by Huss, JA
I can hear yelling inside.
And crying.
And then things are breaking and I sink to the floor in fear as Jon's fists come into my mind. But it's like a bad car accident on the freeway—something terrible is happening. I refuse to move my feet, I refuse to plug my ears, and despite the fact that I'm scared shitless by whatever is happening behind that door, I can't turn away from my stolen appointment with Antoine Chaput.
A half-naked young girl bursts through the door, wearing only a pair of pretty panties and matching bra, pulling on her expensive designer jeans as she hops down the hallway, and then before she even buttons them up, she tugs a sweatshirt over her head and spies me on the floor in the corner.
"I'd hide from him too! He's such an asshole! I hate you, Antoine!" she screams. "And I will never," she picks up some anger here, "never let you photograph me again, even if you beg me!" She slips on some cute ballet flats, hopping once again to maintain balance, and is about to leave when she has a thought. I can see her thinking because her eyes roll up a little and her head tilts—like she's a cartoon character with a comment bubble coming out of her mouth. "And I'm keeping the lingerie. Asshole!"
She already said he was an asshole, but I suppose when you're that angry a varied vocabulary isn't the first thing on your mind. The irate girl turns back to me then. "You better be ready. He's in a fit today and I'll never work for him again!"
And then she storms down the stairs, dragging her large bag behind her, still swearing and punctuating her one-sided conversation with the occasional, "Ha!" as she descends.
I stare dumbfounded at the empty stairwell wondering what the hell I'm doing here.
"She's overreacting. Don't let her get to you."
I look over at the man with the deep voice and my mouth drops open a little. He is even more beautiful than the girl who just left. To call him well-built doesn't do his body justice and I can see quite a bit of it because he's only half-dressed. In fact, he's still buttoning up his jeans, tucking in his pockets as he stands there next to me.
He catches me eyeing his fingers and laughs. "Sorry, today was supposed to be a sexy shoot." He shrugs it off like he comes out in the hallway buttoning up his pants all the time.
"Uh"—I clear my throat a little—"yeah."
Oh my God, I am so dumb. Uh, yeah? That's all I can think of to say?
He raises one eyebrow at me and reveals a slow smile that climbs up his face. His eyes are an electric blue and they remind me of my own. I've never seen anyone who had blue eyes like mine—I'm not bragging or anything, it's just a feature that I was born with, something that sets me apart. One of the few things actually.
He notices me studying his eyes and then he bends down to me. I instinctively scoot away from him, pushing myself back into the corner as my heart starts to race. He takes the hint and stands back up. "Sorry, didn't mean to invade your space or anything."
Another voice snaps my attention back to what I'm doing. "OK, let's go, girl. Get in here, you heard Clare, he's in a fit. So let's just humor him and maybe we can all go home early, what do you say?"
I nod, still cowering on the floor.
"Oh, come now." A petite woman with short-cropped blonde hair pushes the half-naked guy out of the way and continues talking. "He's already cooling off. Clare pushes his buttons, everyone knows she's difficult. Do you have your invitation?"
She's looking at the card in my hand so I stand and thrust it at her. Half-naked guy is still watching me and just as I'm about to brush past his bare chest, he stops me with a hand on my arm. I pull it away quickly. "Don't."
"Sweetheart, you won't get far here if we can't touch you."
I scowl at him and swallow hard.
"It's a test shoot, Ronin, don't get her worked up." And then the woman takes my hand and leads me inside.
Ronin mumbles out a response as he follows and then the door closes behind me and I expect all manner of terrible things to start happening, but all the woman does is push me over to what looks like a shampoo station. She takes my bag, tucks it into a corner, and then motions me into a changing area and tells me to take off my hoodie.
I look around for Ronin, but he's disappeared. "But I don't have anything on underneath."
"Nothing?"
I shake my head.
"Well, that's not very smart." She rummages through a drawer and throws a tank top at me. "Put that on."
I do and before I can even turn the corner of the little screened-in changing area, she's pushing me back into the chair. "I don't know who your stylist is—what did you say your name was?"
"Rook Walsh," I say weakly.
"Oh, yes. I remember now," she says as she picks up the ends of my very long hair, "Rook. You need to tell that stylist of yours that these ends need a touch-up. Antoine prefers au naturel, but it must be healthy—so trim these ends if he invites you back. Today is just a test shoot, but we've got good light coming in the afternoon and you know how Antoine loves au naturel light." She winks at me and I laugh.
"I'm Elise, by the way. Antoine's lover."
She says it so casually, this word. Lover. It implies so much more than girlfriend. Lover. It drips with sex. I smile at her. "Nice to meet you—"
But she's dousing me with water and I get lost in the feeling of having my hair washed by a professional again. In the shelter I'm lucky if I get a shower twice a week. You have to work in the kitchen for three days to get one shower. But I had one last night, so I'm not too dirty.
Elise's fingertips start massaging my head and then she squirts some tropical-smelling shampoo on it. She lathers it up, starting at the bottom and then working the thick froth into my scalp. It feels so good I almost moan with pleasure.
Then the rinse again. The water trickles down my scalp, sometimes a stray stream will slide down the edge of my cheek and it sends a shiver up my whole body. I feel myself relax just as Elise wrings out the excess water and then very carefully works the conditioner in.
"Long day, Rook?" she asks me.
"Yeah," I reply, sedated and warm. "I got fired today."
"Oh, I'm sorry. It's hard to make it as a model, I know. When I was just starting out I had to work all sorts of odd jobs. Waitressing, bartender, I was even a tow truck dispatcher at night. Whatever it took to keep my nail appointments and have a nice wardrobe. I suppose it's that way for you now, huh?"
I open my eyes. "Sorta."
"What kind of job was it?"
"Cleaning houses."
"Oh, yeah, I've done that too, those were the worst. I got accused of stealing once, and I never even took anything."
I try to sit up but she pushes me back down. "Me too! I didn't take that ring, Delores did, and they fired me."
She clicks her tongue at me and shakes her head. "Well, you're pretty enough and skinny enough and your legs and hair are long. Antoine likes all these features you have—so if you just do exactly what he tells you, maybe you'll find a better job today. Right?"
"I'd like that," I whisper.
Elise smiles. "You're not like the others, Rook. You're calm and quiet, and a bit tragic, if you don't mind me saying."
"I don't mind it." Because it's true, I don't add.
"Antoine is hard to work for, I won't lie. But you might do, so just keep your mouth shut and do everything he asks."
I nod as the water sprays down my face again and keep my mouth shut for the rest of the time. I catch that Ronin guy walking around a little in the part of the studio I can see. He looks over at me each time, almost stopping to take a second look as Elise pulls and tugs my hair through her various brushes.
He's watching me.
Chapter Two - Ronin
I leave Elise with the new girl and join Antoine in his office. As older sisters go I could do a lot worse than Elise, and since she raised me since I was ten, I am eternally grateful and only want her to be happy. But honestly, Antoine drives me up a wall. She's been dating him forever, so he practically raised me a
s well, but a father figure he is not.
Describing him as an artist should really do the trick—he's got all the stereotypical attributes like selfish, asshole, romantic, asshole, creative, asshole, temperamental, asshole. I could go on and on, but what's the point. He's an asshole.
And since he refused to speak to me and Elise in anything but French for the first five years we all lived together, we're both now fluent.
So I guess I can thank him for that.
But French is a pretty stupid language to know when you live in Denver. Maybe if I move to Quebec or Paris it might come in handy. And actually, we did go to Paris with him last year to do a show, but he hates it there just as much we did, so I doubt we'll be going back.
He speaks more English now, but that's only because he has to talk to more people than just Elise and me. Back when he was just starting out it was just us, so he could get by without speaking English if he wanted. But now, Antoine Chaput is big time and he's got a lot of people keeping this place going.
And none of them speak French.
"She'll get over it, Antoine," I tell him as I take a seat across from his desk. "Just let her walk out."
Antoine is running his hands through his hair, messing it all up and making himself look ridiculous, but he is about to flip out over this Clare shit, I can tell, so I run interference. "She's on the rag today, she told me. And you know how bitchy she is on the rag."
She doesn't have her period today, but she's just a raging bitch and not in her right mind every day, but this puts the blame on her instead of him, and that's what he wants—so fuck it. I give him what he wants to keep the peace.
"She's done. I don't want to see her again! No more!"
I shrug. He says this at least once a month. Clare walks out pissed off all the time when we let her work, it's nothing new or extraordinary. They do this dance so often, it's like a couple of dorky kids doing the box-step at senior prom.
I reach over and grab an apple off the perpetual fruit basket Antoine has on his desk and take a seat in the deep leather couch that gives me a full view of the studio so I can watch for the new girl. Antoine is still mumbling about Clare.
"English, Antoine," I say as I chew.
"Ne pas parler la bouche pleine!"
"Clare's only purpose in life right now is to drive you crazy, let her go." I swallow so he'll stop concentrating on the food in my talking mouth and listen to my words instead. "Fuck her. There's a new girl out there, did you see her?"
He perks up at this, but then he sighs and collapses into his desk chair. "No. She's probably no good. I have no one for this campaign. No one."
"She'll work, Antoine. She's tall, thin, black hair, blue eyes—like mine," I add, because my eyes look like someone got carried away with the special effects in a sci-fi movie. My peepers have made me quite a bit of cash over the past few years and the fact that this girl has eyes like mine is pretty interesting. "If ever there was a girl who is crying out that she's TRAGIC, it's this one. Just wait until you see her."
I take another bite of apple and he sighs, trying to peek out the door and see something, but not be noticed for noticing. I can hear them talking, just faintly, but I'm intrigued. "Want me to go spy?" I ask, smiling.
"Oui," he grins back.
That grin says we have to stick together or they will overpower us. They being woman, us being men. He's forever on this guy thing with me, like we are in some secret fraternal society—sometimes these secret plans even come with a wink. I let him have his fun and get up to go spy. I want to see her again anyway. Before she comes out and has to pretend to be someone else.
"I want a full report, and don't let Ellie see you, or she'll complain to me later."
"Oui," I reply.
Chapter Three - Ronin
I sit on a stool near the entrance to Elise's studio and eat my apple, chewing casually as I watch Ed and Alex mess with some sets. They have a whole team of people to handle the lights and move shit around, but this is all for the TRAGIC campaign, not this girl's test shoot.
If you're lucky enough to get an invitation from Antoine to come sit for him, you get one shot to make him fall in love. If he does, you might get another invitation, but only if he has an immediate need for you. If he doesn't love you at first sight, i.e. if he needs Elise to make you pretty or alluring, or sexy, or tragic—whatever—he won't ever ask you back. Elise is here to bring out the mood he wants, like a make-up artist in the movies. She's not here to make you into the thing Antoine is looking for. Either you are that thing, or you're not.
And I know this girl is tragic. He's gonna love her because I've watched Antoine choose hundreds of girls over the past twelve years and I love her.
Her look, I clarify to myself. I love her look.
I toss my apple core into a nearby wastebasket and listen in as the girls talk on the other side of the partitioned wall. Elise will have to fill me in later because I can't really make out what they're saying.
Test shoots last for about an hour or so, sometimes less. Sometimes more, but if Antoine goes over an hour with you on a test shoot, he's definitely in love with you.
When Elise went for her test shoot he took pictures of her for five hours. Then he made us move in with him so she'd never leave. He fell hard for her even though she's nothing like any of the models that come through the studio. She's small, tiny really, she has the most severe pixie haircut to match her fairy frame, and she's quiet and graceful. She's like a little dancer, not a bitchy model like Clare.
And that's how I know Antoine is a good guy, even if he does act like an asshole most of the time.
He loves my sister. And my sister is good people.
I get up and walk casually towards the front door, which is located just a few steps away from Elise's station, and peek in as I walk by. Elise starts shaking her head at me as I watch the girl hide under her long hair. Elise has it all combed over her head in different ways, trying to partition it off for blow-drying. They don't talk now, the dryer is too loud, but I'm pretty sure the girl is watching me from under her hair. I can see the brightness of her eyes.
I continue walking and go through the door, then jog down the stairs and go out to the street. It's just a way to pass time and it will give me another excuse to walk past again in a few minutes when I go back up.
Downstairs it's busy because there's a baseball game today. We rent out our parking lot on game days since we're practically across the street from the stadium. Our lot is already full, the attendants standing guard to prevent anyone else from coming in. The streets are packed with people and there are lots of bars and restaurants to make the place look safe and trendy. And for the most part, it is. But at night, you do not want to be a girl alone in this neighborhood.
I wave to a couple of guys I recognize from elementary school standing on a corner handing out flyers. Probably for a party this weekend.
Our building is an old factory that Antoine bought back when the property values in Five Points were shit. It's six stories tall, but we gutted the top three floors to create the massive windows that allow for natural light to pour into the studio. It's all about the light with Antoine. One half of the sixth floor contains our apartments. I have one and Elise and Antoine have one. There's a large open terrace off the studio where we do most of our outside shots. Most of the other floors are either empty or used for artistic shoots.
The neighborhood has grown up with the new stadium. It used to be pretty bad, but after living here in Antoine's studio for the past twelve years, this building and neighborhood, crime statistics and all, is the only place I'd ever call home. I people-watch for a few more minutes, then head back up and enter the studio just as Elise is tugging the girl across the room. I want to talk to her so bad, but I catch Antoine in the doorway to his office and Elise jerks her head at me as she tells the girl to wait near the window.
I watch her walk and look over at Antoine again. He's smiling, but he's talking in French about Clare. S
he called him and gave him an earful and I know from the tone of his voice that Clare is wearing him down, weaseling her way back into another job. I sigh and follow Elise to try and calm Antoine's nerves.
The new girl will have to wait a little longer because no matter how many times I tell myself I don't give one fucking shit about Clare, I can't help myself. I still do.
Chapter Four - Rook
Elise walks towards Antoine, but turns back when I start to follow. "Go over to the window, he wants to shoot by the window today. And just do what you're told, OK?"
I nod and she walks away with a brisk pace as I make my way to the window, looking up and gawking at how magnificent this place is.
Studio is not really the right word for it, it's several stories tall, and now that I think about it, it's the top floor of the building, even though we're only on the fourth floor of what appears to be a six-story building on the outside. There's a long modern staircase made up of concrete stairs and metal railings that leads up the far side of the room near Antoine's office, and the second story is loft-like with a set of double doors in the middle of the open hallway.
When I turn to the windows, I can totally see why Antoine would want to shoot pictures over here. They are massive. Two stories tall, each ten feet wide and the golden sunshine pouring through them lights the whole place up like heaven. Like angels with trumpets are about to fly in and celebrate the beauty that is this room.
The floors are a polished warm oak, and the whole place is filled with different set-ups. Like sets or something for photographers. Ladders and those umbrella things that you see in photo shoots to reflect light this way and that.
Antoine, Ronin, and Elise are arguing in the back room, but I can't understand them because they are all speaking French. Suddenly the door slams and I jump a little at the noise, but then enjoy the silence as they finish their argument in private. I'm sure Antoine took one look at me and refused to even bother getting out his camera.