Page 108 of Pick-Up
“Not great.”
“Not good meds, then.”
“Ahh.” She shrugs. “Well, I’m glad you’re better but so bummed that you missed the afternoon!”
“Me too!” I smile-frown. “I’m so sorry I messed up the shot when I fell, by the way. That probably wasn’t exactly what you envisioned.”
“Oh.” She crinkles her brow, shakes her head. “Don’t even go there! You didn’t ruin the shot at all. We already had everything we needed.”
Phew. The reality is I’m working for Stephanie too. I need her to be pleased. Also, it’s nice to feel like less of a loser. Even if she’s just being kind.
“Where’s Ethan?” she asks.
“Ethan?!” I say, like I’ve never heard of him.Ethan? Condom? Wife?
“Yeah. You know the guy. Tall. Handsome. Has more rules than a casino.”
“Ah.ThatEthan.” As the world’s worst liar, I decide it’s safest to tell some version of the truth. “He waited until the doctor came and then went to catch up on some stuff.”
She leans against the doorframe. “Ah, damn. I thought you might get some time alone together.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
“Alone? Together?” I tighten my robe around my waist, a jolt of panic strumming through me.
“Yeah,alone together. I mean, it seems like you guys are a chemistry set, if you know what I mean. He obviously digs you. I’ve been trying to give you somespace.” She extends the last word for effect.
I am completely thrown. My words are lost. Have we really been that obvious?
“Y-you have?” I manage. “Like, that’s why you stayed out last night?”
She shrugs. “In part.”
“But… he’s a coworker.”
“Eh. Sort of.”
“But this is work.”
Stephanie takes off her hat, shakes out her hair. “Look, I care about Ethan, and I like you. It seems like you both could use a little… fun. The rest will work itself out. It always does.”
“Right.” I wish I could be so confident.
I almost want to tell her what happened, to reward her hard work. Her heart is clearly in the right place (between our legs?). But I know I can’t.
She shrugs, throwing up her hands. “Oh well! You can lead a horse to water, but… you can’t make it bone. I should go change. I might check out that outdoor shower! Have you tried it?”
I grunt noncommittally and shut the door before she can see me flush from forehead to toes.
Just before it clicks shut, she calls out: “Oh, by the way, have you peeped tomorrow’s weather? Looks nasty!”
My heart drops.
Damn. That’s not even an option on my radar. Bad weather is going to ruin tomorrow morning’s final shoot. Man, when it rains, it pours. Literally. I grab my phone off the bedside table, where Ethan’s water glass still sits as a reminder of our hours together—mostly of how much he hydrates—and launch the weather app.
Stephanie is right. The forecast predicts thunderstorms from 8:00 a.m. through most of the day. This is the Caribbean, of course, which means the weather is changeable. It could be fine, but this does not look good.
Right away, I go into producer mode, considering contingencies. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to improvise in bad weather. I once ran a shoot in the Bahamas where I made the crew wrap cameras in plastic bags to protect them from rain and pitch glamping tents to keep out the wind. I spent the whole day terrified that, at any moment, tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment would be destroyed on my watch. Not an experience I want to revisit.
But that won’t work here, even if I could survive that stress again. Not unless Charlie doesn’t mind changing up the whole aesthetic of his spread. The final shoot is right here on the beach, and it’s meant to look placid and clear, in keeping with the rest of the images from the trip—sunshine for days. He intended this for the lede.
