Something Like Lightning (36 page)

“Antinous,” Marcello said, still not having taken a seat. “Emperor Hadrian’s lover. When he drowned in the Nile, the emperor had him deified. What a gift! As if the immortal soul weren’t enough, Hadrian decided Antinous should live on as a god. Do you suppose anyone worships him today?”

Kelly considered the statue. Even from here, he could see how handsome Antinous must have been. “People still worship beauty,” he answered.

“Indeed they do,” Marcello said. “Would you care for something to drink?”

Kelly shook his head. So did Jason.

“Very well.” Marcello sat on the couch across from them and leaned forward. “I’m the sort of man who makes no qualms about what he wants, and I believe you are the sort of man who appreciates a direct approach. Am I correct?”

Kelly nodded.

“Excellent. Let’s get right down to business. What you saw downstairs makes me weary. The commercial world has finally realized the value of male beauty, which means that anyone with a gym membership and a good orthodontist is trotted out in front of the camera. I’m tired of it and so are consumers. The world craves novelty, and there’s no shame in that. I intend to fulfill that desire, and I believe you can help me.”

Kelly considered him. “You think using an amputee as a model will create scandal and publicity?”

“No,” Marcello said. “No scandal. I intend to show the world that beauty comes in many forms. I’m not making an appeal to the hearts of my fellow man. You’ve lost a leg. Fine. But you are also incredibly striking. Beauty sells, and yours is something special. You’re not just another waxed frat boy who hasn’t yet ruined his body through frequent inebriation. Even sitting here now, I’m tempted to take a photo of you. Do you often flex your jaw like that?”

“Only when I’m trying to control my temper, which is often.”

“Have I insulted you?”

“I still feel like you’re beating around the bush, even though you pretend you’re not.”

Marcello leaned back and nodded curtly. “Very well. You’re handsome, but I have no shortage of handsome male models. Neither do my competitors. Your amputation will set you apart from the crowd. I’d like to take photos that include your amputation in plain sight. If you are comfortable with this, I’m certain I can reward us both with inordinate sums of money.”

“Fine,” Kelly said, “but only under certain conditions.”

“Such as?”

“I have final say over which photos get used and which don’t. Also, I want royalties. Jason says you deal in stock photography. It seems only fair that whatever you sell in the future, I get a portion of.”

Marcello glanced over at Jason accusingly. “Did you advise him to be so cutthroat?”

“No,” Jason said, “but I’m enjoying the show.”

“This will come out of your finder’s fee.”

“That’s not why I did this!” Jason said hurriedly. “I only wanted to help Kelly. You can keep your money.”

Kelly rolled his eyes. He was starting to see why Jason and William got along so well. “He gets a finder’s fee,” Kelly said. “And I get final say and a fair share of sales.”

Marcello considered him shrewdly. “I’ll give you a two-day contract, in which you will be paid one hundred dollars an hour. Those photos will be a test to see if we are creatively compatible, and will be used only to gauge client interest. You won’t have final say, but if you feel uncomfortable at any time during a session, you may speak up and those photos won’t leave this studio. Once the two days are over, and if it is mutually beneficial, terms of a longer contract can be discussed. Do we have a deal?”

Kelly’s mulled it over until satisfied. “Deal.”

“Good,” Marcello leaned forward and pushed the contract toward him. “Sign here.”

Kelly realized that the compromises they seemed to have reached were actually the original terms of the contract. So much for his negotiation skills. He thought about playing hardball, maybe walking out of the office in the hopes Marcello would lure him back with a better offer. That would mean returning home to face another empty day...

Leaning forward, Kelly took hold of the pen and signed his name.

When considering the worst case scenario, Kelly imagined the photographers having him sit on a mat, his amputated leg stretched out before him for all to see. He’d be looking up at the camera, pathetically begging the consumer to buy whatever merchandise was being pushed. Or maybe they would have him lift the stump in the air, a pair of designer underwear dangling off of it.

Such schemes appeared even more plausible when in makeup, where Kelly was asked to strip down. Just about every inch of his body was powdered or plucked or somehow improved in places he never realized were a problem. This included the nub of his leg. Margie, the makeup lady, took it all in stride.

“Just be glad you’ve still got your briefs on,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve applied rouge to.”

Kelly felt a little better once buttoned up in a stylish dress shirt and dark slacks.

“How do you usually handle the pant leg, honey?” Margie asked.

“I usually just fold it up with a few hair pins.”

“Then that’ll do just fine.”

The first photo shoot was in a different studio area, one corner arranged to look like a Cambridge library. Kelly was directed to a high-backed leather chair where he was asked to sit sideways, his leg draped across one of the arms. The photographer—an older guy with just a few wisps of red hair left on his head—introduced himself as Rick. Then he quietly snapped a few photos and consulted the digital preview before looking up at Kelly again.

“You like boys or girls?” he asked.

“Men,” Kelly responded.

“Fair enough. I know this might be a stretch, but I need you to pretend I’m the hottest guy you’ve ever seen. Your boyfriend, if you’ve got one. Is that who this is?” He gestured with his head toward Jason, who was standing in the corner of the room and now wearing a deer-inheadlights expression.

“Nope,” Kelly said. “Not my type.”

“Hey!” Jason protested.

Kelly smiled, which sent the camera flashing. Then he tried to get himself in the mood by thinking of porn stars or old crushes. He even tried thinking of Jared, but in the end, his stupid imagination settled on William. He pretended he’d been waiting up half the night, horny as hell, for William to come home. Now that he had arrived—in the form of an aging photographer—Kelly cranked up the sex appeal, trying with body language alone to get him to strip off his Coast Guard uniform. This little game must have worked because the photographer became more animated, dancing around Kelly and capturing him from different angles.

“Feel free to move,” Rick said.

Kelly did so, rolling and twisting in the chair. He was just getting started when Rick lowered the camera and beamed at him. “Great stuff! Let’s get to the next set.”

Kelly was stripped down to his underwear, laid out on a couch, and tangled up in a blanket. As he squirmed, there were times his amputation was revealed, which of course was the point. Plenty of the rest of him was exposed too. Kelly found he didn’t mind. The attention felt good. As the day wore on, he found himself looking forward to each new scenario. Every hour he became something new—a boorish jock, a proud-faced thug, a disinterested businessman. The only time he felt uncomfortable was when they tried dressing him up in army fatigues, as if he were a war veteran. That seemed disrespectful to actual veterans, and the moment he expressed his discomfort, they moved on to the next idea.

As much fun as he was having, when lunch break rolled around, he could see Jason was bored out of his mind.

“Nothing to do with your performance,” he insisted over smoked salmon bagels. “You getting all sexy for the camera is very— Um. Yeah. It’s just the never-ending moving around of lights, reading meters, switching lenses, and everything else that drives me nuts.”

Kelly laughed. “That might be my favorite part!”

Every time the crew stopped to make adjustments, he paid careful attention, whisked back to the days when a camera was his best friend. Of course he could see how Jason would find the long waits during makeup and wardrobe changes tedious. “You can go home,” he said. “I’ll make Marcello call a limo for me.”

“You sure?” Jason said, a little too eagerly.

“Absolutely. I was freaking out when we first got here, but I’m okay now. Thanks for tagging along. And for setting this up. That was really cool of you.”

Jason smiled. His good deed done, he left once lunch was over.

Kelly reported back to the makeup room where Margie had a long white robe waiting for him, the sort that might be worn in the desert. “This isn’t a statement about the war, is it?” he asked. “I’m not okay with anything like that.”

“Nope.” From one corner of the room, Margie grabbed a long wooden pole with a hook at the top.

“A shepherd?” he asked.

“Yup. Think you can stand with only this to balance you?”

“Easily,” Kelly said. “I’m just surprised that shepherds concern themselves with the latest fashion trends. Or that they exist anymore.” Margie snorted. “You’d be surprised how much modeling has nothing to do with selling clothes. This might be used for cologne, or an expensive watch, or maybe even life insurance. Sex sells.”

“Yeah, but shepherds aren’t exactly sexy.”

“This one will be. I need you to hop in the shower. Get all that makeup off you. Then we’re going to oil you up.”

O-kay. Kelly did what he was told, trying to imagine what was coming next. The second he stepped out of the shower, Margie was standing there with a towel. “I have sons nearly twice your age. You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen, or that I’m interested in.”

Thankfully she didn’t intend to dry him off, but she did have a swatch of white fabric that she wrapped around his pelvis and tied at the front, creating a primitive sort of skimpy underwear.

“No complaints,” she said. “If it’s good enough for Jesus, it’s good enough for you.”

As promised, she slathered him in oil. Or at least certain areas of him, like the front of his torso and neck but not his shoulders. Once he donned the robe, he found out why. It wasn’t as long as he initially thought, the fabric ending somewhere around his knee. It also lacked a belt, meaning it was left hanging open. Margie stepped back to consider him before applying oil to a few places she’d missed. Then she swatted him on the rump and told him he was ready.

As soon as Kelly entered the studio and saw the light setup, he knew what sort of photo this would be. The background was white and the illumination levels cranked up. This combined with his white clothes meant that his freshly oiled skin would look darker than ever. High contrast was the theme. Like Charlotte March’s photos of Trevor in 
Twen
magazine, this involved a black model against a white background and an abundance of light. Kelly was looking forward to the end result, even if it had been done plenty of times before. With black models. He’d like to see a pasty white guy greased up and shoved in front of a dark background.

“I love that smile,” Rick said. “I won’t pretend it’s sweet, but it sure makes the camera happy.”

“No need to butter me up,” Kelly responded. “Between the body oil and all these lights, I’ll be deep-fried by the time you’re through.”

“I hope not,” Rick said. “Into position please.”

Margie brought him the shepherd’s crook and took away his crutches. Kelly hopped a few times to get his balance. Even more lights were switched on. He faced them and tried not to squint against their brightness.

“What’s my motivation?” Kelly asked. “Am I horny for my sheep?”

“Give me sultry,” Rick said. After a few minutes of photos, he changed his mind. “Try stoic. Pretend you’re standing on a hill, surveying your flock. No pride, no contentment. Just an acceptance of your duty.”

Right. After Margie stepped in to mop the sweat off his brow, Kelly tried putting himself in this mindset. He was a shepherd. He’d been doing this his whole life, the safety of his flock routine rather than extraordinary. Kelly stared into the distance, seeing only shadowy forms beyond the light: Rick moving back and forth, the lighting technicians making slight adjustments. Margie’s stooped form. Marcello’s silent bulk; His potential employer had been observing him the entire day, rarely offering any direction or feedback. Then there was the hulking shadow standing next to him. That one was new.

Kelly squinted to see better before Rick chastised him.

“Eyes on the flock!” he said. “Don’t let those sheep get away.”

Kelly returned his attention to the forefront, only glancing toward Marcello again when Margie came to sponge up more of his sweat. Whoever it was, the guy was big, since Marcello didn’t look so large anymore.

“Ready?” Rick asked.

“Yeah,” Kelly said. “Uh, wait.” He hopped and shifted his weight, leaning more on the crook. And facing a little more in Marcello’s direction.

Rick seemed okay with this, because he was snapping photos again. Now when Kelly stared off into the distance, he saw two forms. One rotund, the other a seductive silhouette. He snorted at the idea. Rick complained, but Kelly couldn’t help it. Who’d ever heard of a sexy shadow? But the broad shoulders, the round deltoids, even the casual posture as the man leaned against the wall, one foot pressed against it... Kelly could make out some of the facial features, the shadows deep beneath the heavy brow. Then the figure stepped forward, reached for one of the lights, and turned it off.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Rick said, spinning around. “Oh! I didn’t realize it was you. Sorry, Nathaniel.”

Kelly’s jaw dropped. He might not have remembered the name if Rick hadn’t spoken it. Their brief encounter had been blurred by emotion and alcohol, but Kelly hadn’t forgotten him. From the way one corner of Nathaniel’s mouth jerked upward, he hadn’t forgotten Kelly either.

“You’re doing great,” Nathaniel said to him. “Keep it up, and there might be another bottle of wine in it for you.”

Then the light was switched back on. Kelly blinked against it before he said, “Can I get that in writing?”

“He’s probably serious,” Marcello grumbled.