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His gaze flickered over her and she couldn’t tell what his reaction was going to be.
“I’m not opposed to telling the story of the work that goes on in the quarry. But it would have to be done accurately and not disclose information that was private.” Marc paused for a moment, then said, “You brought your portfolio?”
Isabel nodded and picked up her tablet. Switching it on, she started the presentation of video clips and still photography.
She handed him the device an
d watched his intense scrutiny of each clip.
“What motivates you to capture an image?” His voice was razor sharp and he didn’t look up from the image.
“Emotion.” Isabel instinctively knew he wouldn’t want to hear her answer but couldn’t resist challenging him. She added, “Being able to capture raw emotion is why I’m captivated to shoot an image.”
“What happens when your subject is not underprivileged children but a landscape?” he asked her drily.
“You’re reaching out to the person viewing the image, so the possibilities are endless. It could be conveying longing or defeat or almost anything.”
“I look for individuals who are willing to take risks artistically,” Marc said. “I want to work with someone who wants to be challenged and is internally motivated to do well. In short, I’m not interested in commonplace.”
Isabel took in his comments. It mirrored her approach to producing documentaries. She thought about losing the grant and felt apprehension skim over her body. She needed this project, for Alberto as well as herself.
“I also expect a willingness to collaborate and take direction,” he added. “There may be some moments that I won’t want displayed, as this business is competitive.”
“What type of moments?” Isabel held his gaze.
“Giving feedback to employees comes to mind.” He was probably a horrible boss.
“While I would welcome your input and knowledge, I need to have creative freedom over the content of the film,” Isabel said.
She watched as his jaw tightened and he ran a hand through his short, black hair. “For me to allow this film to be made, I need to have control over the content. I’ll be allowing you into the inner workings of my business and I’m fully aware that you could decide to either showcase my company or find fault with it.”
A brief silence passed between them. Isabel knew that this was a deciding moment and she would need to bend in order to secure his permission.
“Mr. Santoro, I’ll work exceptionally hard to deliver an outstanding film. I know that I can get it right.”
Marc glanced at the clock on his desk and said, “I’ve a conference call in a few minutes so I’ll have my housekeeper show you to the guest house.” He met her gaze and said casually, “The last ferry leaves at 11:30 p.m. Stay for dinner and we’ll discuss the project further.”
Isabel hoped this meant that she had his agreement. Following his housekeeper outside through a Japanese- inspired garden, they went down several stone steps, passing a massive slate in-ground pool to a detached guesthouse.
“Dinner will be served on the patio at eight o’clock. If you follow the path through the hedges it will lead to a private beach or you could use the pool. Do you need a swim suit?” the housekeeper asked politely as she waited for her answer.
“No, thank you.” Isabel shook her head as she privately acknowledged putting on a swimsuit wasn’t an option for her.
Once inside the spacious guesthouse, she felt on edge. She hadn’t let herself consider her next step, as getting Marc Santoro to agree to this project was challenging enough. She noticed the living room overlooked the ocean, as did the two adjoining bedrooms, each with a marble-tiled bathroom.
At loose ends for a few hours, she changed into a simple white sundress she had placed in her bag that morning and ventured down to the ocean. Isabel easily followed the path through manicured bushes to a wooden staircase. The beach below was completely deserted with large rocks scattered along the coast with patches of clear, white sand.
She left her sandals and colorful scarf on the bottom of the staircase so she could find her way back and began walking. The sun warmed her skin and she walked along the edge of the water to cool her body. She contemplated the dinner ahead. It felt like going into a second round of a fight after almost being knocked out. Marc seemed polite on the surface, but she knew that he wouldn’t be easily swayed. He seemed so remote.
Thinking about his natural appeal, she guessed he must have a significant other. Alberto hadn’t mentioned anything about his personal life. She dismissed any speculation her brain wanted to come up with and reminded herself that she had no interest in Marc Santoro beyond the project. Even if she met him in different circumstances, she would never let a man dominated by perfection see her flaws. She knew in the industry he had a reputation for demanding the absolute best. He was never satisfied with a project; he always wanted more.
His pursuit of perfection unnerved her. She trembled slightly as she allowed her mind to consider her own imperfections. The memory that popped into her mind was the last time she wore a revealing beach outfit. Her family had met at a park outside the city to celebrate Father’s Day. It was nearly ninety degrees, so she had worn a pink tank top and short floral skirt. She was the last to arrive and smiled when she noticed her two young nephews squirting each other with water toys. Her father and brothers were already fishing in the nearby stream while her mother organized the picnic table.
The memory of her mother asking her to cover her scars washed over her, humiliating her.
When she replied that it was too hot, her mother said “Please, Isabel, it will upset everyone to see you like that.” Her mother handed her a large beach towel and insisted that Isabel use it to cover up her scars. Since that time, Isabel hadn’t bothered to wear summer clothes, instead preferring to avoid summer outings altogether.
As she continued to walk along the deserted beach, she pushed the unwelcome memory from her thoughts and instead focused on filming in Carrara. She needed to convince Marc Santoro that she could do the work.
