Chapter 23
Rhett
Carina and I arrived in New York City yesterday afternoon. After a little sightseeing and dinner at one of the best Thai restaurants in the city our concierge recommended, we walked back to the hotel hand in hand.
My girl was right.
You can only see a handful of stars in the night sky. There are too many bright lights competing with Mother Nature, not to mention all the tall buildings.
New York is an experience.
‘Fuck you’ is like the local hello.
New Yorkers honk their horns with revenge.
The jaw-dropping moves cabdrivers pull on the roads are fucking crazy.
Central Park is something to be seen, but in my opinion, it pales in comparison to any patch of greenery in Summerville.
There seems to be an official fashion code. How else can you explain why everyone wears black?
People up here talk as fast as a cattle auctioneer.
Everything’s bigger in Texas, but there’s only one Big Apple. And that’s New York City.
I’m unlikely to forget this incredible trip anytime soon.
Our hotel is impressive. Carina says the Michelangelo isn’t a five-star. With the swanky luxury marble bathrooms, I find it hard to believe, but I’ll take her word for it. What do I know?
I’m glad we were able to play tourist yesterday, because today is all business.
“People, we’re about to get started.” Basil Montague, the tall and elegant photographer brings me back to the moment. “Rhett, you ready?”
“This feels a little awkward, but I guess I am,” I say. “Am I not showing too much? I’m not used to so many people seeing me wearing so little unless I’m at the beach.”
After an interview with a bunch of senior editors at the New York Times office, Molly’s assistant and I jumped into a cab and headed to the photo shoot.
The prep part was a little freaky.
I’ve never had my hair blow-dried, I don’t put gunk in it either, and I’ve never worn makeup before. When I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. I even got a manicure and a pedicure. You’ll never see that happen back home.
“Rhett, you have the perfect body,” Basil says before moving his attention away. “Janice, more oil.” He snaps his fingers.
A short brunette comes running with a squirt bottle and sprays oil all over my body before rubbing it in.
Geezus, I feel like a turkey on Thanksgiving.
“Enough!” One word from Basil, and the oiling stops.
Janice offers a bow before rushing off.
“As I was saying, your body is a work of art.” Basil’s steel blue eyes meet mine. “Not sure why you feel awkward?”
Let’s see. “I’m the only one who’s shirtless and flashing his white boxer briefs—”
“Abs sell, Basil says. “A six pack even more. So does a peek of the underwear.”
Peek? That’s all I’m wearing for God’s sake.
“They are designer, you know.”
“Right.” I nod.
Because that makes all the difference.
“And top sellers worldwide,” Basil says. “The designer can’t produce them fast enough.”
They’re nothing more than overpriced tighty whities.
I thought I was going to wear my regular clothing, but nicer since Molly said they had the wardrobe part covered. My wardrobe consists of ripped low-riding jeans and white designer boxer briefs. The jeans are for later.
“I don’t have abs.” Basil isn’t done talking. “Not even when I was twenty. And God knows now at fifty-nine, there’s not a hope in hell for me. I’m stuck with my jolly belly.”
The crew snickers.
“And may I point out, no one in this room is as chiseled as you are,” he says, looking around. “So, for today, you’re our poster boy.” He accentuates his words with a theatrical hand gesture.
The room claps and cheers.
I can’t remember the last time I blushed so hard.
Here goes nothing. “Let’s do this.”
Basil swings his gaze away from me. “Kendra, does the NYT need a video before the first shoot?”
“We do,” she says.
“Let’s get it out of the way,” Basil says.
She nods. “Rhett, I want to record a quick LIVE video for the fans,” she says, approaching me.
“Fans?”
“Molly must’ve told you there’s a lot of excitement about this photo shoot?”
“Yes, she talked about the growing excitement, but fans? Already?”
“Yes, fans. Lots of them.”
I’ll be damn.
“The LIVE videos are little bites we pepper around our social media channels. Teasers, if you will. Short and sweet.”
“All right.”
This is more than I bargained for.
Kendra holds up a phone mounted on a selfie stick. “Ready?”
“Sure.”
“Five, four, three, two, one.” Kendra does the countdown, and I flash my camera-ready smile. “Hey, guys, I’m here LIVE with Rhett Sullivan on the set of his first ever photo shoot,” she says, pointing at me. “Rhett, say hi to the world.”
I wave. “Hey guys.”
“I’m super excited to spend the day with Rhett. I’m sure like me, you guys are looking forward to knowing more about him.”
Here we go.
“So, Rhett, you’re from Summerville, Texas?”
“That’s right.”
“And a small-town boy.”
“Right again.”
“A former rodeo star.”
“You’re acing this, Kendra.”
She laughs.
“First time in New York City?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, God, that sounded so sexy. So, so sexy.”
Okay.
“Well, thank you, ma’am.”
“Stop it, or I’ll have to keep you.”
My brows knit together.
“It’s a joke.” I guess she must have read the confusion on my face.
“You had me going there for a minute.”
“So. Did. You.”
She does a strange thing with her eyes as she stares at me.
I shift my gaze back and forth between her and the camera. It takes her a few beats before she remembers we’re recording.
She returns her attention to the online audience. “Stay tuned, guys. We’ll do a LIVE shoot with sexy Rhett between each set change. As you can see…” She waves a finger up and down the length of my body. “It’s going to be hot, hot, hot in NYC today.” She turns my way. “Say bye, sexy Rhett.”
“See y’all later.”
“Perfect. And so sexy,” Kendra says.
The room erupts in applause.
“You’re a natural,” Kendra says.
“I felt a little wooden.”
“Nonsense.” And if her gaze doesn’t drop to my crotch. “You were giving off a strong, brooding vibe. Very sexy.”
She says sexy a lot.
“Okay let’s roll with your version.” It’s amazing how they can repackage anything up here.
Basil claps. “Listen up, people.”
The studio goes quiet.
“We only have one day to nail this shoot with Rhett because tomorrow we’re focusing on the rodeo king and his belle. With that said, I want everyone to be on their A game.”
The crew offer nods as a rumbling of agreement travels around the room.
“Rhett, I’m going to give you directions and you follow them,” Basil says.
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to channel Clint Eastwood back in his western movie years, but circa right now.”
Could he be more cliché?
“Got it,” I say.
“I want you to feel his vibe in A Fistful of Dollars all the way down to your toes.”
I swear to God, the guy isn’t even speaking English.
My gaze drops to my bare feet and back up again. “I think I can do that.”
“So, we’re on the same page, you’re going to embody the modern cowboy.”
But I am the modern cowboy.
“Yes, sir.” It’s easier to go with it. I’m not here to argue with the guy.
Basil hides his face behind the camera and says, “We’re going to start with the standing shoots, then you’ll slip into those jeans for more photos––you sitting, you lying on the floor, you from the back.
Afterwards, we’ll move to the wet t-shirt shots and then la crème de la crème, the between the sheets shot—you wearing nothing but a white sheet. ”
“Excuse me?”
He lifts his head up. “Oh, yeah. We want to give the ladies plenty to fantasize about.”
Good grief. I feel so sexualized.