When up-and-coming model Isabelle meets talented but jaded photographer Milo, sparks fly despite their age difference. Their romance becomes the talk of the New York City fashion scene, fueling rumors and speculation about their scandalous affair. A...
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This casting was like any other. Except that something felt...different. She felt it as soon as she climbed the steep stairs of the brownstone that the shoot was taking place. The hallways was already filled with models, and it took her some time to figure out where to check in, but finally spotted the harrowed woman with the clipboard, lining names and highlighting and scratching out.
"Hi, I'm Isabelle. Isabelle Duncan," she reached her hand to the woman who quickly took it - giving her the stereotypical female handshake which was more like a hand grab and release.
"Lorraine," the woman with the clipboard replied absentmindedly. Then scanning with her eyes, she found Isabelle's name, and put a checkmark next to it. "Got you. Take a seat, we got a full house today, but you should be going in soon."
Isabelle wondered if she was late, and checking the thin wrist watch on her hand, she didn't think so but as the day went on she always seemed to get a little lost. Usually, these wait times are long, so she was surprised as to why Lorraine thought this was going to be a quick wait.
Isabelle looked around her, and noticed that most of the girls were wearing the same thing - white t-shirt, black beans, minimal makeup. Scanning the room, she found an open bench against the wall, and sat down for what felt like was the first time that day. Leaning her head against the wall, she closed her eyes, trying to dim out the din around her, and meditate.
But it wasn't long before she got called in. But not only her, all the girls. This was going to be a ... group casting.
"Okay, girls, listen up!" Lorraine was speaking to them all, standing on a chair. "The way its going to go, is you're all going to enter the studio, in a single line, and then we're all going to face the photographer. One by one, you're going to say your name, and he's going to take a few pictures before moving on to the next girl. Then you'll all go back in here, and I'll post the callbacks for the girls we're going to want to see separately. If your name isn't on the list, you're free to go home. Got it?"
Isabelle looked around, and she felt a little nervous. This was more like a cattle call than a casting call, but she quickly brushed all her fears and doubts aside. She had no time to be scared, as the line started forming around her, and all of a sudden she was one of the last ones in line.
Once they all shuffled into the bright studio, it took some time for her eyes to adjust. The room was spacious, a loft type with lots of windows looking out the second storey vista. But there were a few people....photographer, make up artist, stylists and all the lights were facing them, creating a blinding stage light effect.
There was lots of shuffling around, but the idea was that the photographer was moving from one girl, one at a time, taking an initial photograph - a test polaroid on each - barely taking the time to look at it.
Snap, move, snap, move.
She once read that you're never supposed to look into the camera with a blank mind - always have some sort of thought behind your eyes - it will create an interesting effect. Make her stand out, and she found that if anything, this was a place she'd have to stand out.
She looked down at the floor, gathering herself, reminding her to breathe to calm down the faint butterflies in her stomach, thinking of something to project in her eyes.
She looked up just in time, for the photographer - a vague shape before this moment - snapped the photo.
The flash didn't take her by surprise, but it was the moment after.
When he pulled back the camera, and their eyes met, and Isabelle felt something inexplainable. Like in a split second she understood everything there was - him , her, - and just as quick she lost it.
His expression was equally stunned for the briefest moment, he paused and after breaking eye contact, pulled back his camera to look into the shot. He furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, and then kept going.
Did I bomb it? She thought to herself, she wasn't sure what it was - and she didn't want to think too deep into it.
She kept her gaze on him, albeit casually, and he didn't look at her again. But she observed him. He was older than her, but younger then the usual mill of the run photographer - especially at his status. He had curly hair, a mess of blonde and brown, and a light stubble on his beard. He was almost like an off duty model himself, but then again, this whole industry was filled with such creatives.
But it was something in his eyes, deeply unsettling turquoise, and the cheekbones that made it seem like he was from a faraway land and yet all at once All-American.
It was only when the finished the line of photography that he glanced back at Isabelle for a moment, but any sign of recognition was gone and he was back to his stoic demeanour.
He came up to a woman on set and whispered something in her ear, then went to the back of the studio where the assistants were, to go check on something.
The woman - the same one from earlier doing the check in - came to the centre of the room.
"Thank you girls, that will be all for today. As usual, you'll be notified of any callback tomorrow. Thank you for your time." She put her manicured hands together, and then casually waved towards the door.
Isabelle was angry, she felt that she had wasted her time to go to yet another meaningless casting. If at first she was intrigued, she seemed disappointed now.
She grabbed her bags quickly, and was the first out of the door, hoping to make a scene if anything. She knew she probably wouldn't get this job anyway.
She took the rest of the day off, and went to drink an iced coffee, sat on a bench in Central Park she thought about how funny it was that she never took the time in her day to be still. But without wanting to look too vacant, she got up and took the train back to Brooklyn. Managing to carry her bones back to the apartment.
