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He frowns at me. “No.”
“A model-boy shot against a brick wall? A pic to … impress your boyfriend?”
That last one makes him squint. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Okay, maybe I was fishing. I need to remind myself he’s still my client and should be treated as such. Also, in Zak’s words: money is money. “We can stage a few shots here, if you like. I’ve got many blank walls all over my apartment. Some art on the walls. A wardrobe full of outfits you can try on. And if we keep up our momentum with this hour you’ve booked with me, we can get you a decent set of … ‘normal’ photos you wanted.”
Tye tries to sound tough. “Yeah, alright.”
His voice cracks. I’m gonna enjoy this. “First, you gotta sign a release form, get the legal stuff outta the way. Then we can dive into the work.”
“Release …?”
“You planning to take a number of shots in what you’re wearing now? Or do you wanna go to the wardrobe and see what I’ve got in your size?”
And his size is pretty much the ideal model-boy proportions—slender, strong but not too broad of shoulders, and a long upper torso. He’s going to make anything he puts on look like it was stitched to his every inch, I can already tell.
Tye continues to stare at the sling. “Let’s … Let’s start in this.”
I smirk. “This? You mean your clothes? … or that sling you keep murdering with your eyes?”
His gaze snaps to mine. “My clothes.”
“Perfect.”
I take a nervous Tye over to my desk where he signs the standard release. Then we head over to a blank slate gray wall at the front of my apartment, against which he is instructed to lean and pose. I direct him like I would any other client, telling him how to turn his head, where to put his hands, and what to do with his feet. Most first-timers I shoot have a wide-eyed, blank face of perpetual fear and cluelessness I have to coach out of them.
Tye doesn’t. His face is natural, revealing, and expresses everything my camera will feast on.
I find that surprising. “Have you ever modeled before?” I ask when we move from the blank wall to a piece of artwork in the corner, where I’ve set up some lighting to do a different set of poses.
Tye seems to be trying to figure out what the hell the artwork is—a tall cluster of fused iron rods, plates, and two-pronged forks. “Uh … no. Why?”
“You’re a natural, that’s all.”
“Oh.” He leans against the wall by the artwork where he continues to squint at it. “Thanks. Can I ask what this is, exactly …?”
“You can, but I won’t have an answer.” I lift the camera to my eye to find my angle. “Go ahead and keep trying to figure it out. You’re doing some great things with your face.”
“Oh. I am?” He loses whatever I just saw as he glances my way, confused.
“Just focus on the art. Forget I’m here.”
Tye pulls his eyes back to the odd sculpture, then cracks a smile, despite his efforts to hide it. “That’s not easy to do.”
I snap a couple shots—flash, flash—then peer at him over the camera. “What’s not easy?”
“Forgetting you’re right there.”
I watch him swallow firmly after saying that.
My own racing heart is a bit difficult to ignore, too, as well as the way Tye—whether intentionally or not—is making me feel.
But I’m a man of restraint—and a man of my word. “Focus on the art,” I repeat myself, a touch gentler. “Study it. Wonder what made the artist put those bits of metal together … what kind of story she was trying to tell … Think about the process of her carefully smelting that structure together.”
Tye faces the piece. I’m not sure if he’s doing a damned bit of the thinking I just suggested.
But it’s working.
I lift the camera to my eyes. Flash.
At first, I want to say I haven’t had a man like Tye in front of my lens in years. But with every perfect photo I snap, I realize more and more that I don’t think I’ve ever shot someone like Tye.
Every angle is perfection. Flash.
The light falls over his face like silk. With his tank top, the sinewy details of his toned shoulders show, captured exquisitely by the angle of light. He has a natural sense of when to shift an arm or turn his face slightly, just enough to give me a new shot.
Before I know it, an entire hour has flown by, and I’ve taken enough shots that would have filled a four-hour session. He’s posed right now against one of the weight-bearing columns with both of his arms behind his head, pits exposed, eyes closed, and face turned away an inch when I lower my camera and, not for the first time, take in the sight of Tye with my own eyes instead of the camera’s.
