Perfect Shot

by Debbie Rigaud

  I sat up and took short breaths. This was sounding more and more exciting by the minute.

  Just then Didier rolled in a rack lined with garment bags on hangers.

  “Here”—he paused for effect before continuing—“are your mystery costumes.” Like a harp player grazing the strings, Didier ran his hand across the neatly arranged row of white garment bags. “Today your photo shoot is all about stepping into character. In case you’re not familiar with the characters behind these fabulous costumes, there is a short written breakdown of each person we want you to bring out during your photo shoot.”

  Monica stepped forward carrying a clipboard. “Remember, as the Chic Boutique model, you’re going to have to portray an image and assume different personas for the summer campaign. Here’s your chance to show us you have that range. So when I call your name, please step up to collect your costume,” she announced. “After all of your names have been called, follow me to the backstage dressing rooms.”

  “Maria of West Side Story” read the folded paper inside my designated garment bag. I didn’t even have to read the character description. I was already very familiar with Maria and the musical. I heart West Side Story. It was one of my favorites in junior high. After seeing the movie and the musical, I couldn’t get the songs “America,” “Tonight,” and “I Feel Pretty” out of my head.

  The costume was a 1950s-inspired violet-colored dress. It was a button-down number with pretty short sleeves and a slender red pleather belt.

  I slipped into the dress as quickly as possible. The judges hadn’t announced who would be photographed first, but I didn’t want to be the one who delayed the process. A pair of black peekaboo-toe heels were also in the wardrobe bag. Just as I slipped them on, Monica entered the dressing room and asked me and Maya (dressed as Elle Woods from Legally Blonde: The Musical) to follow her to another prep room.

  It seemed like just yesterday I was sitting in the hair and makeup chair. Now here I was again sitting in front of an artist with a paintbrush in hand and my face was the canvas. The fun twist was that we would all be given wigs to match the era of our characters. The stylist lowered a short brunette wig over my head. The ends of the hair curled upward in a flip, which was also totally reminiscent of the 1950s. For a finishing touch, a wide, bright red plastic headband was pinched onto my head, holding the wig in place and adding extra pizzazz to my look. Next, the makeup artist painted on a thick, glossy layer of red lipstick. It’s not the easiest thing matching red to dark brown skin. I watched as deeper purple tones were mixed into the red, creating a complementary plum red tint. For dramatic effect, the stylist glued fake eyelashes to my lids and painted on a character mole above my lips. I looked ready for center stage.

  Monica inspected my look before she released me to the photo shoot. Before I was given the green light, she gave me a few chunky bracelets to wear on my left wrist.

  “Looking good,” she said approvingly. “Go see Didier.”

  My play BFF’s eyes popped out of his head when he saw me approaching, my fluffy skirt swaying as I hurriedly reported to him.

  “Magnifique, Londres!” he called out with a hint of vibrato in his voice.

  I smiled in my usual shy way.

  “Nuh-uh-uh.” He waved his finger in the air. “You are not a shy contestant in a New Jersey modeling contest right now. For the next ten minutes, you are Maria of West Side Story.”

  And for the next ten minutes, I became Maria. I’d always admired her strength and sensibilities. As Didier cued up the songs from the musical’s soundtrack, I started to draw on my memories of the character and began to relax. The head photographer seized the opportunity and began clicking away while he was pacing in front of me. Brent shadowed his movements, handing him different cameras every time he’d blindly reach back, holding out his hand like a doctor in the operating room.

  It felt great being up onstage and pretending to be Maria. The self-conscious feelings creeping up didn’t take hold. I shook them off and let the musical numbers transport me. I even mouthed along to the lyrics when “I Feel Pretty” came on. The photographer seemed to be running through all his film. Brent disappeared backstage with two of the used cameras and didn’t resurface for the rest of my shoot.

  “That was great,” the lead photographer told me after his face emerged from behind the camera. “Thank you, Maria.”

  I curtseyed and walked offstage in the direction I came from. On my way there, I criss-crossed Maya, who was next to be photographed.

  It was nice not to have a crowd of contestants watching my shoot. In this instance, it paid to go first. As I headed toward the stage-left exit, I heard the photo intern cue the Legally Blonde number “Bend and Snap.” It made me smile and send a little wish for Maya to rock it out.

  By the time I cornered the curtains and started down the backstage maze, I heard murmurings coming from behind a tall speaker. Kelly was talking in hushed tones. As I got a bit closer, I could see her red slip-on heels and second-skin black leather pants. I couldn’t yet make out the rest of her because she was leaning over a table and out of my view. Two slow and quiet paces later, her black off-the-shoulder top and the back of the superteased blond wig she was wearing came into view. I braced myself to find out who it was she was whispering sweet nothings to at such close proximity and in such a quiet, dark, isolated area backstage. The person hadn’t said anything back to her yet, but I had a good feeling who it might be.

  I stomped a little harder as I walked. I wanted her to hear that someone was coming. But it was naive of me to hope that the presence of another person could make Kelly self-conscious. If I remember correctly, the girl flourishes when there is an audience. The sound of my deliberate footsteps caught her attention and she turned and stood upright for half a second. When she realized that it was me headed her way, she resumed her hushed conversation and—I swear I didn’t imagine this—leaned in even closer. The view from where I was showed her rear end saluting the ceiling. Lawd only knew what view she was giving her companion.

  The table Kelly was leaning on was now in full view. There was a scattering of film and camera parts on it. And as I finally reached Kelly, I was able to see Brent standing across from her.

  Nine

  Brent looked up from what he was writing on a spreadsheet when I came into his view.

  There was no way to misinterpret the scene. Kelly was totally macking on Brent and giving it her all. The close lean-in, the hushed, soft voice, the seductive hint of boobage. And even I had to admit she looked damn amazing dressed as the sexy Sandy from Grease.

  All of a sudden, I wasn’t feeling “so pretty” as Maria anymore. Let’s be real—the kind of stuff Maria wore was what Sandy wore before she got her sexy back. My look was feeling more matronly by the minute.

  I paused when I saw Brent because I was surprised. I knew that halting would translate into shock and disappointment. I didn’t want to confirm Kelly’s obvious suspicions about my crushing on one of the photo interns. And I didn’t want Brent to think that he had some hold over me like that. So I played off my standstill and pretend to be lost.

  “Oh no,” I said. “I don’t remember this being here. I must’ve made a wrong turn.”

  Brent, who had been paying extra-close attention to what he was logging on the spreadsheet and seemingly ignoring Kelly’s advances, set down the equipment when I said this.

  I think I caught a slight smile on his face as he looked at me.

  If I didn’t leave right then, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to hide my agitation much longer. Until recently, Kelly probably saw no difference between him and the lighting equipment. And now all of a sudden—and incidentally, after she noticed the attention I was bestowing on him—she wanted to flash him a bit of skin and whisper in his ear? It was too much of a coincidence.

  Surprisingly though, Brent seemed unaffected by her feminine prowess or beauty.

  “That’s aight,” he said. “Happens all the time.”

>   He stuffed the final pieces in a leather case, zipped it, and slung it on his broad shoulder. “I’ll show you how to get there,” he said, walking away from the table and toward me.

  I couldn’t believe my SOS comment came out like a damsel-in-distress signal that he totally answered to. And Kelly couldn’t believe it either. For a few seconds, it was like Brent and I forgot we weren’t the only two people on the scene. Kelly made sure to remind us. She stood upright to face me and tapped one pedicured foot in annoyance.

  “Wow, London, your sense of direction is about as bad as your timing.”

  Suddenly, Kelly didn’t look so flawlessly gorgeous anymore. The ill things she was thinking about me had her face twisted up like a wicked witch’s. It was clear that she didn’t take too kindly to being upstaged. Especially when her original plan, which obviously backfired, was to stay solidly on the radar of every contest judge and crew member. Kelly had no doubt been blindsided by my relatively popular three-week run and my strong performance that day.

  Normally, I would back away from the kind of challenge Kelly’s actions were inviting. I’m the first person to acknowledge when I’m out of my league. I prefer to stick to my strengths. You won’t catch me on American Idol’s delusional-rejects reels disagreeing with Simon’s professional opinion. Besides, it is a known fact that if you don’t care enough about what you are fighting for, you are less likely to win that battle. And if you had asked me a few weeks ago, I’d have confessed that I couldn’t care less about modeling or winning this contest. The most I was looking to get out of this was more cozy encounters with Brent. As for everything else, I was just going with the flow and having fun.

  But the Chic Boutique Model Search had become both an unexpected and welcome distraction for me. For the first time in months, I wasn’t ping-ponging from the classroom to the court like the volleyballs that bullet over the net at my games. And the best part was all the awesome reader support I was getting for venturing out of my comfort zone. There were girls out there who got passed up and straight-up snubbed for not looking the part. I was representing them, a realization that stripped me of any tolerance for Kelly’s sense of entitlement.

  “I’m so sorry—I didn’t realize I was interrupting anything,” I offered with faux innocence.

  “No, I was just finishing up here,” Brent replied before Kelly could. Judging from his casual response, I could tell he didn’t even take into account his alone time with Kelly.

  “Kelly Fletcher, please report to the stage.” Either that judge Monica walked on pointe or she was one of those weightless elves from The Lord of the Rings, because none of us heard her step onto the scene. We had no idea how long she’d been standing there. It caught us completely off guard and embarrassed the heck out of me.

  Possibly from witnessing the tense exchange between Kelly and me, Monica raised an eyebrow disapprovingly before walking away.

  “Guess you better get going.” I nudged Kelly so she’d hit the road.

  Kelly let out a heavy breath and shot me a look that vowed payback as she clip-clopped away.

  “So, how did you enjoy the shoot?” I loved the way Brent continued the conversation as if nothing off the hook had just happened.

  “Great.” I smiled despite feeling oddly worried.

  “Good,” he said, walking slower than necessary. I slowed my own pace down to stay in step with him. There were a few seconds of silent anticipation.

  I was relieved when he spoke up first.

  “Hey,” he started, “I showed your volleyball photos to the editor at my school paper and she asked me to take some shots of tonight’s boys’ volleyball game at my school.”

  “That’s really great!” We stopped walking to face each other. I was happy for him.

  “Yeah, and I was thinking, do you want to meet me at the game?” he asked. “I mean— it’s probably better if you bring a friend or two to hang out with since I’ll be courtside taking pictures most of the time. But I was hoping maybe we could head to that juice bar afterward and talk some more.”

  If it looks and quacks like a duck, well then, duckie, it’s a date. And Brent was asking me out on a date with him. Totally unexpected.

  “Sure.” I smiled, but not too deeply. “That sounds cool.”

  Before this moment, I was sure Brent would be totally turned off by me. Heaven knows he’d witnessed enough freestyle Kelly vs. London sparring matches to send him running far from me. It’s embarrassing how easily we push each other’s buttons. But now I was more inclined to believe Brent was actually interested in me.

  “There he is.” I pointed across the noisy gym at the guy in the brown cord jacket and jeans. Pam squinted in that direction, clearly not seeing anything. Her boyfriend Jake shook his head at her poor eyesight.

  “Yeah—picture you pointing something out to Pam that’s farther than three feet away.” He chuckled.

  “Never mind,” I told them. “He’s on his way over here.”

  Brent met us where we stood, between the water fountain and the gym’s side double doors.

  “Hey, London.” He greeted me with a smile. His hair looked freshly touched up. His hairline was tight and his low fade seemed to glisten a bit. The perks of working at a barber shop.

  “Hi,” I answered, not sure if I should give him a hug. To be safe, I did nothing but hang on to my bag with both hands.

  I turned to my ace gurl to relieve the awkwardness I was feeling.

  “Hey, Brent.” Pam waved while Jake and Brent exchanged head-nods.

  “Thanks for coming, guys.” He seemed grateful that we came. “I’m not a part of my school’s sports program but Warwick High has a reputation for winning so I’m excited to be shooting this game,” he said, pretending to act like a museum tour guide.

  “London knows all about this school’s girls team’s reputation for winning—right, gurl?” Pam joked.

  “We only lost to them once this year,” I said, defending the Teawood Warriors.

  “Butchya only played ’em once.” Pam wouldn’t leave it alone.

  “Ouch!” Jake exaggerated. He likes to make Pam feel good about anything she does—including telling corny jokes.

  “Please,” Brent cut through the oohs and aahs. “That’s just because London sat out the last game against them. If she were playing, it would’ve been a different story.”

  Brent held out his fist and I bumped it with mine. He was defending me. This was definitely feeling like a double date.

  “Let’s go find a spot to sit before this place gets too crowded,” Jake said.

  “We’ll meet you there,” Pam said and we all wondered why. “I wanna get a quick drink of water. Wait with me, London?”

  When the guys were out of earshot, Pam said, “You guys are so cute. And more importantly, I think he likes you!”

  “Really?” I trust Pam’s judgment of character.

  “Yup, and—” Pam stopped short. Something caught her attention. “Don’t look, but we have a stalker coming this way.”

  I took a peek anyway and saw Unslick Rick slithering his way toward us. Figures he’d be here. His star v-baller girlfriend was the captain of this school’s girls team.

  “How long has he been there?” I asked Pam.

  “I don’t know but he was staring hard at you with Brent.”

  Pam ducked down to grab a drink of water just as Rick came over.

  “Hey, London.” All of a sudden he was talking to me like we were cool. The tone of his voice was casual and friendly, like we’d just chatted yesterday.

  I didn’t respond right away. It still hurt every time I saw him. I wasn’t over the humiliation and couldn’t bring myself to be friends or be enemies with him.

  “Hi,” I finally answered dryly.

  “I see you’re here on a date?” he asked.

  Pam apparently thought that was enough catch-up. She stopped drinking, wiped her mouth, and hooked her arm around mine.

  “Let’s get going, London,�
�� she said without any regard to him standing there. “The guys probably miss us by now.”

  We walked off without saying good-bye.

  When we joined Brent and Jake in the upper bleachers, they were already deep in conversation. Jake was telling Brent about his favorite websites when Pam and I arrived on the scene.

  “If anyone wants to book Jake’s design services,” Pam started, “they’ll have to consult me first.”

  We continued vibing like this until a few minutes into the game, when Brent slipped away to start his photography work. The match was a fast-paced one. We cheered for the home team and they didn’t disappoint. They laid down a thrashing on their visitors. It was almost painful.

  At the end of the game I searched the court for Brent. He was at the net capturing an interesting angle on the traditional handshakes between the teams.

  “We’re gonna be late if we don’t get going.” Jake checked the time on the scoreboard.

  “That’s right.” Pam turned to me. She’d told me that they had plans to catch the seven p.m. movie at the mall. They squeezed in this game because of me.

  “Go ’head, guys,” I told them. “Thanks so much for coming. I owe y’all one.”

  They didn’t budge.

  “I’ll be fiiine,” I said. “Now get outta here.”

  Pam wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. Jake stood up and dusted off his fitted jeans and threw on his hoodie jacket with the huge skull graphic on the back.

  I watched them walk out hand in hand and then turned my attention back to the right end of the court, where Brent was working.

  “Hey,” I heard Rick say from my left. “Somebody sitting here?”

  What does he want? I wondered. I hadn’t seen him during the game. Besides, I thought by this time he’d be canoodling in the bleachers with his star girlfriend.

  That thought had me scanning the court for her tall, slender frame. I spotted her chatting with a sweaty player.