The makeup artist, Delaney, according to her name tag, looked up with surprise and gratitude. "Thank you. I went to the Academy of Makeup Arts in New York."
"I thought so," I said with genuine warmth. "The precision shows. You know, I teach high school, and I see a lot of young artists. The level of skill you're demonstrating here is really exceptional."
Delaney's smile was radiant, her confidence visibly returning. "That means a lot, thank you."
The model, realizing she'd been effectively dismissed, huffed and stalked away to find another station. I turned my full attention to Delaney.
"Are you okay?" I asked quietly. "Some people forget that there are human beings behind the work they're demanding."
"I'm fine," Delaney said, though her hands were still shaking slightly. "She's right though, I should be faster."
"She's not right about anything," I said firmly. "I watched you work when I first got here. You're being careful and precise because you care about the quality. That's exactly what you should be doing."
Delaney's eyes filled with tears of gratitude. "Thank you. Really. You don't know how much I needed to hear that."
"Listen," I said, pulling out my phone. "I don't know if you ever do work outside of these shoots, but if you do, I'd love to get your information. You're incredibly talented."
We exchanged numbers, and Delaney promised to call if she ever needed a reference or just someone to talk to. As I walked away, I felt Julian fall into step beside me.
"That was well done," he said quietly.
"I hate seeing people get bullied," I replied. "Especially when they're just trying to do their job well."
We found a quiet corner where we could talk without being overheard. Julian leaned against the wall, studying my face with those intense gray eyes.
"How are you feeling about all this?" he asked. "The gallery last night, being here today, meeting the less pleasant side of my world?"
"Honestly? It's eye-opening," I said. "I'm starting to understand that every world has its politics and its bullies. But it's also incredibly creative and exciting. Watching you work, seeing how all these pieces come together… it's amazing."
Julian's smile was soft and genuine. "I'm glad you're here. Your insight about the movement in that first shot, Jeremy has already incorporated it into the rest of the setup. You made the entire shoot better."
Before I could respond, we were interrupted by Roy appearing with a clipboard.
"Julian, we need you to review the next setup. And there's been a scheduling conflict with the next model, she's running two hours late."
Julian sighed, the weight of responsibility settling back onto his shoulders. "Let me guess, traffic?"
"Hangover," Roy said dryly. "Should I call the backup?"
"Yes. And see if we can rearrange the order to accommodate." Julian turned to me. "I'm sorry, I need to handle this."
"Of course," I said. "I'll just watch from here."
But as Julian started to walk away, he paused and turned back. "Actually… Vivienne, how would you feel about stepping in for one of the shots?"
"What?" My eyes widened with shock. "Julian, I'm not a model. I don't know how to—"
"You know how to move naturally, which is more than I can say for half the professionals I work with. And you understand what the clothes are supposed to communicate." His eyes held mine with gentle encouragement. "It would just be one setup. Something simple."
I felt panic and excitement warring in my chest. "I don't know..."
"Think about it," Julian said. "Roy can show you around while I handle this crisis. If you decide you want to try it, we'll make it happen. If not, that’s fine. No pressure at all."
He disappeared back into the chaos, leaving me standing there with Roy, my mind racing.
"He's never asked anyone to step in before," Roy said conversationally. "Not once in all the years I've worked for him."
"That doesn't make me feel less nervous," I said with a shaky laugh.
