LOVE TO HATE YOU

(NEW) COLLAR BONE ASSAULTER...

The shoot that day was hot and relentless. The scenery was amazing, though, and the shots looked great- even if the photographer kept screaming at the model and saying how 'disguising' everything looked. The photographer, Giovanni was his name, also happened to be Mr. Blue Eye's from breakfast.

As the story went, he was some kind of famous, savant-esque photographer from Milano who was apparently a bit mad, but the best money could buy. The mad thing everyone could vouch for, because no one watching him work would say he was a sane man. He screamed and cursed and gesticulated wildly. He threw himself on the floor, took photos while doing a headstand and was now topless, his shirt tied around his head like Rambo of the photography world. I caught Ben's attention a few times and rolled my eyes in solidarity as I could see he was fighting the urge not to scream at the guy himself.

Our first location was on the Soussvlie, a dry, barren desert- like land. I'd never seen such a strange, alien landscape before. The ground was made up entirely of dry white mud that had cracked in a million different places giving it an uneven surface. The white landscape was punctuated with the remnants of dead trees. They stood out of the ground like lonely black carcasses. In the distance, the bright red sand dunes rose up. And in the middle of it all, a baby -blue sports car that looked so out of place there it was breathtaking.

What also looked really out of place was Cindy, climbing out of the car wearing a short, tight, gold evening dress. Her legs went on for ten miles, and her thimble-like waist attached itself to two of the perkiest, well proportioned breasts I'd ever seen. I knew this, because she also had no shame when it came to changing in and out of clothes. I tried hard not to gag as she pouted and jutted out her collarbones while climbing out of the car in her eight-inch heels.

"What the hell is this?" Giovanni screamed and everyone came to a dead halt. We all looked around to see what he was screaming about in a kind of panicked state. The best thing to do was to keep this guy happy.

"You!" He pointed at Cindy, "Have you lost your car keys? Have you forgotten how to drive? Or worse, have you forgotten the name your mother gave you when she gave birth to you?" he yelled at her and jaws dropped to the floor.

"Sorry?" Cindy blinked at him like a confused little deer.

"Stop looking so confused. And stop looking like you're dehydrated and stop posing."

"Huh?" Cindy looked extra-confused now.

"Like that." He pointed at his face, "You models are all the same. The same, the same the fucking same! Cheekbones, lips, cheekbones, posing, 'where am I, who am I, am I lost'?"

Horror washed over everyone's faces as we looked from Giovanni to Cindy and back again. He growled, ripped the shirt off his head and threw it onto the sand.

"I need to meditate." He walked off set in a dramatic huff leaving everyone to stare after him, except the producer, who's job it was to placate the beast. She ran off after him as if someone has lit a firecracker in her pants.

"I guess, everyone take a break." Ben called out, before walking over to a shell-shocked looking Cindy.

Everyone started dispersing, except me. I stood and watched Ben lay a compassionate hand on Cindy's shoulder. She looked coy and placed her hand over his as he squeezed her shoulder in a commiserative fashion. Or was it a different fashion entirely? A 'meet me in my room later and fuck me' fashion? I moved away quickly before anyone could see the death stare I could now feel involuntarily shooting from my eyeballs.

The day was sweltering hot, and it was not feeling very relaxing. I ducked into the craft tent to get some much-needed shade and a cool drink. I grabbed a cold Coke and just before I'd had a chance to open it, something caught my eye.