Page 470 of Rock Me All Night
Now I have to figure out what the hell I'm doing with my photography.
With Tom.
With the rest of my life.
* * *
The guys are morerelaxed tonight. It is a relief, knowing this is the last show for a while. Can't say that I spend much time taking in Pete, Drew, or Miles's mood. Behind the camera, the world makes sense. My feelings for Tom don't overwhelm me. Even when I'm photographing him. He's an amazing subject. This look of concentration spreads over his face as he loses himself in the music. His arms flail with frenetic energy. But they're precise. Exact. Sweat drips off his torso. During a break in the set, he stands and joins Miles at the mic. Mostly to show off his body. Some to goad Drew and Pete out of their clothes.
It works! It never works. Pete really is attractive. I can see why Hazel teases. His body is easily as good as Tom's. The curving lines of a tattoo peek out from the waist of his skinny jeans. It's not just a thigh tattoo. It's over his hip too.
That's yummy.
I spend almost a whole ten seconds looking at something that isn't Tom.
Can't say I'm particularly moved by my brother stripping. But I know other women will be. Especially with the way he's blushing. I capture his awkwardness. And the way the audience groans with adoration when he shows off his new tattoo.
The show blurs together. I get lost in my photography. The concert thing gets old, night after night, but there's something amazing about capturing the energy, the mood, the facial expressions.
I snap out of my trance in time for the encore. Thank God we're almost done with this touring thing. I'm exhausted. I barely hear the outro, the guys soaking in the adoration of the audience.
They make a dramatic exit. The lights go down.
And that's it. Show's over. I can't hide behind my camera anymore. I can't throw all my energy into surviving the tour anymore.
I have to figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life.
Hell, I have to figure out what I'm doing tomorrow. It's Ophelia's test. And I'm still not sure if I'm invited. Every time it comes up, Tom and I end up out of our clothes before we can discuss it.
Thankfully, Hazel demands my presence immediately. I take one last look at the sweaty crowd leaving the packed venue—it's been a hell of a ride—and make my way to her backstage editing nook.
"You've come a long way, Willow." She compares a set of pictures from our first show to a set from last night's show. "How do you feel?"
"Exhausted."
"Don't tell me you're skipping the end of tour party." She hooks up my camera and uploads the pictures. Her eyes stay on the computer. "You're too young to hide."
"I'm not hiding from anything."
"Hmm."
Hazel takes me through the evening's set. She points out her favorites and gives me tips on places to improve. Then we do the same with her photos. She's taken half as many pictures but there are twice as many keepers. One day, I'll be that good.
"Show me some of your personal projects, sweetheart." She nods to my camera. "Every time I see you, you look exhausted. Tell me it's because you're busy shooting pictures and not because you're sleeping off hangovers."
"I don't really drink. But there's nothing on my camera. I wiped my memory card last night. Here." I take over on the computer and show off a Dropbox folder of my recent portraits. It's a mix of standard actor headshots, moody editorial pieces, and a hell of a lot of boudoir.
"These are fantastic." She points to a headshot of Pete with a mysterious look on his face. "I can admit my bias towards the subject, but you'll get actors knocking down your door if you can get Pete to show off this much emotion." She navigates to a sweet yet sultry boudoir shoot of an inexperienced model. "You captured her shyness without letting it bleed into fear or insecurity. This is great work."
"Thank you."
"I have an offer for you. A job."
"What?"
"In two weeks, I'm doing this all over again with another band. The tour will be six months with a few breaks. I'll spend most of those doing editorial work. I'd love to have you as my assistant again."
Hazel Alexander wants me to continue as her assistant. It's the most flattering thing I've ever heard. But six months is a long time away from everything. From Tom. If there is even ame and Tomafter I tell him how I feel.
