“Yep,” Gary nods, looking almost as excited as I am. “We always send them an invitation, but they’ve never come outbefore.”
“This list islouco,” I say outloud.
Aaron better be ready to get his ass in gear, because there is no way we’re screwing this up, I add tomyself.
* * *
“Niceof you to show up this time,” Iannounce.
Aaron walks up to me outside the studio where our photo shoot is about to happen. He tugs his beanie back a bit and then leans against the wall besideme.
“Sorry about that, Peaches.” I narrow me eyes at him and he pushes off the wall, trying to look more sincere. “No really, I am. I should have been inclass.”
“Yes,” I respond, my tone clipped, “you should have. Are you even going to give me anexcuse?”
“I was doing...a thing,” hesupplies.
“A thing,” I echo, knowing full well that ‘thing’ is probably code for ‘somegirl.’
“Yeah, just...a thing,” he repeats, looking off into the distance for a moment. “But I remembered to get the key fortoday!”
He pulls out the key for thestudio.
“Way to go,” I tell him, sarcasm now totally saturating my words. “You did the one simple job I gave you.Parabéns.”
“I don’t know what that means,” he responds, “but I’m assuming you’re pretty mad atme?”
I hold out my hand for the key and he drops it into my palm. “I’m just wondering if this project actually means as much to you as it does to me,” I say, as I turn the lock and we step into thestudio.
“I don’t think this project means as much toanyoneas it does to you. You’re like an advertising Amazon. I’m surprised you don’t carry a spear.” I shoot him a look as sharp as any spear and he at least has enough sense to look wary. “But really, I’m sorry. Yesterday was the, uh, anniversary of this...thing, if that makes you any less unimpressed withme.”
“Fine, Mister Mystery. Let’s move on,” I call, already moving away from him to check out the hugestudio.
The early evening sun shines through panelled warehouse windows, illuminating exposed brick walls that have been painted over in white. The floor is rough, unfinished concrete, and thick white columns that match the walls are dotted around the room. There are a few pieces of furniture in the same eggshell tone scattered throughout the scene, there to be used as props. I feel like I’ve stepped into some kind of rustic-inspired Anthropolgiecommercial.
One end of the space has been set up with a traditional photography backdrop, a dozen pieces of high tech looking lighting equipment surrounding the screen, but we’re going to shoot by the windows and use the raw, almost vintage aesthetic of the room. The sun’s making its way towards the golden hour, the window of time during which we’ll get the soft, bronze glow we’re aimingfor.
“I’ve never been in this studio,” I say, forgetting all about how annoyed I’m supposed to be with Aaron as my footsteps echo around us. “I kind of want to livehere.”
I glance over at him and he seems even more enthralled than I am, moving around to see the light from different angles and reverently examining the cameragear.
“Thinking about taking up photography?” I ask, watching the way he prowls around the reflector umbrellas and tripods. He looks up at me like I’ve caught him playing with a toy he shouldn’tbe.
“Oh,” he says, his voice rushed, “no. I was just thinking about how good I’d look with all these lights on me.” He moves in front of the backdrop and starts to pose like ArnoldSchwarzenegger.
“Don’t make me throw up in mymouth.”
I walk over to the white desk in one corner and take out the props we discussed in one of our planning sessions: a mug, an oversized pair of headphones, and a blanket. I set down the bag that holds the lingerie next to them and start arranging each of theoutfits.
Aaron wanted us to take a shopping trip together to pick them out, but I knew I couldn’t stomach spending an hour withAaron Pennin a women’s underwear store. I insisted on getting a few things myself and sending him half the bill. What I didn’t tell him was that the model turned out to be almost the exact same size as me, and that I’ll be keeping some of these pieces for my ownbenefit.
I have all three outfits laid out and we’re ready to go, but there’s still no sign of the photographer ormodel.
“They should have been here by now,” I say, glancing at the light outside. Our window of opportunity is growing shorter andshorter.
“Yeah,” agrees Aaron, staring down at his phone. “I’ve texted the photographer, but she hasn’t saidanything.”
I start pacing the room, checking the time so often I must look like I have a tic. The next ten minutes feel like an eternity. Aaron’s sitting on a white couch in the middle of the room and my heart starts hammering in my chest when I hear him breathe acurse.