I Saw Her Standing There ➵ Kit Connor

6 | Dance With Another

"Well, this certainly did come as a surprise," Susan Specks said, flipping through a portfolio of pictures. "I don't remember this concept being pitched to me."

The offices of the Brooklyn Editorial were bustling with a subtle excitement, nobody at their desk for longer than five minutes at a time. People were chatting in every corner, rushing about papers, and taking phone calls left and right. Even with Susan's door closed, I could see the chaos from behind the window blinds. [y/n] herself was somewhere on the second floor, locked inside a darkroom as she processed the remainder of her camera's film.

The "best takes" of the photoshoot were in Susan Specks hands, flipping between each other as she surveyed them. While I hadn't seen them in full yet, I'd gotten a sense of what they were—candid, unposed pictures of myself. The idea was different from anything an editorial was used to seeing. Photos of such nature should belong in a scrapbook or on someone's mantelpiece.

But somehow, [y/n] made them work.

"I like this one," Susan said, holding up a frame of me nearly getting pummelled by a bicycle. "Might be a little too reckless for the public's tastes, though."

I smiled. "She called that one a test shot."

"Did she?"

"She called all of them that, actually."

Susan mumbled something to herself, setting the portfolio down in front of her. I found myself nervously waiting her response. While the pictures themselves were good, Susan was a businesswoman. She saw numbers in places we saw portraits. She also saw profit. And while the concept of having a more "natural" editorial was unique, it was a risk.

"Scandalous or not, the Brooklyn Editorial isn't going to have a problem selling copies," she said, clasping her hands together. "I just want to make sure this is what you want."

I furrowed my brows. "What do you mean?"

"Be honest, Mr. Connor. These photos aren't on the same standard as that of Vogue. They lack the professionalism of a Hollywood star's photoshoot. They risk being 'too natural' and 'lacking effort', and to be honest, you aren't looking into the camera for any of them."

"You think it's a bad idea?"

"No, no," she said, clearing her throat. "I just need you to understand the risk."

"Ah."

"If you want to jumpstart your career here in America, is this the image you want introduced to the nation?"

She placed her fingers on top of the portfolio, spinning it around to face me. There, on top of the pile of photographs, a single picture caught my eye. I was sitting on the cliff, my expression joyful, and my gaze shifted to the right of the lens. I remembered the moment it was taken. I'd decided [y/n] reminded me of New York in the Fall. The smile on my face was soft, but matched the shine in my eyes. I looked happy; I looked entranced.

Maybe it wasn't the standard for photos in the country, but there was a realness to the image that made me swell with curiosity. It sparked a thousand questions: why was I smiling? What was I wearing? Who was I staring at? And while I knew the answer was her, I couldn't remember what I was thinking.

"Yeah, you're right," I said. "It's unconventional."

"It is."

There was only one answer to the question of if the photos were a good idea, and what I said next could alter the course of my life completely. If I took the risk and it backfired, I'd be three steps back from my dreams. If it worked out, I'd be three steps closer. This was my one chance to show Hollywood who I was and I couldn't screw it up.