Chain Reaction 3.1.38: Everybody's Sweetheart

Michael

     Ivy said more than once that I should consider being a model. Working for Uncle Alex has got me into a rut, so much so that even he's noticed it. He recommended a change of pace, so I told him about what she'd said.

     Turns out my suspicion that Uncle Alex can do anything may be truer than I thought. After checking Alaric out of the hospital when they found out his concussion wasn't serious, he made a few phone calls and got me connected with a fashion photographer to get some headshots done.

     I very stiffly walk up to the building. The photographer has his studio above a store, and I have to enter the store to get to it.

     I feel ridiculous. What was I thinking? Me, a model? This is a disaster waiting to happen.

     But Uncle Alex has footed the bill. The least I can do is try.

     I made the mistake of telling Chloe about it, and she told me I should wear something blue. Then she picked this out. I have no idea if this is the right thing to wear, but I can always spin into other parts of my wardrobe.

    The doorway to the stairwell is right where he said it would be, although I have to say I wouldn't have noticed it if I weren't looking for it.

     As I climb the stairs, the feel of the place changes from crisp shopping center to loft apartment. I like it.

     On the other side of the tall-but-not-to-ceiling wall, a man's baritone voice sings some obnoxious opera song, the singer obviously not shy about singing. I smirk.

     I round the end of the wall, and the man sees me and dashes over.

     "Michael Taylor! What a pleasure to have you in my humble studio!" He starts shaking my hand in a way that makes me think he thinks he's unworthy to do so. "I'm Hugh Carter, and it'll be a joy to work with you today."

     "Okay? You know it's just headshots, right?" What did Uncle Alex really sign me up for?

     "Of course! But that's just the start. With your SimTuber fame and attractive looks, this, to me, is the next logical step. I'm already considering which possible clients to suggest you to."

     So photographer and agent all in one? How does this work? I'm so lost. Who hires whom?

     "Uh, well, okay. I'm just feeling a bit lost here. It's really new to me, just here on things people have said to me." He's still shaking my hand. This has to be the longest handshake I've ever had. I wonder if he's forgotten he's doing it because he has this creative thing going in his eyes right now.

     "Not a problem. I'm sure you're a natural. The trick is to be yourself. If you can do that in front of a video camera, I think you won't have a problem in front of a still one."

     "Okay. What do I do first?"

     He says I can just keep on what I have for now, and he clicks a button before the backdrop against the wall springs to life. I don't know why he'd picked a city skyline with this shirt, but I'm not the photographer.

     I'm nervous. This feels really strange, like I'm someone else. I mean really. C'mon! I'm Mike the Geek. Mike the Nerd. Mike the Perpetually Overweight. Now I have the crazy notion I can be Mike the Model? I'm going to embarrass myself.

     Well, that's nothing new.

     At the very least, I know I'm supposed to stand in front of the camera.

     He says something to the effect of showing the camera who Mike is, and that makes me want to crack up laughing. Oh no. If I get to laughing, I won't be able to stop, and this'll be a disaster.

     So I try.

     But there's a problem with trying because it inevitably makes someone look fake. So I try not to try. And that makes me think of Ivy and how she'd only show her real self when she thought I wasn't paying attention. And that makes me sad.

     And the guy catches it! I startle, and he smiles at me with an expression like 'gotcha!'

     "Oh, you think you're cute, do you?" I ask him and smirk.

     And he catches that too.

     All right. Fine. I'll pretend to be Mike the Model for a little while.

     We finish, and he hangs a selection of everything he took.
     He appears stuck on one photo, though. "I like this three-quarter pose of you in the shirt you wore in here with the grey backdrop."
     "Really? Not these ones with the bricks?" I'd really, finally, felt like I was getting into it towards the end.
     He looks where I'm looking. "Hm. True the lighting is more interesting with those, but there's something about your eyes in this other one."
     "But it's a headshot. Shouldn't it be closer than a three-quarter?"
     "Mainly, yes. But don't you notice I even went as far back as a cowboy shot? You have the body for a Fabercrombie and Stitch model."
     "Cowboy?" There were some pics where he asked me to wear a stupid costume, and I wonder if that's what he meant.
     He sighs. "Far enough back so that the camera can also get the gun in the holster. Mid-thigh." He points to a shirtless pic of me right in front of him. Then he gives all the rest of them a look-over. "Not a bad shoot. You have an expressive face."
     "Uh, thanks?"
     He laughs and gestures for us to sit on a nearby sofa. Then he poofs a few drinks on a tray nearby, and we each grab one.

     I quickly realize, to my chagrin, that they're alcoholic. I'd better be careful.
     "I just can't believe that's me!" I stare at the mess of photos on the wall. Plum, I LOOK like a plumbing model. My self-esteem lifts a tiny fraction, even though Hugh laughs at what I said.
     "Why do you say that?"

     "You don't understand. Up until pretty recently, I was always the overweight computer geek. I was the easy target for bullies--until they realized I could also laugh at myself. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt all the same."
     He mulls over what I said for a moment before he responds. "This is what I love about my career. It's the number one reason I keep doing it. You probably still see yourself that way, don't you?" He doesn't wait for me to answer. "But there on the wall is the physical proof proving otherwise. And it's a thrill to be the one to capture it."

     "So who finally convinced you to give this a try?" he asks me.
     "Well, I was working for my Uncle Alex, but staring at a computer screen all day wasn't helping my depression. My ex-fiancée always told me I should be a model, so, looking for a change, here I am."
     "So... you're single?"
     "Yeah." My smile falls off my face.

     Yeah, I'm single. Because I'm a freak, and I'm on the 'wrong side of the law' for Darrin. I start swallowing gulps of the drink in my hand. Meanwhile, Hugh the photographer goes on about how that's hard to believe because I'm so attractive, that why hasn't anyone snatched me up yet?
     I finish my glass and get another one. They're not very strong, and they go down like water. Although my easily-soaked brain tells me otherwise.
     "You're going to be a huge success. I get a feeling for these things." He scoots a little closer. "With those eyes, Michael, I'd buy anything you're selling. And clients will know that too."
     I put down my glass and go to reach for another one, but Hugh makes them vanish with a wave of his hand. When I look at him requesting an explanation, he only smiles apologetically.

     "I'm going to send your photos to a very high-profile client."
     I won't let him change the subject. "Why did you do that with the drinks?"
     He sighs. "One of the things that makes me a good photographer is that I can almost see inside a person by what they say with their eyes. I might've made a good therapist, but I'm more artistically inclined."
     "I'm not an alcoholic."
     "That's not what I'm implying. But you're running from something and using those drinks to do it. Now, you don't have to tell me what it is, but I really want to work together with you. And I don't want you drunk while we talk."
      I let out a sad laugh. "Yeah, I guess I always end up doing stupid sh*t when I've had a few."
      His voice gets quieter. "And I don't want to be something you regret."
      Huh? I'm trying to make sure I understand his meaning, but the drinks have already made my mind foggy. I have a seriously-low tolerance.
      He watches me. "Are you already drunk?"
      "No," I lie. I think. "Just a little... fuzzy."
      He laughs. "How is that even possible?"
      I shrug. "No idea. I don't drink that often. But I'm no featherweight. Maybe my body just kind of holds it in more and longer and is way more sensitive and... stuff." I smile.
      "Well, sh*t, Michael, now it's going to look like I'm trying to take advantage of you."
      I laugh.

     He leans over and speaks quietly into my ear. When did he get this close? "You're wrecking my conscience. And here I'd hoped to just loosen you up a little so I could flirt with you."
     I laugh again. "Well, isn't that what you're doing now anyway?"
     "Yes, but I was going to be smoother about it. Now I just look like a jerk. I probably look like the kind of guy that hits on all his models. I'd tell you I'm not, but how can you possibly believe that."
     "If you say you're not, then you're not." And even if he is, I don't care. Already today, my self-esteem has skyrocketed. I'm flattered the guy is hitting on me.
      He exhales fast and almost wilts on top of my shoulder, and his hand reaches over to my leg. "Plum, Michael, you are so tempting." His hand moves up and squeezes my thigh. I turn my head and kiss him. He lets out a whimper, and his hand moves from my leg to hold the side of my face while he keeps his lips on mine. It's nice. It's been too long for me.
     Then he suddenly grunts, pulls back, and stands up.
     "No. No, I can't do that to you."
     "What's wrong?" I'm not an idiot. I knew what was happening, and I can almost understand why he doesn't want me thinking he's that kind of guy, the kind who would take advantage of a situation.
     He puts his hand on his forehead. "I don't want you thinking that you'll only get a job if you sleep with me."
     I wobble a little as I stand up and block his beginning-to-be pacing back and forth.

     "And I don't want you to think I'm the kind of guy who's worried about that. Hugh, I don't really need the work."
     "But you're bound to get it. If not with me, then somewhere. People like you don't grow on trees, you know. You have that 'everybody's sweetheart' sense about you yet you look approachable. That's pretty rare when it's real, and it's incredibly hot."
      "That!" I point to him repeatedly. "That! That! That! You have no idea. That's what I've been needing. I've been in such a low for I don't even know how long, and in one afternoon, you turn it all around." I catch my breath. "My self-esteem has been sh*t all my life, but then you step in and show me a me I've never seen before. That's-"

     I forget what it was I was going to say after that. It doesn't matter. It was something along those lines of stuff I'd already said, but I think Hugh got the point. He wants me. I've never gone this fast with someone before, but I think I like it.

     He pulls back and takes my hand. "Some evenings I'm here working really late, so I had a sort of flat added. Would you like a tour?"
     I tighten my hold of his hand. "That sounds like fun."

     And it is.


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A/N: Just have to say...

Because I just didn't see it until I started messing around with giving him a makeover. My character Darrin saw it, though. *cries* My characters are smarter than I am.