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His voice interrupted my thoughts and brought me back to the present.
“Lady, I asked what you’ve been smiling so big about over there. Aren’t you supposed to save your biggest smiles for me?” His voice came from behind me. I hadn’t realized he’d snuck up on me, and the thought made me uneasy.
“Nothing. Just nervous, I guess.”
“You’ll do fine. I’ll get you through it. Just think of the last time I took your picture. It will be just like that.” He winked and left.
No, it won’t, I thought. After those test shots, I had made him dinner and then we were up late dreaming of what a success he would be. And he was a success. But instead of it playing out the way we both imagined it would, it happened without me. He had done it on his own. Not that I wasn’t happy for him—he had finally made it—but a part of me wished I could share the joy of it with him.
The stylist asked if I was happy with my appearance, and I nodded. I looked like myself, only with slightly more makeup on for the camera. My hair was straightened into its normal sleek bob, my eyes were accented with pale purples, and my lips donned a soft pink gloss. I could have achieved a similar look on my own, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as glamorous.
The photo shoot was underway. Terry and I slipped into an easy rhythm. The familiarity of it both thrilled and scared me. It was so easy for us to go back to the way it used to be. It was also great to work with Terry. I had known he had grown into a fantastic photographer, but working with him was one experience I was secretly glad I wasn’t missing.
“Darlin’, turn your foot slightly so I get a full view of the shoe,” Terry directed me. His eyes lit up as he worked.
My expression mirrored his, which made the pictures even more beautiful.
“Like this darlin’?” I would say in a southern-like drawl every time he asked me to adjust my foot or position.
“Amazing. Fantastic. Absolutely gorgeous,” he said as I posed for him. We worked together so effortlessly that everyone around us seemed to notice. I could tell from the stares from those on set, or from how long they lingered in the room when they should have just been stopping in for a quick check.
At one point, Terry was in front of me, adjusting the position of my hips. We were inches apart—move one inch and my lips would meet his. This excited me. I never realized that after all this time, the electricity would still surround us.
I think Terry noticed it too. Carefully, he tilted my head up slightly, holding on to my chin. Our eyes stayed locked until Terry tipped his head down and touched my forehead with his. “Perfect,” he said. “Just where I want you.”
Neither of us missed the double meaning. After a few more shots, Margie suggested it was time to move on to the interview.
“I think we have enough, Terry. Surely you can get some decent pictures for us with what you have,” the director told him, gesturing for another woman to come in and steal my attention.
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded politely.
“All right, Mia. I’m Margie. if you wouldn’t mind having a seat, I have a few questions I would like to ask you. I apologize, but this may run longer than expected. I thought Terry would have finished with you sooner.”
Terry heard the writer’s remark and stopped to address it. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I just know how important this shoot is to the company. I wanted to make sure we got it right. And that I took some beautiful pictures of Miss Mia.”
“It’s, fine, Terry. I’d like to get started, though,” Margie said, dismissing Terry.
