Page 6 of Curvy Crush
I push the metal door open and step into the studio. The door slams loudly behind me, and it makes me want to shrink down. I’m just about to call out when I see a man walking toward me.
“Hello,” I say with a wide smile. “I’m Lola. I have an interview.” I hold out my hand as the man comes to a stop. I can’t help but to notice how good-looking he is. He’s tall and thin, but muscular. His dark hair is shaggy and messy and nearly hangs into his eyes. His sharp jaw is covered in a light scruff and his lips are perfectly shaped. His blue eyes seem to cut through me, and they cause a shiver to race up my spine. My heart starts to race and my breathing is almost coming in and out in gasps. I hope and pray he doesn’t notice.
He places his hand in mine and the roughness of it causes a chill to quake up my spine. “Hello, I’m Evan. Please, follow me,” he says, his voice thick and rough, but also quiet and edgy. He leads me into his office. “Please, have a seat,” he says, no emotion in his voice.
I feel like I’ve walked in and interrupted something, but I’m here on time so he should’ve been expecting me, right? Or maybe he was expecting someone else. Someone skinnier, someone better looking? The small area of his office puts us rather close together. I can smell the scent of his cologne from across his desk. It’s distracting and clouds my mind. All I want to do is close my eyes and inhale it as deeply as I can, but I don’t want to be weird.
“So, Lola. Tell me about yourself,” he says, scooting his chair closer to his desk.
I nod. “Okay, well… I was born and raised here in town. I graduated near the top of my class, then I went to the community college a few towns over and majored in business. It wasn’t until after I graduated that I decided to make this little hobby of taking photos into a career. I already had the knowledge I needed to run my own business, so I decided to go back and do a couple of classes in photography. While I was in school, I started taking pictures of anything and everything just for the experience and to fill my portfolio. Then one day, things just took off. I quit my job and started doing photography full-time, and I haven’t looked back.”
He nods. “And what would you say is your specialty?”
“My specialty?” I repeat. “Honestly, I love everything. I love getting a glimpse into a family by shooting family pics. I love getting to be involved in people’s special day shooting weddings and parties. I love to do stills and nature. Being alone with my camera is like becoming one with the Earth. I almost don’t feel whole without a camera in my hands.”
“Is that your portfolio?” He nods toward the book in my hands.
“Oh, yes,” I giggle out, handing it over.
He takes the book and sets it onto his desk, slowly flipping through the pages. He doesn’t really pay much attention to the photos of people and parties, but he lingers on the still-life shots, and his eyes nearly bug out of his head when he gets to the back of the book that holds the boudoir photos I’ve taken. He clears his throat.
“I didn’t realize you took these kinds of photos.”
I giggle and feel my face heat up. “Well, I’m a photographer, and when I’m offered a job, I take it for my experience, you know?”
He looks up at me without any expression on his face. “You cover a broad range of work here. You do understand that you’ll only be taking pictures of canvases, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, I mean I know it will be different than what I’m used to, but that’s okay. I like the experience, and I know my work. I’m sure I’ll be able to capture your every stroke.” My eyes bug out of my skull. Shit. “Brush stroke, I mean.” My face feels like it’s on fire.
The way he’s looking at me, it feels like he’s looking right through me. I feel like I’m having that dream where I’m back in high school and performing in the talent show in front of the whole school. I look down and find that I’m completely naked. Yep, that’s how he’s looking at me.
“Do you prefer to work alone or to have a partner?”
“I’ve never really had a partner,” I blurt out. I don’t know why but my mind goes back to sexual partners and my face heats even more. What the hell is wrong with me? It must be because he’s so cute. I can’t even think straight. “I mean, I’ve been a waitress. I’ve worked as an assistant and stuff, but I’ve never had to work with any one person on any given project. I consider myself a leader, not a follower. Which is why I love photography so much. I can take the lead and do what I think is best and then I get the exact outcome I was hoping for,” I add on to save myself the embarrassment. “What kind of paintings do you do, anyway?”
“I paint anything really, but my favorite is abstract. Right now, I’m working on a still life series for the art department for the high school.”
“Can I see them?”
“Sure,” he replies, standing up and heading out the door. I follow him to the middle of the building where they’re all set up on easels to dry. I start with the first one and look it over. It’s a painting of a pond here in town. The shape of the pond is exact, and there are cars parked in front of it with steamed up windows. It makes me smile, knowing why the windows are steamed up. It’s a place people frequent when they need some alone time with their loved one that they can’t seem to get anywhere else; mostly teenagers, but we’ve all been there a time or two.
I move onto the next painting. It’s of our local drive-in diner. The details in the painting are amazing. I can actually see the freckles on the waitress’ noses, and all their socks have a row of lace. The sun is even glistening off the shiny metal of the cars. I move to the next; it’s of the mountain range. In the painting it’s a cold and dreary day. The sky isn’t blue, but a dark gray with thick, heavy clouds. The mountains are blanketed in a layer of freshly fallen snow, and the rocks are sharp and jagged.
I move to the last painting. It’s not finished yet, but already it’s breathtaking. The house is one in town that’s now a bed and breakfast. It looks so real, like someone just took a picture of it. Blades of grass have beads of dew, the windows on the house show the reflection of the yard, and the white picket fence is chipped and textured.
“These are amazing. You’re really talented.” I look over at my shoulder at him.
He doesn’t even smirk. He just simply says, “Thank you,” so quietly I almost didn’t hear him.
I turn to face him. “It would be an honor to capture the beauty of these paintings on film.”
He offers up a tight smile. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, and I will take it into consideration when I make my decision.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how many people have you interviewed? How many people am I up against?”
“You’re my third for the day.”
I nod. “Well, I’m sure I’m not the best, but I can tell you that I will work the hardest. I guess that doesn’t really apply here, does it? Because these pictures need to capture everything you put onto the canvas. If we can’t do that, then you can’t do what you love. I’m sorry I’m so chatty. It happens when I get nervous. The next thing you’ll know I’ll be cracking some kind of stupid joke, probably about how you stroke your paintbrush or something.” I roll my eyes at myself. “Oh god. I’m sorry. The plus side of this is that the more I get to know you, the more comfortable I am and the less this happens,” I say, pointing at my mouth.
