Chapter Text
|-Friday evening. 38th Sixth Apartments, 38 6th Avenue, Brooklyn, New York-|
"So... Ya signed it, right? Ya signed dat contract and became her photog'apher fo' a year?" How we can understand him through that thick accent of his will forever be a miracle. But I guess that's Brooklyn for you.
"Ah, don't be so blunt, Mark. Give her a wee bit to catch her breath, will ya? To have someone like Gold City want you as her photographer for even just the one shoot... Kati, that'd be enough to make me day if I were wearin' your shoes. But a whole year? I can hardly imagine how overjoyed I'd be feelin'." More soft spoken. More my speed.
"I know. I know. It's... A lot to take in." When I told Mark and Jessica about what happened earlier today, they immediately put plans into motion. Got me out to Mark's apartment in Brooklyn. Some Jamaican food from Simpson's right across the street. Only thing that's missing is Met. He said he'd be here at five. It is now eight. Guess the subways must be really busy. It is Friday after all.
I watch as Mark seems to think about his next words before he speaks.
”Aight, aight. Ya probably got a lotta stuff goin' on in dat dome a' yours. I shouldn't add ta dat noise. But, fuhgeddaboudit: Why she wanna work wit' youse? Somebody like Randy Jenkins would def want some wiseguy wit' more cred. I know I wood. No offense, of course." He’s a lot like Met: Never one to mince his words.
"None taken." I respond before he continues.
"I ain't sayin' ya don't get good shots, aight? But lookit... Ain't a lotta people know ya name, see? Ya some kinda underground photog-fera. An' now ya gonna get snatched right outta dere. By Randy fuhkin' Jenkins, no less. Fuhkin' fuhggedaboutit!"
I watch as Jessica now takes a deep breath, seemingly wanting to add her own two sense into the mix. "Mark's not wrong now. Jenkins is known far and wide for his work with the fancy models. Especially your ones from abroad. So for him to clap eyes on your photos and see somethin' special, sure, you should be delighted with yourself." She pauses for a bit, seemingly collecting her thoughts. Habit of hers: Stay silent for a good while before suddenly filling the room with sound. Not that anyone minds. She does have a pleasant voice, and that slight Irish tinge only makes it sweeter.
"Ah, Kati, pet, you should really go for it. Sure, I can only see good things comin' your way for your career, so I can."
"Maybe..." I know she's trying to hype me up, but my mind is focused on other things. Gold City... Isten segítsen most. (God help me now.) I've never seen any woman so beautiful, uma or otherwise. The way the light caught in that sandy blonde hair of hers... How it shimmered in her eyes... The softness of her skin. I wonder if it's all like that. Every last inch...
"Kati?" Was that Jessica or Mark? Can’t tell. All I can think about is Gold City… Her hair... It looks so silky. What I would give to run my fingers through it, just to see if it feels like silk. Maybe even velvet...
"Uh... Brook-lynn ta Kati. Ya doin' awright up they-ah? How's da eye-on-uh-sphere?" That was Mark, but I’m too zoned out to really notice. Are her lips just as soft? Nem. Puhább. Határozottan lágyabb. (No. Softer. Definitely softer.)
"KATI!"
clap
I'm brought back to reality by Mark clapping right in front of my face. The nerve of- Wait, Mark is on my left. This came from the right. I turn my head and see tall, jet black ears and a wild mane of hair with a similar color. No face, they're turned back to me but the patches on the denim vest give away who it is.
"Met? When did you get here?" I’m utterly bewildered. How did I not notice my best friend walk into the apartment?
"Thirty minutes ago. Not that you would notice bein off in your own world, of course." He then turns around and I see those two toned eyes of his. One purple the other silver. Then I see that dumb handlebar mustache on his face. Why does he insist on shaving like that. Why? He would look so much better without it. Moreover, why is he constantly listening to that claptrap on full volume? It's still playing through his headphones and I can very much hear it. How has he not gone deaf yet?
"I can hear your music. Turn it down." I make the issue known to him.
"Oh shit, it's still playin?" Got him. Met quickly gets his phone out of his pocket and pauses the music. I know how annoyed he gets when something like this happens. He prefers listening to whole albums at a time, so knowing that he's missed the majority of one is gonna dampen his mood.
"Dammit. How long was it still goin?" His voice is getting a bit raspy. A sign he’s agitated. I when watch as Mark stares down Met.
"Hhm... Prolly since ya got inta da buildin'." Mark says in a way trying to antagonize him. And it seems to have worked.
"Fuck... That was two albums wasted." The despair in Met’s voice is evident.
"Whaddaya sayin'? Don't tell me it was none-a dat Demolition Hammer crap. Dat'd be a real kick in da teeth for ya, if it was."
Seems Mark has a similar disposition I do when it comes to Met’s auditory habits. I watch as he looks down at his phone and goes through his music app, trying to find out what it was he missed. He's always so meticulous about this kind of thing. Tries to have an organic flow between albums so that things transition smoothly. I wish I had that kind of foresight.
"Eugh... FUCK!" He sounds angry.
"Yous got a problim?" And Mark isn’t making it any better.
"It was Agnostic Front and Exumer. I was lookin forward to hearin those. FUCK!"
Met stands up, his tail stiff with annoyance. An interesting thought comes to mind. Actually no. He'd kick me if I did that. And he's a war horse. If a racer wasn't unpleasant this would be. The thought exits my mind as Met starts moving, presumably towards the kitchen so he can grab a bite to eat. Mark and Jessica seem to have other ideas though.
"Where might you be off to, now? A bite to eat, maybe? You must be a wee bit peckish. Can't say I'd blame ye." Unlike Mark, Jessica’s words aren’t antagonizing Met.
"To get somethin to drink." His voice is softer now. Jessica just has that effect on people. But then I see Mark spin around, daggers in his eyes.
"Awh, no ya don't, Met. Ya ain't havin' none o' my likka. Not after I seen ya poppin' dat lil' testosterone pill the second ya waltzed in heah."
"What? Why is that your first thought? I may be stupid but I'm not brainless." I can confirm that. Met does, in fact, have a brain.
"Oh, reeeally?" His voice is dripping with instigation. Mark can be just as stubborn as Met and prone to not believing it.
"I know better than to drink booze when I've just taken my HRT. And this is a new dosage, too. Not that it matters. You know I don't drink anyway. Just let me get some food god dammit."
He disappears behind the wall as he grabs his food, clearly happy that it's Jamaican.
"Oh shit, Simpson's. Love their jerk chicken. Oh, you got fried plantains too. Nice." Met sounds like he’s about to bust out into song. He then reappears, taking a seat next to me as he eats. He must be starving because it is just being consumed. Is he even tasting it? He's eating so fast that he might accidentally choke on something
"You might want to slow down." I tell him, not wanting the inevitable to happen. "Hmph. Oh. Mai bahd." He says with a mouth full of chicken.
He swallows and starts pacing himself before he starts talking again.
"So what did I miss?" He asks, clearly wanting to know what was discussed when he got here.
"Ayy, nuttin' major, see? Just Kati, she decides she's gonna be Gold City's photog, while she's kickin' it heah in da Big Apple, ya know?" Mark says, his eyes meeting mine, smugness evident in his hazel irises. Met almost spits out his food as he slowly turns to me, processing his he information as he does so.
"I fuckin told you, Kati.”
"That you did..."
I hate it when he gets smug like that.
|-That same evening. One West Luxury Apartments, 1 West Street, Manhattan-|
The excitement is still evident, but I have gotten my tail to settle, even if it is still swaying slightly. It's... interesting being in a city like New York. Sure, Tokyo is larger. Both in terms of land and population. But New York? Let's just say when people describe this as an international city, they mean it. It's the kind of thing you'll figure out in an hour. And I've had a week. Still, Randy has done a lot to make sure that I'm comfortable while I'm here. He is quite the researcher when it comes to his clients. A lot of the things he's had this apartment filled with he did so with great care and thought. I wasn't really expecting it. Hindsight though... I really should have. He's well known for his work in the US with foreign models. But it's usually been with people from like, France and Italy. Japan? I don't think he has experience. Not yet. Despite that, he's clearly knowledgeable about the Japanese market, otherwise Tomo would not have made the recommendation when he brought up the idea of me modeling in the US. I've trusted the man my entire career on the runway. No reason to stop now. Still though, this is way out of my comfort zone. And that new photographer. Kati was her name, right? I should check just to make sure.
I get my phone out of my blazer pocket. Considering how hot it's been, probably wasn't a good idea to wear it today. My shirt's been inundated with sweat and it is not pleasant. I feel like a pig. Not the gorgeous uma musume people expect me to be. I open up the notes app and look at everything I jotted down from this afternoon. Yup. Kati Jacobs. Close notes. Go to social media. Look at her professional profile. Those shots are really good. I can see why Randy had her as one of the suggestions. It's the way she captures the human form that drew me in. How she can see the small intricacies and snap them perfectly. I knew from the minute I saw her work there was going to be no other option. She was the one for us. My only concern is if she can keep it up with one model for a whole year. A whole year... Here's to a new chapter in life.
As I go about my evening routine, an odd thought occurs: Why not look through her personal profile? Just so see what she does in her free time. No harm, right? That would be the usual answer, but this time... I'm not entirely sure why it feels different this time. Like I'm about to bend some taboo no one else dare touch. I find the profile and feel a rush of emotions as I look at the posts. She doesn't seem to have much going on. Nothing of real importance. That or she is a private person, which I can understand. I wish I had some semblance of privacy. But with being one of Japan's most famous models and at one point top racers... I don't. People are constantly trying to pry into my life. See things they shouldn't. All eyes all the time. But talking with her earlier today... It felt like she saw through the disguise I have to put on. Not everyday you meet someone genuine like that.
"Kati Jacobs... I have a feeling we'll get along very well."
As I look through these posts, an odd feeling wells up inside me. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it feels... familiar. Unnaturally familiar. Like it's something I've known for a good while. The curvature of her body. The way light gets trapped in those dark eyes of hers. That's what is eliciting this response. But again: Why? Why is this happening? And why is it so familiar? Is it something that I've felt before and have forgotten? I don't know. And that's what scares me the most. I need to get some sleep. These next few days are going to be very busy with logistics and planning. Maybe it'll also distract me from... whatever this feeling is.