Page 16 of Washed Up
“Here…” He hands me a camera. A camera so expensive I’m instantly terrified I’m going to drop it. “I’ll be honest, Iris. I’m not really interested in whatever you have to say. There are plenty who can talk the talk, but can you capture the essence? Look, Reid obviously likes you. I like Reid. That’s why I let you in here, and it’s why I’m giving you a chance to show me what you can do. I’m not looking for an assistant, but I try to do my bit to sponsor young creatives. Give me a reason to invest in you.”
I clutch the camera, which now feels like a million-pound grenade. “What should I—”
He shakes his head. “Your vision, Iris. Not mine. Show me what you see. Show me what’s in here and in here.” He indicates both my heart and my head. “Let me see what makes Iris—”
“Allen,” I provide.
“—Iris Allen, tick.”
He snaps another candid shot of me. I expect I look like a kid who just met Santa for the first time.
“Happens I think I already know, but I could be wrong. You may yet surprise me.”
I want to ask what he thinks that is, but I don’t, and I’m ushered out.
My head’s in the clouds as I head back to where Lucidity are staying. I can’t believe I have this opportunity, but now the pressure is on not to waste it. I take a few landscape shots as I walk, but I already know that what I really want to do is photograph the guys. Please let Reid still be into the ideaof posing for me. Although, I’m not so sure I want to capture anything so staged.
The polished poses that fill the media, while beautiful, aren’t nearly as intriguing as the candid shots of them behind the scenes. Not to me, anyway. I think of the differences between the version of Reid the world sees, and the real man who dresses in odd socks and has more holes in his clothes than a sack infested with moths.
It’s not just him, it’s Max and Wynter too.
There are facets of them both that their fans don’t get to see, but which I have the means of capturing. If they’ll let me.
I really hope they’ll let me.
Doubts hit me hard as I get closer to the studio complex. What’s to say that in my absence, Wynter hasn’t persuaded the other two that it’s time I left?
I knock on the residence door, but no one answers, so I let myself in. No one’s home, and though I want to, I’m too afraid of causing a distraction to brave infiltrating the studio and risk precipitating a drama.
Max is the first to reappear. After taking a few photos around their living space, and raiding the cupboard for snacks, I’ve been chilling with a book in my room. It’s a spicy one, presumably left behind by a previous resident, where a group of old friends reunite and previous passions reignite.
I find Max in the kitchen.
“Iris,” he greets me, while rifling through the fridge-freezer. “I’m thinking pizza and salad for lunch, unless you don’t like that.”
“I’ve heard of mythical beasts who don’t like pizza, but I’ve never met one. Unless you’re covering it in banana and pineapple, then I’ll pass.”
“No fruity pizza, duly noted.” He starts piling ingredients onto the worktop, including three varieties of cheese, variousforms of peppers, fresh spinach, and slices of pepperoni. Plus, a head of lettuce and olives… and more olives. Someone obviously likes them.
When he said pizza, I assumed he meant the pre-prepared kind you pull out of the freezer and throw in the oven, not that he was going to make it from scratch. He has fresh dough in a tea towel covered bowl.
“What did you think of Ric?”
“Intimidating.”
“Not sexy? When we all met him, we were like, ‘Fuck he’s hot!’ And loaded. How bloody unfair is that?”
“Hot in an intimidating way, maybe.” There’s no denying that Alaric Liddell is blessed in the looks department, but I’ve never been into the whole metal scene. I’m a pop punk girlie. “He’s not really my thing.”
“That true, Iris?”
I give a nod, and he seems pleased.
“He’s loaned me a camera and told me to impress him. Not sure I have that in me, but it won’t hurt to try.”
Without blinking, he says, “Of course you can do it, Iris. You’re gonna blow his socks off.”
“Do you think he wears them?”
