CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Good news all-round, the penis-shaped bruise on Photographer Dave’s forehead is long gone. In fact, Violet’s crazed attack seems to have been put in his past and he’s back to looking nonchalant. There are loads of other people at this warehouse too and I feel super nervous as I walk onto set. Everyone looks like they know what they’re doing and I don’t want to be the awkward new girl. So, you know, tripping over on the way past the receptionist was a really good start. She let out an audible sigh before going back to pick at her nail varnish.
I scrape myself up and make my way over to Dave. His pin thin legs are still clad in skinny jeans (nope) and he leans against a trestle table, grimacing into a mug of coffee.
‘Jasmine, good to see you again.’
‘Thank you so much for this opportunity Dave. I really need to start expanding my CV. . . shadowing you will be so valuable.’
‘Yeah, well, my assistant Terry’s pissed off for a whole sodding month in Malaysia, so your call the other day was perfect timing. Shadowing’s probably not the right word though, love. You’ll be doing more than that! Shall we start?’
More than shadowing! Does he mean he might let me behind the camera for a bit? Woot!
I look around at the exposed brick walls and watch some guys deliberating how ‘unmade’ the bed in the middle of the room should look while Dave explains today’s shoot. We’re doing ‘autumn bedroom updates’ for a glossy interiors magazine, which is wonderful news because I was back at Mum’s updating my old bedroom not too long ago. Though I’m guessing that taking down teenage posters won’t cut it today.
‘Want me to start setting up the lighting?’
‘We’llget to that. First I’m going to need a flat white from a proper coffee shop. No decaf. No soya milk. This instant tastes like horseshit and is doing nothing for my hangover.’
Oh gawd. Have I stumbled into another nightmare boss situation? Dave hands me the offending cup and I remind myself that assisting a well-known photographer is ahugeopportunity and one that might even help with, whisper it, career progression. Coffee run it is.
Shoots with Violet last a couple of hours, max. She knows what she likes and, whatever her faults might be, she does tend to listen to direction. It means we’re in and out like lightning, giving us the rest of our day to edit the shots, tend to social media and scrabble around doing odd jobs (me) or meet up with friends, revel in her new celebrity status and prance about in designer clothes (Violet).
Dave, on the other hand, is a slow burner. First of all, he and the picture director from this interiors mag had a stand-off about. . . the colour orange. True story. Poor old orange got a real hard time from Dave, who called it ‘gauche’ and some other words I don’t really understand, all the while moaning that the orange pillowcases looked ‘too abrasive’ in the photos he’d taken so far. The picture director heartily disagreed and the two guys were on the cusp of a very un-macho pillow fight with the offending soft furnishings until lunch arrived right on time.
Then Dave started to complain that Fanta was not acceptable and he really only drank ‘San Pellegrino sparkling blood orange’. Diva Dave is starting to make Violet look like a sweet little angel boss.
Still, Dave’s reputation precedes him and though I’d never, ever act like a prized knob-end if I was lucky enough to find his level of success, I am learning absolutely loads onthe job. Just watching his process has given me lots of ideas for my own portfolio, and I’m jotting down tips and tricks whenever there’s a quiet moment. Which is often. Dave is currently taking a fag break slash the chance to chat up one of the magazine’s interns. Poor lamb. When we finally wrap, I’m knackered but buzzing with enthusiasm.
‘Thank you so much, today has been brilliant.’
‘No problem, you’ve been quite useful,’ replies the King of Compliments. ‘Shout me if you want to do it again.’
‘Do you mean that? Because I definitely will. If I have enough notice I can book a day off from work.’
‘What are you doing now?’ Dave asks.
Going home. Taking my bra off. Eating a Whispa.
‘Oh, probably heading out, being piff. Doing something peng. Just another night, y’know?’ I say, swiftly wondering why the eff I decided to try out ALL of my new cool girl vocab on an arty photographer in one sentence.
‘Riiiiiight,’ Dave’s raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m only asking because the sun’s about to set. I’m going to stay here, head up onto the roof and see if it makes for some good photos. Want to join me?’
‘Yes I do!’ I squeal, losing any millimetre of cool I may have possessed two seconds ago. So, losing no millimetres of cool. ‘That sounds. . .’
Do not say piff or peng.
DO NOT SAY PIFF OR PENG.
‘. . .very jolly.’
Hmm.
‘Sweet.I’ll take a couple of beers then, and why don’t you fetch yourself something too. My treat,’ Dave stuffs a £5 note in my hands. FIVE ENGLISH POUNDS. I look up at him, bewildered, because we both know that this solitary note won’t cover the price of a single beer around here. Also, since when did I remain his assistant now that we’ve clocked off? But as he’s already making his way to the outdoor staircase I stuff the cash in my pocket and shuffle off to the shops.
Dave is attempting to set up a tripod when I reach the roof and I struggle to hide a smirk. Is this really what life as a big photographer is like? You’re so busy being fabulous and well-paid that you forget how to do the basics of your job?
‘Can you help me out?’
