Free Dark Frame by Iris Blaire Page A

as I set my phone down, the iPad chimes. No rest for the weary.
    This time, the message is from Elizabeth. Please tell your team that dinner will be ready in one hour.
    I send a mass text letting everyone know, wondering if I can get a quick nap in before dinner is ready. I kick off my shoes and rest my head on my huge plush pillow, my eyes losing focus until my vision suddenly snaps back again.
    I’m staring at a painting.
    Not a family portrait, either, or some cute painting of a pond and ducks. Nothing that you’d normally assume would be in an old manor from the 19 th century.
    I hop out of bed and whip out my phone again, snapping a photo of the portrait and sending it to Evan. Here’s a taste of how nuts this place is .
    The portrait is of a young woman in an elegant ball gown. Her hair is wild, and the ball gown is pulled down so that her voluptuous breasts are spilling out. She sits on a wooden chair with a dress hiked up to her hips, a man in trousers and suspenders—probably a peasants uniform at the time—with his head between her legs. The woman looks like she’s mid-orgasm.
    Evan: What the actual fuck.
    Me: Inorite?
    Evan: I have GOT to get myself over there.
    Me: Yes. STAT.
    I have a really strong feeling that this isn’t going to be the weirdest picture I find in the manor.
     
    ^^^^^
     
    I’ve never had a dinner in my life like the one I am having tonight.
    First of all, there are name tags by everyone’s plate. I’m pretty sure the only time I’ve ever had an assigned seat was at a crappy wedding when the bride and groom wanted everyone to have no fun and forced us to sit next to total strangers.
    Secondly, all of us are drinking from crystal goblets and fine china. I don’t know WHOSE crystal goblets and fine china—if they’ve been purchased for us by AA, rented from the catering company, or property of the Manor itself (the latter would be creepy). There are two turkeys, piles of rosemary potatoes, and vegetable platters. There are also skinny versions, from vegan options to gluten-free options. Catering for models must be such a pain in the ass.
    We’re all sitting down and halfway through our delectable meal when Evan enters the dining hall.
    The room, like it is fine tuned to dramatics, drops silent, and Evan says, “What is this? Are we at fucking Hogwarts or something?”
    Suddenly, all of the awkward tension has evaporated. Some of the guys give Evan a standing ovation (including Jaime. Of course he would). And Evan smiles sweetly, strutting to my end of the table. She wears a long-sleeved, loose dress that drops to her thigh. It shimmers black and red in the light of the candles.
    She takes a seat next to me, and I mutter, “You just had to make an entrance, didn’t you?”
    “ Duh,” she replies. “Ok, I’m about to eat a horse. Point me to the vegan shit.”
     
    Half-way through dinner, one of the staff members hands everyone at the table a schedule for tomorrow. The AA assistants are taking a red-eye tonight and will be in Boston tomorrow morning, and that’s when we’ll start to shoot. Even though I’m completely capable of photographing without them, but whatever.
    “ So we have no idea what the shoots will consist of until tomorrow?” Evan asks.
    I turn the volume all of the way down on the iPad and show Evan the creepy sketch video beneath the table. By the end of it, she’s horrified.
    “ Wrangle your emotions, dude,” I mutter. “People are starting to look at you funny.”
    “ We can’t do that shit! I’m not going to actually fuck anybody!” she hisses.
    “ Take a chill-pill, okay? Hopefully these are concept images and EPE isn’t actually going hardcore.”
    “ And all that weird bondage stuff?”
    “ Evan.” I take her face between my hands and force her to look at me. “I promise you, I am going to do my best to make this shoot as classy as I possibly can… given the circumstances. Think of your student-professor shoots with Dallas. I’ll go