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2.
Denise
”Not that I blame you,” I smile, ”last time you saw me I was about as tall as a Smurf.” I let out a nervous laugh when he doesn’t say anything. ”Denise,” I cough, ”Ellen Bey’s daughter.”
His eyes flicker with sudden recognition and he bristles as if he’s not sure how to react. ”I remember you,” he then rasps. ”You’ve changed.”
”Sure hope so.”
Philip’s face turns a pale shade of red and he’s staring just a little too intently at my face as if he’s not allowed to look anywhere else. ”How’s your mom?”
”Okay,” I shrug. ”She’s on a new diet, she’s been eating nothing but celery this past week.”
A hoarse laugh escapes Philip and I stare at him too. He has changed just as much as I have. Back when he was still friends with my mom, he used to have long, black hair and his face used to be smooth. But now, that black hair is short with distinct silver edges, his face isn’t as smooth and there’s so much masculine wisdom in his eyes that it makes me a little bit weak in the knees. And his shoulders seem broader, his whole demeanour has that confidence that I guess only comes with a certain age.
He must be around forty-seven now. Mature. Down to earth. He seems done with bouncing around and I wonder if he settled down with a wife and kids. I quickly glance at his finger. There’s no ring. My stomach does a flip and I squirm on my stool, trying not to fan myself. His studio is small and cozy, but it seems to be a little too warm in here. Or maybe it’s just me that’s not used to be ing this affected by a man.
”Did Ellen send you?” Philip asks but I shake my head.
”She doesn’t know I’m here, but you’re the only photographer I know of so I thought I might as well let old Phil take my pickies.”
His face falls. ”Old Phil?”
”As in from the past,” I murmur and a smile crosses his face. It makes him look like such a sliver fox that I hold down a whimper. But then I quickly remind myself that I have to pose when he picks up the camera again. He snaps a couple of photos and the more he looks at me, the more I feel like he’s breathing stardust over me. If anyone can turn me into a starlet then it’s him. His work hangs all over the walls and he’s more than talented. His photos don’t make me feel like just a spectator but an active participant. There’s one of a bridge and looking at it, I feel as if I’m on that very bridge, gazing at the mist rolling in over the water.
I don’t understand why he seemed so down right before I walked in. If I had half of his talent, I don’t think I’d ever feel down about anything. I drag a deep breath. It’s true. I admire him. With all my heart do I admire him and I can’t believe he actually agreed to do this for me. He takes pics of high fashion models all the time and has made quite a name for himself in the industry. Everyone who’s something knows who Philip Steinherr is. He’s widely talked about in terms of his professionalism, his intensity, his kindness and his humor.
Once I read an interview with a model and she mentioned Philip. She said Philip has that raw, manly man gaze that makes every woman feel as if he’s admiring her naked body. When I read that I laughed, because Philip was just a guy my mom used to hang out with. But now I get what that model meant. I totally get it.
”Relax a little bit for me,” Philip murmurs, ”shake your shoulders and fire a smile.”
I do as he says, shaking my shoulders so hard that my bra almost feels as if it’s going to snap and I fire that smile. A gasp escapes me when Philip suddenly drops the camera and he lets out a curse.
”Did it crack?” I yelp.
”No, the lens is fine luckily,” he mutters, brushing some dust off of it. He seems embarrassed and he barely dares to look at me. ”Fuck, I’m making a buffoon out of myself aren’t I?”
”You’re good,” I whisper, boosting him up again and his eyes flick to mine. His are a seafoam color and they have a piercing quality that makes me feel as if I’ve just been thrown up on a unicorn and I’m speeding through the cosmos. Life must feel so big with a man like Philip. And I feel a sharp need inside of me to make him let me experience that with him. I don’t care about the age gap. I couldn’t care less. Unless of course…Philip is turned off by my inexperience.
It will crush me if he is.
He stops with what he’s doing for a moment and gets something in his eyes that makes my breath catch in my throat and my pulse races a little bit. He walks over to me and he has the walk of someone who has lived, someone who has seen things. Someone who knows what he wants. He stops in front of me but he’s still at a respectful distance.
”I’m going to try something,” he says in a low voice, then clasps my face in his hand, ”just tilt your chin this way.” He tilts my chin and swallows. ”Perfect.”
A shiver runs through me. ”Do you think I have a chance at becoming a model?” I can barely breathe as I wait for his answer. Philip knows this stuff. It’s not like I’m asking some random dude on the street. I’m asking a renowned photographer. ”And don’t sugarcoat.”
”You want to hear my honest opinion?” he rasps and I nervously nod. ”I think those looks of yours can slay a man, slash him by his knees and keep him down.”
I snicker a little, flushing but Philip frowns.
”You like the thought of having power over a man?” His grip around my chin hardens a bit. ”Dominate him for your own amusement, make him follow your every whim, make him commit criminal acts for you, make him breathe for you until he eventually dies for you…” he abruptly lets me go as if he realizes what he’s doing. ”Fuck, don’t know what came over me.”
My heart pounds. I don’t know it either but I liked it.
”And yes,” Philip says, clearing his throat. ”I think you have a great chance at becoming a model.”
”When will the photos be ready?”
