Something Like Lightning

by Jay Bell

  Marcello considered him shrewdly. “I’ll give you a two-day contract, in which you will be paid one hundred dollars an hour. Those photos will be a test to see if we are creatively compatible, and will be used only to gauge client interest. You won’t have final say, but if you feel uncomfortable at any time during a session, you may speak up and those photos won’t leave this studio. Once the two days are over, and if it is mutually beneficial, terms of a longer contract can be discussed. Do we have a deal?”

  Kelly’s mulled it over until satisfied. “Deal.”

  “Good,” Marcello leaned forward and pushed the contract toward him. “Sign here.”

  Kelly realized that the compromises they seemed to have reached were actually the original terms of the contract. So much for his negotiation skills. He thought about playing hardball, maybe walking out of the office in the hopes Marcello would lure him back with a better offer. That would mean returning home to face another empty day...

  Leaning forward, Kelly took hold of the pen and signed his name.

  When considering the worst case scenario, Kelly imagined the photographers having him sit on a mat, his amputated leg stretched out before him for all to see. He’d be looking up at the camera, pathetically begging the consumer to buy whatever merchandise was being pushed. Or maybe they would have him lift the stump in the air, a pair of designer underwear dangling off of it.

  Such schemes appeared even more plausible when in makeup, where Kelly was asked to strip down. Just about every inch of his body was powdered or plucked or somehow improved in places he never realized were a problem. This included the nub of his leg. Margie, the makeup lady, took it all in stride.

  “Just be glad you’ve still got your briefs on,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve applied rouge to.”

  Kelly felt a little better once buttoned up in a stylish dress shirt and dark slacks.

  “How do you usually handle the pant leg, honey?” Margie asked.

  “I usually just fold it up with a few hair pins.”

  “Then that’ll do just fine.”

  The first photo shoot was in a different studio area, one corner arranged to look like a Cambridge library. Kelly was directed to a high-backed leather chair where he was asked to sit sideways, his leg draped across one of the arms. The photographer—an older guy with just a few wisps of red hair left on his head—introduced himself as Rick. Then he quietly snapped a few photos and consulted the digital preview before looking up at Kelly again.

  “You like boys or girls?” he asked.

  “Men,” Kelly responded.

  “Fair enough. I know this might be a stretch, but I need you to pretend I’m the hottest guy you’ve ever seen. Your boyfriend, if you’ve got one. Is that who this is?” He gestured with his head toward Jason, who was standing in the corner of the room and now wearing a deer-inheadlights expression.

  “Nope,” Kelly said. “Not my type.”

  “Hey!” Jason protested.

  Kelly smiled, which sent the camera flashing. Then he tried to get himself in the mood by thinking of porn stars or old crushes. He even tried thinking of Jared, but in the end, his stupid imagination settled on William. He pretended he’d been waiting up half the night, horny as hell, for William to come home. Now that he had arrived—in the form of an aging photographer—Kelly cranked up the sex appeal, trying with body language alone to get him to strip off his Coast Guard uniform. This little game must have worked because the photographer became more animated, dancing around Kelly and capturing him from different angles.

  “Feel free to move,” Rick said.

  Kelly did so, rolling and twisting in the chair. He was just getting started when Rick lowered the camera and beamed at him. “Great stuff! Let’s get to the next set.”

  Kelly was stripped down to his underwear, laid out on a couch, and tangled up in a blanket. As he squirmed, there were times his amputation was revealed, which of course was the point. Plenty of the rest of him was exposed too. Kelly found he didn’t mind. The attention felt good. As the day wore on, he found himself looking forward to each new scenario. Every hour he became something new—a boorish jock, a proud-faced thug, a disinterested businessman. The only time he felt uncomfortable was when they tried dressing him up in army fatigues, as if he were a war veteran. That seemed disrespectful to actual veterans, and the moment he expressed his discomfort, they moved on to the next idea.

  As much fun as he was having, when lunch break rolled around, he could see Jason was bored out of his mind.

  “Nothing to do with your performance,” he insisted over smoked salmon bagels. “You getting all sexy for the camera is very— Um. Yeah. It’s just the never-ending moving around of lights, reading meters, switching lenses, and everything else that drives me nuts.”

  Kelly laughed. “That might be my favorite part!”

  Every time the crew stopped to make adjustments, he paid careful attention, whisked back to the days when a camera was his best friend. Of course he could see how Jason would find the long waits during makeup and wardrobe changes tedious. “You can go home,” he said. “I’ll make Marcello call a limo for me.”

  “You sure?” Jason said, a little too eagerly.

  “Absolutely. I was freaking out when we first got here, but I’m okay now. Thanks for tagging along. And for setting this up. That was really cool of you.”

  Jason smiled. His good deed done, he left once lunch was over.

  Kelly reported back to the makeup room where Margie had a long white robe waiting for him, the sort that might be worn in the desert. “This isn’t a statement about the war, is it?” he asked. “I’m not okay with anything like that.”

  “Nope.” From one corner of the room, Margie grabbed a long wooden pole with a hook at the top.

  “A shepherd?” he asked.

  “Yup. Think you can stand with only this to balance you?”

  “Easily,” Kelly said. “I’m just surprised that shepherds concern themselves with the latest fashion trends. Or that they exist anymore.” Margie snorted. “You’d be surprised how much modeling has nothing to do with selling clothes. This might be used for cologne, or an expensive watch, or maybe even life insurance. Sex sells.”

  “Yeah, but shepherds aren’t exactly sexy.”

  “This one will be. I need you to hop in the shower. Get all that makeup off you. Then we’re going to oil you up.”

  O-kay. Kelly did what he was told, trying to imagine what was coming next. The second he stepped out of the shower, Margie was standing there with a towel. “I have sons nearly twice your age. You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen, or that I’m interested in.”

  Thankfully she didn’t intend to dry him off, but she did have a swatch of white fabric that she wrapped around his pelvis and tied at the front, creating a primitive sort of skimpy underwear.

  “No complaints,” she said. “If it’s good enough for Jesus, it’s good enough for you.”

  As promised, she slathered him in oil. Or at least certain areas of him, like the front of his torso and neck but not his shoulders. Once he donned the robe, he found out why. It wasn’t as long as he initially thought, the fabric ending somewhere around his knee. It also lacked a belt, meaning it was left hanging open. Margie stepped back to consider him before applying oil to a few places she’d missed. Then she swatted him on the rump and told him he was ready.

  As soon as Kelly entered the studio and saw the light setup, he knew what sort of photo this would be. The background was white and the illumination levels cranked up. This combined with his white clothes meant that his freshly oiled skin would look darker than ever. High contrast was the theme. Like Charlotte March’s photos of Trevor in Twen magazine, this involved a black model against a white background and an abundance of light. Kelly was looking forward to the end result, even if it had been done plenty of times before. With black models. He’d like to see a pasty white guy greased up and shoved in front of a dark background.<
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  “I love that smile,” Rick said. “I won’t pretend it’s sweet, but it sure makes the camera happy.”

  “No need to butter me up,” Kelly responded. “Between the body oil and all these lights, I’ll be deep-fried by the time you’re through.”

  “I hope not,” Rick said. “Into position please.”

  Margie brought him the shepherd’s crook and took away his crutches. Kelly hopped a few times to get his balance. Even more lights were switched on. He faced them and tried not to squint against their brightness.

  “What’s my motivation?” Kelly asked. “Am I horny for my sheep?”

  “Give me sultry,” Rick said. After a few minutes of photos, he changed his mind. “Try stoic. Pretend you’re standing on a hill, surveying your flock. No pride, no contentment. Just an acceptance of your duty.”

  Right. After Margie stepped in to mop the sweat off his brow, Kelly tried putting himself in this mindset. He was a shepherd. He’d been doing this his whole life, the safety of his flock routine rather than extraordinary. Kelly stared into the distance, seeing only shadowy forms beyond the light: Rick moving back and forth, the lighting technicians making slight adjustments. Margie’s stooped form. Marcello’s silent bulk; His potential employer had been observing him the entire day, rarely offering any direction or feedback. Then there was the hulking shadow standing next to him. That one was new.

  Kelly squinted to see better before Rick chastised him.

  “Eyes on the flock!” he said. “Don’t let those sheep get away.”

  Kelly returned his attention to the forefront, only glancing toward Marcello again when Margie came to sponge up more of his sweat. Whoever it was, the guy was big, since Marcello didn’t look so large anymore.

  “Ready?” Rick asked.

  “Yeah,” Kelly said. “Uh, wait.” He hopped and shifted his weight, leaning more on the crook. And facing a little more in Marcello’s direction.

  Rick seemed okay with this, because he was snapping photos again. Now when Kelly stared off into the distance, he saw two forms. One rotund, the other a seductive silhouette. He snorted at the idea. Rick complained, but Kelly couldn’t help it. Who’d ever heard of a sexy shadow? But the broad shoulders, the round deltoids, even the casual posture as the man leaned against the wall, one foot pressed against it... Kelly could make out some of the facial features, the shadows deep beneath the heavy brow. Then the figure stepped forward, reached for one of the lights, and turned it off.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Rick said, spinning around. “Oh! I didn’t realize it was you. Sorry, Nathaniel.”

  Kelly’s jaw dropped. He might not have remembered the name if Rick hadn’t spoken it. Their brief encounter had been blurred by emotion and alcohol, but Kelly hadn’t forgotten him. From the way one corner of Nathaniel’s mouth jerked upward, he hadn’t forgotten Kelly either.

  “You’re doing great,” Nathaniel said to him. “Keep it up, and there might be another bottle of wine in it for you.”

  Then the light was switched back on. Kelly blinked against it before he said, “Can I get that in writing?”

  “He’s probably serious,” Marcello grumbled.

  “Gentlemen,” Rick said, voice strained. “If I may continue?”

  “By all means,” Nathaniel said.

  Kelly tried to focus on the task at hand, wanting to prove how professional he could be, but his mind was racing. What was Nathaniel doing here? He had arranged the fundraiser for Marcello, but that had little in common with a photo shoot. Maybe he had come by to discuss business with his boss and had stopped to stare. Lustfully.

  “There’s that smile again,” Rick said. “I don’t think I’ve seen anything naughtier in my life.”

  “I have,” Marcello replied. “Shall I draw you a picture?”

  Rick ignored this to give Kelly more instructions. The photo session dragged on, and soon all Kelly could think of was getting away from the lights and cooling down. By the time the lamps finally shut off, he saw ghost images that practically blinded him. When his vision cleared, only the technicians, the photographer, and his would-be employer remained. Nathaniel was gone.

  “Well done,” Marcello said, approaching with a hand outstretched. He thought twice when he saw how sweaty Kelly was. Instead he fetched Kelly’s crutches and handed them to him. “We’re finished for today. No need to come to the studio tomorrow. I thought we’d entertain ourselves with some location shooting. If you’re agreeable, I’ll send a car around to pick you up. Say, seven in the morning?”

  “Fine,” Kelly said. “Speaking of which, I need a ride home.”

  “I’ll make arrangements immediately.” Marcello looked him over. “Perhaps you should treat yourself to a shower first.”

  Kelly didn’t need to be asked twice. When he got in the shower, he made sure the water was cool, but by the time he was finished, the small room was full of steam. Once he stepped out, he discovered he wasn’t alone. Like Jack the Ripper lurking in the London fog, Margie stood there, a fresh towel held at the ready.

  “Sounds like you’re riding home with me,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind sitting in the smoking section, because that’s all my car has.” Kelly snatched the towel from her, covered himself, and sighed. So much for his stretch-limo dreams.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Five in the morning. That’s how early Kelly woke up. Now he wished he hadn’t bothered. After taking a shower, he didn’t have anything to do. He only ate an apple for breakfast, worrying more would make him look bloated. The text he’d received from Marcello last night insisted he remain as natural as possible.

  No hair products, and certainly no makeup!

  As if Kelly used either. Once ready, he sat around the breakfast table and yawned, the last twenty minutes full of temptation, thanks to his mother’s French toast. Kelly glanced at the microwave clock, the first digit changing from a six to a seven.

  Ding dong!

  “I’m out of here,” Kelly said, standing up and heading for the door. Then he stopped and considered his parents. “Or is that too eager? Maybe I should have one of you answer.”

  “I’m not pretending to be your servant,” his mother said.

  His father was already on his feet. “I’ve always wanted to be a butler! ”

  Kelly watched in amusement as his father headed for the door. He strained to listen. Would it be a limo driver? Or a taxi at least? Or maybe just Margie again. When his father returned to the kitchen, his eyes were wide. A limo! It had to be!

  “I think you’re going to enjoy this,” he said. “Best of luck, son!”

  “Thanks.” Kelly swung toward the front door so fast he nearly left his crutches behind. Of course this made it all the harder to stop when he saw who was waiting for him.

  Nathaniel stood just outside the glass door. His back was turned, but the build was unmistakable. Kelly slowed and reached for the handle. Nathaniel turned, looked him up and down through the glass, and made no effort to open the door for him. So much for helping the crippled guy. Not that Kelly really needed it. Switching one of the crutches to his other arm, he got it open and hopped outside.

  “Good morning,” Kelly said.

  Nathaniel’s brow lowered. “Don’t speak. I’m serious. Just get in the car.”

  “Okay,” Kelly said. “Are you hungover or something?”

  Nathaniel just glared at him in return.

  Not hiding his smile, Kelly headed for the driveway. No limo, but the black sedan was a step up from the hunk of junk Margie drove. Once again, Nathaniel didn’t seem concerned with opening the door for Kelly.

  In fact, he was already seated behind the wheel by the time Kelly reached the car. Charming. He made sure that his crutches clattered together as he got himself settled. Once buckled up and in motion, he considered everything.

  Light electronic music played just loud enough to be heard. The beat was pretty mellow, which seemed to ease Nathaniel’s sour expressio
n somewhat. The interior fabric was dark, the windows tinted against the sun. Maybe Nathaniel was a vampire. Kelly glanced over at him, noticing the natural highlights in his light brown hair, the tan on his forehead and nose, and the scruff on his chin that was platinum blond in places. No enemy of the sun. Just not a morning person. Or maybe he was irritated that he’d been sent to fetch Kelly. Marcello seemed to save money by having his employees act as taxis.

  Kelly settled back and relaxed, waiting to see where the photo shoot would be located. On the banks of the Colorado River? Or maybe a downtown street, Kelly posing in front of expensive shops while Rick shot photos. Or how about a completely average pancake house, because that’s what they parked in front of. He looked around for signs of the crew, or some cordoned-off area where they would be working.

  “Come on,” Nathaniel said, already halfway out of the car.

  By the time Kelly was standing in the parking lot, Nathaniel had closed the trunk, a camera bag slung over one arm. When they entered the restaurant, he expected Nathaniel to announce them to the greeter. Instead, when she asked if it was just the two of them, Nathaniel grunted in acknowledgement. Soon they were seated.

  Kelly glanced around. No sign of Rick or Margie. Or Marcello, not that Kelly could imagine him visiting such a humble restaurant. Maybe they simply hadn’t arrived yet. He turned his attention back to Nathaniel, feeling a thrill at sitting across from such a handsome guy. God that was sad! Kelly blamed it on a lack of action. Not a drop since William, in fact, and even then they hadn’t slept together for that last month or so. Not after Jason had wedged his way into the picture.

  Nathaniel felt his gaze, the hazel eyes swiveling to meet his. “You eaten breakfast?”

  Was that even a complete sentence? “I had an apple.”

  “That’s not breakfast. You don’t have body image issues, do you? If so, get out of the modeling business now.”

  Kelly shrugged. “I thought a big breakfast might make me look bloated.”