“Look,” Sheila sighs, “it’s not like a few days ago I wasn’t saying all the things they were just saying. I mean, the way you strung me along was pretty shitty.”
“You’re absolutely right.” I lean back against the wall, then take a deep breath and push on. “It’s just . . . After my mom, things between us started to feel so . . . strained. I know you wanted to help, but you didn’t really know how to help me, and I could tell it frustrated the hell out of you. And—I don’t know. It made me pull away. I was sure you were going to break up with me as soon as it was, like, socially acceptable. I should have ended it then. Given you some space, or your freedom or whatever. But then there were times where we were like the old us, and I thought maybe we’d get through it. Then school started. And then I’m pretty sure you only stayed with me, and would still be with me, if I hadn’t ended it, just so you could milk the tragedy-boy angle.” She makes a face and I say quickly, “Don’t deny you didn’t love the extra attention, because—”
“How can you even say that, Tyler? Jesus. And you started off so well. But then you had to go and turn into the dick you’ve been lately. I’m pretty sure you only stayed with me because I’d have sex with you. And now that you’re getting it from that goth skank, you—”
“For your information, I am having sex with someone, mind-blowing acrobatic sex, but that has nothing to do with breaking up with you, it’s just a bonus. And it’s not that goth chick. Is that why you destroyed her jacket? Because, what the fuck, Sheila? Who even does that?”
“Whatever. I should have let the girls berate you. But you know, you go ahead and keep hiding behind your tragedy. It’s obviously worked very well for you this far.” She flips around and struts off toward the rest of the herd, all giggling, practically stamping their feet and snorting with glee.
God, I’m glad to be done with her and all her bullshit.
? ? ?
Almost immediately after I enter the studio that night, practically in unison with the door chime, Henry bellows for me.
“I got a last-minute gig,” he says as I make my way through the curtain. “I need your help, like, thirty minutes ago. Almost thought about calling Jordyn in, but she’s working at the animal shelter tonight and she’d kill me if I made her miss it.”
I picture Jordyn wearing her goth getup while holding kittens and almost laugh.
“Didja hear me? Jordyn show you how to handle all the paperwork stuff?”
“Don’t worry, Henry. It’s under control,” I say with a reassuring smile.
“Good. Now get over here and help me with this, would you?” He pats the table sitting in the middle of a setup.
We move the table aside and then I straighten up his mess—the man is a walking tornado; gum wrappers, toothpicks, anything that aids a person who’s recently quit smoking, plus various lens caps and cords—and I head back up to the counter just as the client arrives.
A woman with one of the most unfortunate faces I’ve ever seen—eyes too close together, nose too long, serious lack of a chin, and the kind of buckteeth I didn’t know still existed after the advent of orthodontics—enters with her equally ugly son who must be around seven or so. Actually, the ugly son bounces in. The kid is either suffering from severe ADHD or he’s just done a line of coke.
The woman is wearing pink, and I mean pink, lipstick on her buckteeth in addition to her lips. I’m about to inform her of this until she points her bony witch finger at me. “We will be doing four changes of clothes. And each change will require new backgrounds and props. Now, take me to see the props. I’ll let you know what works for me.”
I smile and say, “You must be Mrs. Hill.”
“It’s Mrs. Reynolds-Hill,” she says, like I should know better.
“Of course. Excuse me for one minute.” I step behind the curtain.
Henry’s setting up the white backdrop.
“Your gig has arrived,” I say with a tone that lets him know it will be a fun shoot.
Henry grins. “One of those, huh?”
“She wants to take a look at the props in order to see what works for her.”
“Fantastic.” He wipes his hand over his beard. “Send her back.”
I do. I expect her to take her demon offspring with her, but she does not. The child ricochets across the room and—
“What’s your favorite animal?”
“Uh, I don’t know, a lion?” I’m trying to check the jacket on eBay. Auction’s up to $286 already and I have till Saturday to figure out what to do. I’ve signed up for an e-mail alert every time someone bids and I just hope to Christ no one opts for the buy it now price.
“Mine’s a shark, which is totally better than a stupid lion. What’s your favorite color?”
“Black.” I press ENTER on my bid of $290. Yeah, I’m one of those guys now too.