Two
Tait
I wake with a start, drenched in sweat, to find that it’s completely dark outside. “Great…,” I groan. The headache has arrived, and sleeping the day away will totally screw up my circadian schedule for days.
I, at least, have a flexible work schedule. Well, no real schedule to abide by, anyway, and plenty of time off. I’ve admittedly slowed down on work the last few years and am beginning to run low on funds—a fact that’s officially burrowing an anxious hole in my brain.
I currently work for a publishing company doing research assistance and photography for various journalists, authors, and their subsequent story developments. I got my “big break” on a photo that I took, which included a small piece of poetry I wrote on my (then) blog, about five years ago.
I have no idea how the blog came onto Gemma Nola’s radar, but my photo of a canyon that had been half devastated—almost perfectly split down the middle, in fact—by wildfire, with the accompanying short poem, somehow inspired a novel. Because she felt set on using the photo and poem, she offered me credit in the foreword, as well as a stake in the profits. That angsty (but highly entertaining), epic family drama novel turned into a group of three, each of which she had me privately commissioned for. People’s reviews of the books almost always stated how they loved having photography to coincide with the settings. Adult novels with pictures, who knew? We went on to collaborate on a coffee table book that focused entirely on the photography: the inspirations behind the variety of settings featured.
I’ve since developed a suspicion that Gemma is agoraphobic, hence why she doesn’t go seek out these inspirations for herself, and I’ve never even been able to get the woman to meet in person, but, it has also worked to my extreme favor. The publishing company was so happy with the success of those books that they referred me for other jobs, which led to a healthy portfolio that resulted in more work—for the magazines it publishes, more books, digital artists and publications, etc.
It may have been too good to be true. Kept me busy for a while, but after my divorce, I have simply lacked motivation.
I am beginning to get the sense that Deacon Publishing regrets their investment in me. I’ve done a few spreads for magazines over the last two years, but haven’t exactly jumped at each opportunity they’ve thrown my way. Just enough to keep my job.
I pad off to the kitchen, scraping up the remnants of my bun that are stuck to my neck, when I hear my phone shudder.
“Shit.” I forgot to turn the sound back on. I scoop the device out of my purse, and my stomach drops. Twenty- three missed calls, thirty-seven texts, and five voicemails. What the?
I verify that none are from Ava, meaning an emergency is unlikely, but see that they’re split pretty evenly between Gemma and Fletcher, my agent from Deacon. Rather than trying to go through every text or voicemail, I go with the quicker option available and push call for Gemma.
She picks up after two rings.
“Taitum.”
“Gemma, I am so sorry I missed your calls. I—I was out with my sister today and left my phone at home.” I decide the lie is easier than explaining that I chose to dedicate my attention elsewhere.
“All’s forgiven—that is, assuming you accept the assignment?”
“Oh, ummm. I’m not exactly decided yet. I’m sure it will work out, but I just need to iron out the details.”
I’m met with utter silence. Deeply regretting not going through those voicemails or texts, I decide to gamble… After all, I very much owe my comfortable life to Gemma Nola. I’ve been sent to all of my favorite places at her behest; Scotland, Spain, New Zealand, Switzerland… I’ve seen places that look as if they couldn’t be real, like they should only exist as screensavers. She could have kept her moment of inspiration to herself all those years ago and not chosen to even acknowledge my photograph, or my blog. The poem aside, she had her story inspiration and could’ve ran with it. The books would have been equally successful, I’m sure. I could still be doing all freelance work, or not traveling at all and simply doing family photography.
And, as sad as it is, my job is all that I have at this point. It’s allowed me travel to places beyond my imagination, where I have met fascinating people, and I’ve experienced an inordinate amount of fun. These experiences are everything I have—they’re what has built me back up to my whole self. Or this version of myself, at least. Having a career that I’m passionate about is the only piece of me that I tended and grew on my own.
Aside from that, this kind of assignment and entity of my job is my favorite—research with a focus on imagery. I’m suddenly gripped with the need to get away, to throw myself into work so that I don’t lose this, too.
Peter the Prime guy and his Pontiac rebuild progress, be damned! He, and the other two (Jose and Ted), might miss me, but they’ll still be here when I get back!
At that very real thought—and the cold-water reality that washes over me with it—I suddenly know what choice I need to make. Unlike almost all the other assignments over the last two years, I know I need to do this.
“You know what, I’ve got everything covered. I would love to dig into it for you.”
She laughs loudly, a bit harsh and phony, but the one I know as her normal laugh.
“Oh Taitum, I have such a juicy story brewing and it’s absolutely PARAMOUNT that it revolves around this place. This—this family legacy of a ranch that continues to fight for its own existence. And I know you must think every angle has been seen with that show’s infamy— Lord, that hot extra and all. Anyway, I know you and your keen vision will capture so much more than what has already been exposed to the masses. I need that inside view.”
I feel the blood beginning to rush to my head again, that all-too-familiar sensation that makes it sound like words are coming from a distance. I instinctively know the place she’s referring to, but decide to hold out hope that I’m wrong.…
“Uh… remind me the name of the place again, Gemma?”
“Logan Range, that marvelous ranch right outside of Sun Valley where they film that show, Dollar Mountain. ”
Fuck.
My father’s ranch.