“I have an appointment.” Vague answer. He doesn’t need to know what I’m really doing. He’s worse than a woman, spreading gossip like it’s second nature. My mom would’ve called it an old hen’s knitting club. It's what she once told me her mother called it. Mom doesn’t speak about her past. Hell she doesn’t have any pictures from her childhood or of my grandparents. I asked her once, but her eyes welled up with tears and she excused herself. I never asked again.
“Job?”
“Kinda. I need to go. I’m running late. Want me to bring pizza and wings back?”
“Fuck yeah. But don’t put those stinking ass sardines on them.”
I laugh. Once. I did it once and he won’t let me live it down. What can I say? I have a wide range with my flavor palate.
It takes thirty minutes to get from my dorm to the lawyer’s office and thankfully, I find a parking spot right away. My hands won’t stop shaking as I walk into the building, straight to the receptionist desk.
“Good afternoon. Can I help you?” the middle aged brunette woman behind the desk asks as she pushes her glasses up on her nose.
“I’m here to see Mr. Hawkins. I have a three thirty appointment.”
“And your name?” Shit, guess that would be helpful, but honestly how many appointments does he schedule at the same time. Can she not look on the calendar and see it’s me?
“Everest Blackwood.” I glance around the office, noting that, other than the receptionist, no one else is here.
“Just have a seat and Mr. Hawkins will be with you shortly.” She smiles widely, a hint of her red lipstick present on her front teeth. I almost tell her, but decide not to.
I turn and take a seat, pick up a magazine from the table, and flip through it. A tabloid. Not my thing. Hell, I don’t even think I could name what movies are playing at the moment. Or when the last time I went to one was.
“Mr. Blackwood.” A deep timbre voice calls my name. I place the magazine back on the table and stand, turning toward the voice. “I’m Mr. Hawkins. Sorry to keep you waiting. If you’ll just follow me.”
He’s an older man, wearing a dark suit, pressed so crisp you could probably slice through anything with the sharp crease in his trousers. His shirt is white and his tie is knotted perfectly, the kind of knot practiced in bathroom mirrors for years, though loosened now as if he’s finally allowed himself to breathe. It’s a knot I’ve yet to perfect.
Mr. Hawkins' hair is neatly laid and his eyes are sharp, watchful, the type that tracks every detail like they’re gathering evidence even in casual conversation. Guess that’s what makes him a good attorney.
He shuts the door behind me when I step in the office. “Please take a seat.” He gestures toward the chair in front of his desk.
While I sit, he moves around the desk to his chair. He opens the file on his desk and begins to look through the files.
“You’ve been contracted to perform with CottonCandyKisses for her shoot for the BTL annual calendar. I’m happy to say you passed all the required medical screenings with flying colors. We’re here today to sign the contracts and go over the specific confidentiality aspects you’ll be required to adhere to.”
“Yes sir.”
“First off, any footage taken cannot be shared except by Cotton Candy and BTL. You cannot speak of anything specific to the shoot or the individual who uses the name CottonCandyKisses. Confidentiality is ironclad with Behind the Lens.” He gives me a stern look and I can’t help but smile awkwardly.
“No problem with that. I haven’t spoken about the shoot and no one knows the name I use on the site. Well, except for you.”
“Good then you’ll have no problem signing this.” He slides a paper over to me, and I can’t help but seem confused.
“Didn’t I already sign an NDA?”
“You did. We’re extremely thorough. The first covered the testing steps and your maintaining your anonymity being selected. Now that you’ve passed all the tests this will include everything else associated with the shoot, including what we went over as well as your scheduled shoot time, place and so forth. Please take your time and read. Everything is detailed in the document.”
I take my time reading it. Mr. Hawkins is right. It’s detailed. Everything you could think of and even those you couldn’t are outlined. I pick up the pen and quickly sign my name, sliding it back over to him.
He smiles, looks over, verifying my signature, maybe?
“Very good.” He pulls out another paper and hands it to me. “This is the tentative schedule. Should anything change you will be notified by the production liaison. Remember, to keep it simple don’t discuss anything to do with the site or the shoot.” He stands and I copy him as he reaches out, shaking my hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Blackwood. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
I don’t look at the schedule until I’m in the car.
What?
When I see it’s taking place at a carnival I don’t know what to think. My heart starts pounding at the very public location.
