A Week With Ray Summers

Six

 “How do I look?” Ray wanted to know.

 Beautiful I wanted to tell her. I would have done if I knew her better, but I didn’t want to freak her out.  She was stood with the magazine’s stylist, Gwen Nelson, wearing a crisp white shirt that cropped just above her belly button, and navy trousers from Burberry that hugged the curves of her body. Her shoes were simple white heels, and she wore no jewellery, but her face had been painted beautifully by Ray herself, with her blue eyes rimmed by smoky eye shadow and two gems in the corner of each of her eyes. Her lips were, of course, her signature purple, and her hair was styled lazily into a fluffy bouffant.

 “Great,” I told her “One outfit down, four to go. This could be a long day.”

 “Nah,” Ray said “I like it. It’s like playing dress up or something.”

 I smiled “So. Where do you feel comfortable shooting? I thought a few photos with Barnaby would be sweet…”

 “Actually, there’s a room I didn’t show you yesterday…I think you’ll like it. Come on.”

 I thanked Gwen for her work, and she began organising the next outfit for Ray as the pair of us headed upstairs. I felt a surge of excitement as we headed back into the library, before remembering that Ray had said I hadn’t been in the room before. She headed to the far end of the room to a door I hadn’t noticed before and opened it. I followed her inside, intrigued.

 The room was painted white, and the floor was a simple wood like the landing, but the walls were covered in writing. Song lyrics, I realised. It was a work of art. Some of the lyrics formed pictures, like flowers and birds. Ray held her arms out with gusto.

 “Tadaa!” she said. I grinned.

 “This is perfect!” I said “But I still say we should get some photos with Barnaby.”

 “Too right. He’s always wanted to be a model. He craves fame and fortune,” Ray said, leaning against the wall. I smiled “So you want to take photos here? Now?”

 “Yeah. I just need to get the camera set up,” I said. “Wait here.”

 I called my assistant photographer, Ellie Atkins, to bring the rest of the equipment. She turned up around fifteen minutes later. She was dressed to impress, as she always was when she met a new celebrity. She had baby blue hair at the time, down to her waist, and that day she was wearing leather shorts and a white crop top. It was the sort outfit no one could get away with unless they were a celebrity or a hooker, but she looked annoyingly great. She always did. Plus she was irritatingly charming. The moment she arrived, she dumped all the equipment on me and started chatting with Ray, who surprisingly, didn’t bite her head off. It was kind of annoying, actually. I didn’t like the way I had to work to gain Ray’s friendship, whereas Ellie simply tossed her hair and starting talking like they were best friends. I let out a sigh of frustration as I tried to set up the lights.

 “A little help here, Ellie? How about you work for your pay for once?” I said irritably. Ellie and Ray both giggled.

 “Alright, alright,” she said, fixing the light for me, before heading to her car to get the other one. Ray was staring at me, but I ignored her, pretending to fiddle with the tripod for my camera.

 “What was that about?” Ray said, arms folded. I shook my head.

 “She just never pulls her weight,” I mumbled “I’m sick of having to do her job for her.”

 “Well, she’s clearly a bit of an airhead…”

 I snorted “What?”

 “You heard me. She’s not exactly blessed in the brain department. And she was showing me some of the photography on her phone. Yours is much better. All the stuff in the magazine? You shoot that, right? She’s only there to assist you.”