Page 14 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
I grinned. “You mean Shelly will, and you’ll take credit for it?”
Shelly smiled up at me, and her blue eyes flicked between Frank and me. “This is why you’re my favorite, Cal,” she said.
Frank rolled his eyes. “This is the last thing I need. The two of you ganging up on me. Get your ass out of here, Cal. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Frank. You too, Shelly. See you in the new year!”
They both waved goodbye as I pressed out the double glass doors of the firm’s office and into the lobby, where I rode the elevators down from the top floor.
Time off. What a strange concept.
Seeing everyone from high school? What a stranger concept.
6
LINA
My red Baywatch-style swimsuit was riding up my ass every couple of minutes. It was incredibly uncomfortable, and tight, and did not breathe at all. I was surrounded by other models who were all spread out at my feet on towels atop fake sand in a warehouse that had been staged to look like a beach. A fan was blowing behind the camera, which blew my hair gently back and made me feel only a little bit like Beyonce.
But then the swimsuit would ride up again, and that confidence would be dashed.
The photographer called for a break, and I tried to adjust my swimsuit without being too obvious. One of the assistants on set scampered up to straighten out the edges of some of the towels. She was a young woman, probably a few years younger than me, with mousy hair and big brown eyes.
“Excuse me?” I called.
The assistant looked up at me as she was stooped over fixing a towel. “Um. Yes, Miss Nelson?”
“Do you think there’s some hairspray I could get my hands on? My bathing suit won’t stay put, and if I can just spray my skin, it will stay in place better.”
The assistant nodded. “Yes, I’ll find you some. Sit tight.”
“Thank you.”
“Good idea,” one of the other models said. She was a blonde babe in a red bikini. She was spread out on a towel and had been positioned by the photographer to lay on her elbows, propped up and smiling up at me as I sipped from the energy drink this shoot was all centered around. “These bathing suits are awful.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“But they photograph beautifully,” Mike said. Mike was the owner of the energy drink company and the big cheese on today’s set. He had final say in everything and anything, and he hadn’t shied away from being a total prick. He was the one who’d chosen the swimsuits and demanded we all get spray tans.
Now I had a midsummer-colored tan three weeks before Christmas.
Mike walked around the set, his eyes raking over all of us—especially me. I was the main girl for the shoot, and he had insisted everything needed to be perfect. I could understand that. We were shooting an ad, after all, and image was everything when you only had thirty seconds or so to capture the public’s attention and convince them to buy your product.
I only had to wait a couple minutes before the assistant returned with a full-sized bottle of hairspray. She gave me a sweet but flustered smile as I took it from her and said, “Will you be needing anything else?”
“No thank you.” I still wasn’t used to this celebrity treatment. It was weird and almost uncomfortable to have people doting on me whenever I was at work. It almost made it hard to be a professional when everyone was babying you and walking on eggshells around you.
Don’t offend the model.
Make sure she’s comfortable.
She’s your meal ticket. Keep her happy.
Tell her she looks perfect.
Don’t let her eat any sweets before the shoot.
Keep her hydrated.
