by Ann Lister
“You always this intense?” he asked.
Sydney raised her chin and glared at him. “I take my job very seriously.”
“I can see that.”
“Are we done here for today?” she asked.
“I guess we are,” he said.
“Then I'll see you tomorrow,” Sydney said, and walked toward the exit.
Simon came up beside Ben and together they watched Sydney leave the building.
“I see the Ice Princess left,” Simon said.
“You talked to her?”
“Five minutes of my life I'll never get back,” Simon said. “And just think, we have eight long months of that to look forward to - every damn day.”
“It won't be that bad,” Ben said with a grin.
“Fine. You deal with her.”
“I'll be happy to,” Ben said.
Simon glanced at his brother. “Oh, don't tell me you like her?”
“What's not to like?”
“She's a cold bitch!”
“That's not the vibe I was getting.”
“The only thing you'll get from her is frostbite.”
“Don't think so.”
“Care to make a little wager?” Simon asked. “Five grand says you can't get her into bed before the tour ends.”
Ben laughed. “You're on.”
CHAPTER TWO
Sydney returned to her hotel room and flopped onto the king-sized bed. The details of her meeting with Ben and Simon continued to rattle around inside her head. In the few brief minutes she had talked with Simon he had managed to leave a sour taste in her mouth and Ben hadn't done much better.
In the past seven years, Carol had done an amazing job of getting her work with top notch bands and keeping her safe on the road. Prosperous work was the first promise Carol had made to her and she never failed to deliver.
Sydney smiled at the memory of meeting Carol for the first time.
“Sydney Willows,” Carol said, and extended her hand.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Sydney said.
Carol Lambert had shoulder-length, gray-white hair and a slender frame. Her clothing was obviously high-end designer that Sydney suspected was fresh from the runways of Milan. She guessed Carol was in her early-fifties, even though the color of her hair suggested otherwise.
“Please, have a seat,” Carol said, directing Sydney into her office. “Forgive the mess,” Carol said. She lifted a pile of magazines from the chair and offered the seat to Sydney. “I'm a task master in business, but a pack-rat by nature.”
Sydney sat down and set her portfolio in her lap. Her eyes darted around the room. Carol's office was in the corner of an old brownstone building. Over-sized windows occupied two walls and flooded the room with natural light. A third wall constructed of brick was covered in photographs of every size and medium.
“Dermott Lane,” Sydney said.
Carol smiled at Sydney's visual recognition. “He's one of my clients, as is Casey Madden, Leslie Pierce and so on.”
Sydney sighed in awe.
“And, soon I hope to have your work hanging up there,” Carol said.
“I'd love the opportunity,” Sydney said.
Carol studied Sydney's face. “How tall are you?”
“Five-eight, five-nine. I'm not sure. Why?”
“I work with people with all types of talent; actors, photographers like you, and also models. If I didn't already know your skills were with using a camera, I would swear you were here looking for modeling work. Have you ever done any modeling?”
Sydney felt her face flush and ran her fingers through her blond hair untangling the ends. “I've never been comfortable in front of the camera,” she said.
“Well, if you think you'd like to try working on the other side of the lens, you let me know,” Carol said. “I'm certain I could get you some work.”
Sydney leaned forward and attempted to hand her portfolio to Carol.
“I've already seen many samples of your work, Sydney, especially your black and white compositions. The images are breathtaking.”
Sydney passed a look of confusion at Carol. “How is that possible?”
“Hilda and I go way back,” Carol said. “She speaks very highly of your talent and has shared some of your work with me. For the last six months, I've been patiently waiting for the day your contract ended with her so I could sign you.” Carol pulled a file from a desk drawer and opened it.
“I've taken the liberty of drawing up a contract for your approval,” Carol said, and slid the document across the desk at Sydney. “It's a standard photographer's contract but I think you'll agree my fees are very reasonable.”
Sydney quickly read through the numbers on the page. She had no idea what was reasonable because she hadn't worked for anyone except for Hilda. Now she was sitting across a desk from one of New York City's biggest agents and feeling very overwhelmed.
“Have your lawyer take a look at it,” Carol said. “I'm flexible with the terms - to a point.”
A lawyer? Sydney didn't have a lawyer or much more in the way of practical business experience. She knew aperture settings on a camera, hot and cold spots in lighting, and thousands of other technical skills needed to frame and shoot a photograph, but that was where her knowledge of the business ended.
“I'm an artist, so I think you know I'm out of my element here,” Sydney said.
“And I specialize in hiring good artists,” Carol said. “I'll bottom line it for you, Sydney. I can have you working within the week and from then on, the sky's the limit. No more shooting B bands for you.”
“That's hard to imagine,” Sydney said.
Carol leaned forward in her chair. “I'm in the final stages of signing contracts with several big tours for next year. And I'm talking B-I-G. If we can get you signed this week, I can guarantee you'll be involved with some of these tours.”
“Do you need an answer now?” Sydney asked.
“Are you prepared to give me one?” Carol asked.
“I'd be crazy to say no.”
“Yes you would,” Carol said. “Sign with me and I'll keep you as busy as you want.” Carol tapped a pen on her desk. “I think you and I are going to make a lot of money together, Sydney. I hope you like money.”
Sydney turned over on top of the bed quilt and glanced at the bedside alarm clock. It was just after seven at night in Chicago. Sydney knew Carol would most likely still be working in her NYC office. She reached for her phone and dialed Carol's number.
“What the hell did you get me into this time, Carol?”
“Care to elaborate?”
“I barely have two hours into this job and the lead singer is already pushing for my phone number.”
“Remind me, which one is the lead singer?” Carol asked.
“His name is Ben Gallo.”
“Ben's harmless,” Carol said.
“And you know this for fact?”
“I made my usual background phone calls before I presented you with the job offer. Far as I've been told, Ben is safe. It's the other brother you need to watch.”
“Simon?”
“Simon is bad news, but I was assured by their management, your contact with him will be minimal, at best.”
“I hope you're right about Ben,” Sydney sighed.
“Why? Do you think he's going to be a problem?”
“At this point he seems nice enough.” Sydney said, and sighed heavily.
“And, that's the real problem, isn't it, Syd? You prefer it when they treat you like shit.”
“I just wish I could come in and do a job without being hassled or noticed,” Sydney said.
Carol laughed heartily. “Then, you better talk to a plastic surgeon about having the ‘pretty’ removed from your face.”
“Very funny, Carol!”
“Give it a few days and if you still think this project is going to be too much, I'll pull the plug and bring you home.”
Sydney completed the two Chicago
shows without incident, capturing every angle of all the scheduled press events and concerts with Reckless. Ben was polite to her and kept a safe distance, allowing Sydney to do her job.
After the second show, they were scheduled to board two tour buses and travel through the night to the next stop. It was arranged for Sydney to be on Ben's bus, along with his assistant. The remaining band members were supposed to be on the second bus. In the end, everyone except for Simon ended up on Ben's bus, along with one female groupie. Simon occupied the second bus with two girls from the Chicago shows.
The buses had been custom-made specifically for the tour. A small room at the front of Ben's bus would be used as an office for any on-site interviews. The office area fed into a much larger living room. On one side of the living room was an enormous leather, horse-shoe shaped couch, which wrapped around a coffee table. The opposite side had a smaller couch and two swivel chairs and another table. The whole bus was outfitted with state-of-the-art electronics - everything from high-tech televisions to a studio-quality sound system. Beyond that room was a small galley kitchen. A hallway from the kitchen led past two bunk beds that were built into the outside wall and further back, was a master bedroom suite with a full bathroom.
Sydney and Laura occupied the front office area and sat in the plush swivel chairs. The rest of the guys piled into the living room area with the lone female groupie. Sydney glanced through the open door into the living room.
“I thought you said the bass player was married,” Sydney said.
“He is,” Laura said.
“I'm sure his wife would love to know what he's doing right now,” Sydney said. “Maybe I should take a snapshot of that for posterity.”
Laura leaned forward in her chair and saw the groupie's head bobbing in the lap of the bass player. “They're not usually like that, Syd, but it's the beginning of the tour and they're blowing off steam,” Laura said.
“How nice for them.”
Sydney opened up her laptop computer and began to work.
“Hey, Syd!” Ben called from the living room. “Come talk to me.”
“Thanks, but I'll take a pass,” Sydney said. She looked at Laura and shook her head.
“He likes you, Syd,” Laura said.
“I don't think so.”
“Seriously, he does. I know his moods,” Laura said. “Half the time I know what he's going to say before the words spill from his mouth.”
“It doesn't matter if Ben likes me or not,” Sydney said. “I'm here to work.”
Laura tucked her feet beneath her in the chair. “He really is a nice guy, you know.”
“If he's so wonderful, why aren't you back there with him?”
Laura laughed. “If he were interested, I might be, but he's not interested. Besides, I have a boyfriend.”
“You have time for a boyfriend?”
“I've been seeing Mike for about a year.”
“Ben's body guard?”
“I don't think Ben knows, so please don't say anything,” Laura whispered.
“Syd, come on! Talk to me,” Ben hollered again.
“I said, no thank you!”
“He's not going to stop yelling until you talk to him,” Laura laughed. “Go on, Syd - he doesn't bite.”
“Not unless you want me to,” Ben said. His body filled the open doorway; his hands pushed into the front pockets of his jeans.
Sydney met his gaze and blushed hotly. “I have no intention of being witness to a live sex show.”
Ben glanced over his shoulder toward the living room. “The shows over, Syd,” he said. “They've all gone to bed and I'm alone.”
“I'm sure you can find something to occupy yourself,” Sydney said.
“I'd like to discuss next weeks schedule.”
“I've got work to do,” Sydney said, and opened up a notebook.
“I told you, Syd, he won't give up,” Laura said.
“You can work while we talk,” Ben said.
Sydney glanced at Ben and exhaled loudly. “Fine!” she said, and gathered her computer, a camera and a note pad, then attempted to squeeze past Ben in the doorway. Fully clothed, their bodies scraped together.
Ben smiled down at her and did nothing to make her passage into the room any easier. He watched her take a seat on the small couch and quickly spread her things across the leather upholstery. Once she was settled, he shut the door for privacy, then crossed the room and stretched out on the horse-shoe shaped couch. He set his guitar across his lap and softly began to strum random cords.
Sydney eyed him with suspicion.
“What do you think of our music, Syd?”
“I don't have an opinion either way.”
“You've been with us for two shows now, certainly you've heard enough material to have an opinion,” he said. “If you don't like our music, just say so. You won't hurt my feelings.”
“I don't listen to the music when I'm working the shows,” Sydney said.
“Do you wear ear plugs?”
“No.”
“I'm not following,” he said.
“You're really not interested in how I work, Ben.”
“Actually, I am. I'd love to know the secret formula you use to capture your photographs.”
Sydney dropped her gaze to her lap top. “There is no secret formula. I work purely on instinct. I feel the music - the vibrations, really, then react to the lights and anticipate the shot. It's that simple.”
“Easy for you, but I'm guessing there is a lot more to it than that.”
Sydney reached for her camera, lifted it to her eye, focused quickly and snapped off a few shots of Ben on the couch.
“What was it like to work with Hilda Friedman?” Ben asked, his eyes blinking to recover from the camera flashes.
“How did you know about that?” Sydney asked.
“I did my homework and read the bio your agent sent over to our offices.”
“Do you know Hilda?”
“I know of her, but we've never met. In her day, she was well-known in the business - as you are now,” he said. “Plus, photography has been a hobby of mine for years.”
“I bet,” Sydney said.
“I'm sure you've heard of Charlie Nichols.”
“Of course. He designs photography studios and dark rooms,” Sydney said.
“I had him design and install the dark room I have at my house,” Ben said.
“Do you actually use it or is it just for show?” Sydney asked.
Ben stared at her. The hostile tone in her voice was hard to miss.
“I'm learning,” he said, and switched on a small audio recorder he had sitting beside him on the couch.
“Are you going to record our conversation?” she asked.
“I'm recording any sparks of genius that may come through my fingers. Do you have an issue with me recording?”
Sydney shook her head and watched him quietly for a few minutes. Then, she tucked her feet beneath her, removed her eye glasses, and set them on the couch.
“You look better without the glasses,” Ben said.
Sydney ignored his comment. She dropped her head to the back of the couch and closed her eyes to rest. It wasn't until the sound of a car horn on the highway woke her, that she realized she had been sleeping. She looked across the bus and saw Ben, still reclined on the other couch, partially propped up with pillows. He was sound asleep, the guitar resting at his side. She wondered how many times in his life he had fallen asleep with a guitar in his grip, then went back to work.
She took the memory stick from her digital camera and inserted it into her lap top computer. She opened up the photo file in the computer and started sorting through the images she had taken at the Chicago shows. As she was scanning the proofs, she noticed two shots that looked unfamiliar to her. She clicked a few buttons and filled the screen with the images in question. The two photographs were of her, curled on the couch sleeping.
Anger flooded her. She reached for a pillow from the cou
ch and tossed it across the bus at Ben. The pillow hit him in the chest and woke him.
“What the fuck!” he said, and jackknifed into a sitting position.
“You took pictures of me sleeping?” she asked. Irritation made her voice pitch higher.
“Yeah, I did,” he said rubbing his eyes. “For once, you actually looked relaxed, and if I didn't know better, I'd swear you had a smile on your face.” Ben swung his legs to the floor and looked at her. “Let me guess. You're mad I took the shots.”
“I'm upset you touched my camera!”
“I have one just like it,” he said.
“I don't give a shit! I don't like people touching my equipment.”
“Lighten up, Syd. You are way too serious,” he said. “And if you don't want anyone touching your shit, don't leave it out.”
“It's creepy to think you were slinking around while I was sleeping,” she said softly.
“Creepy?” A scowl twisted his facial features. “It was a nice shot, Syd. The lighting on your face was perfect.”
He shifted on the couch. “I'm sorry I pissed you off. I seem to do that a lot, don't I?” he laughed. “How about I promise not to take any more photographs of you, or touch your equipment again, and we call a truce?”
Sydney tipped her head back against the couch and ignored him.
“If you're still tired, why don't you go lay down on my bed? If you shut the door, no one will bother you,” Ben said.
“I don't think so,” Sydney said, and crossed her arms over her chest.
“What the hell is your problem?” he asked. “Do you act this way to everyone attempting to be nice to you?”
“Shut up, Ben.”
He quickly stood up from the couch and approached her. “Fine! If you don't want to use my bed - I will!”
A few seconds later, the bedroom door slammed shut. She collected her things and went back to the front office area of the bus to sit with Laura.
“Was that Ben's door I heard?” Laura asked.
“If I'm lucky, his hand was caught in it when it shut.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing worth discussing,” Sydney said.
Laura made a tsk sound with her mouth and went back to reading.
