by Anna Chillon
“Hello. Can I help you?”Asked a short blond girl with large red spectacles, half hidden behind the desk.
I removed the iPod from my ears. “Yes, yes. I'm looking for Vincent.”
“He’s just finishing a shoot and then he’ll be straight with you.”
“If he’s very busy I can come back another time,” I said politely, without really thinking it.
She waved her hand in the air. “No, it wouldn’t make any difference, he's always very busy, but you'll see he'll find time to see you.” He gave me a glimpse. “Have you already done a book?”
I imagined she was referring to a photo album. “Ehm... no.”
“Great: by coming here you’ve saved time and money. Even if he doesn’t want me to say so, Vincent is the best, you'll be in good hands.” She had already begun to sort out papers, opening and closing drawers with military efficiency. “Meanwhile make yourself comfortable.”
I put my backpack down and sat on a chair beside a small table with a vase of white orchids. Then I began to wonder what I was doing there and how stupid the idea had been to surprise him.
The fact was that I missed him and that a week seemed endless, especially after the meeting with Simon. Plus Zoe gave me an ultimatum: I had to tell her who my new boyfriend was or I could say goodbye to our friendship. I was upset and bitter about people I considered friends and I felt wronged.
I knew Vincent didn’t want us to see each other when my parents were around, but I needed a reassurance that only he could give me. In his company I became confident, despite his absurd character.
“Come over here... yes, great.” In the silence, his voice reached me from behind the door in front of me, separating us from the actual studio. I shivered at the idea of going into the wolf's den for once and not vice versa.
I also felt a surge of jealousy towards the blond who seemed to be his secretary, free to spend who knows how many days of the week with him. She was also pretty. Perhaps she was the friend who’d contacted him on Sunday to celebrate who knows what milestone. I hoped not; on first impression she seemed like a lovely person, a quality that played in her favour. I wouldn’t have liked to have to hate her.
She looked at the clock and stood up. “I’ll try to see how long he’s going to be.”
When she opened the door I couldn’t resist the opportunity to peek inside. I glimpsed a large space flooded with artificial light, white panels and Vincent's back, bent over a camera held straight by a tripod at waist height.
“Do you think you’re going to be long? There’s a new client waiting.” She distracted him walking up to his side.
“Five minutes, darling.” I saw him looking at his watch: his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. This alarmed me, I couldn’t help it, now I associate his naked forearms with his intention to do something challenging. Which in my case was hard sex.
“But I should go,” she added. “It's already five.”
“Go home, no problem.” The camera clicked, and the door was closing when Vincent called her back. “Wait, just give me the oil before you go.”
The secretary came in and disappeared, leaving the door open ajar. I leaned against the left edge of the armchair to look inside. Along with what I saw, the woman's crisp laughter had the power to turn me to ice.
The model Vincent was photographing was on a baroque chaise longue in the middle of the room and I’d never seen a model quite like her. The gazelle legs, the silhouette of a Barbie, the ceramic face: a stunning girl. The fact that she was completely naked was almost secondary to her beauty. Almost.
She seemed older than me, but certainly younger than thirty.
Re-appearing in my field of vision, he approached Venus with a spray. She stretched lazily, spreading out sensuously while drifts of fragrant oil made her golden skin radiate.
“One foot on the floor. The other on the couch,” Vincent ordered with professional concentration.
At once, the six inch heel sank into the damask cushion while the other foot was on the floor showing the hairless pussy without any restraint. With the right she stroked her breast.
“Good,” he complimented, making a few clicks. He clicked his fingers loudly. “Look over here, don’t be shy, dear.”
There was another spontaneous laugh and she rolled onto her side which he must have liked because the shots continued.
My head was crowded with thoughts, one after the other, overlapping in increasing chaos. I remembered what he’d told me, that in a confusion of ideas, it was helpful to just concentrate on my breath. I breathed very deep, slow breaths, but they couldn’t stifle my mind. Scratching my wrist till it bled, where the skin had just recovered, was more helpful.
What the hell’s wrong with the seascapes?
My father's phrase came out of nowhere, followed by Vincent's response, which I had forgotten until now.
That jerk ransacked the studio as if it was my fault his girlfriend was a whore.
“Monday I have economics until eleven, but I can come after if you want,” the secretary informed him as he cleaned his hands with kitchen paper.
“There’s no need. Just come in on Wednesday, I have a full day.” Vincent raised his hand waving at her. “Have fun on your date.”
She waved back, although he had his back to her and couldn’t see her. “Will do.”
She closed the door and threw the paper into the bin. “Be patient, when it’s your turn it’ll all be about you, I assure you.”
It was anything but reassuring, nauseating more like.
She picked up her bag and coat from the stand.
“I have to go, but in the meantime you can fill out the card, it’ll save time when you make an appointment.”
She put paper and a pen in my hand and left serenely, unaware of the dazed state she’d left me in. I couldn’t peek in anymore.“Thank you. Goodbye.”
Looking down more out of sadness than out of interest, I found myself reading the card I’d been given. Name, surname, date of birth, sex and profession. Further down there were boxes to be ticked: actress/ escort/ dancer/ dominatrix/ and carried on like that in the same theme until the ‘other’ box.
Then followed the purpose for the photographs and the required format: casting, website, specialized magazine, book... then the number of photos and a large white space for special requests.
Damn.
As if it wasn’t already too obvious, I had to stay to find out more. I had to be sure I understood what happened in that studio.
I placed the card on the counter. Next to the telephone were three yellow envelopes in a row, each one written on in black pen: Valentina, Lipsy, Soraya. Names of God fearing girls, no doubt.
I’d already seen that sort of envelope, the day Vincent had taken me to buy the rug: a Sunday morning home delivery. She had to be a very special customer.
A weevil had started to burrow underneath my ribs, near the heart; it went a little deeper when Simon's words came to me.
Are you sure you know him well?
I was no longer sure of anything.
As any good masochist would, I approached the studio door, and first pressed my ear against it, then I lowered the handle very slowly and opened it a crack. An unnatural heat came out blasting my face.
The studio turned out to be an open space with two high circular columns to subdivide its large footprint. One part was taken up with work benches, machines and computers. In that area giant photographs of naked women and some men covered the wall. The wider area was devoted to a set, the centre of which contained a bed very similar to the one I’d seen at Vincent's home, with white organza curtains on the headboard. Finally, to one side there was the gold and velvet chaise longue, surrounded by various equipment, against an electric green backdrop.
The Venus was on all fours right on that chaise longue, shoes abandoned on the floor, Vincent standing beside her. He moved her wrist to the backrest, and she closed her fist around the fabric draped over it to the floor. He touc
hed her slightly on the side of her knee, on the inside of her leg, moving it further away from the other. Not content, he pushed her head down decisively, making her chestnut hair cascade onto the seat.
“Don’t move.” I knew that authoritative tone well.
“Can I at least breathe?”
“No.”
I was shaking from the contractions in my stomach.
“And especially don’t laugh,” he said in amusement.
Jokes to ease the sexual tension just a little.
I could see her breathing slow down and lengthen, her stomach held taught and flat. I knew what she was feeling, or what would I have felt in her place.
I heard the camera ‘click’ undisturbed five times. Vincent took the camera from the stand and looked at the shots on the display. “I'd say we’ve got enough.”
She exhaled the accumulated tension. “Can I see?” She stepped off of the couch and ran like an excited little girl towards him, put her hand on his shoulder, not caring that she was naked. She was as tall as Vincent even with bare feet.
“I like this,” she told him. “I’ll use it as a cover.”
Venus moved closer to the small monitor, but she turned sideways at the last moment. “Ahhh... CHOO!”
She sneezed twice, one after the other, holding tighter onto him, fortunately, she was polite enough to use her hand to cover her mouth.
“Have you got a cold?” Vincent lowered his camera. “I hope I haven’t made you ill.”
“Oh no, course not,” she squinted her eyes, rubbing her curled nose. “Have you got a tissue?”
“There's a roll on the counter. Run to get dressed, we're done.” He reached out to turn off a reflector, put the camera on the stand, then turned and walked straight in my direction.
I was about to get caught in front of him like this out of the blue.
I dragged my feet back, panicking. The door opened and Vincent came out with a friendly smile fixed on his face that vanished as soon as he saw me standing in the middle of the reception.
There was a second of endless silence and extreme embarrassment before he opened his mouth.
“Has something happened?” He said in a tone that could only entail an incurable illness or an aeroplane crash.
I shook my head. “No, nothing.”
Relieved, he instantly assumed a grim air. “So what the hell are you doing here?”
After everything, that was the phrase, the way he pronounced it, that hurt me more than anything and made the weevil sink deeper into my heart.
“I wanted to surprise you,” I said softly. “But instead you surprised me” I lifted my chin in the direction of the door behind him.
He looked back as though he recalled only at that moment that he had found the door ajar. “Were you spying on me? Again?”
I shouldn’t have let myself get intimidated again, I wasn’t the one at fault. He couldn’t flip the coin like that. I had nothing to hide from him, but he could not say the same.
“Was there something I couldn’t see?” With all the possible irony I challenged him to lie.
“Don’t be childish, it's my job.”
“And do you fuck your job?” I thrashed out.
“Have you come to complain about what I do here?”
“You can say if you do. We haven’t made any promises to each other.”
He massaged one side of his neck stretching the nerves. He seemed tired and in need of a break. “Damn it, Giada. What do you want to know?”
“Absolutely nothing, as you don’t tell me anything. But I'm good at putting together the pieces of how I feel. I bet the guy who wrecked the studio is the boyfriend of one of your clients you’d been to bed with.”
“Bravo, a brilliant deduction.” He clapped his hands warily. “I don’t understand what the problem is: I told you there’s been no one else since you.”
“And that?” I gestured, not caring that the client could hear me.
He turned his palms to heaven as if I’d said something absurd, looking for murkiness in something that was sunlight. Finally, he laughed grimly. “No, no, little girl, I don’t owe you any justification for what's going on in my studio. What I have to hide, because you want me to keep it a secret it, is you. And you're making it extremely difficult for me.”
He took a step stretching his hand out to me, but he didn’t manage to touch me, because I jerked my shoulder away. I was bright red, not from excitement, but anger. If he’d touched me I would risk giving in and even if I didn’t, I knew that he wouldn’t let me go.
“Don’t touch me!” I said with a squeaky voice. My heart had jumped into my chest.
“Fuck!” Vincent smashed his fist against the bench, making all the pens jump, with a barbarity that frightened me. “You shouldn’t have come, Giada.”
My mouth trembled, my eyes filling with stinging tears.
“Yes, I know that now.” I pulled his scarf off my neck and threw it on the floor. “Don’t trouble yourself by coming over tomorrow either. I’m perfectly fine in the house on my own, without anyone taking advantage of me.”
“What do you want from me Giada?” He said irritated, holding himself back from touching me again.
“Now? I don’t want anything. Before? I wanted you to love me, stupid!”
Oh God, how did that come to mind?
I was the most surprised of the two of us.
Until that afternoon I didn’t even know what to think about what was happening between us and now I find out I wanted to be loved by him?
Of course the model chose that awful moment to leave the studio, zipping her leather jacket up. In my eyes she was an alien; I didn’t hate her because I didn’t feel in competition with her, we were on such different levels that I could never aspire so high.
With heels on she was even taller than Vincent. She glided gracefully towards him. Surely she aspired to much richer and more beautiful men, yet I was certain she hadn’t been immune to his touch, his gaze, and his voice; his way of doing that makes a woman feel pleasantly trapped.
“When do you think I can come back?” Her long neck twisted and she looked at me just as twin trickles flowed down my cheeks. She looked at me sadly and bent her head with tenderness.
Her pity no. I didn’t want it.
I could still hear that song that had accompanied me there, almost like a warning.
‘Dopo dove vai stasera
sai che non lo so, bambina
certo che tu no, non sei la prima
e di certo no, non sei la più serena[2].’
Wounded enough, I grabbed my backpack from the armchair and ran out. I rushed down the stairs, the sobs exploded, My tears blinded me from seeing where I put my feet. Yet the need to escape was so impelling that I didn’t slow down, I was holding the handrail in the instinct to protect me from an accidental but likely fall.
Nobody had ever hurt me like that.
“Giada!” I heard shouting from the top of the stair well.
He could scream as loud as he liked, and make everyone come out of the apartments, but I didn’t care. I was leaving as fast as possible.
“Stop her!” He barked louder.
I wiped my eyes with my wrist and in a flash of clarity I saw Niccolò, with his T-shirt and hands smeared in color, climbing up the stairs, coming to meet me. I carried on intending to ignore him.
He looked at me with his curious expression of surprise.
“Stop her!” Vincent repeated, looking over the railing from the fourth floor.
Niccolò glanced up, saw him, and moved in time to intercept me. He caught me making my backpack fall off.
“Hey, Giada. What’s happened? Stop for a moment.”
The sweetness of his tone was contrary to the energy he was holding me with.
“Let me go!” I flailed my legs as I felt him lift me from the ground.
Vincent's steps sounded loud across the stairs. “Don’t let her go!” He contradicted.
“I don’t want
to see him anymore! Let me go!” I managed to touch the ground for a moment, tried to push him away, my hand slipped into the void. I struggled with all the fury that Vincent had provoked in me, I used my nails.
A couple who were coming up from the floor below us sped up. “What's going on?” The man asked as the woman rummaged in the purse in search of her mobile.
“Excuse us. She didn’t take her medicine,” Niccolò said promptly, in the most trivial of justifications. “Her father is coming.”
We ended up slamming against the railing; he grabbed me by the waist and wrist, holding me like a muscly human straight jacket that smelt of acrylic paint. Vincent came to give him a strong hand.
“You're making a show, stop it right now, we’re leaving.” He took my free hand pulling it to his side; I pulled it towards me, tugging it up and shouting.
“Leave me alone!”
Niccolò tightened his grip. “I don’t know what you did to her, but she’s out of her mind.”
“Thank you so much, I didn’t notice,” he snarled.
“Well, with that attitude you’re not helping.”
“Do you have any suggestions?” Vincent snapped.
“Maybe you should avoid reproaching her for a second and leave some space. Shut up, maybe.” He slightly loosened his grip and began to speak calmly, reassuring way above my sobbing and my protests. “Giada, it's useless to wiggle, I’m not going to let you go, OK. I won’t let you go into the street in this state. If you calm down we’ll talk quietly together.”
“With him? He can go to hell!” I snarled.
“Talk to me, love. We’ll send him to hell and let him boil.”
Vincent looked up, a dark cloud forming across his face. “There’s nothing to be seen here,” he urged the audience to go on their way. They were slow to oblige, worried about a young woman trapped by two men, without imagining how accurate their suspicions were.
At the same time, Venus passed us by, leaning flush to the wall and devoting us nothing more than a curious glance. She avoided greeting Vincent, smart enough to understand that it was not the time or the place. She continued on her way down.