SHOOT: A Novel Page 3

  Everyone was so done up, maybe not quite as glamorously as Sonja, but still enough to astound me. I stood there for a few minutes just taking everything in, the sounds of the busy city deafening. I finally came to and realized my hotel room was waiting and ready to be checked-in to. That was when it hit me—I didn’t have the slightest idea how to hail a cab.

  I teetered close to the edge of the sidewalk and peered around nervously in hopes someone would hail a cab near me so I could watch how it was done. A handsome, clean-cut man in a black suit with a royal blue tie walked up to me with a smile. I felt my heart speed up. I gulped nervously and tried to give my best and friendliest smile.

  “Need some help?” he asked in a deep, but kind voice. I hadn’t been out on the street for more than ten minutes and I had already seen a man more handsome than any of the guys in my hometown. He had short, well-groomed black hair and deep blue eyes that made my breath flutter. He was quite a bit taller than me so I had to look up. The tall buildings were an overwhelming backdrop to the type of guy I thought only existed in magazines. Yet, here he was, going about his day like anybody else and offering a helping hand to a complete stranger.

  “Ye-yes,” I stammered, mentally scolding myself.

  He smiled and stuck his arm out, lifting up a finger and whistling. A few seconds later, a cab pulled up beside us. “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “Oh, uh,” I stuttered, scrambling to pull out a piece of paper from my wallet. I suddenly felt embarrassed at the messy scrawl of paper but I looked at him shyly, “The Gramercy Park Hotel.”

  The man opened up the back door for me after helping with packing my luggage in the trunk and told the driver where I was headed. He wished me a good day, closed the door, and watched the cab peel away from the sidewalk. I turned to look at him and waved before reveling in my first taste of a real, New York City man. I liked how gentlemanly he was, but was annoyed that I felt a bit embarrassed to have had to ask for help for such a simple task like hailing a cab.

  I knew it made perfect sense that I didn’t know, seeing as how this was my first visit to a big city and New York was really being thrown into the deep end. I let out a deep breath and leaned my head back, eyes closed for a moment until I calmed down.

  “Everything okay back there?” the cab driver asked, eyes fixated on the rearview mirror so he could look at me.

  “Oh, yes,”

  I straightened up and eagerly started looking out the windows, not wanting to miss even a second of everything I was passing on my way to the hotel. It was quite obvious I was a tourist. If it wasn’t given away by my gaping astonishment at everything, then it was by the way I dressed. It wasn’t so much that I was so country just that I didn’t quite look like the women walking busily up and down the streets. I was too casual, something I regretted the instant I walked into the main lobby of Grand Central Station, but there was something to my appearance that was a dead giveaway.

  “Are you here on a visit?” the cab driver asked. He was making simple small talk on the drive, which I appreciated because it made me feel a bit more at ease.

  “Yes!” I exclaimed, placing my hands flat on the back of the passenger’s seat headrest and leaning forward to look out the front window. There was traffic everywhere like I couldn’t believe and even that was exciting for me. “This is my first visit here ever!” I gushed. After some time at the same stoplight I asked the driver if he was originally from New York.

  He chuckled and shook his head, “I’m from Pakistan.” It was only then that I picked up on his accent. I had been so enthralled by my experience so far that I had completely missed it earlier, but now this was yet another thing to be amazed by. Already, I loved how different and worldly New York was compared to my small farm town in Iowa. Already I felt like I was really experiencing the big world I always knew was out there and longed to explore.

  Although I hadn’t been there long, I couldn’t help but think that I would love it in New York. It was already better than I imagined it would be. The cab pulled up to the curb in front the luxurious and historic Gramercy Park Hotel. Booked on the agency’s expense account by Sonja, I couldn’t even fathom what my room might have cost per night. From the outside, it was a tall and clean brick building. Its location was spectacular and it looked different from the brick buildings I was used to seeing. But when I stepped inside, I was instantly stunned by the beauty and grandeur of it all.

  The black-and-white checkered marbled floor was covered at the center by a huge red rug with the letters “GPH” emblazoned on it. It led up to a magnificent fireplace behind a set of chairs and couches the likes of which I could only imagine how expensive they were. The chandelier hanging from the center was tasteful and adorned the lobby quite nicely.

  I took in my surroundings before turning and heading to the reception desk where I tried to sound as calm and confident as possible when giving my name for my reservation. After being asked a few personal details for verification, the young woman behind the desk smiled, “Your Gramercy Suite is ready for you now.” She nodded to the bellboy standing behind me, ready to take my luggage and guide me up to the suite.

  “Thank you,” I replied with a big Iowa smile, taking the key card from the receptionist. I was thankful for the instructions printed on the back of the card. I didn’t count on being booked into a suite, but was too embarrassed to act excited for everyone to see. As soon as the bellboy left me at the room I practically jumped up and down, shrieking excitedly and looking around in complete amazement. A real suite in a luxury hotel in the most famous city of the world and it was for me.

  “I can’t believe it!” I stretched my arms and looked around. The wall was a bold red-orange color, the couch a deep lustrous red with a simple wooden table in front of it and two fancy, embroidered dining chairs with tassels hanging off the corners. I thought it was the sort of furniture for royalty and felt a rush of delight. I turned to my left and saw French doors wide open to display the bedroom. The wall leading into it was green, but it matched the red-orange wall opposite and I noted the same red-orange was on the wall behind the bed.

  “The bed,” I muttered, eyes popping as I saw the king-sized beauty just waiting for me. I ran and threw myself onto the plush surface, squirming like a little girl. The linen was clean, white, and soft.

  There was a red throw blanket on the corner and I pulled it over me, shutting my eyes and fully basking in the moment. I’d never known luxury like this. I never even imagined it. My only experience with anything like it came exclusively from the movies I had seen.

  “Can this really be happening to me?”

  The following morning, I got up bright and early to get ready and have a light breakfast before heading over to Shoot High Fashion Modeling Agency for my interview. It took me ages to find the outfit to wear, most of which was newly purchased, but I felt decently confident in it as I walked into the lobby of the Art Deco building. After all, they knew what my background was so it would be unreasonable for them to expect a New York City caliber outfit from me, not that I could have afforded one anyway.

  Once again overwhelmed by how gorgeous and ornate my surroundings were, I made the effort not to stare in amazement and look too much like a tourist. My visit to Shoot was on a professional basis and the last thing I wanted to do was look like I was on vacation. I was already bound and determined not to blow the opportunity of a lifetime.

  Sonja came down to greet me in the lobby when I arrived. It wasn’t until I saw her when I was getting off the elevator that I suddenly felt a bit self-conscious about my clothes. I had bought some new items, but everything paled in comparison to what Sonja wore. I was instantly aware of the fact that I was wearing my mother’s old camel colored pumps from the 80s because I didn’t own a pair of heels and ran out of money to purchase some.

  Back home they had looked stylish in a vintage kind of way, but now they just looked like raggedy hand-me-downs. Meanwhile, Sonja looked every bit as glamorous as she
had at the Farmer’s Market. I worriedly tugged at the loose strands of my hair thinking it must have looked limp and boring in comparison to Sonja’s expensive blowout.

  I had to shove all those thoughts out of my mind or else I really would blow the interview and this once-in-a-lifetime shot I had at moving to New York City would disappear into thin air. That thought alone made my stomach churn. Sonja greeted me with a warm hug and a smile, effectively calming me down some before being ushered into the elevator.

  “Shoot is located on the 30th and 31st floors,” Sonja told me as I watched the numbers light up one at a time. My breathing turned a little shallow as I leaned back against the wall, hand curling around the bar. I’d never been so high up in an elevator before. “The 30th floor is all administration, while the 31st is where we prep, costume, and make-up in designated rooms. We also have photography studios here.” Sonja turned to look at me right when the elevator doors slid open.

  As she led me to her office, I couldn’t help but take in everything around me. The entrance had a sleek, glass reception desk with nothing but a big, white wall behind it with the word “SHOOT,” printed across it in thick, black letters shadowed subtly in red. There were two doors on either side that led to a hallway with more doors, save for a room that was a small lunch or snack lounge. Sonja’s office was tucked in a corner. As soon as we walked in I marched straight to the gigantic window that made up an entire wall.

  It was a magnificent view overlooking all of Manhattan. It was also the first time I had ever been so high up in a building. I looked down at all the people scurrying about on the sidewalks and I watched as the cars bustled about on the streets below me. It was a bird’s eye view of everything. In that moment all I could think about was the adventures and opportunities a city like New York had to offer.

  I never wanted to leave.

  “Wow,” I breathed out, placing my hand on the surface of the glass in front of me. The view was breathtaking.

  “How do you like it?” she asked, coming up to stand beside me and enjoy the view.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it, it’s amazing.” I took a few more minutes to look out over Manhattan before turning to look at Sonja, “I’ve never even been this high up in a building before.”

  She chuckled, “You’ll get used to it.”

  That statement alone was enough to make my heart jump up to my throat. Sonja was speaking as if the job was already mine and the interview was merely a formality. Feeling like the room was starting to spin, I didn’t hesitate to take a seat in front of Sonja’s desk. The last thing I wanted was to fall over and embarrass myself.

  “You should really go to the Empire State Building,” Sonja recommended with a warm smile. “Now that is being high up. Besides, it’s a famous landmark and a first timer in New York absolutely can’t miss it.” I smiled and nodded in agreement.

  Over and over again, I had practiced how to speak based off movies I saw so I wouldn’t sound so country. But now that the interview with Sonja had officially started, it was too much for me to remember my ‘training’. With every question she asked, I second-guessed my prepared answers.

  Was my answer too simple? Was it too hard to follow? Did I have anything relevant to say? Did I come off dimwitted? Had I just given Sonja the impression I couldn’t handle such a radical change? Did I come off like I was so desperate to move out of my small town that I was willing to jump at anything? Was I showing too much weakness? There were a million more questions zinging around inside my head. Every time I opened my mouth, the wrong things seemed to come spilling out. I couldn’t make out if I was self-conscious and nervous or if I was really blowing it. After all, a job interview was an entirely new experience for me. My only job before then was with the family business.

  Toward the end of the interview, Sonja put both elbows on the desk and leaned over towards me. She narrowed her eyes as she continued to talk, making me even more rattled than I already was.

  “You have the look of the season.” Sonja said after a brief pause.

  My breath caught in my throat. I coughed into my hand as quietly as possible before collecting myself and staring back at her. Was the job really mine? It sounded like Sonja really had a lot of faith in how far I could go, even as a newcomer handpicked from the countryside. “I’m confident I can groom you to be a runway star by New York Fashion Week.”

  My mouth went dry. A ton of pressure dropped like a massive weight on my shoulders. There was a digital countdown clock looming behind Sonja’s desk letting me know New York Fashion Week wasn’t as far off as I would have liked. Maybe Sonja had too much faith in me; or at least more faith in me than I had in myself. Still, there was no way to deny it—this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me.

  “Now there’s only one thing, the most important thing,” Sonja informed me. I waited on bated breath, hoping with all my might it was something I could do or answer correctly. “Do you want to be a model?”

  I paused. It wasn’t a career I had ever taken into consideration. It was so out of touch from my reality that it wasn’t something to have ever crossed my mind. That didn’t mean I didn’t want it. Now that it was so close I could taste it, I felt the strongest yearning inside of me to take the leap.

  I swallowed against a dry throat.

  “Yes.” I said with a timid nod and a nervous smile.

  With an approving laugh, Sonja leaned back in her chair, “We’ll need to take some test shots in order to go through the formal process of starting you off but you are in.”

  After offering me a bottle of water, Sonja led me to a hair and makeup studio on the 31st floor. She introduced me to Carol, the hair and make-up stylist, and gave me a simple black tank top and black jeans to wear. Despite how modest the garments were it was quite clear they were from higher-end stores or designers. They didn’t feel quite like the jeans and tanks I was use to wearing from the clothing store back at home.

  I was impressed at how well both items fit me; as if Sonja had taken my measurements. Then again, it was one of Sonja’s many areas of expertise. I stepped out of the changing room and Carol took me over to a styling chair where she made some subtle changes to my hair and make-up.

  “You really are gorgeous,” she commented as she ran her fingers through my chocolate brown locks. “Such a natural beauty,” she added with a smile.

  “That’s so sweet, thank you.” I said with the warmest grin I could muster, trying my best to look as natural as possible.

  Sonja nodded in agreement before leading me to a photography studio that was already set up for us to get started. As soon as I walked into the room I was so stunned I practically stopped in my tracks—not from all the studio cameras and lights, but from him.

  He had on a plane white t-shirt that clung to his muscles like saran wrap, a healthy head of pleasantly disheveled jet black hair, and a cool air of confidence about him that radiated across the room. I gulped and tried my hardest not to be obvious checking him out.

  I started to feel nervous in an entirely new way when he turned to look at me. I wasn’t sure, but for a moment I thought I saw him briefly taken aback as Sonja and I approached him. He had been sitting on the stool, holding a camera, but he quickly stood up to greet us.

  “Brad,” Sonja said, “This is Chloe. She’s our newest recruit.” His face lit up in a warm and inviting grin.

  “So you’re the beauty I’m doing the test shoot for, huh?” Brad asked casually, taking a few steps toward me and inspecting me closely from head to toe. I, at 5’9, knew he had to be at least 6’ when he stood next to me.

  “She’s the one,” Sonja said. “Brad’s one of our best photographers so you’re in good hands,” Sonja mentioned to me before stepping back and standing beside the stool Brad had been sitting in.

  In good hands. I drew in a weak breath as I put a double meaning to Sonja’s words.

  My stomach was tumbling with a sort of airy lightness as I stared at Brad’s face. His
forest green eyes looked me up and down as if I were some kind of beautiful statue. I could feel my cheeks flushing a crimson red and hoped he wouldn’t notice; or at least not care. He motioned for me to stand in the middle of the plain white backdrop as he stood in front of the stool and stared at me for a couple of moments in complete silence.

  It felt awkward at first, but knew I would have to get used to people studying me if I was going to be a model. But having such a good looking man staring at me really made me weak at the knees. Men like that didn’t exist in Iowa—anywhere in Iowa.

  Brad moved the stool he had been sitting on to the center of the room where I stood, the bright studio lights illuminating the area.

  “I know this is your first photoshoot Chloe,” he said with a smile warming his face, “just sit down in the stool like you would naturally.” I swallowed nervously. There was something about the way he said my name that sent little tingles fluttering up the back of my neck.