“What about all that stuff with the tabloids? And your dad finding out? You still want to remain anonymous, right?”
She shifts feet. “Yes.”
“Then he’ll sign it.” I return to the studio and pull the slip from underneath the model release. I nod at Ken. “Would you mind signing this too?”
Ken stands from the couch and picks up the paper. “Non-disclosure agreement?” he asks. “For what?”
“Halston explained her situation, right? If you have mutual friends—”
“We talked all about it. I’m going to tell my friend Halston was looking for a model for work.” I just look at him until he picks up the pen and adds, “But sure. Not a problem.”
I don’t even want to think of how Halston would react if her identity were revealed. Now that I know her better, I see why it’s important to separate these identities. As long as she’s anonymous, there’s still a shield between the public and her. If insults about her work hurt now, they’ll be even worse if she removes that final barrier.
“Did you get to look through the account?” I ask as I head to set up the equipment. “Get a feel for what we post?”
“I did, and I love it,” he says. “I follow a lot of photographers and models because of what I do, but I haven’t seen anything like this. Especially with the captions.”
“We love it,” Halston says. “We’re hoping these photos will get us to a hundred-thousand followers. We’re not too far, and we still have twelve days left.”
“What’s in twelve days?” Ken asks.
I’ve been wondering the same thing. When Halston asked me to pick a date, I indulged her. I hadn’t thought she’d be religious about it. Every day she writes our follower count in a journal, biting her lip as she calculates and then announces the difference to our goal.
“Finn’s birthday,” she answers. “And that’s the present I want to give him. One hundred K.”
I nod Ken over. “Let me get a few test shots.”
He walks in front of the camera, and I direct him around the space. His white button-down is stark against the room’s smoky-gray walls. “We’re going for sexy, but in a suggestive, subtle way.” I turn to Halston, who’s standing a couple feet behind me, her thumbnail between her teeth. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” She doesn’t move. She has on a black, short-sleeved t-shirt and ripped jeans. I asked her not to dress sexy this time around, promised I’d still make her look good, even if she opted for a Mumu. That’s my job. My eyes go to her red and patchy inner elbow.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “We can still call it off.”
She covers it when she catches me looking, then passes to get in position. Once they’re in front of the camera, I play with the lighting. When I turn around, they both stare at me. “What?”
“What should we do?” Halston asks.
Right. I’m supposed to instruct Ken on how to touch my girlfriend. For a second, I don’t think I can do it, even if he is gay. We could switch places. Nobody would ever have to know I didn’t take the picture. Except me. This is my work. My first love, even before Marissa came along. Having another man behind the camera is about as bad as watching him with Halston.
I wipe my forehead on my sleeve. “All right. This photo’ll be about domination. Your strength, Ken, versus her fragility.”
“Oh. We’re jumping right in then,” Halston says with a nervous smile.
I stop myself from pointing out that I’m not exactly interested in dragging things out. She’s always done what I asked. Made herself vulnerable to me. Allowed me to be a voyeur to her deepest desires. Trusted me. I don’t want to lose or betray that trust, especially while there’s another man in the room.
I can do this for her.
“Just tell me if we’re moving too fast. Halston, turn around. Ken, grab her upper arm.”
Once Ken is behind her, he takes her bicep. “How’s that?” he asks her.
“Harder,” I say. “Enough to demonstrate force, but not enough to hurt her.”
He tightens his grip. “Like that?”
“Drop your head back onto his shoulder.”
Her hair cascades between them, teasing the top of his hand. She glances at the ceiling, around the room, anywhere she can see, then shudders.
