"That girl doesn't waste any time, does she?" Jack said. "I can't say I blame her for taking the opportunity. Everybody's gotta put food on the table.”
"I think she's got enough to cover basic living expenses. She's just not going to inherit a billion dollars.”
"I say we go check it out," Flynn said. "I wouldn't mind seeing more of her."
"Trust me, you don't want to go there, Flynn. You might end up stabbed to death in your bed."
The movie star grinned and dismissed the notion. "What a way to go.”
Flynn and JD pulled themselves together, then we headed across the island to the photo studio in the afternoon. JD and I were both photography buffs and had done our fair share of photo shoots and music videos. It was always nice to get to a real studio and see how somebody else worked.
I texted Tiffany to let her know we were coming.
We pulled up to the nondescript building in the warehouse district. It was just around the corner from the practice studio. The sound of a snare drum bounced off brick walls, echoing through the streets.
The studio didn't look like much from the outside. We had taken the Revenant. It was big enough to fit the three of us. The massive EV looked like something Batman would drive, with its gunmetal-gray exterior and fat knobby tires. It could handle just about every type of terrain, or no terrain at all. Fully sealed, the vehicle was waterproof. With jet propulsion, you could cruise around the ocean with this thing. I’m not quite sure how far you could get, but it would get you around the island, at least.
I never asked how much Jack paid for it, and I didn't want to know. From the factory, it had bullet-resistant glass andarmored door panels. It was the perfect apocalyptic vehicle. The way things were going, it became more and more relevant. The island grew more and more apocalyptic every day.
We hopped out of the vehicle, climbed up to the loading dock, then shuffled to the main entrance. Camera flashes spilled through the warehouse windows that had been completely refurbished. I pulled the door open, and we slipped inside, making our way across the cavernous space.
The photographer snapped photos of Tiffany against a dove gray background. An assistant stood ready to change out camera lenses. The makeup artist waited in the wings to touch up Tiffany's hair and makeup. Another assistant held a fan that blew her luxurious locks. An art director from the magazine stood behind the photographer with his hand on his chin, surveying every minute detail.
Tiffany wore nothing at all and covered her lady bits with strategic placement of her hands. It was all fashionable and tasteful. Not lewd or pornographic. This could be considered art.
Tiffany had a body that was sculpted to perfection. Smooth, toned legs, a flat midriff, buoyant all-natural endowments, and more curves than the Monaco Grand Prix. She was easy to look at.
The camera loved her, and Tiffany changed poses with each click. Studio strobes flashed.
"Magnificent!" the photographer shouted in a slight French accent.
Click.
"Fabulous."
Flash.
"Love it!"
Click.
I think Tiffany just wanted us here so we could see her naked.
After the photographer snapped about 30 shots, he said. "That's a wrap."
He handed the camera to his assistant, and another assistant rushed to give Tiffany a robe.
The art director looked a little surprised. "That's it?”
"I have capturedthe shot,” he said in a lofty tone. “I cannot improve upon perfection."
He strutted away and didn't give the art director any chance for a rebuttal. To say the guy had a little bit of an ego would be an understatement. Then again, maybe he was justthatgood. We’d know when the magazine came out.
Tiffany rushed to greet us with a beaming smile. “I’m so glad you could come. I had no idea it would be over this quickly.”
“Well, it’s not like you’re hard to photograph,” Flynn said with that trademark grin of his.
Tiffany pretended to blush and bat her eyelashes at him. “You know all the right things to say.”
