“Enough,” Web was saying with a smile. “We’d better get things rolling here.”
Marni barely had time to squeeze Lee’s arm before Web was steering her off toward the changing rooms. Once again she was “done over,” this time more aware of what was happening. She asked questions—how the hairstylist managed such a smooth sweep from her crown, what the makeup artist had done for her eyes to make them seem so far apart—but she was simply making conversation, perhaps in her way apologizing for having spoiled these people’s efforts the week before. And diverting her mind from the worry that set in each time she looked at Web.
If the villain of the previous Tuesday had been the shock and pain of memory, now it was guilt. Marni saw Web’s face, so open and encouraging, then the horror-filled ones of her parents when they learned she was seeing him again. She heard his voice, so gentle in instruction, then the harsh, bitter words of her family when they knew she was associating with the enemy.
Web tried different poses from the week before, used softer background music. He tried different lights and different cameras—the latter mostly on his tripod, which he could more easily manage, but in the end holding the camera in his hand with his splinted pinkie sticking straight out.
Halfway through the session, he called a break, shooing everyone else away after Marni had been given a cool drink.
“What do you think?” she asked hesitantly. The face she made suggested that she had doubts of her own but needed the reassurance. “Any better than last week?”
“Better than that, but still not what I want. It’s a little matter of … this … spot.” With his forefinger, he lightly stroked the soft skin between her brows. “No amount of makeup is going to hide the creases when you frown.”
“But I thought I was smiling, or doing whatever it was you asked me to do.”
“You were. But those little creases creep in there anyway. When I ask for a tiny smile, the overall effect is one of pleading. When I ask for a broad smile, you look like you’re in pain. When I ask you to wet your lips and leave them parted, you look like you’re holding your breath.”
“I am,” she argued, throwing up a hand in frustration. “I’m no good at this. I told you, Web. This isn’t my thing.”
She was leaning against the arm of a director’s chair. He stood close by, looking down at her. “It can’t be the crowd, because there’s no crowd today. It can’t be the music, or the posing. And it can’t be shock. Not anymore…. You’re worried about something. That’s what the creases tell me.”
“I’m worried that I’ll never be able to give you what you want, that you won’t get your picture and you’ll be disappointed and angry.”
“Angry? Never. Disappointed? Definitely. But I’m not giving up yet. I’m going to get this picture, Marni. One way or another, I’m going to get it.”
He spoke with such conviction, and went back to work with such determination, that Marni began to suspect he’d have her at it every day for a month, if that’s what it took. She did her best to concentrate on relaxing her facial muscles, but found it nearly impossible. She’d get rid of the creases, but then her mouth would be wrong, or the angle of her head, or her shoulders.
The session ended not in a burst of tears as it had last time, but in sighs of fatigue from both her and Web. “Okay,” he said resignedly as he handed his camera to one of his assistants, “we’ll take a look at what we’ve got. There may be something.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “God only knows I’ve exposed enough film.”
Marni whirled around and stalked off toward the dressing room.
“Marni!” he called out, but she didn’t stop. So he loped after her, enclosing them in the privacy of the small room. “What was that about? You walked out of there like I’d insulted you.”
“You did.” She removed the chunky beads from around her neck and put them on a nearby table. Two oversized bracelets soon followed. “You’re disgusted with me. You never have to go through this with normal models. ‘God only knows I’ve exposed enough film.’ Did you have to say that, in that tone, for everyone in the room to hear?”
“It was a simple comment.”
“It was an indictment.”
“Then it was as much an indictment of me as it was of you. I’m the photographer! Half of my supposed skill is in drawing the mood and the look from a model!”
She was swiftly unbuttoning her blouse, heedless of Web’s presence. “I’m the model. A rank amateur. You’re the renowned photographer. If anyone’s at fault, we both know who it is.”
“Then you’re angry at yourself, but don’t lay that trip on me!”
“See? You agree!” She’d thrown the blouse aside and was fumbling with the waistband of her skirt. Her voice shook as she released the button and tugged down the zipper. “Well, I’m sorry if I’ve upset your normal pattern of success, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Right from the beginning I knew this was a mad scheme. You need amodel,anexperiencedmodel.” She stumbled out of the skirt, threw it on top of the blouse, then grabbed for her own clothes and began to pull them on. “I can’t be what you want, Web, no matter how much you want to think otherwise. I am what I am. I do what I do, and I do it well, and if there’s baggage I carry—like little creases between my eyes—I can’t help it.” She’d stepped into her wool dress, but left it unbuttoned. Suddenly drained from her outburst, she lifted a hand to rub at those creases.
Web remained quiet. He’d reached the end of his own spurt of temper minutes ago and was simply waiting for her to calm down enough to listen to what he had to say. When she sighed and slumped into a nearby chair, he slowly approached and squatted beside her.
“Firstly, I’m not angry at you. If anything I’m angry at me, because there’s something I’m missing and I don’t know how to get at it. Secondly, I’m not really angry, just tired.” He flexed his unbound fingers. “My left hand is stiff because I’m not used to working this way.” He put his hand down on her knee. “Thirdly, and most importantly, itisyou I want. I’m not looking for something you’re not. I’m not trying to make you into someone else. You’re such a unique and wonderful person Marni—it’sthatthat I’m trying to capture on film…. Look at me,” he said softly, drawing her hand from her face. “You’re right. It is much easier photographing a ‘normal model,’ but only because there isn’t half the depth, because I can put there what I want. Creating a mood, a look, is one thing. Bringing out feeling,individualfeeling is another. Don’t you see? That’s what’s going to make this issue ofClassstand out on the shelves. Not only are you beautiful to look at, but you’ll have all those other qualities shining out from you. The potential reader ofClasswill say to herself, ‘Hmmm, this looks interesting.’”
Marni was eyeing him steadily. Her expression had softened, taking on a glimmer of helplessness. He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, thinking how badly he wanted to reach her, to soothe her.
“But what happened this morning,” he went on in a whisper-soft tone, “what we’ve been arguing about in here is really secondary. You’ve got something on your mind that you haven’t been able to shake. Share it with me, Marni. If nothing more, talking about it will make you feel better. Maybe I can help.”
She only wished it were so. How could she say that she was falling in love with him again, but that her parents would never accept it? That they hated him, that she’d spent the last fourteen years of her life trying to make up for Ethan’s death by being what he might have been if he’d lived, and that she didn’t know if she had the strength to shatter her parents’ illusion?
“Oh, Web,” she sighed, slipping her arms over his shoulders and leaning forward to rest her cheek against his. “Life is so complicated.”
