“No, you haven’t told me that. You’ve been so damn busy with your work. And on that, how did your shoot go?”
The waiter interrupts us to take our orders and then I open up to her. “I’m in a rut with my work. It’s gotten to the point I don’t even want to get up in the morning if I’ve got a shoot on. Those models are slowly killing my soul, and I don’t think I want to take on any more fashion jobs.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to tell me this.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, the writing’s been on the wall for awhile now. Sounds like you need a timeout.”
“Well, I’ve got my three months off, so I’m going to spend some time really thinking about it.”
She nods. “Good. I can’t wait to see what you come up with. What’s Darla going to do?”
“She’s travelling Europe for a couple of months, and then I guess we’ll see where we’re at. She hurt her ankle while we were away, so she’s decided to stay with her family in Sydney for a week or so because she’s struggling to walk on it.”
“Shit. I hope it gets better before she leaves for Europe.”
“You and me both. Now, tell me what you’ve been up to,” I say.
Erin’s an accountant and she fills me in on her work and also updates me as to which guys she’s currently dating. She always dates more than one guy at a time and is so damn fussy I’m worried she’ll grow old alone.
Our food arrives and we laugh about her sexcapades while we eat. Hanging out with Erin is like coming home, and by the end of our lunch date, my soul feels happier. As we’re walking out of the café saying our goodbyes, my phone rings.
“It’s Michael,” I say. “I’d better get it or he’ll just keep calling.” Michael’s my agent and has a tendency to forget people have lives outside of work.
She gives me a hug goodbye. “Keep me updated about Jett,” she orders, and I nod.
As she walks away, I answer my phone. “What’s up, Michael?”
“Presley, I’ve got a job for you tonight.”
“No, I told you no more jobs for three months, and I meant it.”
“I know, but this isn’t a fashion job, so I thought it might be a foot in the door to something new.”
My interest is piqued. “What is it?”
“Concert photography.”
“Michael, I know nothing about concert fucking photography.”
“You underestimate yourself, darlin’. And besides, they’ve asked for you in particular.”
“What the hell?”
He ignores me as he usually does. “So, you up for it? Can I tell them yes?”
He’s right; a foot in the door is what I need. And besides, doing this job will tell me if this might be something I’m interested in. “Sure, book me in.”
“Thank fuck ‘cause I already told them yes. They’re sending a car for you at five.”
“Jesus, why so early? Is this a kid’s concert?”
“No, not a kid’s concert. Not sure why they want you there so early, but they’re paying you good money for this, so just run with it.”
“Okay,” I say absentmindedly because I’m still wondering why the hell someone would request me for this job.
“Gotta go, babe. Talk to you tomorrow.” He hangs up and I realise I never asked him who the band was. Guess I’ll have to wait to find out.