A Taste of Bliss Page 5

  “I’m hoping to not have too much free time. That would mean I’m not working very much,” I explain as I set up my hair and makeup kit. “Are we going for a natural skin tone, or a bronzed super-goddess today?” I hold up my palette of bronzers, inspecting the pots for crumbling powder.

  Finch is a frenetic blond ball of energy, moving quickly through each activity, often abandoning one before it’s finished in favor of another. He stops moving for a minute to consider my question. He makes unintentional spirit fingers and squeezes his blue eyes shut to access the creative side of his brain where his ideas live. He’s my spirit animal.

  “Definitely not bronzed goddess. Maybe keep everything pale and matte, with a really dark lip. I want her to look spectral, but high-fashion.”

  “We have that pretty blonde girl, Addison Wolfe, right? I like shooting with her, she gives good face. And she’s super nice and not a total flake like some of the models in this city.”

  “Yeah, Addison. She’s got crazy-flexible joints and can practically contort herself for the perfect pose. She’s with an agency now, too. I’m lucky she’s shot with us before and agreed to collaborate for portfolio work. We only have a small budget for her.” He says the last bit as he strides off to grab sandbags to weigh down his next lighting C-stand.

  “Good for her. I know agencies are great for models. Maybe not so much for me. I’m finally free from The Vaughn Group,” I admit as I clean makeup brushes.

  “You pulled the trigger on freelancing for yourself? That’s why you have more free time now? That’s great, Bliss. You’re going to love it. I know Louisa wasn’t the easiest to work for, but you’re so talented. I know you’ll do fine on your own. Now go stand in for lighting checks.”

  “Twice last week I went to jobs and found someone from The Vaughn Group already there. When I talked to the directors, they told me Louisa had called and offered a lower rate, so they let her send someone. I’m not even sure how she knew what jobs I had booked. I can’t believe she’s sabotaging me like this. I guess I should have expected it though. She’s awful.” I shudder as I head over to the white backdrop and step into the pool of light he has set up. I hate wondering if Louisa will sabotage every job I book in an attempt to kill my business before it even gets momentum.

  “Eww, that’s some shitty behavior. Be careful, Bliss. I wouldn’t put it past her to keep doing sneaky stuff like that.” Finch shakes his head and picks up his camera.

  That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. I hook my fingers through my front belt loops and give him my best “Blue Steel” face. Finch’s camera clicks and the lights pop, before he pulls the photo up on the LCD screen of his camera to check his levels. He adjusts the settings on one of his lights and hits the test button, making it go off again. When he raises his camera back up I give him kitty claws and make a roaring face. This is our standard operating procedure for setting up shoots, and the only time I step in front of his camera willingly. He’s asked to shoot me a few times, but I prefer to stay behind the scenes. My smile tends to become frozen and my eyes go dead when I seriously try to model.

  He brings his camera down to view the photo. “Oh hell yes. Bliss, the pink in your hair comes across so perfectly right now. I’m glad you went with that pastel baby pink rather than hot pink or something. It goes perfectly with the light blonde. It’s way classy for an unnatural color. But take that hat off so I can get your face without shadows.”

  I pull off my black felt hat that I had pushed up on the back of my head and self-consciously touch my hair. I hear Finch start shooting again so I tousle my hair to remove the hat indent and grin when I look up at him again.

  “Better?”

  His camera clicks, capturing my teasing smile. “Much. Now give me something to work with. And believe me, I will put on Britney if you don’t move the way I want.”

  I groan. His strange love of Britney Spears has made many photo shoots feel a little too like middle school for my taste. I pop a hip like I’ve seen so many models do, and give him a few poses so he will keep the sugary music at bay. Each time the lights pop I see stars. I have never understood how models can do this for hours on end.

  After a few minutes of changing poses, playing with my hair, and pretending to model, I get the feeling he’s not testing anymore. I stop moving with my hand perched on my hip and stare at him, instead of the camera. “Did you get your lights figured out?”

  “Oh yeah, honey. I had those dialed in after the first test shot. The rest were just for my pleasure, since I finally had you in front of the camera and taking direction. You’re too pretty to not put you out front sometimes.” Finch laughs as I storm off set and head over to my makeup table. He’s an ass. A funny one, but an ass nonetheless.

  Addison walks into the studio a few minutes later, her blonde hair piled on her head and a fresh face waiting for me to get my hands on it.

  “Hi Finch—oh, thank god it’s Bliss,” she says when she sees me. “I always know my photos will look awesome when you’re both involved.”

  Finch laughs as he strolls over to hug Addison. “Nice seeing you, girl. Glad we can have the dream team together again.”

  “Hey Addison, give me a hug before you sit down, it’s been a while.” Addison grabs me in a big hug before she plops into the chair by my table.

  “Do your magic, Bliss. I know even if we had a dinosaur theme, at least you would make me a sexy triceratops.” She closes her eyes and tips her head back, ready for me to go to work.

  “Thankfully no dinosaurs. Just ethereal, pale, and bold lips. I’m thinking ice queen with the poison pout. Sound good?”

  “Always. Are we shooting for anything in particular, Finch?”

  “Yeah, I have some dresses for you to wear for a new design team here in the city to use for marketing stuff. Not sure exactly what it will be used for. They just sent the dresses over and said go crazy. I’m used to the designer showing up and micro-managing the whole shoot to make sure we get what they are looking for. I’m pretty sure it’s a winter themed wedding look book or something like that. You’ll see when you get into the wardrobe.”

  Addison claps her hands and bounces before she stills when I squirt sanitizer on my hands. She knows the drill. I go through the steps of transforming an already pretty girl into a stunning model. A full face of makeup that looks like she’s barely wearing any, and a wintry up-do that’s been lightened even further with white hair powder to give us the pale and frosty look we want. When she checks her look in the mirror, she gasps.

  “Oh, Bliss, this is awesome! I look like I’ve just stepped out of a snowstorm. How did you make my eyelashes look like ice crystals? And that shimmery blue you can barely see on my eyelids is freaking cool. I didn’t know I could wear a dark burgundy lip like this. It’s truly striking against the paleness of everything else.” She turns her head a little to examine the textured and twisted coil of hair that sits like a crown on her head. “Wow,” she breathes. “I want to wear my hair like this all the time. It’s so pretty.”

  I can’t help but smile and glow under her praise. This is the part I like most about what I do; the way I can transform a person, and make them feel like their most beautiful self. It makes any of the tough parts worth it. Addison runs off to find where Finch took her dresses, and I start cleaning my brushes so I can pack up.

  “Nailed it,” Finch yells as he leaves the dressing room and heads my way. He sits down in my chair, but can’t stay still. His hands are all over the place as he bounces back to standing. “Bliss, that’s perfect. Did you see the dresses earlier? You absolutely nailed the look I wanted for them.” He grabs my hand to pull me over to the set as Addison comes out wearing a beautiful white dress that seems to be trimmed in icy silver beading and clear crystals. It’s not overly blingy, but it shimmers and shines as she moves so she looks like a frozen stream with running water just beneath the surface. It’s vaguely art deco, with flowy cap sleeves and a deep V-neck that has a center seam all the way to
the floor. The dress is sheath-like, but has enough of an A-line to flatter just about any body type.

  I love it.

  I don’t think I’ve ever fallen so in love with a dress before. I’m shocked when I think it’s exactly what I would want my future wedding dress to look like. I’m guessing those bells I just heard would be my silent-so-far biological clock suddenly hitting wedding status.

  “Wow…” I sure sound eloquent today.

  “I know, right? I want to get married in this dress. You should see the others, they are just as stunning, if not more so.” Addison spins, doing a little twirl that nearly stops my heart as I see how brilliantly the skirt swirls around her.

  “I think I’ll go take a look at them now.” I might as well have just kept quiet, since Finch is already snapping photos of a posing Addison.

  I stop short when I head into the dressing room. There’s a hanging rack with a dozen dresses as stunning as the frozen stream dress Addison is wearing. Ranging in pale shades that run from crisp white, to the lightest blue, to one that absolutely knocks me out with a gorgeous blush color. I’m not aware of having crossed the room, but suddenly I am reaching for the tulle creation that is studded with the tiniest clear beads and rhinestones at the shoulders and waist. Like the frozen stream dress, this one has a sheath shape with a slight flare from the thighs where the blush tulle really gets put on display. Instead of cap sleeves, it is sleeveless, with thin sheets of tulle gathered by crystals and rhinestones in intricate designs at the top of the shoulder to make straps that lead to a v-neckline that crosses the bodice at the natural waist. I turn it around and actually gasp. The V-shape continues in the back, the tulle spread out to meet below the shoulder blades. There is even a small train on this dress, which has me fantasizing about walking down an aisle with it trailing behind me. I can’t help it, I hold the dress up to me, eyeballing the size, because I absolutely need to try this beauty on. I bring the dress with me to the dressing room door and peek out at Finch and Addison.

  “Hey Finch, may I please try on one of these dresses? It’s so pretty, I can’t help myself.” I squeeze my eyes shut and hold the dress to my chest, hoping he says yes. It would break my heart if I couldn’t at least try it on.

  Finch pauses for a second, lowering his camera and appraising me in the doorway with the frothy blush dress gathered lovingly in my arms. He smiles, and suddenly I feel worried.

  “Yes, of course you can try it on. But do your hair and touch up your makeup first. If you put that dress on, you have to model it, too.”

  I don’t even hesitate, the answer is so clear. “Okay.” There is nothing I wouldn’t do to wear this dress. I carefully hang the dress on the back of the door and walk quickly to my table. I know exactly what I want to do.

  Half an hour later, I am back in the dressing room, helping Addison into her final gown before I get a chance to finally try on the blush dress. I carefully slip it on, feeling the silk underlining slide against my skin and loving the slight rustle of the tulle as it settles around me. I do up the side zipper, and then turn toward the mirror. I am so amazed that this dress fits like a glove. It has to have been created for a fit model, rather than a stick-thin runway model. I sigh at the dreamy sight and for once, I am thankful for my height. At 5’7, the dress is only a tiny bit long in my bare feet.

  The softly curled, voluminous fronted up-do I worked my shoulder length hair into works perfectly to show off the dramatic back of the dress. I kept my makeup simple, sticking with my signature winged liner and soft colors, but I pulled from the blush color of the dress for my lips. I softly run my hands over the dress where it lays perfectly across my hips and think that this is the prettiest I have ever felt in my life. Marriage someday is now definitely an option if this dress can be involved.

  “Bliss, you should be changed by now. I want you out here and in front of my camera ASAP,” Finch calls from the studio.

  I happily oblige, knowing this is my only chance to wear this dress and have it documented.

  “How do I look?” I ask Finch and Addison as I step out of the dressing room.

  They both turn to look at me. Addison covers her mouth with her hand as she gasps. I cringe, knowing she is messing up her freshly applied, now light pink lipstick. I knew we had to ditch the burgundy after I looked at the rest of the dresses. They demanded soft and demure, not vivid and dark.

  “Bellissima Kaufman, I have never seen you look more stunning.” Finch using my given name makes me laugh. Not even my own mother says my full name like that. I make my way over to the set and awkwardly pet my dress.

  “It’s pretty, right?”

  “Dude, Bliss, that dress was made for you. I’m so glad I don’t have to wear it, because now that I have seen you in it, I know I wouldn’t have been able to do it justice,” Addison tells me sweetly, grabbing my hand and leading me into the pool of light.

  “What do I do now?” I look at Finch and Addison both, wringing my hands together as I work to control my nerves. Suddenly I’m wishing I hadn’t fallen in love with this dress.

  “You move every time you hear me take a photo. Move your arms, change which way you’re facing, tilt your head—anything to give me different angles for each shot. Think of a ballet dancer and move your arms around fluidly like they would.” Finch demonstrates what he instructs, bringing a smile to my face as he fans out his arms like a dancer.

  “I’ll do a few things that you can mirror until you get the hang of it, okay?” Addison offers, moving next to where Finch has once again picked up his camera. She turns her whole body sideways, and looks over her shoulder, which I mimic and see she has me facing away, but looking at Finch. I do my best to follow her direction, moving every time the lights pop. I will my body to be graceful and fluid like a dancer. Soon, I’m no longer paying attention to Addison, and just moving freely, working my best model faces, encouraged by the positive words Finch keeps shouting at me. I feel so beautiful, and love this dress so much that it’s not even embarrassing. Finch eventually has Addison step in with me, and we do a few shots together before Finch tells us it’s a wrap.

  “That was amazing. Now that I know you can model, I want you to do it more often.” Finch scrolls through the photos on his camera, his broad smile making me more inclined to possibly agree to his demands in the future. But not really.

  “Oh, no way, Finch. This was a one-time only deal. I will happily stay on the other side of the lights from now on. You should be grateful I even allowed you to take photos of me this one time.”

  “Admit it, Bliss, that felt good,” Addison chimes in, throwing her arm around my shoulder and giving me a squeeze.

  “The dress feels great, and I am happy I got a chance to feel beautiful in it, but now I need to take it off and go back to being a beauty professional and leave the modeling to talented girls like you, Addison.” I squeeze her with the arm I have around her waist, then carefully pick my way over the cables and around the lights to get back to the dressing room without damaging my dress.

  “You will see, Bliss, once these photos are on the computer and I’ve slightly edited them, you’ll want to do it again. I think the design group that sent these over will be incredibly happy with the photos.” Finch is overly optimistic about me changing my mind about modeling, but I really do hope the designer loves the photos.

  Once Addison and I change back into our everyday clothes, we say goodbye to Finch and head out. I check my phone as I walk to my car, a necessity I had to buy soon after moving to San Francisco. I couldn’t deal with taking MUNI and BART to get across the city for my many jobs that require my heavy kit.

  I have a few missed texts, which I read when I’ve packed my kit into the back of the Mini. One text is from Willa asking about my schedule the next few days. Another is from my mom telling me to call her when I get a chance because she misses me. I should really call her soon to catch up; it’s been a while.

  Chapter Six

  My phone battery died before
I had a chance to call Mom back, so when I get home, I plug it in. When I have enough juice to turn it on, I see she has called again. I guess it’s time to bite the bullet and see what she wants.

  I feel bad to not have returned her calls sooner. I take our relationship for granted, knowing she’s just an hour away in San Jose. It’s so easy to go down to see her, but I rarely do it thanks to work or just being lazy. Mom picks up after one ring, obviously having kept her phone close to her waiting on my call.

  “Bliss, finally,” she breathes when I say hello. “I’m glad you called me back, sweetie. How are you?”

  Busy. Good. Feeling guilty for not having returned any of your calls for the last week.

  “I’m fine, Mom, how are you? What’s going on that you would call so many times and not leave a message?”

  She takes a moment to answer, which I find annoying as I am impatient and feel like I have a huge to-do list for getting my website even more functional now that I’m on my own.

  “Bliss, sweetheart, I’m sick. I have cancer.”

  With those three words, my world is crashing around me. I sit up, horrified that I’ve paid such little attention to her when she obviously needs me.

  “What…how…why? Oh my God, when did you find out? Are you feeling okay?” I can’t figure out the right questions to ask, or how to comfort her over the phone. I have the strongest desire to hug her tight and tell her the diagnosis is wrong. She is only forty-five years old, for crying out loud. She’s too young to have cancer.

  “I’ve been feeling pretty bad the last few months, but just thought I had a cold that I couldn’t shake. I finally went to the doctor a few weeks back, and they referred me to an oncologist. I had a bunch of tests done, and it looks like I have lung cancer. Stage four.” She laughs bitterly, the sound of tears thickening her voice. “I guess you were right all these years, telling me smoking was going to kill me. I wish I had stopped when you asked me to. Now I don’t have a choice.” She breaks down sobbing, but manages to get her tears under control before I do.