Shut Up and Model for Me (24 page)

“Yeah, yeah, Brit. Keep telling yourself that.”

“Let’s not talk about this.” I hand her an ear bud. “Want to watch a super-secret and important video with me?”

“Do I ever.” She pops the ear bud in and leans in close. I play the video.

A.J. Harrison—
the
A.J. Harrison—slowly fates into the picture. He’s in some old-fashioned study. I feel like I’m watching Masterpiece Theatre.

“Hello, Miss McCulley. I hope that you and your team had a safe flight.” He seems sincere, albeit a bit monotone. “You should be on the shuttle and on your way to our location.”

“It’s like he’s watching us or something,” Delilah says in a hushed voice, like she’s in awe of the technology.

“He’s probably just a good guesser,” I say.

“Your shoot location will serve as your lodging for the next two weeks. Hired staff will be staying with you for up-keeping and catering.”

“Up-keeping?” Delilah asks.

“Picking up our shit.”

A.J. continues. “You will have two break days available to you—Saturday and Wednesday. On these days, please relay to your team that they are more than welcome to tour the area on their own. However, on days where we shoot, all team members should be through hair and makeup by ten in the morning and remain on the premise, even those who won’t be participating in sessions.” A.J. gives a soft smile. “It is best for us to have back-up models at the ready. Also, this experience is an opportunity for all of your models to learn.”

“He talks like he’s some sort of model coach or something. Like he’s Tyra Banks.”

I nod. “It’s all part of the show. He wants me to trust him.”

“I will be continuing to send you videos and messages on your device throughout the course of your next two weeks here. Hopefully they will assist you in managing your shoots. All of my assistants will be entirely at your disposal.” He then lowers his voice. “I have to be clear with you though—none of my Amora employees are used to taking orders from a woman as young and—vivacious as yourself.”

“Vivacious?” Delilah giggles.

“He’s mistaking my mouthiness for high-spiritedness.”

“So please, be patient with them, and also remember that you hold a valuable artistic eye. I hope the collaboration goes smoothly between all of you.

“I’ve attached a second video that may help you imagine what I have in store for this launch issue. Please let me know if you have any questions. Although I cannot make it out to Boston, I hope that we can effectively communicate our ideas and creativity with the use of this device over the next two weeks. Please let me know tomorrow how the process is going.”

I close out the video and open up the other one, playing it as the shuttle takes off from the airport.

The video starts off with the text “East Park Conceptualizations, Fall 2013” scrawled across a black background. Sketches slowly fade in and out. A montage.

I hold my breath as I soak in the ethereal sketches of models on a white background.

“It’s kind of weird to see ‘conceptualized’ boobs,” Delilah says, and it’s my turn to snicker.

But soon, we aren’t tossing jokes back and forth. Because the sketches start getting… well, fetishy, to say the least.

“What the fuck,” I murmur.

Bondage and gore and dark shit that AA must think is reminiscent of Halloween. There are even some orgies thrown in the mix.

And hardcore scenes. Some AA artist has sketched out several hardcore scenes for inspiration.

“Are we…” Delilah gasps. “Are we supposed to be
fucking each other
this issue?”

I frown, shaking my head. “That was never in the agreement.”

The last sketch fades out, and I shudder.

“That was weird,” says Delilah.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I still have control.”

I hope I do. I hope I still have control.

^^^^^

“Holy shit,” says Adam when we roll up to our shooting location.

I’m too busy with my mouth hanging open to concur.

We’re in the driveway of what looks to be a multi-story, old estate. Red bricks tile the walls and ivy grows around the windows. Pillars line the front entrance, one stamped with a historic building plaque.

“I already feel the nightmares coming on,” says Jessica, my token blonde, skinny model. She sneers in disgust.

For anyone to have disgust for this building is an outright crime. Moss creeps over the static water in the fountain. Curtains are thrown over all of the French-paned windows.

This place is photographer’s gold.

“Welcome to Veda Manor,” says our chauffeur. “This historic building used to be the home of the late Arthur Veda, a wealthy banker in the nineteenth century.”

To my utter surprise, no one speaks a word while the chauffeur continues.

“It was rumored that he and his beautiful wife participated in many unspeakable acts of desire with couples of similar… tendencies. You will find that these fetishes were engrained into their marriage so deeply that the building’s architecture caters directly to their habits.”

“Fuck yeah, sex swings, baby.” Adam thrusts his hips forward.

I roll my eyes. “Handle him, please,” I tell Delilah. She simply sighs and looks over at Adam impatiently.

I’m sure the Veda’s extracurricular activities are the reason why AA chose this house for the Halloween shoot. It’s the perfect mesh of creepy, taboo, and sexy.

A young redheaded woman wearing a black dress emerges from the front door. “Hello, everyone!” she says brightly, and then looks around in question. “Britain McCulley?”

I raise my hand. “Present.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Jaime smirking at me.

“Welcome!” she holds out her hand. As she walks forward, I take it. “My name is Elizabeth and I am head of the staff at Veda Manor. We will be taking good care of you for the next two weeks. Shall I show you your rooms?”

She waits for me to nod before ushering us inside Veda Manor. The sound of our rolling suitcases is like a stampede.

Immediately, it’s like I’ve walked into another world. Although the sun is just starting to set, it feels like midnight. Shades are drawn everywhere, and the walls are all illuminated with the glow of soft, warm lanterns. They are deep crimson, bordered and finished with oak. A Victorian staircase wraps around the cylinder entryway. A massive crystal chandelier hangs from the room’s core. Of course, the whole place isn’t really spooksville. It’s not like the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland where cobwebs and dust are added for effect. Everything is spotless, all chrome, crystal, and bronze shining.

I look around at my models, their mouths agape as they stare at our surroundings.

“This is the foyer, and upstairs are your rooms. You should each have your own. I will leave you to it to explore the place by yourselves. Let me know if you have any questions.”

It’s easy for me to lug my suitcase up the stairs because I’m not a diva and I don’t over-pack, but some of the girls are having a hell of a time carrying their stuff. Hell, the guys are too. “What did y’all pack?” I cry. “Rocks?”

“Dildos,” Jessica responds. Some of the boys guffaw.

The second floor is the girls’ floor (not like it matters—everyone has seen each other naked anyway). My room is placed right in the middle of Delilah and Chloe. I know because a bronze plaque with my name engraved onto it is slid into the tag holder on the door. That’s some fancy shit right there.

Even Evan has her own room. Not like she’s going to be able to stay at the manor at all during the next two weeks. I talked to her last night, and she said that even though she’s only been in school for two weeks, she has homework up the ass and will probably to leave to go back to Cambridge right after her shoots.

Speaking of Evan…

I grab my phone from my back pocket and text her before entering my room:

You’ve gotta see the place we’re shooting/staying at. Can’t wait to see you tonight!

I tuck my phone in my pocket and open the door to my room.

I shouldn’t have expected anything less than a bedframe of polished wood and a thick, ruffled canopy. The linens are obviously new—straight out of an insanely expensive department store like Anthropologie. I’ve got to say, while it’s too girlie for my everyday tastes, vacation-Britain is saying
hell yes
to this bit of extravagance.

There’s a huge fireplace and mantle next to a door that must lead to the bathroom. I check out the vintage tile and the footed ceramic bathtub, realizing I share the space with Chloe. She peeks her head in from the other side, her eyes bugging. She points to the tub. “I will definitely be soaking in that all night.” She grins at me.

“Go for it,” I say as she swings back into her room.

I walk over to my bed and fling myself onto it. Ugh. I don’t understand how flying can be so exhausting when I’ve been sitting all day.

My phone buzzes and I pull it out.

Evan: I simultaneously miss you and want to murder my lab instructor. It’s a strange feeling. I can’t wait either.

I text back:
Apparently the staff is supposed to wait on our every whim. Maybe I can have someone go on a vodka run.

Evan: Sounds divine. See you in a few hours.

As soon as I set my phone down, the iPad chimes. No rest for the weary.

This time, the message is from Elizabeth.
Please tell your team that dinner will be ready in one hour.

I send a mass text letting everyone know, wondering if I can get a quick nap in before dinner is ready. I kick off my shoes and rest my head on my huge plush pillow, my eyes losing focus until my vision suddenly snaps back again.

I’m staring at a painting.

Not a family portrait, either, or some cute painting of a pond and ducks. Nothing that you’d normally assume would be in an old manor from the 19
^th
century.

I hop out of bed and whip out my phone again, snapping a photo of the portrait and sending it to Evan.
Here’s a taste of how nuts this place is
.

The portrait is of a young woman in an elegant ball gown. Her hair is wild, and the ball gown is pulled down so that her voluptuous breasts are spilling out. She sits on a wooden chair with a dress hiked up to her hips, a man in trousers and suspenders—probably a peasants uniform at the time—with his head between her legs. The woman looks like she’s mid-orgasm.

Evan: What the actual fuck.

Me: Inorite?

Evan: I have GOT to get myself over there.

Me: Yes. STAT.

I have a really strong feeling that this isn’t going to be the weirdest picture I find in the manor.

^^^^^

I’ve never had a dinner in my life like the one I am having tonight.

First of all, there are name tags by everyone’s plate. I’m pretty sure the only time I’ve ever had an assigned seat was at a crappy wedding when the bride and groom wanted everyone to have no fun and forced us to sit next to total strangers.

Secondly, all of us are drinking from crystal goblets and fine china. I don’t know WHOSE crystal goblets and fine china—if they’ve been purchased for us by AA, rented from the catering company, or property of the Manor itself (the latter would be creepy). There are two turkeys, piles of rosemary potatoes, and vegetable platters. There are also skinny versions, from vegan options to gluten-free options. Catering for models must be such a pain in the ass.

We’re all sitting down and halfway through our delectable meal when Evan enters the dining hall.

The room, like it is fine tuned to dramatics, drops silent, and Evan says, “What
is
this? Are we at fucking Hogwarts or something?”

Suddenly, all of the awkward tension has evaporated. Some of the guys give Evan a standing ovation (including Jaime. Of course he would). And Evan smiles sweetly, strutting to my end of the table. She wears a long-sleeved, loose dress that drops to her thigh. It shimmers black and red in the light of the candles.

She takes a seat next to me, and I mutter, “You just
had
to make an entrance, didn’t you?”

“Duh,” she replies. “Ok, I’m about to eat a horse. Point me to the vegan shit.”

Half-way through dinner, one of the staff members hands everyone at the table a schedule for tomorrow. The AA assistants are taking a red-eye tonight and will be in Boston tomorrow morning, and that’s when we’ll start to shoot. Even though I’m completely capable of photographing without them, but whatever.

“So we have no idea what the shoots will consist of until tomorrow?” Evan asks.

I turn the volume all of the way down on the iPad and show Evan the creepy sketch video beneath the table. By the end of it, she’s horrified.

“Wrangle your emotions, dude,” I mutter. “People are starting to look at you funny.”

“We can’t do that shit! I’m not going to actually fuck anybody!” she hisses.

“Take a chill-pill, okay? Hopefully these are concept images and EPE isn’t actually going hardcore.”

“And all that weird bondage stuff?”

“Evan.” I take her face between my hands and force her to look at me. “I promise you, I am going to do my best to make this shoot as classy as I possibly can… given the circumstances. Think of your student-professor shoots with Dallas. I’ll go that route.”

Evan winces.

“For real? You need to get over him. Like now. Aren’t there decent looking guys at Harvard?”

Evan rolls her eyes.

My phone starts buzzing on my lap. I look down.

Dallas.

Speak of the devil. I forgot to call him back. Whoops.

“I gotta take this,” I say, standing up.

“Who is it?” Evan asks, but I don’t respond. Of course I don’t respond, because if I told her, she’d be right over my shoulder, listening to my every word.

I duck into a nearby hallway and put the phone to my ear, “Whattup.”

“Britain. You didn’t call me back.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s been kind of a circus trying to direct everyone. All the guys are dipshits, you know? You were the only one who wasn’t a special snowflake.”

“Whip them into shape. I believe in you,” he says.

I smile. Damn him and Evan for breaking up.