"Perfect," Mick says. "Madelyn, please go into the other conference room and set it up for the photo shoot. Hopefully, you came up with ideas last night for lighting and positioning. We want to nail this guy quickly so we don't take too much of his time. Time costs money. Right?"
"Yes, I have ideas on how to nail him," I say. "I'm sorry, I mean nail the shoot." Except, I'm sure there isn't one position Mick will approve because he probably doesn't know a thing about positions or how to nail in them.
After giving this campaign more thought, I do think a man like Wesley Moon is a fantastic idea to support the fundamentals of this breast milk supply company. Men do take care of babies just as much as women, and there is no reason why he can't stand proud for that in a photo shoot.
Therefore, I plan to have Wesley Moon holding a frozen bag of breast milk or frozen milk that's watered down to look like breast milk.
"What about the other model?" Mick asks Dan.
"They'll be here within fifteen minutes," Dan responds. I thought we had discussed one model, but clearly, the conversation continued long after everyone "left" last night.
It doesn't take long to close the blinds, hide all cords connected to electronics, and move the table and chairs to the other side of the room in preparation for the photographer.
By the time I finish rearranging the room, two men walk in, immediately inspecting the area with questionable looks on their faces. One is clearly the photographer, and the other is Wesley Moon. Wow. Well, milk has done his body good. I'm sure he's never heard that line before. "Hi, I'm Madelyn," I introduce myself. "I'm happy to help you with whatever you need today." I offer to shake both their hands, but the photographer doesn't acknowledge me as he appears to already be focused on lighting, or so it seems by the way he shapes his hands around his face.
I turn my attention to Wesley Moon and attempt to shake his hand too, but he seems unsure and lost in thought as he takes my hand. His grip is tighter than necessary, but I don't think he knows what is going on, or I'm not sure what's going on behind those pretty green eyes of his.Is he drugged? Oh,maybe he's just regretting this pop-up job. I would be if I were him. "So, you were the 'Get Milk' boy, huh?" I ask Wesley.
He glances down at me with a clear focus this time, eliminating the thought of a drug induced state. His looks are jarring, in a good way. He's actually better looking in person than he was on the wall in the conference room yesterday. He has a complimentary color contrast between his features—the light and dark hues—and his face is perfectly symmetrical. Wesley Moon is definitely model material, and I'm sure he's still very much a part of the industry with his flawless physique, which makes me question him more. I'm stunned that someone would put their career on the line for this ad.
"Yeah, I—I was the ah— 'Get Milk' boy, but it's been twenty years since then," he says, sounding unsure about what he's saying, but he seems distracted by the photographer unpacking his equipment.
"Well, I see you grew out of your milk mustache. So, you have that going for you at least, right?" I laugh, sounding like a moron who is trying way too hard to lighten the mood.
"Cute," he says with a sigh. "Can we get this shoot done? I'm not thrilled to wake up the dead for this campaign."
"I understand. May I take your jacket?" I ask him. I'll be his coat rack. At least that way, I can hang up his sarcasm to dry out a little more.
He removes his jacket but folds it over his arm. "No, thank you, I can place it down on the table myself."
"What do you mean by waking up the dead?" I ask, curious about his thoughts on this ad.
He snickers and shrugs his shoulders while placing his coat down. "Yup, it's old news—the campaign is dead. I don't know why anyone would think it could make a comeback. Yada, yada, yada"
So, now I'm wondering if he knows what's going on in here. His concerns seem to be leaning in the wrong direction. "I was thinking the same thing. Plus, the ad is for a different cause, and my boss thinks the connection will help ignite attention," I say, possibly enlightening him a little.
"Can you stand forty-five degrees to my left," the photographer asks Wesley, talking over the end of my statement.
"Well, my feelings remain the same," Wesley says, walking toward the photographer.
"Trust me. I havenofeelings toward this campaign right now. Unless things go my way today, it won't be going far." The whole thing where I promised myself I'd try to keep my mouth shut isn't going so well, but it's the truth, so whatever. He probably didn't even hear me with the photographer moving in and out of his face with a studio lamp.
"What are you saying to this famous man in here, Madelyn?" Mick says, walking in like he owns the world.
"I'm not famous," Wesley tells him. I guess he's humble. I'll put that feather in his cap.
"Can you do it this one time? Please?" Mick asks with boisterous laughter. "Comeonnn."
"No, I don't—sorry, I can't," Wesley says, unamused.
"We'll get you to say it somehow, I'm sure," Mick says while throwing his fists around like he's about to box someone. "Okay, well, in the meantime, why don't you take your shirt off and get comfortable. Our other model is heading upstairs as we speak."
"Isn't this a milk commercial?" Wesley asks.
"Yeah, it does a body good, right? What are you getting paid the big bucks for? Take your shirt off."
"What?" I snap at Mick. "He's not taking his shirt off for this ad."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you in charge now?" Mick snaps at me.I found the way to push his detonator."If you can't handle this shoot, you can return to your desk, Ms. Wall."
