it as welcome news. With Isabel, however, it sounded vaguely foreboding.
“Ladies. Next, please.” A portly customs agent waved Isabel forward impatiently.
*
Their driver was a stubble-bearded, squat local named Alain, a serious young man currently enrolled at Speos, the Paris Photographic Institute. Kash had no idea how Miranda had selected him, but he spoke perfect English, seemed eminently capable, and fawned over her from the start. He’d be ideal. Kash hoped that Miranda had managed to do as well in their other stops.
They were barely underway before Isabel began peppering Alain with questions.
She pulled out her handwritten Paris itinerary and asked him how much time she should allow for each stop, and travel time, interrupting herself to inquire about some building they were passing. She also sought his advice on places to eat and foods to try, and penciled those in on her list.
But while Isabel talked virtually nonstop through the morning rush hour all the way to the hotel, Kash noticed that Gillian had one eye on the scenery and the other on her. She was obviously waiting for a reply to her sexual proposition, but wasn’t going to push it.
Why shouldn’t I? First off, it could be problematic if Gillian secretly harbored illusions about anything more than a one-night stand. It wasn’t like she could avoid her afterward. And she still didn’t know what the score was between Isabel and Gillian. If a pretty woman was making herself available, that didn’t usually matter. But she was going to see a lot of Isabel, and things could get awkward if these two were involved. No. Better to wait.
“Voilà,” Alain announced with a flourish as they pulled up in front of the historic Hotel Napoleon, a turn-of-the century building a breath away from the Champs Elysées.
“We’re staying here?” Isabel took in the elegantly detailed façade with its burgundy awnings, ornate iron balconies, and window boxes filled with red geraniums. The massive glass doors at the entrance were flanked by half a dozen spruce trees, meticulously groomed into perfect cones and each in its own planter.
“Prepare to be pampered,” Kash informed them. “Alain, if you’d deal with the luggage and then wait for the ladies, please? I won’t need you until tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course, at your service,” he replied.
“You sure?” Isabel asked. “Thanks.”
Once inside, Isabel tried not to seem the gawking tourist, but it was hard not to stare at the opulence of the art-deco hotel. She had seemingly stepped back in time, into some French aristocrat’s mansion. The polished marble of the entry gave way to exceptional antique rugs, an
d the walls were decorated with Napoleonic artwork in ornate gilded frames. Directoire-style furniture—upholstered wing chairs and couches in patterns dating back two centuries—was artfully arranged into small groups throughout the expansive lobby and reception area.
“Sure beats the hell out of any place I’ve ever stayed,” Gillian said in a low voice.
“I can’t wait to see our room,” Isabel agreed.
“Welcome to the Hotel Napoleon, ladies.” The concierge intercepted them before they reached the front desk. Though he addressed them all, his attention was fully on Kash. “How wonderful to have you stay with us again, Miss Kashnikova.”
“Nice to see you again, Claude,” Kash responded.
“We’ve upgraded you to the Errol Flynn Suite, of course, and your friends are in the Josephine Suite. If you’ll follow me?”
As they started toward the elevators, two young bellhops arrived to take charge of their hand luggage, while a third rolled a brass cart out for their larger bags.
“That’s very nice of you to put me in the Flynn Suite, Claude,” Kash said as they started the ride up. “But I’d like you to switch that, if you would, and put these ladies in there.”
“My pleasure, Miss Kashnikova. As you wish.”
Kash felt a hand on her shoulder. Isabel’s. She half turned to acknowledge her but didn’t speak.
“Nice of you to give us your room.”
Shrugging, she faced forward again, a little embarrassed. She’d surprised herself with the impulsive gesture. She definitely wasn’t the magnanimous type, and the Flynn had the choice view. The last time she stayed here, she had spent hours on its balcony. But she’d become jaded by such opulence, and she rather liked the awestruck expression she’d seen on Isabel’s face as they walked through the lobby. She knew the luxury of the Flynn Suite would thrill Isabel in a way that had been lost to her a long time ago.
