Page 1 of Love and Horns


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Infamous Photographer BK Sends Another Model To Therapy

She needed therapy before I got to her. That wasn’t all my fault. And another is an exaggeration. Most models I work with are already in therapy or at the very least should be. If she went into therapy after me, it’s because that’s when she figured out it was time to work through some shit.

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Reports Of unethical Work Conditions Threaten Another BK Shoot

Unimaginable conditions, yet we all did our part to produce some quality work that made the client a decent return on investment. Not to mention, I'm not the only one responsible for what happens on set. We all contribute. I am the easiest target to blame.

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Some free advice: never Google yourself. Reporters love to tell you everything they know about something they know nothing about. They make their living twisting their truths into a neat little package, complete with a bow held together with the lies they need to make it believable. Things are never as they seem, but our media-ruled society loves having a fall guy. You guessed it, that trending fall guy right now is me.

It’s not that the headlines are incorrect in their assessments of me, but they don’t have to be so damn rude about it. At least ask for my version of the stories if you’re going to drag my reputation through the fucking mud.

Brett Kane, the photographer that doesn’t even use his full name to take credit for his work. The guy that puts in the effort to be hated by so many to get his subjects to elicit the emotions he captures. If they could show those emotions without having to dish out verbal abuse, that would be great for everyone. Alas, that has yet to be the case on any of the dozens of shoots I have done.

Maybe abuse is a harsh term, but when you see it printed in the tabloids attached to your name, you assume that’s what it is. I learned the hard way, so I teach the hard way too. It’s all I have ever known since my mentor, Patrick McLellan, took me under his wing. He let me develop his film in the darkroom at Elysian Technical School, teaching me to value the art form in every way I can find. I would call it a tribute to him, but the bastard is still alive and kicking. I'm surprised he hasn't called me about the stories circling the drain in which I am spiraling.

For how much I pay my agent, you would think he would have more comfortable damn chairs in his office. Especially if he is going to keep me waiting. I fucking hate people who are late. How hard is it to be where you say you’re going to be, at the time you say you’ll be there?

Stanley Hackett has a similar reputation to me: brutally honest and unapologetically successful. Hell, that is most of the reason I chose him as my agent. The one thing he doesn’t have going for him is punctuality. At least I can make it to our damn meeting on time. His tardiness has me in this hellhole of my Google search results, in the infinite scroll hole of bullshit.

The muffled echo of the ticking timepiece on my wrist sounds loud in the silent office. Stanley is now twelve minutes late. This is getting ridiculous. I push my palms into my knees about to leave, when the knob starts to turn. Stanley walks into his office without an ounce of urgency in his stride. He doesn’t even look at me as he slumps into his leather chair, the base swiveling with his added weight.

“Brett, how have you been? Thanks for coming in on short notice,” he folds his hands atop his sleek wooden desk. I hate that question.How have you been?He has seen the headlines and knows the pressure I’m under. As if he forgets that most of that pressure comes in the form of these surprise meetings and his ranting emails about the most recent scandals I am wrapped in.

“I’m getting by as best I fucking can,” I lie, sinking myself back into my seat. “Getting prepped for the big Ovis shoot starting next week. Normal market research and advertising snapshots to get our shot list organized. Adam and I will be…”

“I’m going to stop you right there. That’s the main reason I had you come in,” Stanley interrupts, catching me off guard.

“What, the Ovis shoot? Did they change the schedule or something?”

“No, it’s not that. I mean, the shoot is going to be changing, but more so because of Adam. He quit this morning. According to him, the two of you had some words after the shoot last month and he decided that was enough.” He pauses, waiting to see if I will deny what happened. I won’t.

“Nothing I said to him was untrue. He wasn’t shooting to the aesthetic the client asked for. He was acting like a fucking cowboy doing whatever the hell he wanted, undermining the vision we were working towards, telling the talent to do stupid shit. It was unprofessional and embarrassing. I’m glad he quit. I was close to firing his ass anyway.”

His response comes without words, only silence and a slow headshake. The wheels are turning in his mind and I know he has to say some shit that he doesn’t want to. Being the agent of a reputable pain in this ass comes with consequences. I’m sure I cause more trouble for him than the other people he represents, but you can’t put a price on that kind of exposure. As they say in the industry: positive or negative, it’s all publicity, baby.

He is going to bring up the latest headlines and tell me I can’t let my work speak for me anymore. I have to put on my smile and be a good upstanding citizen, too. Think of my brand and all that. The worst part of my career is that fucking word. Everyone puts pressure on you to smile, be happy, be thankful, and humble for the success you have made for yourself. No one wants to know that your success breeds misery. Not for everyone, of course. But there are far fewer exceptions to that rule.

“Brett, I’m going to be honest with you. We are friends and I care about you and your future,” he starts, sounding like this is a fucking breakup, not a discussion between colleagues. Also, we aren’t friends but now doesn’t seem like the right time to correct him on that.

“Ovis is close to giving this shoot to someone else. They don’t want their brand associated with the negative press surrounding you right now.” I fucking told you branding would come up, but I thought it would be mine, not that of a client. “The shoot is next week. I have them on the fence about replacing you as the lead photographer. We need to find a second shooter and put a smile on your face that saysI promise to be on my best behavior.” He’s pacing now and wearing out the floor behind his desk.

“Where am I supposed to find a second shooter in four days, Stan? Please tell me you have someone waiting in the wings or a backup plan?” I question, trying to keep the desperation and panic in my voice disguised. I wish I didn’t care about being fired from a shoot. Having that on my reputation will do worse things than a model needing therapy and I can’t take another hit.

“Sorry kid, you’re on your own for this one. Don’t you have a friend who can stand and hold a camera? At least make it look like they are a second shooter, even if they can’t do shit?” He asks with a tone that bounces the thoughts in my mind. If I had friends, that would be an option, but my friendship circle is a depressing party of one right now.

“Ya, I will see if any of them are free,” I lie through my fucking teeth, trying to keep the sarcasm from leaking out. He doesn’t call me on my bullshit, and I am thankful for that.

I need to get out of here. First, he made me wait and now he’s dumping all this shit on me. I’m done. I need a stiff drink, a woman to get lost in, and a nap. If I’m lucky, I’ll get all three and in that order.

Who am I kidding? I will be lucky to get two of those vices. Women are too much. Between all their confusing antics, non-stop demands of gifts, and attention. Not to mention the sensitivity. There’s nothing I hate more than the construct of marriage and courting. Dates and getting to know each other, talking over meals, and tangling in sheets.

Don’t get me wrong, there is one thing I love about women. Okay, maybe more like four, sometimes five, if she’s a little on the wild side. I’m all about worshipping a woman for days on end, as long as that’s where it ends. With everything going on, I haven’t had the energy to put in the effort. Even a one-night stand sounds exhausting.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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