Page 5 of Dirty Like Dylan
“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” I said.
“Right.”
When we’d returned to the area behind the cameras, where the “Video Village” was set up—viewing monitors for Liv and the execs to watch what was being filmed—I lay my backpack down out of the way and dug out my camera. Just as I’d switched out the lenses, Liv’s assistant materialized to whisk my backpack away to one of the offices for me. I fiddled with my exposure settings, making adjustments to match the general light in the room. Photographing the star of the shoot under all those stage lights would be easy enough. But to photograph the crew at work in the shadows, I’d have to combine the available light with a high ISO and hope to capture enough detail without everything turning to mud.
Not the best conditions for photographing people, but I’d worked with worse.
I rejoined my sister after she’d had a few words with her camera crew. Everyone was beginning to look a little restless and put out. I’d checked the time on my phone; we were running over forty-five minutes late, yet there was still no rock star onstage. The drums sat, gleaming and untouched, waiting. And it was easy enough to figure out what was going on here.
The big rock star was making everyone wait for him.
Because he was that special, and really, there was nothing the rest of us could do about it. We were, after all, just regular mortals.
“So,” I asked Liv, “any ridiculous rules I should know here?” I didn’t even want to know, but I had to ask. I’d been on enough of my sister’s film sets to know you always had to ask. Because no one ever told you the unspoken rules unless you asked. “You know, anyone I’m not supposed to photograph? Anyone to avoid eye contact with? Anyone I’m expected to address as Your Highness?”
My sister scoffed. “You can call me Your Highness if you really want to.” Then her shrewd eyes narrowed at me from behind her glasses. “Just don’t give anyone attitude, okay?”
“Me?” I balked, like I was shocked at the suggestion.
“Yes,” she said dryly. “You, Amber.”
“It’s not always me, Liv,” I informed her.
“Right…”
“Remember that made-for-TV movie I helped you out on?”
She frowned, which I took to be a yes.
“You know the one. I did that promo shoot with Mr. Action-Hero-of-Yesterday, and only ‘attractive’ women were allowed to be on his set, but we weren’t allowed to speak to him?”
“The way I remember it,” my sister said, “you weren’t allowed to speak to him because you were rude the first time you met him. He was there to do a job and so were you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You were lucky you weren’t fired.”
“Right. Lucky me.”
“You know,” she informed me, her eyes narrowing further, “you really bring it on yourself with that chip on your shoulder.”
“Sure I do. How about that skincare campaign, starring Ms. Aging-Pop-Star, who did have me fired, for being ‘too pretty’? I guess I brought that on myself by showing up with a face?”
“Amber…”
“You know the rules at these shoots are fucking ridiculous.” I added in a grumble, “And the hot guys are the worst ones.”
My sister arched an eyebrow at me. “Maybe they say the same thing about stuck-up hippie chicks.”
“Whatever.” I let her words roll off, however accurate—though mean—they might be. I wound my camera strap around my wrist. “I’m just doing it for the money, right?”
Why deny it? We both knew why I was here: to make money so I could go traveling again. I only ever came home when I ran out of money. Quickest way to make more money was to whore myself out to my sister. She knew as much.
But in the end, since getting paid was all that really mattered to me here, and she had hired me, I should be grateful to her. Plus, I did actually harbor a teeny, tiny desire to please her, in some minuscule little closet somewhere in the back of my heart that I’d never tell her about. So I forced out, “What I mean to say is, thank you for hiring me.”
Liv just rolled her eyes. “The rules are fucking simple. Just do as you’re told and keep your mouth shut. There won’t be any drama.”
“Gotcha.”