Page 368 of Rock Me All Night
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We arriveat the sound check just in time. Hazel is here.
She looks just like the picture on her Wikipedia page. Round glasses straight out of the 70s, loose men's clothes, short grey hair. She's shorter than all the guys in the band by at least six inches, but she commands their attention.
Talking ceases as she makes her way into the room.
"If you don't get back to making trouble, I won't have anything to photograph." She smiles, friendly but no nonsense, and looks me dead in the eyes. "You must be Willow. What was it, Willow Wayne?"
I nod.
"Let's stick with Willow. I'm Hazel Alexander." She offers her hand to shake.
I take it. "But stick with Hazel?"
She nods, releasing my hand. She looks back to the band. They're mostly shooting the shit, waiting around as roadies set up instruments. Tom and Drew take turns glancing in our direction.
Her attention turns to me. The focus in her eyes is overwhelming.
"Let's see what you've got," she says.
Here goes nothing. I pull out my cell and show off my edited portraits. Hazel stares at them intently. She looks up to me, back to the portrait, swipes to the next picture, back to me, back to the portrait.
"These are very nice, sweetheart, but that's all they are. You can make a lot of money shooting nice headshots for actors. You can travel around the country taking simple corporate headshots and make a nice living. There's no shame in a nice living." She hands back my cell phone. "But you're too young to give up on work that interests you."
I nod, soaking in her advice the best I can. The pictures are nice. Only nice. Why would Hazel Alexander want nice? She's a photography goddess.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I was high until I was twenty-five. You're ahead of the curve. But I'll be honest. I don't do nice. I don't do comfortable. I'm more than happy to pay you to fetch my coffee and change my lenses, but I'm not going to give you feedback on any more nice pictures."
I worked hard on these pictures, spent forever editing them.
Nice.
It's an ugly word. As good asboringorbland.
"They're good pictures, but they're empty. They don't say anything about this girl. They don't say anything about you." Her gaze shifts to the band. "You have a camera, sweetheart?"
I nod frantically, pull my camera from my bag, and hand it to Hazel.
She looks it over gently. "This will be fine for now." She points to the power button. "Mind if I play around with it?"
"Of course not." I nearly bite my tongue getting the words out. This is a million times more nerve-wracking than Tom looking at my photos. Her feedback has the power to tear me in half.
She turns on the camera and looks intently at the screen. "I'll have you do some coverage once you get settled. First few shows, stick with me, get a feel for it. Live concerts get old, but the label made me an offer I couldn't refuse."
"Is it better than nice?"
"Better enough." She smiles. "Editorial work fills my soul, but my soul doesn't sign the alimony checks I send to my ex-husband. I'll need your help on any editorial assignments I can squeeze into the tour schedule." She looks back to the camera, holding up her hand as if to sayshush. "Now this is something." She taps the screen. "This says something."
Hazel motionscome here. I do. She's looking at a photograph of Tom, one I took earlier today.
"Willow, sweetheart, why were you holding out on me? This is a damn fine portrait." She shuffles through a dozen photos of Tom, stops on another. "Does he interest you?"
I stare back at her. She can't be asking if heinterestsme. I clear my throat. "He asked me to help him out with his bad boy rock star image."
"Yes, he would." She looks over at Tom, makes eye contact. "He's a handful."
"Yes."
