by Nora Roberts
size.”
He felt weird all over again. “Posters.”
“Brick-and-mortar bookstores, adult learning centers, college dorms, even some libraries. You’ve given me some damn good work today, Xander. I’m going to tell Kevin it’s a go on the steam shower.”
“You’re putting in a steam shower.”
“I am now.” Nodding, nodding, she scrolled through the shots on her computer. “Yes, I am now. I’d talked myself out of it, but when I get this much good work on a Sunday? I’m steaming.”
He pointed at her. “I earned time in that.”
“You definitely did.”
She didn’t resist when he pulled her onto his lap, but did hesitate when he started to take the camera.
“I’m not going to bounce it off the floor. It’s got weight,” he commented.
“Just over nine pounds. I’m mostly going to use the tripod with it, and it’s worth the weight. It’s tough and reliable, and you can see just how sharp.”
“And this deal on the back makes it shoot digital?”
Nodding, she removed it. “Excellent system—no pins to catch on anything, and it has its own integrated software. It’s not something I’m going to take on a hike, but for what I wanted here, and for what you want with the band, it’s the machine.”
He had to admit he’d like to play with it himself, just to see how the mechanics worked. But he didn’t see that happening, any more than he’d let her under the hood of his GTO.
“I use my phone if I take a picture.”
“Very decent cameras on phones today. I’ve taken some nice shots I’ve been able to manipulate and sell. And now, I wouldn’t mind a half a glass of that wine while I break this down and we set up in the garage.”
“I can take care of that. I’ve already got most of a beer.”
“Thanks.” She hesitated again, then kissed him. “Thanks,” she repeated.
“No problem.”
She rose, went over to carefully replace her camera in its case. And as he rose to get her wine, he saw her gaze shift back to the books.
“So, it’s a classic therefore a clichéd question, but have you read all of these?”
“Everything out here, yeah. There’s some in my office, in the bedroom I haven’t gotten to yet.”
She pulled off casual, he thought, compacting her tripod, sliding it into its soft case.
“Mostly fiction, right? But you’ve got some nonfiction mixed in. Biographies, histories, books on cars—surprise—true crime.”
He could pull off casual, too. “Nonfiction, written well, is a story.”
“I tend to only read nonfiction that’s work related. How do you know if something based on true is written true?”
“I guess you don’t.”
“Sometimes it must be perception or personal agenda, or just enhancing or adjusting for creative effect. Like a photograph. I take an image that’s real, but I can manipulate it, change tones, enhance or soften or crop out to meet my own agenda.”
He brought the wine to her. Fifty-fifty, he’d thought. She’d done the work she’d come to do on the first fifty. Now, he could see, she’d tied herself up in the second half.
“I’d say the person in the original image knows what’s true and what’s manipulated.”
“That’s the thing about words and images.” She took a slow sip of wine. “Once the words are on the page, the image printed, it becomes what’s true.”
She turned away then, set her glass aside to break down her lighting. “They’re not so different, words and pictures. Both freeze moments, both stay with you long after the moment’s over.”
“Naomi.”
He didn’t have a clear idea what to say, how to say it, and decided it would be nothing as the sound of an old truck with a rusted-out muffler boomed outside.
“That’ll be Lelo and his muffler from hell.”
“If he had a friend who was a mechanic, he could get that fixed.”
“I’ll have to suggest that. For the millionth time. At least he can help us haul all this down.”
—
She liked Lelo—and it generally took her longer to like. And Tag loved him at first sight. Man and dog were all over each other in an instant, like long-lost friends (possibly brothers) thrilled with the reunion.
“That’s a good dog. That’s some good dog.” Crouched, Lelo rubbed Tag all over and got licked lovingly in the face with every stroke. “I heard you found him out of gas on the side of the road.”
“That’s right.”
“Not out of gas now, are you, boy? Not out of gas now.”
Tag rolled over, exposing his belly. His hind leg pumped like a piston in time with the rubbing.
Lelo had straggly hair halfway to his shoulders the color of a Kansas cornfield. He came in about an inch shorter than Naomi with a skinny build and ropey muscles set off in a tie-dyed T-shirt and jeans frayed at the knees and the hems. An emerald green fire-breathing dragon rode sinuously up his right forearm.
“How are you doing up there on the bluff?”
“I like it.” Naomi set up her lights as she considered ideas and options for the shoot.
“Needs help with the landscaping,” Xander said as he brought in—as ordered—his guitars, both his ax and his old acoustic.
“Oh yeah. They sure let that place go. Never did have much what you’d call creativity with the landscaping. And Dikes never gave a shit.”
“Loo’s ex,” Xander explained.
“Stayed stoned most of the time. I should know since I got stoned with him. I don’t do that so much anymore,” he said to Naomi. “I could take a look up there, if you want. Give you some ideas.”
“I could probably use the ideas.”
“No charge for thinking. Here comes Dave and Trilby.”
Dave the drummer, Naomi remembered. Broad shoulders, compact build, brown hair worn in a kind of modified Caesar. Jeans, a faded Aerosmith T-shirt, banged-up brown hiking boots. Trilby—keyboards—made a striking contrast. Smooth dark skin, wide dark eyes, a head full of dreads. Cargo pants and a red tee on a gym-ripped body.
They hauled in their equipment while Xander called out introductions. It helped that everyone had full hands and tasks. She always had a problem meeting so many people at once.
Of course the dog eased any awkwardness, happily roaming from one to another after he’d sniffed enough to reassure himself they were okay.
“I took a look at your website,” Dave said to Naomi as he set up his drums. “Slick. I’m in charge of the band’s. Not so slick. Techwise, it rocks—that’s what I do—but the look doesn’t hit it hard.”
Since she’d taken the time to view it herself, she couldn’t disagree. “It’s really thorough, and easy to navigate.”
He grinned. “Which is saying yeah, the look blows. I was wondering if we could get some shots today I could use there, juice it up.”
“I’ve got some ideas.”
“Good, because in that area I’m fresh out. My wife said maybe we should go more retro.”
“You’re married?”
“Eight years, two kids.”
She couldn’t say why she’d assumed he, and the rest of the band, would be single.
At the serious engine roar, Dave adjusted the angle of his snare. “That’ll be Ky. Lead guitar,” Dave added, as she watched the big, black, tricked-out Harley roar up.
Tall, dark, and dangerous, she thought. You couldn’t say handsome, not with the narrow face, the scruffy goatee, the hawkish nose and just overly generous mouth.
But he made you look.
He aimed eyes as dark as his hair at Naomi. “Hi there, Slugger.”
Xander glanced over from setting up the speakers. “Naomi, Ky.”
“Yeah, I saw you put Marla on her knees the other night. She’d earned it.”
“Nobody’s seen her for a couple days,” Lelo said.
“Yeah, I just heard about that.” With a kind of practiced shrug, K
y swung his guitar case off his back. “Hooked up with somebody at the bar. Wouldn’t be the first time. You had a lost weekend with her back when, didn’t you, Lelo?”
“A half a weekend, in a weak moment.”
“We all have ’em. Got beer, Keaton?”
“Cooler, outside the bay.”
He gave Naomi a lazy smile. “Want one, Rocky?”
“No, thanks.”
“Water and soft stuff in there, too.”
“I’d take a water.”
She put her hands on her hips, looked around.
Yeah, she had ideas.
“I’m going to take some basics, just to warm everybody up, test the waters. You’re set up like you are onstage, so go ahead, play something.”
She pulled out her Nikon, changed the lens, checked her light meter as they got in position, decided what to play.
“Dave’s got his Aerosmith on, so let’s go there,” Xander suggested.
“Don’t look at me unless I tell you to,” Naomi ordered, and began to shoot.
Standard, she thought. Good, solid, but standard. She got some decent head shots, some wide angles, some where she let the motion blur.
When the last chord crashed down, she lowered the camera.
“Okay. Now, we’re not doing any of that. I need to see the wardrobe options. Lelo, I want to stick with what you’ve got on, but let’s see what else there is.”
Men, she thought as she pawed through the choices, should learn how to be more creative.
“I bet you’ve got more stuff in your trucks, your trunks.”
Lelo came up with an old, oversized army jacket. She tossed it at Dave. “You.”
“Seriously?”
“Trust me.” She pulled out a white T-shirt. “You’ve had this awhile, right?” she asked Xander.
“Yeah.”
“Okay then.” She took it over to a grease stain, dropped it, rubbed it in with her foot. “Better,” she decided when she picked it up. “Better yet, smear some motor oil on it.”
“You want me to smear oil on the shirt.”
“Yeah, like you got some on your hand, swiped your hand over the shirt.” She demonstrated. “Do that, put it on. Trilby, is that red T-shirt new?”
“Kind of.”
“Then I’m sorry, but I need to rip it.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re built, and I want to see some skin and muscle.”
Lelo let out a hoot.
“Across the pecs, okay? Xander, I need some chain—not too heavy.”
“Christ,” he muttered as he ruined a perfectly good T-shirt.
“Chains for me?” Ky grinned at her. “You want to chain me up, Legs?”
“That’s what women will wonder when they look at the picture.” She gave him a mirror of his cocky grin. “Stud.”
“What kind of picture is this?” Trilby asked, holding his red shirt.
“Hot, sexy, rock-and-roll. If you don’t like it, we can go with the basics I already shot, and more along those lines. But let’s try this. I want that compressor over here, and that grease-gun thing. I want some old tires piled up, right about there. You wouldn’t happen to have a broken windshield.”
Xander tugged the stained and dirty shirt over his head. “I replaced one last week, haven’t taken it to the junkyard yet.”
“Perfect. Bonus round. Haul it in here.”
“I don’t get this,” Dave muttered, and sniffed at the sleeve of the army jacket.
“I do.” Lelo rubbed Tag, grinned at her. “Open it up, guys. We’re the Wreckers, right? We’re a fucking garage band. We’re in a garage. Let’s use it.”
“Now you’re talking. I want some tools.” Lips curved, eyes focused, Naomi nodded. “Big, man-sized tools.”
—
Xander didn’t want to think about how long it would take to put everything back where it belonged. The bay turned into a jumble of car parts, tools, and musical instruments.
He thought he had fairly good vision, but it seemed too art house, over the top, and out of the box.
And he was sitting on a freaking air compressor, with his beloved Strat in one hand and a cordless drill in the other. Ky wore chains bandolerostyle, and Dave looked baffled in Lelo’s grandfather’s ancient army jacket. She’d had Trilby lay his keyboard against a stack of tires.
The only person, besides Naomi, who seemed to think it was a fine idea was Lelo, sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor, with his bass in his lap, a grease gun held like a rifle.
She had their own music banging out on playback, and the fancy camera on a tripod. She took some shots, shook her head.
No one spoke as she pulled a bandanna out of the pile of clothes she’d rejected, dipped it into the can of motor oil, then walked to Dave.
“Come on, really?”
“Sorry. You’re just too clean-cut.” She dabbed and smeared some oil on his cheek.
She stepped back, angled her head.
“Lelo, lose the shoes. Just toss them to the side—beside you, a little in front. I need a hubcap.”
“I got one in the bed of my truck.”
When Lelo started to rise, she motioned him down. “I’ll get it.”
Dave turned to Xander when she went out. “What the hell have you gotten us into?”
“I have no idea.”
“She’s hot.” Lelo lifted his shoulders. “Just saying. If you hadn’t seen her first, Xan, I’d make some major moves.”
“I just bought this shirt.” Trilby looked down at the tears. “I only washed it once.”
“Let her do what she does,” Ky suggested. “Xander’s bound to get lucky and owe us.”
“He already got lucky,” Naomi said. “You had two.” She arranged the hubcaps, stepped back. “Tag! Those aren’t yours.”
He’d nearly reached the discarded shoes, and now slunk back again.
“For now, everybody look straight at the camera. Badasses, give me some badass. Come on, let’s see you steam up the lens.”
She should’ve gotten a few beers in them first, she thought.
Still, it worked. The light, the setup, the arrangement worked.
She stepped to the side. “See me?”
“You’re right there,” Xander pointed out.
“So everybody sees me. Hold that thought.” She went behind the camera, looked through the lens. “Imagine me naked.”
And there we go.
