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  She rummaged through the room and was able to put together a kit for the Bronica: lens, light meter, film, filters, and tripod. She thought about what Edward had said, and the key word was — commercial. Her education was in Art History, she wasn’t sure she was cut for commercial photography. The frantic rhythm of Edward’s studio put her in a whirl, and she didn’t want feel like that for the rest of her life. Working with film gave her a sense of control and she hoped to eventually find her way.

  • • •

  “Hi, mate.” Charlie, an expatriate from Ireland and Edward’s main assistant, greeted her when arriving at the studio after-hours. Because of Edward’s assignments in different parts of the country and abroad to which he took one of his real assistants, she was able to use his studio to take her own photographs, in an attempt to unveil the secret of photography — light.

  “Hi. Are you going to use the studio too?” Audrey said, kind of embarrassed. Charlie was an excellent photographer, very hip and with a subtle Irving Penn sensibility for gritty, high-contrast photographs.

  “Nope. I’ve just finished a session with Jeremy Renner for Men’s Health.”

  “How was it?”

  “Great. He’s very grounded, none of the ‘I’m-a-movie-star’ bullshit.”

  “Did you go alone?” She ended up assisting him more than she assisted Edward, who was like one of the great painters of the Renaissance whose apprentices labored over the majority of the work and the master validated it by swiping its final brushstroke.

  “Yeh, it was at his house, very laid back. He invited me to the L.A. premiere of his new movie.”

  “You’re on fire, Charlie. I know pretty soon I’m going to see you in front of the cameras instead of behind them.” He was known to enjoy sharing many pints with a new wave of young actors, and his thick accent, flamed hair, and wild temper preceded him. He was even credited with a few famous portraits of rising movie stars whom he’d befriended in L.A.’s night scene.

  “Acting?” He snorted. “No way, but I wouldn’t mind directing a motion picture some day. Anyways, I’m on my way to a drawing session at the Getty Center, just stopped by to get my stuff. Wanna come?”

  “Drawing?”

  “Yeh, I have a friend who works there and a group of employees gather in a studio to draw from a live model after work.”

  “Sure, sounds cool.” She knew John was coming home late because the band was rehearsing for their upcoming tour.

  • • •

  The Getty Center was an impressive construction. It must be what Mount Olympus would look like: a white castle surrounded by gardens and clouds on the top of a mountain.

  “How long have you been coming here?” Audrey asked him while riding the tram up the mountain to the museum. The five minute ride was beautiful as long as she concentrated on one side of the view; the other side displayed traffic on Interstate 405, which epitomized one of L.A.’s biggest nightmares.

  “I dunno. Four months maybe.”

  She flipped the pages of his sketchbook. “You’re really good.”

  “Thanks. I wanted to be a painter.”

  “Really?” Audrey looked at him in surprise. He was such a good photographer she would never had guessed it wasn’t what he wanted to do all along.

  “Sure. I began working with photography to make ends meet. Since I couldn’t find a respectful gallery to represent me.”

  “You seem to be doing really well.”

  “No shite. Go figure.”

  “But you like what you do, right?”

  “Yeah, love it. I don’t think I’d ever give up photography now, even if my paintings would save the world from being obliterated by a blazing asteroid. The exchange yeh have when photographing people and the rhythm of a fashion photo shoot pumps me up,” Charlie mused, his accent rising in intensity as he grew more excited. No wonder he was so popular, she thought. He was so lively, it must be hilarious to hang out with him at a bar.

  “That’s great. You know, doing what you love and excelling at it.”

  “I reckon if yeh do what yeh love, chances are yeh’ll be good at it.”

  “And when you are good, people start to knead you up for money like a chunk of clay until you don’t even know what you looked like before.”

  “Is that what is happening with the band?” Charlie asked.

  • • •

  The studio where the drawing session took place was underground and there were a gathering of interesting people who drew while listening to blues and drinking wine. Every fifteen minutes when the model had a break to stretch, she would put her robe on and walk around looking at the drawings. She was a petite and fair-skinned brunette named Megan who reminded Audrey of Carey Mulligan in An Education.

  Audrey covered her sketch book and warned Megan, “I haven’t drawn from life in a long, long time.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’m used to the strangest depictions of me; it’s what I like most about modeling.” Megan smiled and Audrey uncovered her sketchbook. “It’s good. It reminds me of an Egon Schiele.”

  “Yeah?” Audrey looked back at the drawing. “That is not a weenie, by the way. It’s just a messed-up line; I don’t have an eraser.”

  When the drawing session was over, she learned Megan had been in Brazil during a summer in high-school with a mission group from her hometown church, and had recently moved to L.A. from Tampa to get her MBA at USC. She told Megan about her new photographic endeavors and Megan offered to pose for her, should she ever need it. Audrey never thought of having models, it seemed so far-off from what she was seeing at Edward’s studio — even though they worked with models all day, but in Edward’s case, the work was so purposeful. Even before he turned on his camera, he’d already had the whole session mapped out: outfits lined out, makeup applied, light tested.

  There must be a way she could put Megan’s talents to good use, Audrey thought. Photo-essay? Pin-up style portraits? Whatever it was, she would have been crazy to dismiss her offer.

  • • •

  Audrey’s first photographs with the medium-format camera were black and white long exposures in downtown L.A. The images created the atmospheric ambiance of a town populated by ghosts — blurred shadows of people across an unidentifiable cityscape. She had done similar work while in school using a Holga, the twenty-bucks-worth plastic camera gave her extraordinary results and, by accident, she learned the effects of photographing at night. Now with Edward’s fancy Bronica, she could use filters to achieve the same effect at daytime.

  “That’s interesting.” Edward was looking at her first batch of prints.

  “Really?” she asked shyly.

  “Absolutely, I like this one with the rain, it’s really moody. But what I like most is it doesn’t even look like L.A, and I can’t tell where it could be.”

  “I tried to remove all landmarks. I wanted to create a quintessential urban landscape where these forms floated aimlessly.”

  “Uh.” Edward looked intently into the pictures, rubbing his temple with one hand.

  “I-I mean…this is kind of how I feel here.”

  He put the photographs down and pulled out his cell. Audrey didn’t know what else to say; she was starting to feel self-conscious. Edward dialed a number.

  “Hey Ben. It’s Edward … How’s it going, mate? … I’m doing great, quite busy actually … Oh, yeah? … I’m going to Nice for Louis Vuitton next month … I know, I’m looking forward to it. Hey, I’m sending you an artist I want you to meet.”

  Audrey’s eyes widened.

  “She has some 16x20 silver print I think you should take a look at … She’s new in town … No, not represented yet.”

  Edward looked at Audrey who shook her head.

  “When are you available? … Hold on, let me check.”

  Edward moved the phone a few inches away from his mouth. “Are you free tomorrow around lunch?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lovely, she’ll meet you there,” he said, speakin
g into the phone again.

  He glanced at her, sitting at the other side of the desk.

  “Yes, very…Okay, bye.” He hung up, smiling.

  “Ben has a gallery in North Hollywood. He can be a flippant arse sometimes, but he is mostly harmless.” He picked up the pictures again. “I bet you fifty bucks he’ll ask you out,” he said in a cautionary tone.

  “I’d hate to waste his time,” Audrey said, half to herself.

  “But you have some good work here. I think you should show it to him, perhaps he can do something. He’ll see you tomorrow at one.”

  Audrey didn’t say anything, her eyes fixed somewhere beyond the walls, her expression blank.

  “Audrey, I know sometimes we feel we’re not ready and the work we put out is not good enough. Believe me, every artist has had the same exact thought. At some point, you just have to put yourself out there and see what happens.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She looked at him and smiled.

  He showed her one of her own photographs and said, “You have a definite voice and something to say in here. Don’t take that lightly.”

  “I appreciate it, Edward.” Audrey was truly thankful for his words. She wanted to hang on to them like a mother holds a newborn baby, tenderly, carefully, so nothing will ever come to harm it.

  • • •

  In nearly five months in L.A, she witnessed how much the very dynamics of the city seem to work to keep people away from each other. It could take two hours to drive ten miles because of the mind-blowing traffic. But when she left Ben’s gallery in North Hollywood, not even that could ruin her mood.

  i am taking you to dinner tonight, my treat. She texted John as soon as she got in the car. It turned out Edward was right, Ben had asked her to dinner to “discuss further” the terms of his gallery’s representation. Luckily, he had already bought two of her photographs for five hundred dollars each, and invited her to participate in a group show at the end of October. Audrey politely told him she had plans — with her boyfriend, and saw his enthusiasm burn out like the flame of a jar candle covered by a heavy book.

  Not long after she started the four-wheeled dance toward the interstate, her phone rang.

  “I have good news,” she said.

  “Tell me.” John said.

  “You’re talking to a represented artist, who’s sold two photographs.”

  “I knew you had this one, babe.”

  “Thanks. And I’ll be in a group show in October.”

  “Cool. What about?”

  “Time.” Audrey was so happy the thick mass of cars as she merged onto I-134 East didn’t phase her. “Do you want to go to the Argentinian Place on Green?”

  “Oh, babe. Bill is getting into town tonight and we’re all supposed to have this dinner with Tim and Jennifer to talk about the new tour.”

  “Oh.”

  “Jennifer told me only thirty minutes ago. I was about to call you. I didn’t want to interrupt your meeting. Why don’t you come with us?”

  “Business dinner? With Bill?”

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ve heard we’re eating at the Polo Lounge. Supposedly, Tim loves the chef there. I’ll get us a room and we can celebrate afterwards.”

  “At the Beverly Hills Hotel? John, it’s too expensive.” Even as she said it, she felt a surge of excitement tingling her fingers.

  “I think the occasion calls for it.”

  “Hah, you’re the one on the top charts. We didn’t do anything special when you got signed.”

  “Yes, I think we did.”

  She blushed and remembered them walking out of a storage closet inconspicuously after a quickie at a bar in Silver Lake. The band and Audrey had made friends with the bartender while living at the Atlantis house. They’d gone there to celebrate and the bartender had let them use a back door to go outside and smoke in peace, since the front entrance was always jammed with people. She didn’t smoke, but she had walked out with John, and his eyes changed when she took a drag from his cigarette, still in his fingers.

  “You’re so sexy,” he said as she exhaled the smoke. She’d helped his hand between the buttons of her dress, threw his cigarette out, and led him to the — doorless — closet she’d noticed on their way out. From a dark corner of the room, behind a shelf stocked with cleaning supplies, they could hear the waiters walking on the corridor. If any of them had made a left turn instead of right, in search of paper towels or a mop, he or she would had been in for a big surprise. John was motionless, completely taken aback by her initiative. She felt powerful, invincible. When she unbuckled his belt, he pleadingly murmured her name, but she muffled the sound taking his mouth into hers, then knelt down and his entire body quivered.

  She put the phone on speaker as a police car passed her. “That was momentary insanity, it doesn’t count.”

  “‘Momentary insanity?’ Isn’t it what guilty people say to get out of trouble?”

  “Innocent until proven otherwise.”

  “Come on, babe. We deserve it. But if it makes you feel better, I might be able to write it off as an expense.”

  “Getting corporate savvy already?”

  “I’m trying to make lemonade,” he mused.

  “Okay, sure. It will be great. I just hate to see you spending money unnecessarily.”

  “I’d give all I have.”

  Chapter 15

  On the Fourth of July weekend, Matt and Tyler rented a house in Malibu and threw a party on Saturday night. The house was starting to fill up. Bill had flown in with his wife, and Kevin brought his latest hook-up, a model he’d met in a magazine’s after-party. They stood in the doorway between the living and dining room, Kevin’s face woozy, his fingers playing with a string on his date’s peasant blouse.

  Matt and Jennifer were sitting on the couch, giggling. Jennifer? Huh. She didn’t look like the kind of girl who would go for the sweet-and-nerdy type. Sharp and sleek, she seemed like the type of woman who would favor power-suits and thick wallets. Audrey tried to dismiss her judgmental thoughts and hoped Jennifer would be sharp enough to realize she had the best seat in the house. Then she continued to look for John, squeezing past a group of unrecognizable people into the kitchen. She saw Tyler leaning against the kitchen table, talking to a couple of girls he must have fished out from the beach, both wearing shorty shorts and bikini tops.

  “Have you seen John?” Audrey asked, opening the refrigerator.

  “Uh-uh.” Tyler answered without taking his eyes from the girls.

  Geez, thanks for the attention. You know how to make a girl feel special.

  She grabbed a beer and sauntered back into the living room. A gust of ocean wind coated her face as a couple walked in through the sliding doors that led to the beach. Looking in that direction, she saw John and Bill smoking on the deck, ashtray on the rail between them.

  “Audrey!” A voice cut across the room, stopping her mid-step. Her heart sank. Sharon.

  Bill’s wife hustled over, all lips and cleavage, and Audrey groaned inwardly as Sharon’s acrylic nails touched her arm.

  “Isn’t this wonderful?” Sharon waved her half-empty margarita glass at the room.

  “Yeah.” She could be referring to the party or the house, but Audrey chose the answer she hoped would stop Sharon from elaborating. Since they’d arrived at the beach house, Audrey had listened, exhausted and bored, to Sharon’s life story: marriage, Bill, divorce, marriage — to Bill, liposuction, boobs.

  Audrey glanced longingly outside, John and Bill still had their backs to the house. She wished she could communicate to John telepathically and ask for help.

  “You need a refill.” She looked down at Sharon’s glass.

  “Girl, you’re one of mine.” Sharon winked and squeezed Audrey’s arm.

  Hardly.

  Audrey smiled and pulled her arm away as Sharon wobbled to the kitchen looking for the pitcher of margaritas.

  Audrey rushed to the door as if swimming away from a shark. When
she stepped outside and the breeze danced around her, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Finally, John was only five steps away.

  “I’m just saying, this is not the best time to be in a serious relationship. You can have any — ” Bill was talking while fanning himself with the collar of his shirt when he saw her.

  Audrey stopped between the second and third step, caught somewhere between hurt and anger.

  “Babe.” John snagged Audrey in an embrace.

  “Am I interrupting?” She didn’t take her eyes off of Bill who stubbed his cigarette and looked at her, expressionless.

  “No, of course not. Want to go for a walk?” John said.

  Audrey nodded, and as they walked down the wood steps toward the beach, she heard Sharon squeaking at Bill.

  • • •

  The sky was the color of amethyst, the last rays of sunset lingered in the horizon. They walked on the beach with their arms locked around each other, her hand in his pocket and his on her waist.

  “What is going on?” she asked soberly.

  “Nothing. Bill is just being Bill.”

  “You mean, a sleaze-bag prick?”

  “Yes, pretty much.” He chuckled.

  Audrey could tell he was tired, exhausted really. John had always been the one taking care of everyone, mediating the conflicts and dealing with the problems. Maybe he’d had enough, and for an instant, she felt her throat close up by the thought she could also be part of the reason John seemed unhappy.

  “John, uh … if something is bothering you, if you’re not sure … just tell me. I know a lot has changed. I — I want to see you happy.”

  He stopped, hugged her and kissed her forehead, his tender, shy eyes sparkled underneath his long eyelashes.

  “The only thing I’m sure right now is that, for the rest of my life, I don’t want to be apart from you — not for a second.”

  “But Bill — ”

  “Bill?” John snorted. “A guy like Bill can’t begin to comprehend my feelings for you. Why bother explaining?” He moved his hands gently across her spine. “The only thing I needed him to understand is I’m not going to be Atlantis’s puppet.”