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“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry!” is what I attempt to say, but the half-chewed fruit in my mouth makes things sound much less like English. I chew as quickly as I can, shoving the last few bites of strawberry into my cheek so I can somewhat talk.
“I got here early and have been waiting for the lighting department to start, but I guess they aren’t here yet. I didn’t want the shoot to run late, so I was trying to get things put together. It’s my first day. I am the second shooter and honestly, I don’t know where he will want things, but at least I started somewhat assembling for when he arrives.” Go right ahead and word vomit, Carter. People love that at the crack of dawn.
“You’re fucking joking, right?”
And then it clicks. The tree of a man standing in front of me is none other than BK.
Ialmostgavehimthe gift of blindness on my first day, and his eyes are the most important thing in his career! Could I make a worse impression? If my hands weren’t full, there would be a shameful facepalm right now.
He unclenches his lean figure, standing at his full height, close to six inches above me. I can’t make out his body under the solid black ensemble he is wearing, but I can see how his shirt sleeves cling around his arm. Not solid muscle, more of a track star build, yet still dripping with masculinity.
The top of his head is even covered in a midnight knit beanie, tendrils of soft brown hair poking out from around the brim. He is rocking the tortured, struggling artist look and it’s working for him.
Overtime.
Without pay.
I swallow the last bit of food with a loud gulp. My face has to be as red as the strawberry I was just devouring. Mortified would be an understatement. It’s bad enough that the only exchange we have had was through Instagram, where he challenged me to a duel on Main Street with pistols at high noon. He raises his eyebrows expectantly and they disappear under his hat, leaving wrinkles on an otherwise flawless forehead.
“Hello, did you give yourself a concussion or something? First, you wouldn’t shut up and now you’ve gone all mute on me,” he remarks.
My back tightens and I stand up straighter. In nature, animals make themselves appear larger to intimidate predators. Making my five-foot-six frame appear bigger is a lost cause. I probably look like a middle schooler trying to get into an R-rated movie without my parents. Ridiculous and bound to fail.
“Let me start again,” I say with a deep breath. “My name is Carter Vaughn. We spoke on Instagram and you told me to report here at 6:30 this morning to work on the shoot with you.” I explain, trying to ignore the confused expression in his eyes.
“So wait, you’re @CarterCaptured? I thought you were a fucking guy.”
Of course he did. A girl with a boy's name on the internet is bound to be confusing. Not to mention, I never post pictures of myself.
The funny thing about photographers is that we are rarely in photos. We are the ones hunting the scene to get on film. The moment everything was exactly as it should be.
Perfect.
Perfection isn’t an easy flaw to have, an impossible cross to bear.
“I assure you, what is between my legs, or lack thereof, will not prevent me from doing the job you offered me. I am here and ready to learn. Put me to work,” I boast, channeling the confidence my hoax of a horoscope talked about. He takes a long pause and is about to answer me when a slender woman approaches, wearing some skyscraper heels.
“I told Lacey we would start within the hour. She is in hair and makeup now. We won’t have Theo until Wednesday, so let’s focus on the first look in her main spread for today.” The woman talks quickly, never taking her eyes off her phone, her thumbs clicking away. She must be some kind of witch if she can talk and text at the same time. Color me impressed.
“Morning, Nora. Sounds like a plan. Thanks for the update. This is my new assistant, Carter. She was so excited to get one set she got a few things up incorrectly before I arrived this morning, so I have been trying to put out that fire. I will make sure we are ready when Lacey is.”
Did he seriously just throw me under the bus? He has been on set for all of two minutes and I have been here trying to get things ready so we wouldn’t run late! I bite my tongue even though I can feel the flames igniting in my eyes, giving him the evilest glare I can muster.
Nora walks away with an accepting nod, her phone moving to her ear and conversation unfolding with whoever is on the other end. I turn towards BK, ready to shoot the fire that was burning behind my eyeballs. He breaks the silence before I can speak my piece.
“Iced Americano, a splash of cream, not milk. And go to the Starbucks on Crescent, not the one on Main, that one never makes it right.” He takes the reflective umbrella from my hand, gives me a credit card without thinking twice, and pushes past me toward the rest of the disassembled equipment. I go to fight back, to tell him I’m not his errand girl. I want to learn, not just fetch his coffee order and take the blame for his screw-ups. But then I turn away, walking swiftly to the Starbucks on Crescent.
The coffee is cold against my hand as I hustle back to set. I forgot to grab one of the drink sleeves and I am dreading the response from BK. I can picture it now:
How do you expect me to hold an iced coffee with my bare hands? Now you must act as my designated cup holder until I need a sip.
My mind has been turning over his coffee demands and part of me wants to believe he sent me on this errand because he was already running late. The other part of me is plotting a hole eight feet deep in the woods. This isn't the 1940s. Women in the workplace are capable of more than fetching coffee and being something pretty for the guys to look at while they huddle around the water cooler.
As much as I want to throw the cup at his smug face, I know he is my best chance at making a good impression.
Getting coffee has taken longer than I expected, so I am thankful he wanted iced. There’s no way a hot coffee would still be hot by the time I made it back. The lighting equipment is up and arranged. BK is talking to who I have to assume is the star of the shoot, Lacey, based on the outfit adorning her tall, slender body. I stand a few feet away from the two of them as they discuss the shoot and today’s list of photographs to capture. BK finally spots me, taking his coffee from my hand without another word, turning back to Lacey in her elegant mint-colored dress.
I stand idly, waiting for another demand, or at least some kind of direction, for how I can help next. When the two finish their conversation and Lacey walks towards her place opposite the vibrant lights, BK acknowledges me again.
