The Accident and the Casting
The flash was brighter than Carla had expected. "Smile for me," Ricky said, taking a few more pictures. Then, with impatience, "I said smile, come on."
Carla tried. This was not the day she had been expecting. When she had backed out of her garage at 8:00am, she had planned on being drunk at the beach with her girlfriends already. On the highway, her thoughts had been of the vodka and tequila nestled safely in her trunk. Alcohol she was three years too young to drink. Alcohol her friends had tasked her with acquiring. On the exit ramp, she dreamed of the sand and the sun and the sight of a dozen hot guys she could gawk at behind the safety of her dark sunglasses. And she fantasized about Aaron.
I wonder when Aaron will get—
That was as far as she got before the rear bumper of a silver Mercedes grew too large, too fast. She slammed on the brakes a moment too late.
A large balding man in a tan linen suit got out of the Merc. Heart pounding, Carla froze in her car and watched with wide eyes as the man examined his beautiful, ruined Mercedes. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The man shook his head, then looked at Carla through the windshield. "Nothing to worry about," he said, smiling. She only heard him because a few moments ago she had been enjoying the wind in her hair. "Come on out and we'll exchange our insurance."
Shit,
she thought. Carla was nearly in tears, imagining the hundred or so ways her father was going to kill her. She got out of the car. She moved closer to the damage on feet she couldn't feel. She felt distant, unreal, like a ghost sifting through reality but unable to touch it.
Fortunately, her old Civic already looked like junk yard salvage. She was certain her father wouldn't notice the modest new crack squeezed between the half dozen dents her older brother had been responsible for. But this man's Mercedes? The crumpled rear bumper made Carla's knees go weak.
The man threw his arm around Carla's waist and steadied her. "Look, listen," he began, leaning close like he was telling her a secret. "My name's Ricky. Everything's going to be just fine." He made sure she was steady, then slid his arm from her waist. He put away his insurance card and wallet. "I'm a professional photographer around this area. We just might be able to work something out."
Carla felt a tight knot grow in her stomach.
I need to call my dad,
she thought. She should take ownership of her mistake, even if it meant turning around and driving the three hours back home. Even if it meant losing her hard earned spring break vacation with her friends. Carla thought about Aaron. About the irrational fear that one of her three girlfriends would somehow steal him from her, even though they all had boyfriends.
"What do you mean?" Carla said, hopeful, but guarded.
Ricky took a step away from her, palms out, "No need to worry," he said, producing a business card like a magic trick. It looked professional. "I run a real studio, about two miles down the road. I normally pay girls like yourself between $500 and $5,000 for a shoot, depending on the content. I think if you do a photo shoot"—Ricky eyeballed his bumper—"or two, we can call it even."
Carla looked at the high-gloss business card. For the first time, she noticed the big, expensive camera hanging from Ricky's neck.
"What kind of photo shoot?" Carla started to hope she could get out of this easy. A glance at Ricky's bumper squashed that hope.
Ricky threw his arms wide, bright white teeth almost glowing against his tan. "What state do we live in? A bikini shoot, on the beach," he shrugged, "maybe topless, depending on how much it'll cost to repair the bumper."
Carla raised her hands to her breasts self-consciously, but froze half way to actually covering them. "I don't think I can do topless."
"Why not, you're eighteen aren't you?"
"Yes, bu—"
"Not to worry," Ricky said, waving her off. "It probably won't come to that. But you can wear a bikini, right? I mean, you were going to wear one on the beach any way, weren't you?"
"Well, yeah."
"Excellent!" he said. "We'll start with a casting session while my mechanic looks at the car. If you're right for the shoot, we can go from there."
Ricky called a tow truck for his Mercedes, which Carla thought was a little unnecessary considering it was just his bumper that was damaged. Before it had even arrived, Ricky had jumped into the driver seat of her Civic and set off with her to his studio.
<<<>>>
The studio was about the size of a large bedroom. White walls, white curtain hanging to the wooden floor where it covered the space of a dozen feet. Three tall stands with lights. She stood on a white X in her black Lululemon yoga pants and a white tank top. She wore black and pink track shoes and bright yellow ankle socks. The barest sliver of her tan midriff peeked between the two pieces of clothing.
"Smile for me," Ricky said, taking a few more pictures. Then, with impatience, "I said smile, come on."
They were doing test shots. That's what he called them. Checking the lighting and angles. Carla smiled, then flipped her hair off of one shoulder and onto the other. The soft brown curls fell down to her breasts.
"Good, good," he said. "That's much better." He fiddled with some buttons on his camera, adjusted the height of one of the lights, then took a few more pictures. "What ethnicity are you?"
"Mexican," she said. Carla felt stiff and awkward while Ricky stepped side to side, snapping pictures, lights flashing.
"Beautiful," he said. "Okay, I think I have what I need to get started, wait there a minute."
Ricky stepped out of the room. Carla could hear a door or drawer open, she wasn't sure. A few moments later, Ricky was back. He handed her two scraps of orange cloth and pointed her toward a phone-booth sized cubicle with a red curtain. The curtain didn't rise high enough or drop low enough to give her proper modesty. "Go ahead," he gestured toward the cubicle, "get changed."
Things were moving too far out of Carla's comfort zone. "Wait, I have my bikini in my car. Can I wear that?" She hated how desperate and pleading her voice sounded.
"Look, honey, I don't shoot pictures for catalogs, okay. I need something sexy. Do you have anything in your car that looks sexier than that?"
She looked at the bikini, "Well—"
"You either do or you don't, right?" Ricky put up a hand and paused. In a softer voice he said, "Look, I'm not making you do this. I'm trying to do you a favor. We can go ahead and report the accident if you want. Let the insurance companies work it out. Or you can just pay for the damage if you have the money. I don't care. What do you want to do?"
What could she do? When he put it like that, she didn't really have a choice. She could report the accident and her dad would find out. She refused to let that happen. Her other option was to pay for it.
But with what? The dust in my pockets?
She had some spending money, but no where near enough to repair a Mercedes.
She stared at the orange bikini. "I'll get changed," she said, ashamed at how small her voice sounded in her own ears.
Carla was only five feet tall, but still, the top of the curtain barely reached eye level. The bottom of the curtain stopped at her knees. She felt about as exposed as she could without actually being naked in front of Ricky.
She pulled off her shoes and socks, then slipped out of her tank top and bra. Carla's body was trim and athletic. She had small breasts and nipples, which was lucky, since the tiny orange triangles barely covered what little she had. The fabric had no inner lining, and her nipples, small and soft as they might have been, were clearly visible beneath the fabric. She felt her ears burn as she scrambled to think of a way to hide them. The best she could do was rummage for band aids in her purse, but she didn't find any.
Giving up, Carla dropped her pants and panties to the floor, aware of the fact that Ricky was probably watching her. That he could see the pink thong around her ankles. She stepped out of them quickly and piled her clothes up on the stool, then stepped into the bikini bottoms and tied the laces. They were probably one size too small. The upper line of her pubic hair actually started above the fabric of the bikini. Thank God she had shaved this morning.
Carla pulled the curtain aside. One hand awkwardly clasped in front of her breasts to hide her nipples, now fully erect and impossible to miss thanks to the air conditioned wave that hit her.
"Wow." Ricky stared openly. "Lets get started, stand over there."
Carla stepped onto the white X, trapped between the lights and the backdrop. Before Carla had the chance to do anything but look embarrassed, the lights were flashing.
"The lighting is good," he said. "Now, face that way. Yes, like that. Hands on your hips."
Carla hesitated, not wanting to uncover her nipples. But she didn't really have a choice. She put her hands on her hips like she was told, wishing that every second would be the last. The bikini she was wearing made her feel like a slut, and she was just now coming to the realization that she didn't actually know what Ricky was going to do with these pictures.
"Wait," she said, covering her breasts. "I think I need to stop."
"What?" Ricky looked angry. It didn't exactly scare Carla, it wasn't a violent anger and she wasn't concerned for her safety. But there was something in his face that made her pause.
"I mean. I've just." Carla swallowed. "I've never done anything like this before. Can I take a break?"
