My first job out of college was as a photographer's assistant. I had an art history degree, and I thought it would be fun and creative, but actually it kind of sucked. A lot of carrying and waiting around. A lot of chasing down clients to get them to sign releases or pay past-due invoices.
It wasn't my boss's fault; it was just the nature of the business. Corinne was a former model who had slid into taking pictures almost by accident. Even through she was approaching middle age, she still possessed a willowy beauty that the camera loved. She was a good photographer too--careful and conscientious, with a good eye for composition.
"The subject
wants
to reveal itself," she would say. "My job is just to let it happen."
Mostly we did weddings and corporate events--big functions with a mixture of group portraits and candids. My job was to shadow Corinne and handle logistics so she could focus on getting the shots.
And that's how I met him.
We were working a museum fundraiser, lots of rich people in formal wear standing around sipping champagne. Corrinne had sent me back to the van to get a pair of floods. When I came back, I was breathing hard from the long hike up the hill, and she was chatting with one of the guests.
He was tall and lean, with salt-and-pepper hair and a beard. He was wearing a tuxedo, but his collar was open and he wasn't wearing a tie. He had his hands carelessly shoved in his trouser pockets.
Corinne saw me approaching and motioned me over.
"Let me introduce you," she said. "Mark, this is Alyx, my assistant."
I brushed my sweaty hair out of my eyes and stuck out my hand.
"Hey, nice to meet you."
He smiled at me. His eyes were the most brilliant shade of blue. His grip was calm and firm.
"The same," he said. Then he turned to Corrine. "Exquisite taste, as always, my dear."
I must have looked baffled, because Corinne explained.
"I used to model for Mark when I was younger," she said, laughed. "He thinks he has an eye for female beauty."
"Slander!" he barked. "I don't think! I
know
! And any time you want to pose for me again, my lens is always ready."
Corinne patted his arm.
"You're very sweet, but you know artists' models have a brief shelf-life. No one wants to see sags and wrinkles."
"Sags and wrinkles show a life lived! A beautiful woman is always a pleasure, regardless of her age."
"Flatterer!"
I left the two of them to bicker as I set up the lights.
When Corrinne came back over, she handled me a scrap of paper.
"Mark told me to give you this."
It was a napkin from the reception. When I turned it over there was a phone number scrawled on this back.
"What's this?" I said.
"He said if you were ever interested in modeling for him, you should you should give him a call."
I laughed. "Me, a model? Isn't that more your department?"
"He was totally serious, Alyx. He said you were 'exquisite'."
That made me laugh harder. I folded the napkin and stuffed it in the back pocket of my work jeans.
"Exquisite, huh? Well, that's a new one. Do you want the floods pointed toward the stage or are you going for more a general fill in the seating area?"
"The stage, please. Seriously, you should try it. Mark's a nice guy, very professional. If nothing else, it will be an adventure."
"Ha," I said, rolling my eyes. "An adventure."
* * *
I forgot about the note until the weekend when I was doing my laundry. I was standing in my bedroom in my underwear, sorting colors and checking pockets. It took me a second or two to realize what the wadded-up paper was.
"Oh right ... ha ... 'exquisite.'"
I looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror propped against the wall. No one had ever called me "exquisite" before. I had been a jock in high school, tall and gangly. And while I had filled out a little since then, I still barely had any curves. I wasn't even remotely cute--my legs were too long, my feet were too big, and my nose was too large. I tried to strike a sexy pose in the mirror, pelvis thrust out, one hard on my hip, a pout on my lips. I felt ridiculous.
And yet ....
I glanced at the crumpled napkin on the bedspread.
And yet ... what could I hurt? The worst that could happen is that I wasted an afternoon and got a funny story out of it.
I picked up the napkin and reached for my phone.
* * *
And that was how a week later I found myself standing outside a large, secluded house in the Hollywood Hills. Corinne had told me Mark had made enough as a fashion photographer to retire in style, and now he was free to explore wherever his creative impulses led him.
I was dressed in my normal street clothes. Tee-shirt, hoodie, jeans, sneakers. My straight hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and I was wearing a baseball cap. I had thought about dressing up, putting on a skirt or something, but then I thought no, this was how I'd been dressed if when we'd met at the fundraiser. If he wanted glamour, he had the wrong girl.
"Alyx! Hello! So glad you could come! Can I get you anything? Something to drink?"
We walked to the back of the house. The whole rear of the property was a garden. Or a jungle more like, with tall waving fronds and blooming flowers. Dark curving paths led off into the undergrowth and climbed the cliff behind.
"Oh wow," I said. "This is amazing! I never would have thought this all was back here."
"There was a pool when I bought the place, but I had it ripped out and this put in. Much more restful I think."
We chatted for a while, sitting at a wrought-iron table under the foliage. He bought me hot tea with lemon, and little cookies covered in powdered sugar. He asked me about growing up in the Midwest, and I told him about going to college on a volleyball scholarship, and my father's hangover recipe.
After I while I said "Aren't you supposed to be taking pictures of me?"
"I already am ... in here." He tapped his head, and laughed. "I need to know who you really are before I pick up my camera. Otherwise, I might take pictures of who I
