The alarm began its piercing scream at 5:30 a.m., the very moment Narsimha dreaded. He rolled over slightly and turned it off. Not a man to use the snooze button, he embraced the warmth of his bed and wondered why he had to get up so early. He reluctantly walked downstairs, beyond his posters of Che and Marley, to the kitchen. Any hopes to make cereal were dashed by an unusual smell in the fridge that wafted through his nose; the sink was full of an ill-fated cheese dip his neighbor Audrey had tried to make a couple nights ago.
A moan ripped through his stomach, and after looking at the limited options within his apartment, he decided on finding a place to eat where he was headed. Narsimha had just begun up the staircase when his pocket vibrated.
"Nars, seriously. Seven years working here, and just get down here, just wait until you-" The high voice shrieked in his ear.
"I'll be there, shit. Mason, it's early as hell, and you're already calling?" Nars smiled.
"Make-up is done at 7. Don't get here late! The boss needs this one."
Nars entered the studio through the back door and was still stopped by security. His Native American heritage, that of high cheekbones and black hair, was his distinguishing feature, and he was promptly let in. Nars, as he was soon nicknamed at the agency, had intimidating eyes and a physique that discouraged messing with him. Perhaps his looks were a detriment in some settings, he thought. He had had shoots with models who felt repulsed by him, resulting in a low energy level and mediocre shoot. But by many of their standards, he was an impressive looking man.
He made his way into the studio, shook hands with a modeling representative and began organizing his equipment when a voice interrupted him.
"Hahaaaa, you ready? This is your best model to date!" Mason yelled, his diminutive body moving excitedly. He withdrew a wrinkled paper from his small blazer and dropped it. Nars grabbed it and stared.
"Mr. Newton managed to get her in...didn't you talk to her manager? But the photo call and itinerary are right here," he said, handing Nars a bulging manila envelope. Within it were details for the theme of the shoot, light measures from the previous day, and a profile on the model.
"Mr. Newton has got to be pulling strings," Nars said quietly. "She's one of the top models in the world, a few swimsuit issues to her name...and she comes here. Don't repeat what I just said, got it? Work quickly, quietly and don't mess with shit."
The door opened at that moment, marking the arrival of Dwayne "Night Train" Newton. The owner of the studio and
GTM
Magazine strolled in alone, his head covered with a stylish fedora. He himself looked like a 1930's photo piece. Newton's customary suit and tie led Nars to look down at his own comparably shabby appearance.
A thirty-five year old black man, Newton had built his growing media empire on suspicious means. Of course, only his employees could realize that. The whole operation he ran was far from transparent, avoiding external investigation and keeping all problems in house.
As a youth, he avoided the perils of gangs and the urban warfare that simmered in the neighborhood. Even so, his protectiveness of his two younger brothers strengthened to the point he dealt with any threats, on his own. Newton's temper became legendary.
Upon the murder of his younger brother Deacon, the three murderers hid out on the other side of town and drank heavily. They had no fear of reciprocation. But by the time the "gas" explosion had subsided, their house had been destroyed, the three men had been killed, and dental records were needed for the coroner.
Of course, the man standing before Nars showed nothing of the sort. Newton unleashed a wide, unsettling grin in their direction and offered his hand.
"Hey fellas. I assume you're ready to go and do this right. But more importantly, Mason quit your moving around, stand up straight! And Nars, we're on those terms, aye? Isabel María Muñoz ," he said fondly.
He took Nars by the shoulder and walked him from the others. Nars shifted uncomfortably until Newton chuckled softly.
"Man, I'm not going to kill you. Relax now; we need the model to get good vibes from you, y'hear? But she's another animal, this girl. She's exactly what we need, a step up from the department store catalogs and shit to the big time. Now listen, you're probably wondering how we got her, but ask yourself this, would you want to make her our top model?"
He smiled, already knowing the answer.
"You'll do fine. But make it happen on your own. Don't rely," he said, pointing in Nars' chest, "On anyone else. Of course, that's what I'm doing now."
"Sir, I'll do my be-" Nars began. But Newton had given him an encouraging slap on the shoulder and started away. Newton walked slowly towards a brightly lit door, paused as if to say something, and meandered out.
The next hour Nars set up the equipment: the lighting and cameras, as Mason lingered excitedly on his cell phone. The small man lent no help, oblivious to the grunts of his friend. Nars wiped sweat off his brow. At least, he reasoned, the work would lead to bigger and better things.
The door opened, and three people walked in. Nars instantly recognized María Muñoz. To say she was a stunner would be an understatement. Her dark hair framed her perfect face and pointed to her other assets. Standing tall and proud, her juicy breasts were held by a timid halter top. Nars noticed the slight tremble each breast gave upon her steps, only teasing any man lucky enough to be in her presence.
