ONE TO WATCH

DELYAN: LAKE COMO SHOOT

After tracking down the crew for his shoot, Delyan leaned against the cool steel of the minibus that would take them to Lake Como. Two women in suits were engaged in a frenzied conversation while a young man loaded equipment onto the bus. The photographer was running late. Delyan noticed two teenage girls in short shorts and boots crossing the street towards them. One of them caught his eye and blushed. He felt awkward.

Why couldn't he look at a girl without getting a reaction?

He blamed his appearance: dark hair, high cheekbones, full lips—a veritable cliché. Without this face, he might have had a normal life.

The young man joined him. "Pretty, aren't they?"

Delyan sighed. "I see a lot of pretty girls."

The young man fell silent. Delyan took a drag from his vape, regretting his dismissive response. They hadn't even started the shoot yet, and his mood was already dark. It must be because his schedule this week was so brutal. Three more shoots were locked in, along with twice as many castings. Not to mention the trip to Paris. The thought of flying in one of those tiny aircraft was enough to make his head spin. He exhaled and climbed into the bus, greeting the driver on the way in. At least his Italian was improving. That was something. His walk was still rubbish—everyone said so—but they wanted him at men's fashion week, which was more than could be said for Nick. With a bit of luck, this season would be a success, and he'd get to do it all again in London and Paris.

What a life!

Delyan was hyper aware of his good fortune in being scouted to model. Second chances weren't something he was familiar with, and it wasn't yet a year since he'd shared a Silverwater jail cell with a bi-polar bloke named Trevor. Though his anxiety was out of control, he'd be damned if he didn't squeeze every inch of worth out of this opportunity. If for nothing else, he'd do it for Vi. She'd pulled out all the stops to make this happen for them and they were twenty grand in the hole because of it. He owed it to her not to fuck it up.

'Scusa! scusa!" The photographer arrived sweating profusely and carrying far too much equipment. He climbed into the bus looking sheepish.

"Scusa sono in ritardo."

The women in suits followed the men into the van and took the front seats. Impatient to get going the driver asked if everyone was onboard.

Delyan observed he was the sole model onboard the bus.

"But...where are all the beautiful people?" The photographer asked bluntly in English. Leaning over the leather seat he tapped Delyan's hand. "As spectacular as you are darling boy, we cannot shoot you alone."

"I believe they're taking their own transport there," said the young man.

"Well...shall we check?" The driver sounded tetchy.

One of the women upfront spoke in a French accent. "They are in luxury vehicles. Allons-y!"

It occurred to Delyan that he'd been left out of the other models' plans. This didn't bother him. He'd always run his own race and preferred it that way. Besides, he was looking forward to the drive. He needed the headspace to prepare for the shoot. He'd be working with some of the most experienced industry professionals and for a top brand. There was a lot to think about.

The trip took just under an hour. They arrived in a village on the edge of the lake, where steep winding paths crossed through pastel-colored houses. The other models were already on location, dressed and ready to go. A stylist handed him a bunch of clothes as he stepped off the bus: fitted gingham pants, burgundy boots, and a white t-shirt with braces. He changed behind a makeshift screen and let the hair and makeup artists flutter around him, primping and preening. The air coming off the water was subzero, and he clung to his own coat. As with all these things, there was a lot of waiting around. It didn't bother him. He found the process of setting up a shoot fascinating. He watched the models extend their necks to find the light, always striving for the lens to see the best in their features. He observed the fashion editor make conversation, while flitting between models and the photographer, bringing the vision for the collection to life. He wanted to learn everything.

First up were the all-female shots, followed by the all-male, and then a final mixed shoot. Delyan noted that the male models seemed more at ease in front of the lens. An act, perhaps, but convincing. He longed for a smoke but knew better than to push his luck. When it was his turn, the photographer never let up with instructions: "Look up. Lean forward. No, no! Not that far. Tilt your body. Yes. Just a slight slant! Now look at me. No, not there! Down the lens. Stare it down. Imagine you're hunting a deer." A long sigh. "Okay. Not like that. Bring your gaze up. Just a touch. That's it. Now leg up. Yes, and elbow on the knee."

Delyan adjusted his pose in line with each instruction, trying not to let any angst show on his face. He was conscious that the photographer was giving him the most direction out of everyone. In the past, he'd received feedback that his face was too stern at times, his features too pointed. His agent had advised him to think of something that made him happy. Casting his mind to Charlie, he felt his facial muscles relax. He hoped he'd get to see her when he got home.

"You're in my frame," one of the male models said.

"Scusa." Delyan moved to the left.

"Hold that!" the photographer shouted. The lens snapped once, twice, three times. "Bellissimo!"

Just when it seemed like they were done for the day, one of the women who'd been watching from the sidelines came over.

"Folks don't get too comfortable," she said. "We wait now. When the sun touches the water, we go again."

No one complained. The models put on their coats and waited patiently—each one a consummate professional. Throughout the afternoon, Delyan felt keenly that he was the outsider. The unknown. Perhaps even a threat?

The models were mostly cordial to him, but he didn't want to hang around during the break. Instead, he took the time to stretch his legs and have a smoke. He thought of Vi. The deep blue lake surrounded by mountains was so picturesque. She'd love it. He made a mental note to hire a car, perhaps even a super car, and bring her here when she arrived from Australia.

It was getting dark by the time the shoot was over, and he was grateful to crawl into the bus. He headed straight to the backseat, pulled his hoodie over his eyes, and napped for an hour straight.