Rock My World (19 page)

“Here,”
Noelle handed Jenna an intimidating looking camera, weighed down by its massive
lens. Before Jenna could protest, Noelle bounded off, animated as always,
gesturing to a hair-stylist, hands above her head, miming bigger hair.

Jenna turned
the camera over in her hands, feeling its heft, trying to decipher the foreign
piece of infrared technology blinking at her from the hot-shoe. She looked
through the wide-angle lens and clicked, just to see what popped up on screen.
As she depressed the shutter, two bright lights flashed in her peripheral
vision. The two main strobes, set up on opposite sides of the set, flashed and
the image simultaneously showed on the back of the camera and on a large
computer screen sitting atop the only non-French piece of furniture.

Noelle’s
desk—made from an old wooden door, its chipping paint of decades worth of
color changes—was covered by a thin piece of glass. It stood in contrast
to Noelle’s otherwise modern taste.

Scanning the room, Jenna watched the organized
chaos coming together to create a single image. From her modeling years she
would have guessed it was an editorial fashion shoot. Emaciated models looked
bored in their chairs as make-up and hair artists primped and prodded them.
They looked so young—like kids playing an expensive version of dress up.

“
Vogue
.” Noelle said, with a wave of her
hand.

Jenna nearly
jumped out of her skin. “
Wha
-?”

“It’s a
Vogue
shoot. Spring. Paris. It’s cliché,
I know, but you win some, you lose some, right? I tried to argue Moscow in
spring, but alas,” she flicked a hand toward the edges of the room, the floor
obscured by metal racks of clothing and shoes.

“They’re
tying it into the release of some movie based on a Hemingway novel.” Noelle
said, rolling her eyes.

“Who’s the
actress? Is she here?” Jenna’s eyes darted around the room, landing on a
familiar face.

“Natalie
something-or-other. Brunette. Cute.”

“
Primm
.”

“That’s it!
Oh, what are they doing now?” Noelle said. She bounded off, shouting something
in French at someone near the wall of shoes. Jenna couldn’t believe it. She had
stumbled into the middle of a photo shoot for
Vogue
!

She recalled
her long-ago dream of someday appearing on the cover of the infamous September
issue. Though she hadn’t kept up with the fashion world (except what
Airika
told her) she knew
Vogue
still represented the cream of the fashion crop.

She had
underestimated Noelle. She made a mental note to Google her later. As she
stood, quietly taking in the bustling scene around her, goose bumps erupted all
over her body. Since childhood, she’d used what she called her “goose bump
meter” as the physical manifestation of her intuition patting her back, telling
her she made the right decision. She hadn’t had goose bumps in forever, it
seemed.

The shoot
flew by in a whirl of creativity and heightened tension between strong
personalities that were diffused time and again by Noelle’s strong direction.
Jenna watched, awed, as Noelle gave orders, not intimidated by anyone’s title
or tone. She executed her vision with unwavering confidence.

As Natalie
modeled the gown, they encountered a problem. She was too short, even with
heels, for the gown to skim the floor like Noelle wanted. The hem was too
intricate to pin without sacrificing design. A vein in Noelle’s forehead pulsed
in frustration.

“What if we
had her jump off the curb next to the cafe?” A stylist suggested. Noelle
glared.

“Why don’t
we give her an umbrella and call it Avedon?” Noelle said through gritted teeth.

Silence
settled over the set as they awaited further instruction. No one dared speak.

“What if we
used the café chairs?” Jenna said. “We could have two guys behind her balancing
the chairs, with the train draping over the front and have her feet spread
apart on opposite chairs?”

A stunned
crowd waited with baited breath for Noelle’s wrath. Everyone stayed quiet,
shifting their feet, awaiting instructions. Jenna was oblivious to the tension,
trying to picture exactly how the angles and shadows would work.

“Let’s try
it.” Noelle said, gesturing to two of the larger guys in the group. “You and
you.
 
Pull those chairs over and
hold onto them as if your lives depend on it.”

They snapped
to attention and did as they were told. A flurry of activity followed as
everyone reset for the new direction. Jenna stayed where she was. Noelle came
over to her side.

“What are
you doing?” Noelle asked.

“Nothing. I
mean, just waiting for you to tell me what you want me to do.” Jenna said,
flustered by the commotion.

“Take the
shot.”

“What?”
Jenna said. She must have misheard.

“It’s your
vision. You see it. You take it. Tell them what you need.” Noelle gestured to
the myriad assistants and stylists scattered around the room. Terror crept in,
a cold sweat replacing the goose bumps.

“I’ll be over your shoulder, making sure it
works.” Noelle placed a hand on her shoulder.

After a few
moments of procrastination, Jenna held the camera up to her eye, trying to
frame the shot. She heard herself direct people around the set, moving lights,
adjusting angles. Even Natalie
Primm
was listening to
her direction, adjusting accordingly. Jenna couldn’t believe it. These people
took her seriously.

She clicked
the first frame and watched Noelle’s face relax as she saw the image appear
onscreen. She approved. She made a few suggestions along the way, but let Jenna
take the reins. When Noelle saw exactly what she wanted, she pulled Jenna over
to show her.

“See this
angle on the chair?” Noelle asked. Jenna nodded. “See how her other arm goes in
the opposite direction? And how the dress flows over the edge of the chair
rather than just draping along it like in this one?” She pointed out another
shot where the angle of the chair seat was visible through the dress fabric.

“
Mmmhmm
,” Jenna nodded.

“That’s the
shot,” Noelle smiled. Jenna’s throat closed over happy tears.

 
Noelle yelled, “That’s a wrap!” and the room
burst into applause and happy chatter.
 
Champagne flowed and hors d’oeuvres circulated, even passing the lips of
a few of the more ravenous models.

“I’ve never
done anything like that. It was … amazing. Thank you.”

“It’s
nothing,” Noelle said, waving it off. “All I did was hand you a camera.”

“No one’s
ever listened to me like that. I’ve never been so in charge.”

“So? You in,
then?”

“In what?”
Jenna asked. Noelle raised her brows, in a do-I-have-to-spell-it-out
expression.

“Yes, I’m in.” Jenna grinned.
Jenna
Jax
-Anders: Photographer
. It had a
nice ring to it, she thought.

Noelle
smiled triumphantly and slapped her on the back. “Come,” she said, dragging
Jenna around, introducing her to everyone, whispering tidbits of gossip about
each one. The glad handing gave way to evening and, by the time the set was
dismantled, only Jenna and Noelle remained in the cavernous space, hunched over
the odd desk, reviewing images.

Chapter
32

Another day, another city.
Alex disembarked the rolling metal cage that transported him across
the country. His neck, stiff from sleeping in the tiny bunk that was two inches
too short for his long frame, cracked and popped as he twisted his head from
side to side. He was grateful that his time on the bus this tour was limited,
but it didn’t help his mood this morning.

“You coming?” Asked Pete, his twenty-something
drummer, slapping him on the back.

“I’m starving!” Bellowed Joe, the large Texan bass
ingénue they recruited out of high school.

“Yeah, be there in a sec.” Alex said, checking his
phone for missed messages. None. He looked up at the truck-stop diner reeking
of day-old grease at seven in the morning. The word “glamor” didn’t exactly pop
to mind.

The second bus pulled into the oversized parking
lot, spilling hungry roadies into the diner. They moved in groups, talking and
laughing. He’d never felt so alone amidst so many people.

He slid in beside Joe on the vinyl booth seat, and
took a sip of the coffee in front of him.
 
It tasted bitter, burnt.
 
His
face twisted in disgust.
 
No amount
of sugar could cut through the acrid flavor. He drained it in a single gulp. Joe
and Pete bantered across the table but Alex didn’t hear a word they said. The
next stage in his battle for freedom was about to begin. He just had to figure
out where to start.

Simon sidled up to their table, handing out sheets
of paper with names and times written out. Every day he gave them a schedule
and every day everything got done without ever adhering to the stupid thing.

“Did you hear me, mate?” Simon said in his best
effort at a friendly tone.

“Sorry, no. Say again?” Alex said without looking
up at him.

“You’ve got an in-station appearance in an hour
and then I need you to call the other stations on your list and record station
ID’s. Keep it light. Keep it clean.”

Alex nodded.
I
know what I’m doing!
He wanted to shout. He yearned for the days of his
hard-edged immigrant father lecturing him about applying himself in his
work.
 
“The most important thing”,
his father used to say, was to “take care of your family”.

His father, a man’s man by any account, spent
years drilling the message of one’s own hard labor being the only sure thing in
this world into his son’s young brain. He put his calloused builder’s hands on
Alex’s shoulder, lecturing him.

“I work hard day after day to feed my family, and
you will too. You do whatever you need to do. You understand?”

Alex’s creative ambition clashed with everything
his father stood for.
 
He made it
clear that Alex had disappointed his family and himself by pursuing a selfish
career of “chasing fame”. He frowned upon the frivolity he associated with
creativity. Alex despised his father’s cave-man attitude and denigration of the
arts.

On Alex’s wedding day, his father asked him what
he planned to do now with a baby on the way. He told his father he was still pursuing
a career as a musician. His father walked away, shaking his head. Alex hadn’t
seen him since. He’d never even met his granddaughter.

Alex excused himself from the table. He flipped
open his phone, dialing the first number on his list.

“Hi, Alex Anders here and you’re listening to
KTKS,
your
station for yesterday’s
hits and today’s favorites.”

Was this success? Pitching sales for companies,
traveling with a bunch of hygiene-challenged guys, glad-handing people with
impressive job titles, left finding out about his own family through reporters
who were more up-to-date? For the first time in his life, he felt like he’d
sold out.

Chapter
33

“So? You
gonna
tell me what happened?” Noelle said.

Jenna squirmed. She wanted to run, to protest, but
she was rooted to the spot under the weight of Noelle’s gaze. And touched, too,
by her concern.

“Where do I
begin?” Jenna sighed.

“At the
beginning.” Noelle placed her small hand over Jenna’s.

“I guess it started when we were kids.” Tears fell
as Jenna spoke, though her voice remained steady. She talked and talked,
reliving the wretched sight of her husband and best friend kissing in her
living room. When she got to the part about the article and her conversation
with
Airika
, she slowed down.

“I snapped.
I think I just … ” she said, searching for the right word, “had enough. I don’t
know, maybe I overreacted. He didn’t cheat on me, exactly. And I knew somewhere
deep down that
Airika
had feelings for him. I ignored
it. I guess I hoped it would just go away. I didn’t expect to feel so … gullible.”
Jenna looked up, imploring Noelle to tread gently on her exposed soul.

“Did I ever
tell you the story about how I came to America?”

“No,” Jenna
said, confused. They’d only had a handful of conversations, all work-related.
And not to be selfish, but did she not hear the story Jenna just told her?

“The short
version is: I ran away from my marriage.”

“Really?
Why?” Jenna couldn’t help herself. She was nosy.

“He was a
duke. You know, typical uptight royal upbringing. Private schools, polo star. He
was the smartest man I’d ever met.
The usual story.
He
swept me off my feet and when he asked me to marry him, I was sure my life had
been made.” Noelle sighed, her features softening, making her look younger.