Sneaking a peek at her watch, Cameron realized that six whole minutes had gone by and Selby had yet to say a word.
And what was she supposed to do with her hands? Clasping them in her lap kept them out of the way, but she worried that it looked weird. Placing them on the edge of the table wasn’t right, either. It made her feel like a puppy begging for scraps. Of course, scraps were essentially what she was after: a nod, a smile, the acknowledgment that she had talent or at least some potential—anything.
The problem was, seeing her pictures through Selby’s gaze made them look so amateurish. The red portfolio seemed garish. Cameron saw flaws in her pictures that she hadn’t noticed before: awkward poses, a cactus branch that looked as if it were coming out of Taylor’s ear, a dark shadow in the corner of one of the group shots.
“There’s a mistake in this one,” Cameron blurted out, panicky and unable to stand the silence any longer. “I can fix it, though.”
Selby nodded. “I’m sure you can. I can tell you really know what you’re doing, technically.”
“I just want to make sure that everything is perfect. The shoot took a while. My friends were ready to kill me, I think.”
“I can tell.” Selby pointed to the shot of Hadley looking out to sea. “She’s smiling, but I can see that it’s forced and that she’s really annoyed. Look at the way the corners of her mouth are strained.”
Cameron nodded. She hadn’t even noticed that before. “I can find something better to replace that one.”
“No, it’s great. I like the emotion brewing underneath the surface. It makes it more interesting.”
Cameron was both sorry that she’d said anything and thrilled that Selby had called one of her pictures great. Or was she merely referring to Hadley’s expression?
Selby continued to flip through, pausing at the shot of Ashlin’s bare toes and the starfish. “Now what were you trying to say here?”
Cameron stared at the shot. “I’m not sure what you mean.” “The composition is striking. I’m just wondering what you’re going for.”
“I guess I was focusing on the texture of the sand and I liked the way her toes looked, coming out of it.” Cameron sensed that this answer was wrong, but it was the only one she had.
Selby closed the portfolio and smiled at Cameron. “Your technique is very good, Cameron. You have an innate sense of composition, which is wonderful. The beach scenes are beautiful, as are the young women you’ve chosen to photograph.”
“Thanks.” Cameron felt so relieved.
“I’m just not sure what you’re trying to say,” Selby added.
“Um, what do you mean?” asked Cameron.
“As you know, so much about the field of photography is about selling things. Not just objects, but ideas and images, too. It’s how I make my living, sadly. But you’re trying to get into an art class, right? And art, to me, is about communication. You should strive to take pictures that transcend themselves, pictures that have a larger message, you know?”
Cameron didn’t know but nodded anyway.
“When I’m looking at a piece of work, I want to be engaged, and at the very least I want to be made to think. As an artist, your goal is to convey some sort of message, to make a statement and inspire dialogue. I’m surprised this wasn’t covered in your high school art classes.”
Cameron felt the blood drain from her face. “So they’re not that good?”
“Look, I don’t want to upset you. These are fine pictures. Individually, there’s very little to criticize. But taken as a whole? I’m left wondering what this is all about. You have lots of very sexualized pictures of young women, but what does that all add up to? Right now it’s unclear, and you want to say something, right? Otherwise, how will you distinguish your work from the kind of thing that’s published in those horrible lad magazines like Maxim or FHM?”
“My pictures are that bad?” Cameron felt her voice waver.
“No, but let me explain.” Selby opened up the book and turned to the photograph of Lucy emerging from the water. “This one, for example. Your friend is beautiful, but so what? Is there another point? Because if not, it’s like you’re turning her into a commodity. She’s being objectified, sold like a can of soda or a brand of cigarettes.”
Cameron swallowed hard. “I guess I was just focused on getting the water drops in focus,” she said weakly.
Selby nodded. “And you did a great job of that. Like I said, you seem to have mastered all the technical aspects of digital photography, which is no easy feat. Furthermore, I can tell that you’ve worked hard on these pictures, and I’m sure that will impress David Champlain.”
“But you don’t like my work. These aren’t good enough, right? That’s what you think.”
Cringing, Selby opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come.
“Please be honest with me,” said Cameron. “I can take it.”
“I’m not crazy about them, but I’m just giving you my opinion, maybe something to think about. I can see that you’re capable of doing more, and in the end it doesn’t matter what I think. What’s important is what you think, and that you think. So if I were you, I’d go back to the beginning. Decide what kind of message you want to send and then send it by making sure that every single image in your book says something about that original statement. Okay?”
“Sure, thanks,” said Cameron, pulling her portfolio back. She jumped out of her chair. “I’ll go get my mom. I’m sure shell want to say good-bye. Um, it was nice meeting you. Good luck in Fiji. Thank you for looking at these.”
“Good luck to you, too,” said Selby.
Cameron bolted, happy that she made it out of the room before her tears started falling.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Allie ran up the canyon at Griffith Park as fast as she could. Without Quincy it was hard to gauge how fast she was actually going. All she knew was what she felt in her gut—she wasn’t moving fast enough.
As soon as she made it to the top, she jogged back down to the halfway point, where the trail began to get steep. The sun beat down relentlessly. Sweat soaked Allie’s T-shirt and dust coated her shoes and socks. She felt a blister forming on her big toe. Still, she pushed on, running up the hill because she needed to be faster than Quincy. If she wasn’t going to be on varsity, then at least she’d be able to prove that she was good enough, that she could have played had she been allowed to try out.
After two more trips up, her body screamed at her to stop. Her mind tried to object, but her legs were about to give out on her. With her heart pounding and her eyes stinging from salty sweat, she limped home.
After showering and changing, Allie headed downstairs, moving carefully, because her muscles were already getting stiff and sore. She found her sister sitting cross-legged on the couch. Cameron had a stack of magazines piled on either side of her, and she was flipping through one furiously.
“So I take it you and Blake are still fighting?”
“How’d you guess?” asked Cameron, hardly looking up from her reading.
“It’s eight o’clock on a Friday night and you’re at home in dirty sweatpants.”
“I’m pretty pathetic, huh?” asked Cameron.
“Guess I’m pathetic too, then,” Allie replied.
“No, you’re still young. You’re not expected to have big plans every weekend.”
“Well that’s a relief,” said Allie.
“Plus, you’re wearing clean clothes. Hey, are those my jeans?”
“You gave them to me last year.”
Cameron was always giving Allie her old clothes and then forgetting about it. Allie was too tired to be annoyed this time. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Shopping for my new boobs.” Cameron pushed some of the magazines aside to make room on the couch for Allie. “Come look.”
As Allie sat down next to her, Cameron flipped to a perfume ad. “What do you think of those?” She pointed to a model in long blond braids. She was splayed out on a rock
and staring up at a guy who was wearing blue tights and a red velvet leotard thing with silver sequins. He had a feather in his cap. There was a white horse in the background.
“Is he supposed to be a prince or something?”
Cameron blew her bangs out of her face, clearly annoyed. “I mean, what do you think of her chest?”
“Are those fake?” asked Allie.
“Yes,” said Cameron. “You can tell because they’re not sagging to the side. Real boobs don’t defy gravity like that.”
Tilting her head, Allie looked again. “Don’t you want something more natural-looking?”
“Probably.” Cameron flipped to a different page. “Check out this shot of Jessica Simpson.”
“I think they’re too big, but it’s hard to tell because she’s wearing a sweater.”
“I know. I really should get a Playboy or a Penthouse or something, but I can’t imagine just walking into a store and buying one. It’d be so embarrassing, and what if I run into someone I know?”
“I think Mom has a Victoria’s Secret catalog upstairs. Want me to get it?”
“That’s okay. We have Desperate Housewives on TiVo.”
“I saw one of them at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf last week,” said Allie.
“Which one?” asked Cameron.
“I don’t know their real names.”
“Was it her?” asked Cameron, showing Allie a page in Entertainment Weekly.
“Yes, but she doesn’t look like that in person.”
Cameron rolled her eyes. “Of course she doesn’t. Don’t you know how things work at magazines?” She had this way of asking questions that made Allie feel stupid for not already knowing the answers.
“What do you mean?”
“First they spend like four hours on hair and makeup, and then they make the lighting soft enough to accentuate curves and someone’s best features, and they only shoot from certain angles. Once they take the pictures, they fix things on the computer. It’s all airbrushing and Photoshop.”
“Really?”
Cameron pointed to the woman on the cover of Vogue. The face was familiar, but Allie couldn’t remember her name or even if she starred in movies or on TV.
“That’s not really her,” said Cameron. “After they took the picture, they made her skin smoother and her legs longer and her teeth whiter. Sometimes they’ll shoot an actress and then replace her real body with the body of some skinnier model.”
“Is that legal?” Allie picked up the magazine so she could get a closer look.
“Probably not, but who’s going to complain when they look better this way?”
“So those pictures don’t mirror reality at all?”
Cameron shook her head. “Nope.”
“So it’s completely impossible to live up to this standard?”
“Yup.”
Allie tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. “It just seems so unfair that women have to strive for an ideal that doesn’t even exist in the natural world.”
“Welcome to the twenty-first century,” said Cameron.
“It’s funny how different things were when Eve was a star. Like, you watch her old movies, and sure, she’s totally beautiful, but her body looks normal. Her arms aren’t really skinny or muscular. She has hips and everything.”
“I know, and remember that beach scene where she was wearing that old-fashioned bathing suit? Her ass looked huge,” said Cameron. “I guess she was working in the days before StairMaster and liposuction.”
“Don’t talk about Eve’s ass like that.”
“I’m sorry. I just think it’s fascinating the way notions of beauty change over time.”
“I think it’s kind of sad,” said Allie.
“It’s not if you think about it. Look how far science has come. If you’re really unhappy with something about your body, or if you have some flaw or whatever, you can always pay to have it fixed. Although at the same time, it does raise the bar for competition. That’s my problem. Now being beautiful takes so much money and time and effort.”
“If you want to devote your time to that.”
Cameron frowned. “You’ll never understand, Allie.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You never had braces, and you have amazing boobs that you don’t even appreciate. You’re always hiding them behind a sports bra.”
Allie crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s because I play sports.”
“Still, if I had your chest, I’d flaunt it.”
“Well, you will pretty soon, right?”
“That’s the plan,” said Cameron. “Hey, are you going to the Motion Picture Home tomorrow?”
Allie nodded. “I’m there every afternoon for two more weeks.”
“So what’s Eve Santora like? Is she still beautiful? She totally seems like the type of woman who could never get old and wrinkly.”
“She’s still beautiful,” Allie said automatically.
“She’s got to be ninety, right?”
Allie shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You know she used to date Gary Grant.”
“Mom told me.”
“Do you ever ask her about what it was like?”
“Um, we don’t really talk about her past. I think she left LA for a reason.”
“Do you think I could meet her? Maybe you can bring me along sometime so I can take pictures of her for my portfolio?”
“I thought you were done with that,” said Allie.
“I thought so, too. But Selby Chasen totally trashed my work, so now I need to start from scratch. So will you ask her for me?”
“Sure.” Allie felt weird about bringing Cameron in to gawk at the Motion Picture Home residents. Still, she agreed to ask because she figured Eve would never go for it.
“Thanks.” Cameron turned on the TV and flipped through the channels until she got to TRL. It was just ending and soon they heard the familiar theme song of MTV I Want a Famous Face.
“I love this show,” said Cameron.
“I hate it,” said Allie. “It’s so gory. I can’t watch.”
“Oh come on. It’s so funny. All these people are such losers. Half of them want to be strippers or pose for Playboy. I mean, what kind of goal is that?”
Allie shrugged. “Is it so different from what you want?”
Cameron glared at her. “Just because I want to look like a Playboy centerfold doesn’t mean I want to be a Playboy centerfold, okay?”
“And that’s so much better?” asked Allie. “I don’t get it.”
“Well if you don’t get it, I can’t really explain it.” Cameron turned up the volume. She didn’t like this new, self-righteous attitude her sister was sporting. Allie sounded like Blake, the two of them pretending they were above all the vanity. Well, they had that luxury, because neither of them had suffered like Cameron had. Making friends had always been easy for Allie. She wasn’t Miss Popularity,, but she’d never been tormented like Cameron.
Not that she should need that experience to understand.
Wasn’t it obvious that looks mattered? All Allie had to do was look at their mother. If Julie hadn’t been born beautiful, she never would have been discovered. Perhaps she’d still be working at the Dairy Queen in the middle of nowhere.
The world was kinder to beautiful people. It gave them more options.
When the commercial ended, Cameron turned back to the television, where the mysterious, faceless announcer said, “For years Krista Sellers has been told she looks like Julie Davenport. Today she wants to make that more of a reality.”
Cameron and Allie looked at each other for confirmation.
“Did she just say—?” asked Allie.
Cameron nodded, and both of them screamed when a picture of their mom filled the screen. It was a publicity still from The Deepest Bluest Sea.
“I can’t believe this is happening. It’s so surreal,” said Allie.
“I love that picture of Mom,” Cameron
said. “She looks so beautiful.”
The television announcer went on. “Krista will get cheek implants, a nose job, liposuction on her thighs, and a tummy tuck to get that fresh, classic, all-American look that Julie Davenport made popular in the late eighties.”
Krista came on camera. She did look like their mom in an eerie sort of way, but she was heavier and her hair was too dark. “Twenty years ago, Julie Davenport was the most beautiful woman in America. People used to tell me that I looked like her all the time. But then I gained fifteen pounds and I can’t take it off. I want to move to LA to become an actress. I think that if I look more like Julie Davenport, it’ll help me get work.”
“Is she for real?” Allie was truly horrified. Cameron laughed and bounced up and down on the couch. “I can’t believe this. This is exactly what I’m talking about, Allie.”
“It seems so wrong. Are they allowed to do this without asking Mom? Because she’s going to freak.”
“Are you kidding?” asked Cameron. “This is totally flattering. Mom will be thrilled.”
“She’s going to hate this. It’s so gross and I don’t want some mom clone walking around.”
Cameron didn’t take her eyes off the television. “Don’t worry. They never really turn out like who they want to look like. That’s what makes it so tragic.”
At the commercial, Allie glanced at her sister. “If I get a nose job, Coach McAdams won’t let me try out for varsity soccer next year.”
“What do you mean? That’s none of her business. She can’t do that just because of your nose.”
“It’s because I’ll be missing a week of the soccer camp.”
“But you totally deserve to be on varsity. She’s discriminating against you for wanting to improve your looks.”
“If I don’t play, then she’s going to pull up Quincy, I just know it.”
“Okay, I get why that would be annoying, but in the long run, who cares? It’s just a game. You can always quit and do yoga instead.”
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