by Faver, JD
Helmut wasn’t too thrilled about having people stand around watching Mel take his picture but, as long as he could get it over with in a reasonable amount of time and get back to the farm by Sunday evening so he could be on hand to do the milking, he would be content.
He and Mel enjoyed another trip to the spa tub and afterwards he made love to her until she almost passed out in his arms. He held her tenderly and watched her sleep, idly wondering what their children would look like. Would their eyes be blue or green; their hair light or dark? He didn’t care as long as the seed he planted would come to ripen in the belly of the woman he loved.
The next morning, Mel was stewing around the apartment. She was wound so tight she was ready to explode. This man, Alain had called three times already and she finally turned off the sound on her cell phone.
“I made our breakfast,” he whispered to her.
She turned and threw herself into his arms. “I’ll be glad when this day is over. If I can make it through this shoot without killing Alain St. Croix, it will be a miracle.”
He held her against him and soothed her, stroking her hair and cooing softly. “Why do you let this man upset you, liebchen? He is just a man and he does not control your life.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “I know you’re right. Alain is nervous about this campaign. He’s a complete perfectionist and so am I. We get on each other’s nerves before a shoot.” She gave him a smile and a kiss on the cheek. “Aren’t you sweet to prepare our breakfast? What did you make?”
“We have bacon and oatmeal and scrambled eggs. I hope you are hungry.”
“Yes, I am.” She sat beside him at the counter and ate heartily.
When they arrived at the St. Croix workroom, Alain rushed up to greet them. “At last, you are here! I had given up hope.”
Mel greeted him frostily. “We’re not late, Alain. We’re right on time.”
“Yes, yes. I’m just eager to begin. This is going to be a fabulous ad campaign. I’ve been approving the final selections of clothing for the spring and Solange has the prototypes prepared in Helmut’s size.” Alain was waving his hands excitedly. “Quick, quick. Try on the first garments so that they may be fitted perfectly. We have no time to waste.”
He hustled Helmut to a dressing room with Solange pushing in behind him. She handed him the first outfit to don, but he frowned at her and pointed firmly to the curtain, silently ordering her out while he changed.
When he pushed the curtain back and emerged, clad in slacks and a finely tailored shirt Alain and Solange burst into applause.
Alain beamed from ear to ear. “Yes, yes. It is just so. Turn around.”
Helmut glanced at Mel. She, too, was grinning encouragement. He turned around to face the back wall of the workroom, jumping when Solange ran her hand up the inseam of his pants. He cast her a less than friendly look, which was completely lost on her as she made a tiny chalk mark about halfway up his thigh.
“A bit snug,” she said. “We can’t have them binding. It makes a wrinkle run crosswise.” She followed this statement by grabbing the fabric at his crotch.
He removed her hand, gently but firmly, expelling an aggravated huff of air. Why did Mel expect him to allow a strange woman to fondle his private parts right in front of her?
Alain and Mel kept up a conversation in low tones, but glanced at him from time to time as he was being molested by Solange in the various articles of clothing. When at last she was done and Mel announced they were leaving, Helmut breathed a sigh of relief.
She walked with him down the street, oblivious to the mass of humanity jostling them on crowded sidewalk. “I need coffee,” she announced.
“I also need coffee.” At last, something they could both look forward to.
“Two more blocks to the Times Square Starbucks and I promise you a big surprise.”
They walked rapidly and she tugged his arm to guide him into a coffee shop bustling with activity. The aroma of coffee and other scents he couldn’t identify ambushed his nostrils. He stood in line with Mel and listened as she ordered a double hazelnut latte, half-caf with extra foam. She turned to him, expectantly.
“Uh, I will have the same thing,” he said.
Mel paid with her small plastic card and led him to a tiny table he couldn’t quite fit his legs under.
He leaned forward to whisper in Mel’s ear. “Why are people staring at me?”
She giggled delightedly. “Because you’re hot.”
He looked around the room and saw that several groups, most of them women, were grinning and gazing at him. One woman waved at him. He raised his hand to wave in return and the woman developed a case of giggles, covering her mouth as she went into a spasm of laughter.
“What is going on?” He turned to Mel, but her eyes were dancing with mischief.
“Our order’s ready,” she said. “Why don’t you pick it up for us?”
“Of course I will.” He rose, and took the ticket with him to claim the coffee.
The woman who had been giggling approached him, holding a paper napkin and a pen. “May I have your autograph?” She extended the pen and napkin toward him.
“Autograph?” He frowned down at her.
“Sign your name on this napkin for me, please.” She gazed up at him in an engaging manner. He noticed her friend standing nearby with a tiny camera. When he signed his name and handed it back, the woman slipped her arm around him and her friend snapped their photograph. She thanked him profusely and returned to their table.
Dazed, Helmut turned to hand the ticket to the clerk behind the counter and received two tall steaming cups with a froth of white on top.
He carried them back to the table where Mel waited, a wide grin on her face.
“Your first fan! How did that feel?”
“Very strange,” he said. He handed her one of the cups and watched as she sipped the steaming liquid. He lifted his cup and sank his lips into the foam to take a cautious sip of the sweet, coffee-flavored brew. Not coffee. This is definitely not coffee.
They drank the thick, coffee-scented liquid and chatted about the garments in which he had been fitted. When they headed for the door, a trio of young women were just coming in.
“Oh, my god! It’s him! It’s Helmut!” They all began squealing and pointing at once. They clustered around him and snapped pictures with their camera phones.
He escaped and shoved out the door with a grinning Mel trailing after him. “What was that about? How did they know my name?”
She took him by the hand and turned him around to face the big billboard atop the tallest building in the square. She directed his attention to his own enormous image gazing down on the city. A rich chocolate brown background and the words, Hombre...be a man, emblazoned in bright red with the name, Helmut, written out like a signature.
“Ach! Mein Gott! Vass is loss?” He gestured helplessly to the towering sign.
“Helmut, you’re famous. Everyone in the city knows who you are now.” Mel looked delighted.
A grinding sensation in his stomach made him regret drinking the sweet, foamy liquid.
A small crowd gathered around him and people were asking him to write his name and pose for pictures. His head hurt and his stomach churned.
Being famous was a lot like catching the flu.
#
CHAPTER EIGHT
Helmut was on edge when they returned to the St. Croix work room. He gazed around at the beehive of activity, stifling the urge to walk out the door.
Solange had all of the garments fine-tuned to Helmut’s body and had also steamed them before arranging them on padded hangers and covering them on a rolling rack.
Alain looked as proud as a new father. He was wearing a small black beret on his head and had slung a mint green sweater around his shoulders. He grinned and clapped his hands together. “We are ready! Let us get this show on the road.”
Mel nodded. “We’ll meet you in front of the museum. She took Hel
mut’s hand and made an escape. “Let’s get out of here before we can be trapped into any more of Alain’s drama.” She hailed a taxi and directed the driver to take them to the Metropolitan Museum of Fine Art.
Helmut reached for the cash in his pocket, uncomfortable with having her pay for things, but she frowned and covered his hand.
“Put that away. Do you want to get us mugged? Never let anyone see that you’re carrying cash?
“I do not like it when you pay for everything.”
“Relax, my love. I’m expensing everything. Even the lattes we drank this morning.”
Helmut swallowed hard. She called him her love. Was she serious? He couldn’t tell. But at least she had said it.
He cleared his throat and tried to catch hold of his runaway heart. “We are going to see the art inside the museum?”
“Not today, Helmut. The St. Croix entourage should be here momentarily.” She gestured toward a pretty, African-American woman with long braided hair standing on the granite steps beside a couple of large metal cases. “And Janissa is already here with my equipment.”
The two women greeted each other and set about opening the cases and extracting cameras and a shiny reflective screen.
“How can I help you?” he asked, but Mel shook her head.
“We’ve got this down to a science.”
The St. Croix truck came to a screeching halt at the curb and several people emerged, Alain St. Croix being the most vocal among them. He seemed to like clapping his hands a lot and ordering people around when they were doing their jobs without being told.
Like army ants, Alain’s minions unloaded the back of the truck, pushing the covered rolling rack out onto the sidewalk as well as a series of conjoined screens.
A slender young man wearing eye make-up and blush walked up to Helmut and surveyed him critically. Sparkling pierced earrings dangled from his lobes and bangle bracelets clanked at his wrist. “Light tan number two and a bronzer to finish.” He spoke into a miniature hand-held recorder and slipped it into his pocket before extending his hand as though to have it kissed. “Hello tall, golden and delicious. I’m Alistair Royce and I’m your make-up consultant.”
Helmut stared at the hand, at the earrings and at Alistair. “Mel!”
She came immediately. “Oh, good, you’ve met Alistair. Now where is Bruno?” She turned around twice. “There he is!” She waved to a teddy-bear of a man wearing a black beret like Alain’s. “Bruno, over here!”
Helmut gritted his teeth and spoke under his breath. “Mel, what is this about make-up? I do not wear make-up.”
Her tone was conciliatory. “Of course you don’t. Maybe just a tiny dusting of powder to take the sheen off.” She turned to the teddy-bear man and exchanged air kisses. “Bruno, this is Helmut. Could you get his hair into a little pony tail at the back of his neck when we go to the formal wear?”
Bruno’s face crinkled into a delighted grin. “I’m pleased to meet you, Helmut. Who does your highlights?” He raked his fingers through Helmut’s hair and walked around him. “Yes I can. How about a little black shoestring tie at the nape of his neck?”
“That will be perfect,” Mel said.
Helmut wasn’t sure what they were planning, but he knew that he would not allow anyone to put make-up on him, no matter what they called it, and he did not intend to have his hair tied back with a bow.
Within a few minutes, the St. Croix crew had commandeered space on the sidewalk and had set up a portable dressing room close to the building. Mel instructed him as to which garments she wanted him to wear first, and gave him a little pat on his rear as she shoved him inside the dressing room.
Helmut gazed in shock at the young woman standing inside. She gave him a grin and extended her hand. “Hi, Helmut. I’m Muriel. I’ll be your dresser today.”
The churning in his stomach reached hurricane force. “My dresser?”
“Sure,” she grinned up at him. “You know, to help you get dressed and undressed.”
“I dress myself.” He stated it quite firmly but she just laughed and reached to unbutton his shirt. “No, really. I take my own clothes off.”
Muriel bit her lip. “You’re firing me? I really need this job.”
“Ach, no. I do not mean to fire you, but I am not accustomed to have young ladies present when I remove my clothes. It is unseemly.”
She nodded grimly and sniffled. “I’ll go tell Mister St. Croix that you’re firing me.” She squared her shoulders and started to step through the curtained partition.
Helmut shook his head. “No, wait! I do not mean for you to lose your job.” He expelled a breath forcefully. “Just stand over there and turn your back.”
She nodded. “Like this?”
“That is good.” He unbuttoned his shirt and looked for the clothes Mel had directed him to put on first. Helmut fumbled with the zipper on the garment bag and dropped his shirt on the sidewalk.
“Mister Helmut, if you would please allow me to help you we could get through this a lot faster. That’s why I’m here.”
Helmut huffed out a sigh. “Alright, you will help me to dress.”
In a flash Muriel had extracted the proposed outfit and helped him step into the pants and shoes. She helped him button the shirt and, finally, held open the jacket for him to slip his arms into.
“These are the cufflinks Mister St. Croix selected.” She folded back the French cuffs and deftly poked the polished jewelry through the openings. Muriel gave him an appraising look, tweaked his collar and tugged at his jacket. “Perfect. Go out and give ‘em hell. I’ll have your next change ready.”
Helmut swallowed and tried to smile. “That was not so bad.”
Muriel grinned. “So, I’m not fired.”
Helmut shook his head and stepped outside the dressing cubicle. He took a deep breath, searched the crowd until he found Mel.
“There he is!” Alain shouted. “You look fabulous, Helmut. Doesn’t he look fabulous? Bruno, do something with his hair.”
The teddy bear man approached him, grinning eagerly. He took a tube of something from his pocket and squirted it on his fingers and rubbed them together. “Lean down here, Helmut. I can’t reach.”
“What are you doing?” Helmut asked.
“Hair gel.”
Mel came to stand by him. “Oh, Helmut, you do look magnificent in that suit. Hurry up, Bruno.” She and Janissa grinned at him, looking expectant, although what they were expecting eluded him.
He inclined his head toward Bruno who raked his fingers through Helmut’s hair, fluffing it and smoothing it in turn. The gel stuff smelled like flowers.
“Come over here by the lion,” Mel directed. She spent the next few minutes arranging him and shooting many pictures in which he stood beside one of the great stone lions in front of the museum. “Change into the next outfit, Helmut. Try to speed it up a little, could you?”
“I will try to hurry.” He went to the dressing cubicle and found Muriel waiting with his next change. He stood still and her nimble fingers relieved him of jacket, tie, cufflinks and shirt. While she placed these things on hangers, he removed his own belt and pants.
Muriel handed him another pair of trousers with the zipper open and ready for him to step into. She placed a circle of white paper on the sidewalk and instructed him to stand on it. “If you stand on this paper, you won’t get the pants dirty.”
He complied and then slipped into the next shirt she held for him. This was a black suit of a finely woven fabric with crisply tailored lines. It fit him like a glove. He glanced at himself in the full length mirror. He straightened, staring at his altered image. Who am I? Who have I become?
His hair looked like it was greasy, although he’d washed it in Mel’s shower that morning. He looked strange to his own eyes, somber as though he’d just come from a funeral.
“They’re ready for you now.” Muriel held the curtain open for him.
Mel waited for him outside the changing cubicle.
>
“How are you doing?” she asked. “I know all this is new for you, but you’re a natural. I can’t wait to get back to the studio and get these printed. You’re doing great.”
“I am doing great?”
She stood on tiptoe and brushed a kiss on one side of his mouth. “Yes, you are. You look so handsome in that cashmere suit. The black is a sexy contrast with your coloring. ”
He looked at her. Her eyes were shining and she was looking at him like he was the only man in the world. Like his grandmother looked at his grandfather. Like she loved him.
#
Janissa let out a soft moan. “Wow! He is so hot! How did you get him to let Bruno do his hair in a pony tail?”
Mel shrugged, watching Helmut take long strides toward the changing cubicle. His tall lean form looked as good departing as it did advancing. “I just asked him. He said, ‘Whatever you want’ and that was that.”
“He looks mad.”
Mel chortled. “Alistair swiped him with a little bronzer. I thought he was going to punch him except I’m sure Helmut would never strike a lady.”
Janissa giggled. “Whatever’s going on with him, it’s working. He is the hottest guy on the planet and you captured him. Alain should be kissing your toes.”
Mel glanced at Alain. He was babbling to one of his assistants who rapidly made notes in a small book. “Let’s pack it up and we’ll meet at the Obelisk in Central Park at ten in the morning.”
Janissa opened one of the metal cases and collapsed the tripod to fit inside. “Aren’t you going to go back to the studio and print tonight?”
Mel shook her head. “I owe Helmut some quiet time. This is all strange for him. I want him to have a chance to assimilate it.” She slipped her camera into its padded case.
“If I can sneak Helmut out of here without Alain making him crazy, that is.”
Alain St. Croix was at that moment advancing on Mel with a grin on his face. “Fabulous shoot, dear one. Let us go out to celebrate.”