Page 130 of Torrid Love
“We’re on the same page?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Good.
“I didn’t like those last shots,” Morgan, my 1st Assistant Director, says, approaching me.
“Neither did I. We’ll try a couple more takes and call it a day. I’m confident we have enough footage to edit the perfect scene when we get back to LA.”
“All right, you’re the boss,” he smiles. “I’m going to get some coffee. Want one?”
“Thanks, Morgan. I’ve hit my quota.”
“All right. See you in ten.”
“See you.”
A night shoot in Miami sounds like a dream. This one is anything but. Between rapper Kool A’s ridiculous demands and the slutty half-naked girls gyrating like whores on this rented 74 ft yacht, it’s even quite the spectacle. Alas, there’s no backing out now because the label paid me a hefty fee. Luckily, the rest of this video will be shot in Rod’s studio and the girls will be replaced by male background dancers.
I drop my camera on top of one of our large travel trunks and distance myself from the crew. Even though it’s ten o’clock at night, it’s still so hot and humid. As I slick back my hair, I can’t help but laugh. Isobel was right. Only in Miami can my super straight hair get a bit of a curl. Okay, technically, it’s a frizz, but I’ll take it. I can just imagine how wild her curls get down here. I close my eyes and welcome the warm breeze blowing against my face.
Life is pretty sweet.
As I bask in bliss, my phone vibrates. With rushed hands, I pull it out of the Louis Vuitton sling bag I keep it in when I’m on set.
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Hey! Still working hard?
Rod!
I can’t help the smile stretching my lips.
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I am. What about you?
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Same. I’m still at the office. How’s the shoot?
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He’s a rapper with an overinflated ego who thinks he has a talent for directing. Need I say more?
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Got it. I miss your voice. Can I call?
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I have about seven minutes.
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I’ll take it!
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