Chapter Text
|-Saturday evening. 38th Sixth Apartments, 38 6th Avenue, Brooklyn, New York-|
"How did it go? Load of craic?" Is what I hear Jessica ask. Load of crack? No, not... not that. Irish. Keep forgetting.
"Ayyy... So we're... We're doin' DAT now, huh?" It's carried on that thick accent of his all the way from the kitchen. I watch Jessica turn her head with enough speed to give herself whiplash.
"What? Ye want me to apologize for me da bein' a bogger? Not a chance, Mark." We both hear his laughter from the kitchen. That cavernous bellow that could deafen a whale if it could hear him. A few seconds later, Mark appears from around the corner with Met, trays of food in their hands.
"Dinner is served." Met says, his tail wagging with excitement. Whatever is it, it smells good. But it's not enough to shift my thoughts. She is all I can think about right now. Her silhouette in the camera flash... How the light reflected off her skin... The way her shadow curved around the statues... Mit adnék érte... (What I'd give for that...).
cling
cling
The sound of forks clinking together brings me back to reality as everyone has started eating. I look at the plate in front of me: Mark's famous Sicilian lasagna. A lean meat ragu with peas, mozzarella cheese, chopped hard-boiled eggs and the creamiest bechamel I've ever had. I always beg Mark to tell me how he does it and he never tells me. The prick. I cut into the slice on the plate with my fork and begin eating. Just as good as always. The food briefly distracts my mind. I can focus on something else for once.
"So... when are you telling me the recipe, Mark?" I ask, again testing my luck.
"Hmm... How's 'when pigs take to da sky' sound?" He responds, his voice almost being as smug as Met's. Speaking of whom...
"Just take the L at this point, Kati. He's never gonna spill." I really do hate it when he gets like that. But before I can formulate a response, Mark speaks up again.
"So dis li'l photoshoota ya got heah..." He starts, and it causes the images to flood my mind. "How'd it go? Ya didn't go losin' ya marbles, did ya?"
I try to formulate a response, but the thoughts roar back. I can't string together a coherent sentence like this, but I can't let them figure out how much of a disaster this is making me.
"I, uh... It... It went well." I fumble the words out, making it painfully obvious where my mind has gone. But no-one seems to care. At least not visibly.
"So, a grand bit o' craic? Would ya be kind enough to share them photos?" God dammit, Jessica...
I try to think of ways to get out of this situation, but it's becoming more and more apparent that I've been boxed in. I need to do something.
"I... I didn't bring my camera. S.. Sorry." What should be my ticket out of this mess is rendered invalid... because Met sees through the lie. Just as he always does.
"Isn't your camera in your car? I thought I saw the bag in the backseat." With a heavy sigh I start moving. It's a blur though. In a moment I'm rummaging through the backseat, grabbing my camera bag and the next I'm back in Mark's apartment, hooking it up to his laptop, itself connected to his TV. We then watch as the photos appear on the screen.
"Well, GODDAYUM! I knew ya was good, but dis... dis is fuhhkin' magical, Kati." Mark says, clearly impressed by my work. Most definitely in... more ways than one. Met then decides to chip in.
"Woah... I could never be a photographer. Not on this level." I blush. I'm... not really used to compliments. Not even from friends. Especially when it's coming from Jessica.
"Ah, now, these are lovely altogether. Some of your finest work, Kati." I start taking deep breaths after hearing that. I need to steady myself, but looking at this photos again... It's hard.
The shadows... The curve of her body... The light reflected in her eyes... Miért vagyok ilyen... Miért... (Why am I like this... Why...) My heart-rate continues to climb as we go through the photos. More and more. To the point where I think I'll need a defibrillator if we don't stop soon. This is going to be a long year...
|-That same evening. Latitude Talent Studios, 545 8th Avenue, Manhattan, New York-|
"These are all good. Supremely good, but we can only use four of them if we decide to go through with this." Randy says, looking over the photos from earlier in the day. The photos from the first shoot are going to be used in a magazine showing off foreign talent here in the US. But the catch, something we've only learned about tonight, is that we can't use all of them. So we've been looking things over to decide what the best quartet we can use would be. This is... proving to be more difficult than we anticipated. I look down again, and none of the photos I see can really lead us into things. I want that. I want to have a smooth transition. I'm sure Kati would want one was well. And that's when an idea pops into my head.
"We should lead with one of the warm-up shots. Just to set the mood. From there, we can look through the main shots and pick out which works best for our intentions and what this magazine might like." I suggest, wanting to make things as easy as they can be. It seems Randy might be inclined to agree.
"Maybe. That could work. I'll look through those while you look through the main shots. It's your face and body that'll be on the pages, after all." He says as he turns and heads over to his laptop, leaving me with the physical pictures we have. Once again, I find myself enamored with the way Kati has captured my form in a photograph. It's... uncanny. Then, that feeling comes back. I still don't know what to call it. I still don't know why it comes. I still don't know why it is so familiar. And I still don't know why Kati gets this kind of reaction out of me. I'm usually able to figure these kinds of things out with no issue, but this... This has me at a loss. I have only ever felt something like this around a man. So why is another woman making me feel this way? This can't have been the first time this has happened. But right now, I need to focus.
I start looking through the fish-eye shots. The mid-range photos are quite nice, so much that I'll probably choose one of them, but the close-ups... Those are the ones. But I need two. Indecision gnaws at my mind. They are all incredible. It's hard to choose only two. As I try to process which would look best, I hear Randy from behind me.
"Think any would work?" He asks, wanting to pick my brain. I formulate a response. One I hope doesn't give away my internal conflicts.
"It's... hard. The close ups are too good to choose only two." Is what I say, voice somewhat trembling. "Hmm... What about these two?" He points to two photos specifically. The first and last of the close- ups. I think I seeing the same things Randy is. The angle that accentuates my jaw line. How the shadows add to the effect, not detract from it. The glint in my eyes. These are the ones.
I pick up the photos and hand them to Randy alongside the mid-range shot. He seems content, though I can tell there's something behind those green eyes of his. I just don't know what. He then turns and starts towards someone else, presumably with this magazine. Fashionista, I think. But Randy's departure leaves me with my thoughts again. Just what is it about Kati that makes me feel this way? And why? Why is it so familiar? Have I felt this way for a woman before and just don't remember it? If so, why can't I recall? And who was it? I don't think I'll find the answers tonight. Or tomorrow night. Hell, I don't think a month is enough time to process this feeling, whatever it may be. This is something I'll need to work on over the coming year. I just... I just hope that I can weather this storm. Under no circumstance do I want to rush into things without fully knowing what it is that they entail. Not like the last time.
"Just what is it you do to me, Kati? What is it about you that makes me feel this way?" I know sleep won't be easy tonight, but any time to figure things out is time I will gladly take.