Page 25 of Mistaken Impression

“My name is Blake, not Blain.” Ordinarily, I’d say my name is ‘Mac’, but Kennedy doesn’t strike me as someone I’d ever call a friend, so we’ll stick with Blake.

“While you’re working here, it’s Blain.” There’s a harder edge to her voice, and I can hear the underlying implication that she holds all the cards.

I want to argue that it isn’t, but decide it’s best to pick my battles, and in this instance, the battle is about what I’m wearing, or not wearing, to present this show.

“Can I get one thing straight here, Kennedy… are you expecting me to present this show wearing nothing but an apron and a pair of jeans?” If they are, she won’t need to fire me. I’ll quit.

She smiles again, but if anything, I feel slightly less comfortable. The look in her eyes speaks of appetites that have nothing to do with the food I’ll be pretending to cook.

“No, but the production team have decided a black t-shirt will look really good with the red apron, so we’ve ordered some in… and we’d like you to wear black pants, too.”

“By ‘pants’, I assume you mean jeans or trousers?”

She laughs, with a little more authenticity, and caresses my arm while nodding her head. “I keep forgetting you’re British.” I can’t see how. My accent is a huge giveaway, I would have thought. “Black jeans would be fine,” she says. “They won’t be seen very much, anyway.”

“Why don’t you leave us to it?” I turn as the photographer speaks, and see he’s wandering over, his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing stonewashed jeans, and a dark grey t-shirt, and although he’s talking to Kennedy, he’s looking at me with a friendly smile on his face. Now he’s closer, I can see he’s probably a few years younger than me, although he has an air of professionalism that makes him seem older.

“You don’t need me to stay?” She releases my arm at last and turns towards him, the disappointment obvious in her voice and demeanour.

“No. We’ll be fine. I know what you’re looking for.”

I think I do, too… but she’s not getting it.

“I could stay, just in case you have any questions,” she says, but he shakes his head.

“I work better alone.” As he speaks, he folds his arms across his broad chest, his feet set firm on the floor. This is a battle of wills and although Kennedy isn’t renowned for backing down, I get the feeling he won’t budge, either. After just a few seconds, she steps away, relenting, and moves towards the door.

“I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

He nods his head. “I’ll come find you when we’re through.”

She frowns, but doesn’t say a word, and finally leaves the room.

I turn to the photographer, letting out a sigh of relief. “Thanks for that.”

He smiles. “My pleasure. Believe me, I didn’t want her hanging around here any more than you did.”

“For different reasons, I imagine.”

“Yeah,” he says. “In my case, she’d have just gotten in the way. In your case…”

“She’s only interested in the packaging… or so it seems.” I hold up the apron. “Is this really necessary?”

“You mean, do you have to take your shirt off and put that damn silly apron on?”

“Yes.”

“To get what they want? Yeah, you do. Didn’t they tell you this was part of the deal?”

“No, they didn’t. And, before you say anything, I know I won’t be naked in the pictures. It’s just that…”

“You didn’t sign up for this?”

“Exactly. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not worried about being topless in front of you, but…”

“It’s the principle?” he says, tilting his head.

“Yeah. I don’t like being kept in the dark, and I’m concerned about how bad the end result is gonna look.”

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