Chapter 60

Thursday, June 21 Still Out In Malibu

Between the alarm on my phone, the knock on my door and the warm body in my arms, I came awake quickly at 5:30. It was actually about a half our later than I would have gotten up at home.

I brushed my teeth and combed my hair, then grabbed the bag of clean clothes off my doorknob and got dressed. I gave Arlene a kiss and headed down to the beauty salon by 5:45. Cassie directed me outside where models and crew were congregating at the commissary table.

I was enjoying a cinnamon roll when Fran Goldstein walked up and planted a kiss on me. Now I was awake!

“Umm, cinnamon,” she said as she licked her lips.

“What was that for?” I asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Giorgio’s going to get all the credit for last night, but I got the shot,” she beamed. “You just made my portfolio. I may not be able to publish it, but the right people are going to know it’s my work.”

“That’s great,” I said. “May I see it?”

“I’ve already emailed a digital copy to your keeper,” Fran said. “She’ll be able to show you.”

Giorgio showed up and went into his routine, lining us up and deciding who should wear what. I went through several suit changes and groupings as he clicked away.

We were down near the water when I looked back toward the house to see Arlene sauntering across the sand. The sun had just cleared the bluff, forcing me to squint.

“That’s it!” Giorgio shouted, clicking as fast as the digital camera would let him. “Give me Clint Eastwood, you magnificent beast! Dirty Harry! High Plains Drifter! Be good! Be bad! Don’t you dare be ugly!”

I had no fucking clue what was going on here, but it seemed Derek Zoolander had discovered his first look. I just kept facing the camera as the photographer circled around me, working from low angle to high and back again, all while spewing his nonsense.

The greaseball eventually ran down and his focus shifted elsewhere. Arlene greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and a “mornin,’ Sugar.” She was wearing a black maillot I’d never seen before with a little hip-length robe and a big straw sunhat she kept clutched to her head.

“I’ve got something to show you when you get a break,” she said. “I believe Fran Goldstein already told you.”

“She said something about having taken a picture,” I said. “It sounded like she was pleased with it.”

Before we could continue our conversation, I was called back to work, given another suit and endured one of the stylists making sure my hair was mussed just so. I was then introduced to a cute blonde who would have fit in perfectly with the Gang of Eight.

“Lela,” she said, trying not to seem too bored.

“Gary Robinson,” I said. “Lela what? Smith? Jones? Finstermacher?”

“Just Lela.”

Giorgio began giving instructions, ordering us to play in the surf.

“I want happy people,” he demanded. “You’re spending a day at the beach, for Christ’s sake! Smile! Laugh! Have fun!”

That was a lot easier than trying to look like Clint Eastwood. We were splashing away when Lela jumped on my back, pressing her boobs against me.

“Giddyup, horsey!” she cried.

I complied, running about 10 yards before Giorgio’s shouts caused me to stop.

“You two, Cherry, Lela, get back here and do that again,” he ordered. “Get a little farther out in the water. And remember, we’re having fun!”

I gave the laughing blonde another ride through the spray, hoping I looked like I was having fun. Giorgio again called us back.

“You ... and you,” he said, pointing to another male and female. “We’re going to race. Keep it close. Now, go!”

I carried Lela back and forth several times, trying to stay within a step or two of the other couple. Sometimes ahead, sometimes behind, to the left or the right and all the possible combinations. I was getting a better workout than I had yesterday.

When we were allowed a rest, I headed over to the commissary table to get a drink. As I was turning to go, a rather severe woman caught my arm and spun me around.

“Stay away from my daughter,” she demanded. “She’s only 15.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Which one’s your daughter?”

“Lela, the one you’ve been carrying around,” she said. “I’ve worked too hard and sacrificed too much to get her to this point in her career. I’m not about to let the likes of you spoil things now.”

The likes of me? Where was this lady coming from?

“Uhh, ma’am, you should probably speak to Mrs. Jenson, the redheaded lady over there,” I said. “I guess you could call her my handler or caretaker or whatever. She’ll be able to tell you all about me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

“I see you met my mom,” Lela said when I returned. “She can be a little overprotective.”

“She’s not the first one I’ve met who’s like that,” I said. “I just hope she realizes I’m not a threat to your chastity.”

“Well what good are you then?” she sneered as we were called back to duty.

We’d put in almost a full day when Giorgio allowed us to break for lunch. The work schedule seemed to follow his needs. Meal time was when he got hungry. The one saving grace was when he got caught up in a moment like he had with me and Lela. I saw several models sneak a bite while that was going on.

I was biting into a sandwich when Arlene came up with her tablet.

“This is the shot Fran Goldstein is so proud of,” she said. “I can see why. Come over here in the shade so you can see it.”

We stood below the deck of the house and she handed me the device. The photo was a vertical shot from an angle to the right, showing me from about the knees up with my hands on my hips looking to my left into the setting sun. I was inadvertently doing the Clint Eastwood thing. The blue water of the Pacific was visible behind me. Sweat beaded on my face, neck, chest and arms. She’d used the shadows on my face and body to great effect.

I was wearing an electric blue suit that covered just a little more than a competition Speedo. It did look like I was trying to smuggle socks in that thing.

The colors were eye-catching, to say the least. The sky faded from the last vestiges of daylight through orange and pink. The coastline stretched into the distance with whitecapped waves racing toward the shore and gulls swooping around. It would have made a great chamber of commerce poster.

“I’ll have to send that to Morgan and Kacie,” I said.

“I already have,” Arlene said. “They’re both extremely jealous they can’t be here. Expect them to ask for autographed prints when you get home.”

I snorted at the idea of me signing autographs, even for family and friends.

“I should go thank Fran,” I said, but we were called back before I could find her.

The afternoon was spent staging more beach scenes, from a volleyball game to tossing Frisbees and footballs. I wondered if any of the guys on the crew could deep snap. It wasn’t difficult work, but got a little tedious performing the same act for the sixth or eighth time with the only difference being the color and style of the suit I was wearing.

After another meal break around 6:30, they began setting up for evening shots. A bonfire pit had been dug just above the high-tide mark and wood piled up. Several sunset shots were taken, then they lit the wood in the pit as the ball of fire slipped below the horizon.

A couple of guys pulled out guitars which they could actually play and we had something of a singalong. Fleece tops were issued as a chill settled in. Couples were arranged and rearranged around the fire pit as Giorgio clicked away. I had something like six different women assigned to sit on my lap. Or maybe it was three who all changed suits. I never got more than a “hi” from any of them.

Just before calling it quits, Giorgio paired me with Lela one more time. She was wearing a white strapless bikini and a dark green zip-up fleece. The way they set up the shot, it was clear I was little more than a prop. She was draped on my left side with her right hand hanging over the top of my shoulder while she laid her head on my chest with her left hand resting lightly just below my sternum.

The stylists artfully fluffed her hair and arranged her fleece so her left shoulder and upper arm were bared. Her left leg was bent just so in front of my body with her toes digging into the sand.

When Giorgio went into action, so did she, pouting sexily for the camera as the seabreeze caught her hair just right. My contribution consisted of adjusting my stance and grip, moving my hand from her shoulder to her hip.

Giorgio finally called a wrap. Lela’s mother, giving me the stinkeye the whole time, was there to take the girl away almost before the words were out of his mouth.

I found one of the wardrobe ladies and was exchanging the suit I’d been wearing for my cargo shorts when Fran came up to me.

“Your handler said I could take you for dinner,” she said. “She’s already gone upstairs. Ever been to In-N-Out?”

“What’s In-N-Out?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s the California burger chain,” Fran said. “I understand you’re a carnivore. That’s a rare breed in this environment.”

“Let me get my wallet and phone from my room,” I said.

I also swapped the flip-flops for deck shoes and joined Fran downstairs. She led me to a little red Hyundai and set off toward Thousand Oaks.