Page 74 of Castings & Curses

“That’s why you hired me.”

“No, I hired you because the printer no longer offers layout services.”

I looked back through the calendar again. “Yeah, they weren’t doing you any favors there.” I turned to walk back outside. “I’m fixing this.”

“Don’t fa- screw it up!” Ash called out after me.

“I don’t think I could make it worse if I tried.”

I stormed past the men milling about, a mini ball of indignant designer fury. I stopped, pivoted, and stormed right back up to the guys.

“Hey,” I started. “We need the big truck out. You, you, and you”—I pointed to three of the guys—“start pumping, we need your arms and chest swol. The rest of you start washing the truck, we need lots of water buckets, and lots of foamy soap. The more foam, the better.”

“Did you just say swol?”

“I did, I need you pumped, and oily.” I continued my little designer rampage over at the portrait set up. “Who is in charge here?”

A middle-aged man with snowy white facial hair and a belly like mine swaggered up to me. “I am, how can I help you out, little lady?”

If he hadn’t called me little lady, I wouldn’t have automatically assumed he was a chauvinist who expected me to sit around in a kitchen all day with no shoes because I was pregnant. But the old southern pointy beard and twirl-able mustache combined with those words had me bristling in city transplant indignation. It didn’t matter if I was born and raised here.

I sucked in a breath and pointed at his set-up with two fingers. “The only pictures happening with this backdrop are of the birds. Find the best looking examples here. I know these are show quality fowl, let's get some good glamour shots of them.”

“But this setup is for the men.”

“Not anymore. Now who here is your assistant photographer?”

The old guy blinked at me a few times as if he had never encountered a woman who knew how to speak her mind. Or like he didn’t have a clue who I was, and I had just come over here and railroaded him, and I was jumping to all kinds of conclusions because of two words.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m Paisley. Ash hired me to do the design work on this calendar. I was an art director before”—I pointed at the pregnant belly. “We are going to level up the photos this year. More action shots.”

“Yes!” Claudette cheered behind me.

I turned and gave her a hard look. “Claudette, why are you even here?”

“It’s picture day. I’m here for the show.”

I shook my head. “Nope, no free show for you.”

If there was one thing I knew about Claudette, she was boy crazy. Or at least she had been in high school. A few years older, she was Terri-Ann’s age, and one of her friends, so I knew all about her. Well, at least all about her ten years earlier.

“Paisley Owens, I swear, you are no fun.” She crossed her arms and seemed to sink deeper into her chair.

Suddenly I had a young man holding a camera standing between me and Colonel Sanders, the photographer. I gazed at the guy, he was holding onto a camera.

“You know how to use that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I cringed. I wasn’t old enough to be ma’am-ed. But I was, I was pregnant, and this young man was definitely younger than me by at least five, if not more, years.

“And you are?”

“This here is Jamie. I think he will be perfect for your action shots. That’s what the truck is out for, right?”

I needed to reassess my judgement genes. This photographer knew his business better than I did, and I was… I would blame the hormones if anyone called me on my bullshit. I smiled at the older man, he knew exactly what was going on.

“Claudette, if there is anyone here who understands the female gaze, it's going to be you,” I said.

---