“What’s the issue?” Tom walks up to the door. “Yeah, give me one minute,” he calls up to the house. There are a million things up at the house he needs to do, but he’s getting tangled up.
“Quit being nosy.” There’s no point in wasting time with me. “Go back to work.”
“Casting male models is her worst nightmare,” Truly tells him. “Whenever she’s put calls out for male models in the past, she’s gotten photos of dicks in response.”
“It’s true. Just dick after dick.” I look at my computer, my watch, and then her face. I ignore Tom’s crossed arms. “Do I get any more time?”
“No,” she says regretfully.
“Can I do a flatlay?” Even as I say it, I shake my head. “No, they’ll look crap beside the model shots. Okay, leave it with me. I’ll sort it out.”
“Are you sure you’re not tiring yourself out?” Again, Tom’s fingers are on my shoulder. Again my tank disobeys and slips off. “I think you’re on less sleep than me at the moment.”
“If only you had someone on-site here who could do it,” Truly says to me, slowly and speculatively. She turns and looks at Tom. “Someone really close by. Someone in good shape, who wears an XL.” She narrows her eyes at his waist.
Tom is never going to buy into this nonsense. I save him the embarrassment of saying no. “He’s too busy for this.”
“Tom …,” Truly starts in a sweetheart voice.
He doesn’t know what to say. He’s coloring up. “My butt is very flattered to be considered for this, Truly. I’m not sure it’s up to your standards.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I say in disbelief. Seriously. Has the man never reached back and felt what he has there? “We’ll let you get back to work. I’ll just trigger the dick tsunami.”
Truly rushes to reassure him. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you’re really the best man for this job. Please, just let Darcy take one photo of your butt and I’ll buy you a steak dinner.”
“Hmmm,” Tom says. “Steak.” I think he’s trying to not laugh. I probably look like I’m about to start screaming. “What do I have to do?”
“It’s easy,” Truly jumps in. “Just stand there. Don’t even suck your stomach in. My site is only real bodies. The models we use aren’t tiny sample sizes. And Darce only uses minimal Photoshop. Real bodies,” she repeats emphatically, looking at his groin.
“I don’t think this classifies as a real body.” My voice sounds very faint. Tom smiles like he is utterly charmed. I know my face is blood red, because he’s biting his lip to stop laughing. “Hey, are you messing with me?”
“A little. I like it.” He hears another bleat outside.
Truly decides to betray me. “Darcy was the butt for a few of the collections last year when we couldn’t get models at a reasonable rate.”
Tom’s little Valeska ears prick up. “Darcy’s an underwear model?” He’s positively sparkling with humor and fun now. I’m flushing red, my heart erupting in my chest and sending liquid lava through my veins.
“I forbid you to look.”
“She’s got a great backside for underwear. You two could be the Underswears power couple, if you’d just put them on, Tom. What do you say? Steak dinner?”
“I never got a steak dinner,” I complain.
“Okay,” Tom says, laughing like he can’t believe himself. Then he adds his usual disclaimer. “But only if no one tells Jamie.”
He looks at his phone, then back at the house. “And it’s a really big steak. I’ve really got to go. Nice to see you, Truly. Please sign a form later so I feel better about you walking through a building site.” He looks at his new desk. In a chocolate-cake voice he says, “I can get that printer working.”
“No, it needs to be done now. Here.” Truly hands him a pair of underwear and he unfolds them. On the butt, it says, irrational asshole. He bursts out laughing.
“Well these are very appropriate.” He stares at her and realizes she’s serious. “I can’t do it now. That’s crazy.”
“It’s either you, or I go talent scouting,” Truly says, matter-of-factly. “That young guy up at the house would do it, I bet anything.” She knows she’s successfully pressed one of Tom’s buttons and suppresses a grin as he turns to me and scowls.
“It’s true, he would,” my mouth says, because oh Lord, I want to see some skin.
Truly steps out and holds the door handle. “I’ll stand out here and guard the door. Pull the drapes. This could take two minutes. Take your pants off, put these on, Darcy goes clicky-clicky, and we’re done.” To someone up at the house, Truly shouts, “He’ll be three minutes.”
The door slides shut.
“She makes it sound so easy.” His hand is on the button of his pants. “Why am I considering it?”
“Because Truly has some sort of weird force field around her. You can’t help but say yes. But if you do this, I will not let you treat me like shit afterward. You wanted to be distracted. You came in here. You’re one big boy, and I can’t keep you in here if you don’t want to be. Nod so I know you admit it.”
He nods. “If it isn’t me, it’s going to be someone else.”
“Let’s just get it over with. Pretend they’re your swim trunks.”
I tug the drapes shut and switch on the lights. I wheel over my stool. “You stand there.” I point at the white void. I change settings, then blow dust out of the lens. There’s a seemingly endless period of belt-jangling, stretching fabric, and movement behind me, and then Tom takes his position. I haven’t seen his legs since his days on the swim team. I missed them so bad.
The poor thing looks terrified. He’s gone from worksite boss to buff male model in the span of twenty seconds. He’s suffering from the whiplash. He’s not the only one. Those stretchy boxer-briefs look like they were made for him.
“Do you need a cigarette? Any final words? Seriously, you look like you’re about to be riddled with bullets.” Sometimes I love my smart mouth.
He looks so sweetly vulnerable, his T-shirt twisted low around his waist with his hands. He’s a good boy in a bad-boy body. It’s an underwear body.