When I’m not being mistreated at my main job as costumer on the set of Dominique’s procedural cop show, I take on odd jobs for photographers and artists. It’s a nice change of pace, and picking out outfits for photoshoots is way more challenging and interesting than making sure none of the actors have labels showing on their suits (you’d be surprised).
The photography studio’s already set up when I get there, a simple backdrop, and after saying hello to Bjorn the photographer and his multiple assistants, I make my way back to the dressing room. There’s already a positive buzz in the air, the kind that happens when the person being photographed is someone the assistants are genuine fans of. Today’s it’s a young, hot musical starlet that just won a Grammy. She’s a pretty big deal.
Which is why I’m surprised to find her alone in the dressing room when I get there.
“Hey,” she says, as I step inside.
“Hey,” I reply, her smile so sweet I feel compelled to smile back.
“I’m Haley,” she says, moving toward me with her hand outstretched. I take it and we shake, and instantly I know we’re going to have a great time today.
“Jessie.”
She stands in front of me looking a little awkward, despite the fact that she’s already dressed to kill in a worn leather jacket and skinny jeans.
“Are you the make-up artist, or the hairdresser?” she asks nervously, tugging at the end of one of her crazy curls.
“Nope. I’m the costumer. Though you look pretty fantastic already.”
She laughs nervously. “I think I’m wearing this in about ninety per cent of my pictures, so you’re pretty welcome to do as you please.”
“Well,” I say, sliding my backpack off my shoulder and onto a seat as I move toward the racks, “let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”
“So long as it’s not a latex dress and spike heels,” Haley says, and I flash her another smile to show my appreciation that she’s not as stuck-up as most rock stars I’ve dressed.
I flick through the clothes on the rack for a while and she comes up behind me slowly.
“Um…”
I turn to face her, and notice that she’s hovering nearby, flashing me an embarrassed smile.
“What’s up? Do you not like any of these?”
“It’s not that.” She clenches her hands together and twists them as if she’s wrestling with herself. “I hate asking, but I was in such a rush this morning, and there aren’t any other girls here except some of the assistants and they’re all running around for Bjorn right now and it’s kind of an emergency at this point so...do you maybe have a tampon I could borrow?”
After growing more and more nervous at her discomfort I finally break into a laugh at the last word, and put a hand on her arm to show I’m cool with it.
“Sure! Of course. God, I thought you were going to tell me you’d forgotten to wear underwear or you wanted me to run out and buy you alcohol,” I say, as I go back towards my backpack. “Or…worse.”
“Does that actually happen?”
I stare at her without any humor. “All the time. But I draw the line at illegal substances.”
She laughs and follows me back to where my bag is. “I’m sorry. I told my boyfriend to get me some last night while I was holed up working on a new song, but I guess he forgot.”
“He was probably embarrassed.”
She looks at me with a glint in her eye. “It would be a first,” she says, insinuating a whole lot.
I smile and open my bag, fishing around in the mess inside, then slowing down, then stopping, then going cold.
“What’s wrong?” Haley asks slowly.
“I don’t have tampons,” I say in the slow monotone of someone shocked out of the moment.
“That’s cool. Really. Don’t worry about it.”
“I haven’t needed them.” I put a cold hand against my suddenly hot cheek and look over at Haley slowly. Her face is confused at first, but then the penny drops and she gasps, bringing her own hand over her mouth.
“Maybe you’re just late?” she suggests.
“Maybe. But maybe not. I’m never late.”
17
Nate
Nothing’s better than the fuck you shouldn’t be having. The girl you’re supposed to be professional around. The guy your parents warned you about. The one that happens in a public space, where anyone might catch you. The illicit fuck. The secret fuck. The forbidden fuck. The fuck that’s wrong on so many levels, but which is so irresistible none of that matters. My advice, loyal viewers? It’s always worth it. Even if it goes up in flames.
It’s a trendy café in a nice part of town. The kind of area in which the girls take good care of themselves, and dress every morning like it might be the day they get spotted by a talent scout. Even so, I notice Jessie a mile off, her hotness radiating on a level beyond anyone around her. Almost more than visual, so fucking sexy I can sense her. All I need to do is trace the guys taking second glances and the women green with envy.