by ML Michaels
Although normally captivated by such a radiant—as well as highly photogenic—vision, Amie found herself far more captivated by emeralds than rubies on this particular evening; and she watched enraptured as her self-admitted crush draped himself down the length of a cast iron bench that formed the center of the green space.
Playfully plucking a dew-glistened rose from the fertile ground that lay just beside the bench, Lancer Lovejoy slipped its long stem playful between his flawless white teeth, waggling his feathered eyebrows meaningful in her direction as he tossed the full lustrous length of his golden blond hair playful over one shoulder.
“How’s this for a pose, Amie?” he asked her, his deep, richly accented voice sending tingles down her spine.
Amie nodded, bracing her sleek metallic camera square before her face so as to the conceal the desire that she was sure would emanate from her eyes, her expression, her very heart.
“Why did the band member that I happen to have the hopefully subtle hots for have to show up early, way before the others?” she mused in silence, her lens taking a long walk down his tall muscular frame, one bedecked this evening in a posh Victorian-style ivory shirt with a plunging V-shaped neck and skin tight black leather pants. “And looking good enough to—um, shoot?”
“Well all things considered, I’d say that you are suitably pouty and sufficiently seductive,” she assessed aloud, accenting her words with a firm, sharp nod.
Lancer laughed.
“Amie, I just knew from reading your profile in Music Monthly that you would be a complete and utter delight,” he praised her, adding with an affirming smile, “You seem to have just as much of a way with words as you do with a camera.”
Amie blinked.
“So you knew about me before Chloe suggested me for the role of band photographer?” she asked, pursing her lips in a show of surprise.
Lancer snorted.
“Know about you? Girl, I idolize you!” he insisted, adding as his graceful hand made a broad gesture in her direction, “You know that signature photograph you took of Jade Lassiter, that pop star who stands among the few to successfully fuse top 40 pop with rock and jazz? Well I have a poster-sized version of that classic shot, the one where she’s holding the wine glass, posted on my bedroom wall.”
Amie smiled.
“Aw, shucks,” she muttered, color flushing her fair-skinned cheeks as she added, “Well just so you know, I have another shoot scheduled with Jade at the end of next month.”
In an adorable show of boyishness, Lancer gaped outright and widened his emerald eyes at this news.
“Coolness!” he exclaimed, adding with a nod, “Well as much as I’d love to get her autograph, I have to get yours first.” He paused here, adding as he shook his head from side to side in a show of pure wonder, “I swear it, Amie, you bring out both the beauty and the character of all of my favorite musicians. I am beyond thrilled that you’ve agreed to be our official band photographer.”
Amie nodded.
“Why thank you Lancer, and may I return the compliment?” she asked him, adding as she inclined her head sharp in his direction, “You are without a doubt one of the most promising young guitarists on the music scene today; not to mention one of the most technically proficient musicians I’ve heard in a while.” She paused here, adding as she squinted her bespectacled eyes thoughtful in his direction, “At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, your every lick just seems to echo the sounds of the ages—I hear everything from classical to classic rock, jazz to pop, metal to….well, something that I can’t quite define. It’s rather amazing that someone of your age can know and master the music of so many different eras!”
She frowned then as her intended compliment seemed to strike the wrong note causing a suddenly uncomfortable Lancer to squirm in his seat and cast his mystical gaze far to the stars above him.
“I’m just an old soul I guess,” he replied finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes I do indeed feel as though I’ve lived a thousand lives.”
An uneasy silence fell between them as an introspective Lancer cast his head backward in a leonine flourish; the silken strands of his golden hair falling across the breadth of his massive shoulders as he seemed to lose himself in the crystalline skyscape of a star-strewn Florida night.
Amie nearly gasped outright at the luminous picture he presented before her; his chiseled visage and emerald eyes glowing in the ethereal spotlight supplied by the stars and the moon, and his hair seeming woven from a cluster of moonbeams.
For a timeless instant she stood frozen in her place biting her lip hard to suppress a gasp, a soft cry, a misspoken word; anything that might betray the intense fascination she felt for the wondrous being before her.
“You are beautiful,” she murmured finally, raising her camera finally to her eyes as she captured his image on film.
Breaking his pose, Lancer lowered his head to once again ensnare her gaze with his.
“You are so kind,” he told her, voice just above a whisper as he dazzled her with a broad white-toothed smile, “You honor me with your words—especially as they pertain to my music,” he paused here, adding as his smile dimmed and he shook his head from side to side, “As much as I adore our fans who flock to our shows every night, I must admit that I at times wonder if they come to listen to the music; if they truly appreciate all of the living, all of the training, all of the ideas that we have invested in these songs.”
Amie nodded.
“Oh Lancer, I’m sure they do,” she assured him, adding with a shrug, “It’s just that, sometimes when you’re a female of a certain age, the phrase ‘I truly and genuinely appreciate the extent of your musical artistry’ sometimes translates to ‘Ahhhhhhh!!!!!’
The couple erupted into a fit of robust laughter as they shared a private joke, a jibe that became not so private as they were joined by two other members of Night Serenade.
Although dismayed that she would share no more private time with her new favorite model, Amie nonetheless beamed in recognition at the vision of the doe-eyed, ginger-haired Blake, the statuesque drummer of this talented musical ensemble, and Nash, the bassist who exuded a feline quality with his soft auburn hair and eyes as dark as night. And she thrilled as each gentleman, dressed as they were in Victorian-style V-necked shirts similar to those of their bandmate, as well as the same skin tight leather pants and matching knee high boots that completed their rock star look, greeted her with stunning smiles as they took her hands in theirs and graced her skin with whisper soft kisses.
“Nash and Blake?” she asked, tone tentative as she strove to remember the band members that Chloe had identified in her provided photo. “I’m so pleased to meet you. I loved your CD beyond words!” she paused here, striving to check her girlish enthusiasm as she joined her hands before her. “OK, before I regress completely and totally into the long completed cycle of my adolescence, let’s get down to the business of snapping some shots!”
Nash chuckled.
“We would love to, Miss,” he assured her, his voice also laced with just the hint of a sleek European accent. “Only our lead singer is just a bit indisposed.”
Amie frowned.
“Cade is indisposed?” she asked, brow furrowed with concern. “Is Chloe with him?”
Blake snorted.
“Aye,” he replied, adding quickly as he seemed to catch himself, “That is to say, yeah. Our manager, in fact, is directly to blame for his—ahem—indisposed state.”
Nash rolled his eyes.
“We just walked by his car to see him sprawled out in the back seat,” he revealed, adding as he shuffled his boots beneath him, “And Chloe was apparently so concerned with his welfare that she was right there with him in the back seat. Or, more accurately, she was on top of him.”
Amie let loose with a wicked chuckle that brought surprised smiles to the faces of everyone present.
“That’s my girl!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands before her as she added, �
��So while we wait for the happy couple to complete their—ahem—very important managerial business meeting—let’s take some solo shots of the three of you.”
“Let’s do it—and me first!” Lancer agreed immediately, adding as he pointed two authoritative fingers in the direction of his bandmates, “And remember, Dudes; Cade said that this was supposed to be a tastefully sexy photo shoot, with the results intended to tease and please our female fans.”
Amie arched her eyebrows.
“Well if that’s the intention,” she reasoned, adding as she waggled these same eyebrows to teasing effect, “Perhaps I should sneak up to the sure to be steamy back window of that car and take a few sample shots of the proceedings inside.”
Lancer guffawed outright.
“Amie!” he scolded her, adding as he wagged a teasing finger in her direction, “You are irredeemably naughty, my girl,” he paused here, adding with a devilish smile in her direction, “And I love it!”
Proving this point moments later, Lancer put on his own, highly erotic show for the benefit of Amie’s camera, gracing the camera with smoky eyed looks that made his emerald eyes come afire, tossing his leonine mane of sleek golden blond hair to teasing effect, shifting and gyrating his hard trim hips in the tight encasement of hot black leather, even sliding the fabric of his silky white shirt teasing over one broad shoulder as he revealed to her his massive bronzed pecs.
The revelation of Lancer’s body and sensuality only served to intensify Amie’s heated interest in the beautiful man before her, one he seemed to return later in the evening.
For even as she took solo shots of Nash, Blake and (finally) Cade, as well as photos of these four stunning young men standing (and pouting) together as a group, she couldn’t help but notice that Lancer snuck numerous looks in her direction, sending her intense glances and secret smiles, to the point that she found it difficult to focus on her work.
Still she followed through, delivering a set of gorgeous high definition photos that elicited oohs and ahs from her subjects.
“Brilliant work, Amie,” Lancer was the first to praise her. “You captured us perfectly!”
“Hear, hear,” Cade agreed, adding as he gave a glowing Chloe (as a matter of fact she’d been consistently glowing, Amie couldn’t help but notice, since she’d arisen with her lover from the back of that car) an affirming kiss square on the lips, “As usual my lady here comes through for us in a major way, connecting us up with an incredible photographer to take all of our promo photos.” He paused here, adding as he took Amie’s hand in his and graced her skin with a gentlemanly kiss, “I am more than pleased to make the acquaintance of our professional band photographer.”
Amie grinned.
“It’s Amie, Cade, and I thank you so much,” she acknowledged, adding as she flashed a spirited thumbs up sign in the direction of those before her, “And may I return the compliment? Y’all are a photographer’s dream! You pay in advance for your photo shoots and are perfect to the point of genetic improbability to boot. Bonus!”
After waiting for their amused laughter to subside, the photographer returned to full professional mode moments later, stroking her chin as she regarded her subjects with contemplative eyes.
“I’m thinking for our next shoot, we should capture the members of Night Serenade on a sunny morning, right square in the middle of Clearview Beach,” she mused, adding with yet another one of her signature wicked smiles, “Just imagine how much it would thrill the fans to see ‘their guys’ sans their shirts, bathing in the sun and swimming in the cool clear water. What do you think?”
She frowned confused moments later, as the members of Night Serenade met her idea with a collective wide-eyed, acutely uncomfortable expression that just seemed to scream, “Ummm…don’t think so.”
Finally, Chloe spoke up aloud, addressing her friend in a tentative tone as she told her, “Well as it happens Amie, the members of Night Serenade are what you would call night people.” She paused here, adding with an uneasy chuckle, “After rocking and rolling all night, they stop just short of partying every day—instead, my dear friend, they usually just sleep.”
Amie chuckled.
“Gotcha,” she affirmed, adding as she pursed her lips in a show of keen contemplation, “I have another idea. Why don’t I come to your next show and take some shots of you in action—playing your music, playing to the crowd… Hey these glamour shots are nice and everything, but it’s the music that matters.”
“Love it!” Lancer exclaimed, adding as he leaned forward to grace Amie’s fair-skinned cheek with an affirming kiss, “Amie, you’re the best. I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed our time together this evening.”
Although a basic and friendly gesture, the feel of Lancer’s full soft lips against her skin sent shockwaves through every fiber of Amie’s being making her heart pound in her ears as she pulled back to stare deep into his emerald eyes.
“I’ve enjoyed getting to know you too, Lancer,” she told him, the couple’s faces mere inches apart as they shared a secret smile.
Their privacy was fleeting.
“Lancer, what in the blazes is taking so long?”
Amie jumped as her dreamy reverie was shattered in an instant by the sound of a shrill, high-pitched voice belonging to a slender blonde who bounded onto the scene as she drew noticeable cringes from the assembled band members.
Including Lancer, who left Amie’s side to take his place beside the noticeably irritable blonde who stuck out her substantial chest—one made all the more noticeable through its encasement in a strangulating leather mini dress—and planted her hands on her narrow hips.
“Well don’t just stand there, answer my question!” she demanded, adding as she pinned Lancer with an accusatory glare, “I drove over here half an hour ago to pick you up at our appointed time.”
Lancer smirked.
“And when you saw a group of people smiling, laughing and having a pleasant time, you just had to intervene didn’t you?” he returned, adding with a shrug, “You can’t allow that nefarious, downright dastardly occurrence known as ‘fun’ happen anywhere in your remote proximity, can you Tandy?”
Stepping forward with a wan forced smile, a repentant Amie offered a conciliatory hand to her scowling, noticeably miserable visitor.
“Please feel free to lay all the blame on me, Ma’am,” she told the woman she quickly identified as Tandy Newton, a local lingerie model whose photos she had seen on occasion--and as a part of some rather unsavory campaigns.
“When Chloe said that Lancer was dating a model named Tandy, it just had to be the trashiest, least sociable, most irritatingly gorgeous Tandy possible,” she mused in silence, adding aloud as the model pointedly ignored her friendly attempt at a handshake, “When a gal finds herself surrounded by four examples of masculine perfection, she tends to lose track of time.”
Tandy snorted.
“Yeah,” she sniffed, pinning Amie’s spectacles, pigtails and rail thin frame with obvious derision, “And it must royally depress you at the end of the evening, when they all go home with other gals.”
Unfazed by the obvious insult, the photographer laughed outright at Tandy’s words.
“True this,” she admitted, adding as she inclined her head sharp in the model’s direction, “And it must have royally depressed you to be passed over for last month’s centerfold in Rock Chick magazine, in favor of Delores Jenson.” She paused here, adding with the elevation of a markedly caustic eyebrow, “Or at least that’s the rumor going around town.”
Tandy had heard enough.
“Come on, Lancer,” she barked at her boyfriend, adding as she grabbed the hand of the frowning guitarist and dragged him in the direction of the small parking lot that fronted the park. “Let’s lose these losers.”
Waiting until she was out of earshot, Cade shook his head from side to side as he marveled, “Sheesh! How does Lancer stand that witch for two seconds?”
Chloe rolled her eyes.
“Well all I have to say is, if Decent and Kind-Hearted Human Beings Monthly is in search of a centerfold, then Tandy is likely to be passed by yet again,” she asserted, adding in a kinder tone as she turned to face a quiet Amie, “Don’t sweat that bimbo, Amie. She’s obviously just jealous of the way that Lancer looks at you—with much affection and obvious admiration.”
Amie shook her head.
“Yep, he has much affection for my brains and my friendly personality, and obvious admiration for my photography skills,” she asserted, adding with a wry grin, “Then at the end of the evening, he goes home with the obvious beauty.”
Cade frowned.
“You’re still coming to the show tomorrow night,” he spoke up, deep dulcet tones laced with concern. “Aren’t you, Amie?”
The photographer nodded, clutching her prized camera to her chest as she turned from the scene.
“Of course I will,” she insisted over her shoulder, adding with a defined nod, “It’s my job.”
***
“I cannot believe you.”
Seated in the passenger seat of his girlfriend’s sleek cherry red Corvette, Lancer Lovejoy sent a searing glare in the direction of the car’s pouty mouthed driver.
“You had the opportunity to meet one of the top photographers in the game, which surely would be an honor for any model, and you could not have been ruder and more obnoxious,” he told Tandy, adding as he rolled his eyes heavenward, “Of course, that’s pretty much par for the course with you, isn’t it? You constantly embarrass me with the awful way you treat just about everyone we meet. You seem to make a sport of hurting people’s feelings—as if doing so makes you superior, cleverer perhaps.”
Ignoring the cutting words, Tandy met her boyfriend’s accusation with the casual toss of her golden blonde hair.
“I’m cute,” she reminded Lancer, for what had to be the hundredth time that week and that had to be a low estimate, “I don’t have to be nice.”
Lancer shook his head.
“Actually you do, Tandy,” he corrected her, adding with a firm nod, “As a gentleman raised with old world manners, I count politeness and courtesy among the most important characteristics that any human being can possess.” He paused here, adding as he folded his arms before him, “And if you cannot display those traits, or at the very least develop them, then I’m sorry to say that I do not see a bright future for this little arrangement.”