Page 44 of Shame Me
Conflicted, I sighed and then settled on the bra-and-jacket combo, figuring it would be easy enough to pull the sides of the jacket together for less skin exposure. But, in an act of defiance, I left on the faded jeans and black boots I’d worn. It was my way of telling the photographer or record execs or whoever the hell had decided that my only contribution to the band was that I had boobs that I actually had far more value. I was the person keeping the beat, driving the rhythm, and I was an integral part of the band. As I fastened the bra, I smiled, because it wasn’t too long ago that I’d had doubts about my abilities and had only done it because of my loyalty to Zack.
Now it was far more than that.
The bra was a little snug but not painful, except for the underwires. Not only that, but the way it was padded made my boobs look at least one cup larger. I’d always been fine with the average size of my breasts, because I didn’t really want to show them off, but here they were, practically served on a platter for all to see.
I reminded myself that I was one of four. The camera wouldn’tjustbe on me.
Despite the discomfort, I left the dressing room and walked across the cavernous space to where the guys stood. What had been a white background was now a green screen against thewall, and the area was surrounded by lights, tall and short, including one that looked like an umbrella, and the guys stood to the side. Meanwhile, the photographer was adjusting something on a camera on a tripod.
When I walked over to the guys, Zack said, “Isn’t this what you always wanted, Dani?”
“What?”
“We match.”
As I glanced at the guys and then down at myself, I saw that he was right—the jackets, the jeans, and the boots were all coordinated. We looked like we belonged to an old-fashioned 50s motorcycle gang. The only thing missing was the slicked-back hair. “Yeah, I guess we do.”
It was only then that I actually met the photographer for the first time. Bothering to look up from what he’d been doing, he said, “Why aren’t you wearing the skirt?”
Already, I disliked him. “Hi, I’m Dani,” I said, closing the gap with my hand extended.
It seemed toalmostcatch him off guard. He was of average height with a salt-and-pepper beard and smallish eyes, which made me wonder how good a photographer he would be. “Jonathan.” And he actually shook my hand before going back to his question. “Where’s the skirt?”
“It’s in the dressing room. I’m not wearing it.”
“I see that—but your label has a vision for what these photos should look like, and that includes the clothes we laid out for you.”
I tried smiling, but it felt more like a snarl—and why the hell hadn’t the guys come over to back me up? “That’s nice, but they didn’t consult with me. I’m wearing half of the outfit, so it’s a compromise. It shouldn’t reflect on you at all.”
Jonathan drew in a deep breath, acting like he was going to say something else—but then he didn’t, probably realizing itwasn’t worth the argument. “All right. I’ll report back to the label that you refused to wear the skirt.”
“That’s fine. They need to know right now that I dictate those choices.” Holy shit—I actually said that? Where was this newfound confidence coming from?
But I knew…it was due to all the misogynistic bullshit of late—from the assholes in the clubs we played who thought I was a groupie to the united sons of bitches at the video shoot and everything in between. I was fed up with being devalued and only appreciated because of my gender. And it was putting a burning fire in my belly to make things right.
Zack, still near the wall with Braden and Cy, raised his voice. “Everything okay?”
Turning around, I said, “It’s fine.”
Even though just moments ago I’d wondered why my bandmates weren’t coming to my defense, I realized thatthattendency to want their help was a way I was devaluing myself. OnlyIcould truly advocate for myself; only I could make my wishes known.
And I would.
I almost didn’t catch the way Zack’s eyes skimmed over my body—and when his eyes met mine, he gave me the slightest smile. Did seeing my skin remind him of our time together when I’d lost my virginity to him?
“All right,” Jonathan said just as Ian reappeared, “let’s have you stand in front of the screen. I want to see how you all look together and then we’ll rearrange you.”
Standing in front of the green screen awkwardly felt almost like we were part of a police lineup. When I glanced at Zack, he smiled—but I could see something underneath it. He was trying, but inside he was suffering.
But this, what we were doing right now, was leading up to everything we’d been working so hard for. And, in my mind, it felt like it was happening fast.
“Okay,” Jonathan said. “Cy, I want you there,” he said, pointing to the right side of the space where we stood. “Zack, stand next to him. Then we’ll have Braden and then Dani.” I wasn’t sure why we were ordered that way, but I knew he wanted Zack kind of in the middle as the frontman of the band. That made sense. It wouldn’t be until I saw the photos later that I realized with Zack as the tallest, Braden and Cy, slightly shorter, made a sort of visual peak that tapered further between Braden and me.
That was why they paid the photographer—he had an eye for that sort of thing.
“Let’s just take a few practice shots to get you warmed up.” And he did. Using a handheld camera rather than the one on the tripod, he took several pictures. “That’s good. But I need you all to brood more. Remember, this is the aesthetic we’re looking for. Tortured moody band who can’t be bothered to smile.”
That statement, however, almostdidmake me smile.
