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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When Milo saw her, she saw him smirk. Silently, to himself, before turning back to look at the camera.
Did he think this was funny? She thought to herself, as she hesitantly hit the mark in front of the shooting paper.
She suddenly felt cold, and wished she could get some of her confidence back.
After a few shots, Milo put down the camera again and looked at her directly.
"Is something wrong, Isabelle?" Milo asked her with a feign of concern.
Isabelle. Her name in his mouth.
"No, no. I just...feel a little cold." She had to stop herself. Form saying what was on her mind, surprising her own self with how brazen she could be around him. Like he simultaneously gave her courage and fear. A fearless fear. The courage to speak her truth, while secretly wanting to elect some sort of reaction. And its that reaction that she was waiting for, even if she was scared of it.
"I've got just the thing," Mile walked behind the photo paper and pulled out, lugging in front of him, something that looked like a street lamp but was - as he referred to it - a "heating lamp".
Isabelle smiled to herself. "This reminds me of Paris." She said, staring to feel better as he turned it on. Thinking that the cold was more psychological than physical, but either way she started to relax.
He reached up and forward to switch it on, and for a moment his chest was so close to hers, a silver necklace dangling in front of her. She looked up at him like a child at a playground would look at a big slide, deciding whether to risk it or not,
He caught her gaze but only for a moment, then she felt him hold it as she turned away.
"Ok, now," Milo said stepping back, " think of your favourite place. I want to see it in your eyes." Milo was now speaking to her, looking through the camera.
She scanned her mind, but the first thing that came to her was a cafe she used to frequent when she lived in Paris for a few months. When her success was picking up but she was still relatively new to the industry. It was called, funny enough, La Favorite and she would sit on that patio on that beautiful street, sipping cafe lattes, espressos, clear sparkling water and smoke (bad, she knew it, but all the models did it). The first time she smoked a whole cigarette there, she felt so sick she had to retreat to the bathroom and steady herself. But soon she became a regular, and even though she cut down on the cigarettes - sticking to only her favourite celebratory occasions, she would sit there and write. Little things, thoughts, poems, notes. She loved the feeling of the atmosphere, and it was that sort of Parisian magic that is so hard to recreate. Out of all the grey, miserable parts of Paris, there was one that was clearly so full of light. She loved it.
"That's great," Milo interrupted her revelry, but she realized that it was already working and she smiled to herself.
"You're good," Isabelle smiled, half to herself half to him.
"That's why they pay me the big bucks," he said through the camera.
And Isabelle realized he probably wasn't joking at all. She looked around the apartment/studio, and thought that likely a lot of this fashion fortune that they all talk about was capitalized my this man.
She almost forgot the situation - being that here she was being photographed in a moment of vulnerability by this great photographer.
As if reading her mind, Milos swiftly said "don't be afraid to be vulnerable," he then put down the camera and looked at her again. "You know that's my specialty," coming up to her, "capturing vulnerability."
Isabelle got nervous again, but tried her best to push it our of her mind. You can do this, she thought to herself, this is not your first job
"Those are the best photos," he put his camera down on the side table, and came closer to him, "there's no point in doing this if you can't capture truth."
"Truth?" Isabelle asked, suddenly feeling that he could see right through her.
"Truth." Milo came up close enough to touch, and brought out his hand as if to fix her hair, but then pulled back. "Can I touch you?" He asked, quieter now.
Isabelle kept her gaze steady on him, nodding.
He reached out and completed what it was that he was trying to achieve, fixing her hair by pulling a few strands in front of her face, some pushing gently behind her ear.
"There," he said.
They worked until the light started to fade. The sun was setting early in the winter months, and it only took a few change of 'looks' until it started to set.
Milo looked at his watch, and Isabelle knew that hours have passed, but she didn't feel tired. And she could see he wasn't either.
"I think...that's enough for now," Milo said, scrolling through they mages on his camera.
For now? Was there going to be more? She couldn't help but wonder? She hoped so. But seeing that the session was coming to an end, she all of a sudden felt a voice within her, pushing her.
"I'm not tired, are you?" Isabelle asked, shocking them both with her boldness.
His eyes crinkled and he grazed his stubble with his fingertips.
"What are you suggesting?" Milo asked her, and Isabelle thought that maybe there was hope here.
"Well, you've already seen me in various forms of underwear," Isabelle waved at her body, opening up the sheet surrounding her for a moment, "maybe we could have a drink?"
She knew it was ballsy but something made her want it more than she was scared of it.
"I suppose, one wouldn't hurt." Milo turned around, and as he was walking out of the studio, "once you get dressed, join me at the living room."
His voice trailed behind him and echoed, bouncing off the lift walls.
