Chapter 3
“THAT’S WONDERFUL,” Sterling told Dean, a shy boy who seemed to want to disappear into the backdrops. He wore tan slacks and a blue sweater that his mother had probably bought just for the pictures. Dean immediately chose a blue background, and Sterling had felt him receding by the second. It took nearly half the session, but Sterling was able to pull Dean out of his shell, and now he was smiling and even talking to him. Fortunately, he had an extra half hour after this session, so he let it run over to see if he could get a few more outstanding images. “Do you ever wear contacts?”
“A few times, but I don’t really like them.” Dean’s nerves spiked once again.
“It’s no problem. Let’s just take off your glasses so we can see your eyes.” He had great big blue eyes, and as soon as the thick glasses were gone, Sterling got to work once again, taking some of the best images of the session. “There you go.” Once he was done, he flipped through the images and showed a few to Dean.
Dean’s lips curled up into a smile. “Dang,” he drew out, and his smile turned to a grin. “Is that all? Maybe I should think about contacts.”
“Go ahead and change and join your mom.” He waited until Dean returned to the changing area before rejoining Dean’s mother in reception.
“How did he do?” she asked, concerned. Sterling pulled up a few of the later images on his computer and turned the screen. She gasped at the first image, putting her hand in front of her mouth, unable to look away. “He’s… that’s my son, but not my son.”
That was one of the things Sterling loved about his job. Sometimes the stars aligned and he and the sitter really connected. These pictures weren’t him doing some photographer magic; it was him and Dean working together. “I love the pictures without his glasses.” Dean joined them, and his mom put her arms around him, hugging tightly. “We’ll go to the eye doctor and see about new contacts and some help for you to put them in.”
Dean nodded. “Okay.” They thanked him and left the studio, happily just as Sterling’s phone vibrated. He answered the call with a smile still on his lips.
“Vaughn Photography, this is Sterling.” He pulled up his schedule on the computer in preparation.
“Sterling, hi…. This is Connor.” The last person Sterling had ever expected to hear from again. “Look, I know I may have come off as a bit… harsh.”
Sterling found himself nodding. “I don’t think either of us was shown in our best light.” What else was he going to say? If hot Connor was willing to backpedal a little, then so was he. “What can I do for you?”
“Aunt Lucille asked if I’d work with you. Actually, she pulled out her rack and thumbscrews.” He chuckled. “I think she’s really sold on this calendar idea, and she asked if I’d help. I was wondering if maybe you might want to get some dinner or something to talk it over. I still don’t think I want to be one of the calendar guys, but I’ll try to help put this together.” This was about the last thing Sterling expected. “Don’t get me wrong, I still think the idea is off the wall, but Aunt Lucille is convinced it will work, and I don’t want to disappoint her.”
Sterling smiled to himself just as his next appointment arrived. “That would be great. Is seven okay? I’ll make arrangements, if you like.” He gave Connor his address. “Come around to the back, and once I’m done with my last appointment, we can go.”
“I’ll see you then,” Connor told him, and Sterling set down his phone, a little surprised and kind of pleased. He still had hopes that he could convince Connor to do the calendar. He would be a huge hit. But if nothing else, some help organizing something like this was always appreciated.
EVERYTHING THE rest of the day seemed to go completely to hell. Clients showed up either early or late, and Sterling’s schedule was all out of whack. Instead of a photographer, he seemed more like a circus performer as he tried to keep them all happy. At least fashion photography didn’t have nearly as many stage mothers. Finally he got the last person out the door and the follow-up appointment set up to view the final images and choose their portraits.
“Connor,” Sterling said when he closed the studio door. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.”
Connor stood dressed in a white shirt and red plaid kilt. Sterling assumed it was the MacIntosh tartan, or at least one of them.
“I just need to lock up.”
“Will you show me your studio?” Connor asked, and Sterling opened the door and let him inside. Out of habit, he grabbed his camera and followed him.
“I do a lot of portraiture, but I also love floral and purely artistic images.” He led the way over to one corner. “I’m doing a series of artistic pieces right now. It’s classic still-life paintings, then brought to life in a single image. The Smithsonian is interested in it, and I’m hoping that once I’m done, they’ll jump on it.”
Connor nodded as he looked at the intense still-life tableau in front of him with glasses and fruit practically overflowing the table. “Where did you get the rabbit and the deer hides?”
“I found both of the hides in an antique store, so no animals were hurt specifically for my art.” He sighed. “I know it’s a little over-the-top, but the more normal still-lifes were easier to compose. This one took a lot of time, but I think it’s pretty intense. Both classic and modern at once.” He moved the screen back into place. “I don’t let my clients see that, as a rule.” It was his own personal project.
Connor stared at the screen that hid the still-life setup. “Why do you do it? I know you love photography. That’s evident by the images I saw online. Some of the images are stunning. I know they were fashion and meant to be commercial, to sell clothes and things, but yours had a style, an artistic flair that added something.” He finally looked at him. “So why do you do it?”
“Why take pictures? I always have. I snitched my father’s camera when I was seven. He was so mad that I shot four rolls of his film. I begged him to develop them, and he said he would but would take the cost out of my allowance. When they came back, he sat at the table, leafing through the pictures. He handed me the camera and said it was mine. I adore my father for that.” He hadn’t thought about that in years.
Connor nodded. “No… well, yes, I suppose I was asking that, but why the art? Fashion has a commercial purpose, but the still-lifes and things….” He seemed perplexed.
“You mean, why art for art’s sake?” Sterling supplied. It was a question he’d asked himself on a number of occasions. “I can’t give you an answer in words because I don’t have one. It’s something inside that wants to come out. So I do it for me.”
“Is this where you do portraits?” Connor asked, looking at the rest of the space.
Sterling nodded as Connor wandered out onto the large white backdrop that continued down the wall and onto the floor.
“Yeah.” He motioned to Connor, who hesitated before stepping in front of the background. Sterling flipped on the lights and then picked up his camera and snapped off a few shots. He didn’t have Connor pose or even look at him. He just took a few pictures of the man, then brought the camera over and showed them to Connor. “You take great pictures.” Sterling had known that he would as soon as Connor stepped into his line of sight at Lucille’s.
Connor narrowed his eyes. “Is this some ploy to get me to agree to do this calendar thing? Because I can’t. I have my students at school, you know that. I know Aunt Lucille is keen on this calendar and that she is trying to do something good, and so am I.”
Sterling stepped back and took a few more pictures. Yeah, he was trying to convince Connor to do the calendar, but just playing with the camera like this was fun, and Connor seemed so at home. Sterling hadn’t experienced that since he left the fashion world. “Did your great-aunt put the screws to you to try to get you to do it?”
Connor chuckled. “In her own way. She said that I was to do what my heart told me to do.” He turned to the camera, and Sterling shot some more images. Damn, he wanted to ask Connor to take off his shirt. Well… if he was honest, he wanted Connor to take off everything, leave that shirt and kilt in a pile on the floor, and…. Sterling dragged his rampant imagination back to where it belonged.
“That doesn’t sound bad to me,” Sterling commented as he set the camera aside.
Connor chuckled. “That was Aunt Lucille being passive-aggressive. She wants me to follow my heart and feels that it should lead me back to her and the project she has in mind. She would never actually plead with me to do it, but she will try to plant the seeds of guilt in order to get me to agree.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “The crappy thing is that it usually works.”
“Really?” Sterling snickered. “I’ll have to keep that in mind: ‘Connor can be guilted into things.’” He pretended to make a note of it.
“Only by Aunt Lucille. She has magic powers, I swear. Didn’t your mother do that?” Connor asked. “Guilt was a regular part of my life growing up. Mama used to tell me that when I was bad, I was making baby Jesus cry or that the angels were sad.” He sighed.
“Thank goodness my mother didn’t do guilt. She had other ways,” Sterling observed as Connor stepped off the photo mat and Sterling turned out the lights. “My mom was big into taking away my allowance or trying to use logic. She loved to explain the consequences of things.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Connor said.
Sterling groaned. “Yeah, except her logic was always on these grand scales, like if I broke the neighbor kid’s bike, that was somehow going to lead to the zombie apocalypse. Looking back on it, she was a real hoot.” He sighed at the old loss.
“Sounds like it,” Connor said.
“She would have loved you. Mom was part Scottish, though I don’t know which clan or anything. It was quite a ways back, but at any festival, she could sniff out the bagpipes before anyone played a note.” He smiled as Connor got a faraway, sort of melty look. “Mostly she’d have loved the kilt.” Sterling couldn’t resist. “I miss her sometimes.” He pulled himself out of the funk he knew would spread like spilled paint on carpet. “Let’s get out of here. I got us a table at the new brew pub in town. I’m told that their beer is really good, and their food is supposed to be awesome.”
“I’m game if you are.” Connor followed him out of the studio, and Sterling closed the door and locked up.
They decided to walk. It was only a few blocks, and that way they didn’t have to worry about the amount of beer they had. Which turned out to be a godsend. Sterling ordered the stout and Connor the Redcoat, an extra special bitter. Even before they ordered their food, one beer turned into two. By the time they ordered and their food arrived, they were well into a third beer before they dug into the best chicken sandwiches Sterling had ever tasted—crispy and juicy—and he was about to reach across the table to smack Connor at any moment.
“If you preen any more, they’re going to write a song about you.” It was too good not to tease a little.
Connor scowled. “I don’t preen.”
Sterling snorted and then took another sip of his beer. “Yes, you do. Every time someone looks at you twice or their gaze doesn’t stray away, you sit up straighter and act like you’re the center of everyone’s attention. Are you always like this?” It was another curious thing about Connor, and somehow it got under his skin. It shouldn’t. He had just met the guy, and they were going to be working on a project together, nothing more. Besides, hunks like Connor didn’t look twice at a guy like him. Sterling had no illusions that he was ever going to win any Sexiest Man Alive contests. “Not that I blame you. If I looked like you, I’d probably preen a little too.” He finished the last of his sandwich, suddenly wishing he had simply kept his damned mouth shut.
“And you say what you mean, don’t you?” Connor retorted. “For the record, I’m not preening, even if it looks that way. After working in Lucille’s garden for hours, my back is a little sore, so I keep moving it to try to loosen it up.” He shifted in the chair to make his point.
“Oh.” Sterling wanted to slap his hand over his mouth, but instead he smiled and then laughed at himself. Thankfully, Connor joined him. “I guess I’m a little overreactive tonight.” He wasn’t sure if Connor was interested in him. Maybe he was barking up the wrong tree.
“Ya think?” Connor teased and then winked. Sterling’s mind raced at that, wondering what Connor meant by it for a few seconds before tossing the notion aside. He was allowing himself to get drawn into Connor’s orbit. That would be so easy to let happen, but it would only end in heartache and pain, just like the last time. “I like that you’re straightforward.” Connor lightly scratched his head. “I think.”
“Okay….” Sterling flagged their server, who brought another round. He had a slight buzz and was a little warm. It felt pleasant, and he was enjoying Connor’s company. It was nice to be out with someone and just have a few beers, some good food, and…. Shit, had this somehow turned into a date? Sterling’s belly clenched for a second, but thankfully Connor didn’t seem to notice the sudden sense of impending doom that overtook him for a minute.
“We should talk about the calendar before I can’t think straight,” Connor said once their beers arrived.
“Heck, I can never think straight. Never could.” He snorted and lifted his glass, setting it down again as his clouded mind processed what he’d said. “Sorry, I think my brain is reaching its beer limit.” He pushed the glass away. “We should talk about this.” He took a deep breath and got a strong whiff of Connor’s scent. He closed his eyes, letting it wash over his dulled senses, his brain willing to follow the deep richness anywhere. God, that was even more intoxicating than what he was drinking, and he leaned forward slightly, just to get close. “I should have brought something to write with.” Though he hadn’t had so much to drink that he was going to have to worry about a memory blackout or anything.
“We’ll be fine,” Connor told him. “Have you done something like this before?”
Sterling nodded, and for a second, his head spun. He reached for his glass of water and drank half of it, then felt a little better. “Yeah, a few years ago. We have to find a printer and someone to design the calendar itself, but the biggest thing is to dig up the local guys who are willing to pose for it.” At least that was the first hurdle. “The next part is that I need to photograph them.”
“So, two dozen guys….” Connor grew quiet.
“Fewer, if I can convince you to do it,” Sterling’s mouth was starting to run away with itself. Connor hit him with a glare, but he didn’t say he wouldn’t do it. Maybe Sterling was starting to wear him down.
“Nobody wants to see—” Connor began, and Sterling leaned over the small table and got right into his space.
“Every woman in town would snatch up that calendar to get a look at you in your kilt, handing them flowers. You’re gorgeous, and I’d….” Sterling managed to stop his lips before they got him in more trouble. Connor might not appreciate him blatantly coming on to him when they were both a few sheets to the wind. Sterling needed to sober up a bit and think clearly.
“You’ll take the pictures?” Connor lightly tugged at his shirt collar.
“Of course. That’s the really hard part: getting professional-quality images and looks from amateurs.” He sat back and groaned. “It can be hard enough getting the best image possible from professional models. I once worked with Mara Thundston. She’s gorgeous and incredibly talented, but the session was a complete bust. I couldn’t get any of the images we needed out of her. Sometimes things need to flow from within, and I can’t tell a model what I need. It just has to come, and that day it wasn’t coming, no matter what. It was hot, and we were outside in the natural light. The damned wind blew shit around the entire time, and not a thing was the way it should have been.”
“What did you do?” Connor asked, leaning in.
Sterling shrugged and realized that the conversation at the next table had ceased and that the four guys there were all listening to him. “I scrapped what we were doing and told her to jump in the pool. She looked at me like I was crazy, but she did what I asked, and when she came out, I got the cover of Vogue .” He grinned. “But the point is that it isn’t easy, and with amateurs, it’s going to be more difficult, especially if we want the images to have movement.” He drank the rest of his water.
“Dude, you worked with Mara?” the guy from behind him asked. “Did you work with other models?”
Sterling turned, pasting on a smile. “Yes. Lots of them. For the most part, they’re nice people.” He nodded and turned back to Connor. “I’m going to do this and spend the time and effort, using my spare time, to try to make this work because your great-aunt, a friend of my mother’s, asked me to.” He raised his eyebrows in a silent challenge.
“Fine, I’ll do the calendar.” Connor drained his beer and thunked the glass on the table. “Are you happy?” He crossed his arms petulantly over his chest.
“More than.” Sterling finished his beer as well and wondered for a second if Connor was as buzzed as him.