“Heyyyy, sugar, I’m comin’!” Vivien giggled.
There was an awkward moment when Allison stepped to the door and handed Rick a full bottle of baby oil. Her eyes had lost all hint of teasing. He was magnificent! Sparkling golden hair covered not only his chest, but also dove in a thin line down his belly, covering his legs and arms lightly. He turned to face the mirror and poured a modicum of oil into his palm, then began applying it to his shoulders while Allison saw his back for the first time. Her eyes drifted from wide shoulders to narrow hips, taking in firm skin and fine-toned muscle. His derrière was flat, his legs well shaped without the bulging muscles that ruined the male form when it came to photographing it. Truly, his body was an artist’s concept of beauty.
In the mirror Allison caught his eye and knew he’d been watching her assess him, but he only looked away and continued applying oil briskly. Unlike Jason, who used every such opportunity to smirk and flaunt and tease with his eyes, Rick accepted his physical assets with dignity, but not ego. He radiated no sexy innuendo, but merely turned to the mirror and vigorously continued what he was doing.
Vivien sat on a chair and hooked her shapely toes—vermilion, too, Allison noted—on the edge of the vanity, squirting a line of oil up a perfect leg. Spreading it, she kept her eyes on Rick.
“I’ll put some on your back,” Allison offered, moving behind Vivien, who swiveled sideways a little on the chair.
It seemed Vivien had dreams of becoming a Playboy bunny, and she prattled on about a trip she had taken to the Playboy Club in Chicago, all the while scouring Rick with admiring gazes.
“I think we’ll need some oil on the ends of your hair anyway, Vivien. Do you want me to put it on?” Allison asked.
“Do we have to?” Again Vivien appeared devastated.
“Unless you have some other suggestion as to how we can make it appear wet.”
Vivien stood before the giant mirror beside Rick, leaning forward while she concentrated on the monumental decision, then began applying carefully controlled amounts of oil to selected strands of hair.
“Will you help me with my back?” Rick asked Allison, offhandedly passing the bottle of oil over his shoulder and catching her eyes in the mirror.
She was suddenly reluctant to lay a hand on him. She had little choice, however, and accepted the bottle from his slippery fingers. Thank God he didn’t grin or tease, just handed the bottle over and waited. Allison poured oil into her palm, thinking: This is how it all started with Jason.
She went at it energetically to hide the fact that her hand shook when she touched Rick’s bare skin for the first time. She was unaware of how she glowered or that behind closed lips she held the tip of her tongue tightly between her teeth. Sensations of touch came flooding back to her, filling her memory and her body at this first touch of a man’s flesh since Jason’s. How many times had she done this for him? How many times had he done this to her? How many times had their oiled skins delighted each other?
Don’t think about Jason. Don’t think about the fragrance of the oil. Don’t think about all the times he was sleek and slippery and seductive.
But Rick’s flesh beneath Allison’s hand was warm and firm, and her palm slipped over it, conforming to its strong, sleek lines. The shoulder was tough, the shoulder blade hard, the neck unyielding with a tensile strength. Her fingertips inadvertently touched Rick’s hair and learned its fine softness, so different from the hardness of his muscles. The contrast jolted her, and she raised her eyes to the mirror to find Rick studying her solemnly.
She was suddenly swept with the awkward feeling that he’d read her mind. Immediately she dropped her eyes to his back again. Taking more oil, she worked it down the warm center of his back to the waistband of his trunks. The memory of his light, undemanding kiss came back to her, and his words, “I just have to do this.” With her hands on his skin he somehow became all mixed up in her mind with Jason. Love, hurt, sensuality, and bitterness welled up within Allison, leaving her confused. Then her fingertips slipped over Rick’s ribs, and he flinched and tipped guardedly sideways.
Allison came back to the present, realizing it was Rick, not Jason. Their eyes met in the mirror.
“I’m ticklish,” he informed her, and the spell was—thankfully—broken.
“I’ll remember next time.” She handed him the bottle, said, “Excuse me,” and reached around him for a roll of paper towels on the vanity.
“Your hair, too,” she instructed, brushing alarmingly close to his chest as she reached.
“What?”
Wiping her hands gave her an excuse not to look up at his reflection in the mirror. “Oil your hair, too. How’re you doing, Vivien?”
“Can’t say I like getting all greasy like this, but I hear oil makes the hair healthy, huh?”
“As soon as you two are done, come on out to the set. I’ll get the lighting started.”
Outside the wide wall of windows it was totally black. Inside, the only light came from the dressing room. Allison shook off thoughts of Rick Lang and set to work, adjusting the direction of the strobes, firing them time after time to see the effect they created on log, water, sand. Working with a light meter, she took readings from various points, adjusting the rheostats on individual strobes, which were all connected to a single triggering device that would fire them simultaneously with the shutter release when connected to the camera.
Rick and Vivien padded out, barefoot and shivering, to find Allison’s shadowy form darting back and forth amid the equipment.
“Oh, good, you’re ready. Listen, this sounds like a joke, but I have to crack a window a little bit to let the smoke out once I start the fire. But the room should warm up as soon as the fire gets going. I’m really sorry about the chill in here, but bear with me, okay? I didn’t want to strike the match until you two were out here, because I don’t want that fire going any longer than necessary.
“Okay, Rick, I want you on the log, Vivien laying on the sand below him, facing him and rather leaning up onto his outstretched leg, gazing up into his face. For now, take the general positions, but don’t strain yourselves to hold them. Just relax and I’ll light the fire and do a final metering on all the strobes once the flame is going.”
A shivering Vivien moved toward the set, rubbing her goose-pimpled arms.
“Step lightly on that sand,” Allison warned, “and move slowly across it so it doesn’t get spread out any more than necessary.” Vivien’s teeth were chattering. “Rick, why don’t you sit down on the log first?” Allison continued. “Maybe Vivien can lean against your legs for a minute and keep warm.” There was no joking now in Allison’s voice. As Vivien picked her way gingerly across the sand, Allison touched a match to the hidden chunk of Dura-Flame log that gave a clean, smokeless pouff before the small twigs caught. Immediately Allison was moving about, taking readings, firing the strobes time and time again, resetting the angle of the camera now that she had bodies to compose in the viewfinder. Crouching, she peered into the camera to assess the angle of the moon’s reflection on the water, firing the strobes repeatedly, making minute adjustments.
The oil caught the gleam of the strobes and sent it shimmering to the eye of the camera, creating precisely the illusion of wetness Allison was aiming for. She decided it would not be necessary to further discomfort Rick and Vivien by sprinkling water on their already shivering skin. In the night light the oil was all that was necessary.
The key light had a blue filter to simulate moonlight. When Allison fired it, Rick’s hair took on a life of its own, haloed to perfection in all its glorious disarray. Vivien’s, too, became a moonlit nimbus about her head, the oiled ends perfect.
By using fill lights with orange filters, Allison had eliminated shadows that were too stark, tempering them with simulated firelight at each flash.
“Okay, all set,” she declared, moving toward the set now, standing just beyond the sand, leaning over with hands on thighs, giving orders. She positioned Rick wit
h his far knee raised slightly, the near leg stretched out with only its heel resting on the sand. Touching his shoulders, she ordered, “Turn . . . no, not so much . . . good. Now tip that head down, and Vivien, I want you to look like you want to crawl right up his body. Roll onto your far hip just a little . . . a little more, let me see just a hint of tummy. Good, now brace on your left hand any way you can to keep from falling over, and put your right hand on his chest.” There followed a single reflex drawing them apart as Vivien’s biceps inadvertently came up against Rick’s vitals, for she lay in the vee of his legs now. But the two of them reverted to faultless professionalism in an instant, settling into the pose again.
Allison produced a small jar of petroleum jelly, touched a spot of it to the corner of Vivien’s mouth, produced a comb from her pocket, and tugged free a strand of Vivien’s beautiful hair to fasten to the corner of her lips. Perfect!
“There . . . don’t move,” Allison breathed, backing away. Immediately she returned, touched the comb to a few wayward strands of hair at the back of Rick’s neck, flicked it through a lock above his ear to partially cover the top of it, then stepped to the camera to evaluate the composition in the viewfinder. Immediately she saw sand where it wasn’t supposed to be, produced a small, soft barber’s brush and whisked it off the top of Vivien’s leg. Another check in the viewfinder, a flash of strobes, and she found the stunning fire glow had created exactly the skin effect she wanted. But the sand that she’d found distracting on Vivien seemed lacking on Rick. Quickly she stepped around the tripod, picked up a handful and threw it at his near shoulder.
This time the scene in the viewfinder was flawless. Another quick check of all the strobes, firing them six times in quick succession before connecting them to synchronize with the camera.
Allison’s voice became silk as she stepped behind the camera, crouching low, ready to shoot.
“All right, I want you to think about that skin you’re touching . . . sleek, desirable . . . wet those lips, come on.” Their tongues came out, leaving lips glossy in the firelight. The strobes flashed as the shutter opened for the first time, capturing the image on film. Allison’s heart hammered with excitement. They were perfect together!
“Ease up a little higher, Vivien, and droop those eyelids just a li-i-i-i-tle more . . . more . . . no, too far, lift your chin now, think of how much you love him.”
Flash!
“Great!” Exhilaration filled Allison as she moved deftly around the camera, giving sharp orders at times, soft compelling orders at others.
“Rick, I want a long, caressing thumb touching the hair that’s caught in her mouth, but don’t cover those beautiful lips of hers . . . let my camera see them . . . good with the thumb, now closer with your lips . . . think about tongues . . .”
Flash!
“Let’s see the tip of your tongue, Vivien, and ease up with that hand on his chest. You’re caressing it, not hanging suspended from it.”
The perfection broke and both Rick and Vivien laughed, falling out of their poses momentarily.
Allison waited only briefly before saying, “Okay, back at it, lovers. Let’s get messages going between those eyes, and Vivien, I want that tongue peeking out . . . open the teeth only slightly . . . good, good.”
Flash!
“All right, Rick, spread those fingers and bury them in her hair . . . you love that magnificent hair, you’re lost in it . . . not so deep, we’re losing those beautiful fingers of yours, gently . . . gently.”
Flash!
“You have wonderful hands, Rick. Let’s use them some more, give me sensuality with your hands . . . wing it, fly with it, Vivien, respond to his every touch . . .”
Rick relaxed, curled his fingers, and lay the knuckles gently against the crest of Vivien’s cheek. At his touch she turned her head slightly as if to take more, lips falling open, eyelids drooping with sensuality.
Flash!
“Now you, Vivien, what can you do with those delicate fingers . . .touch him where he wants to be touched, turn him on, tell him with your fingertips what’s on your mind. . . .”
Vivien’s hands slid down to Rick’s bare thigh, and immediately his face reacted. His shoulders and arms spoke to the camera of wanting to express more than the photograph would allow.
They continued for a series of twenty-four shots, and during that time Allison all but forgot who Vivien Zuchinski and Rick Lang were. She moved with an unconscious purity of purpose and saw her subjects with uncanny acuity, missing not one hair that needed straightening or messing. Halfway through the first roll of film she repositioned Vivien, raising her farther up until her head rested against Rick’s chest. Ordering Rick to place his hand almost on the side of Vivien’s breast, hers on his hip, she received an immediate, professional response, then hustled back to the camera.
Rick and Vivien were subjects, integral parts of the art she created, nothing less. Allison’s vitality and enthusiasm brought out the best in them, and her businesslike attitude put both Rick and Vivien at ease in a situation that otherwise might have been embarrassing.
When it was time to change film, Allison straightened. “Okay, stretch for a minute, but watch that sand—don’t get it anyplace I don’t want it.”
She fetched fresh film from the old refrigerator and in a matter of minutes had reloaded. A quick check of the fire, another stick on it, and it was back to work.
They resumed shooting, with Allison issuing rapid-fire orders that immediately brought changes of pose, expression, and body language. With the next change of film came a change of camera angle. This time Allison posed Rick and Vivien hip to hip, facing each other, creating sensuality not only with near kisses, but with hands on each other’s ankles and calves. Another pose had Rick leaning across Vivien’s lap, his lips just above the fullest part of her breast while her head hung back in abandon.
As the session moved on, the models’ muscles grew stiff, and, quite naturally, their facial expression and body language did, too. Allison worked quickly, efficiently, noting the first times Rick and Vivien sighed wearily, understanding that cramps and outright pain were very real afflictions for models.
But when Vivien suddenly jumped and raised her backside sharply off the sand, ruining a shot, Allison’s head popped out from behind the camera.
“Tired, Vivien?”
“No, something bit me.” She scratched the underside of a thigh, then settled back into the pose again.
But just as Allison pushed the shutter release again, Rick twitched, ruining a second shot.
“You two need a break?”
“No,” they answered in unison.
“Let’s keep going and get finished,” Rick advised. “All right, Vivien?” He gave her a considerate glance.
“Sure, this sand is . . . ouch!” This time Vivien leapt to her feet.
Now Allison became concerned. What was troubling Vivien?
“You too?” Rick questioned, suddenly getting to his feet and straining around, twisting at the waist in an attempt to see the backs of his thighs. “I could swear something’s been having me for dinner, but I didn’t want to say anything.”
“Honey, you and me both!” Vivien seconded, scratching her legs now, lifting one foot to rake her nails on the back of an ankle.
Allison stepped to the light switch. A moment later the room was flooded with light while she knelt at the edge of the fake beach, studying the sand. She could see nothing. She fetched a large white sheet of paper and laid it on the sand, stooping again to watch carefully. A moment later she saw a tiny black dot hit the paper and disappear so fast her eyes couldn’t follow.
Horrified, she stood up, biting her lip. “I hope you two have a good sense of humor, because it looks like sand fleas.”
“Sand fleas!” Vivien yelped. “Eating me?”
“I’m afraid so. They must have come to life when the heat from the fire thawed them out.” Immediately Vivien began scratching harder. “I’m . . . I’m really sorry ab
out this,” Allison apologized, more than a little embarrassed. Lord, what next! she thought. How was she going to control the insects and finish the rest of the shots? There was no bug spray in the studio. Crestfallen, Allison added, “I don’t have anything to get rid of the pesky things. I guess we’ll have to stop shooting and go with what we have. Hey, I’m really sorry.”
“How many shots do you have left on that roll?” Rick inquired.
Allison checked. “Thirteen.”
Rick turned to Vivien. “Well, I can stand it for thirteen more if you can. What do you say, Vivien?”
Suddenly Vivien grinned, and with a rueful gesture said, “Ah, what the heck. Fleas have to eat, too.”
To Allison’s surprise, they resumed their places and suffered through the rest of the shots with the best of humor.
“Ah, that one likes his steak rare,” Rick joked.
“I would too if I could take a bite out of the back of your leg,” Vivien countered.
“Do you suppose we should demand to see a certificate from the local exterminator before setting foot in this place again?”
“To say nothing of the fire marshal.”
“I think maybe an extra life-insurance policy is in order before taking a job at Photo Images. How about you, Vivien?”
“Why, whatever makes you ask? I have a bad case of pneumonia, slivers in my back from this log, flea bites, and my feet are scorching!”
“All right, you two . . . that’s it!” Allison announced, ending the session.
By this time it was almost ten o’clock, and they were all grateful to stretch and bend. As the overhead fluorescent lights came on, Allison rejoiced, “A hundred and fifty-four shots, and you two were fabulous!”
“I think she’s soothing our egos in hopes we won’t sue for damages,” Rick kidded as he and Vivien hurried off the sand.