Jean took a deep breath and launched up to hug him. They embraced for a long while. Then, she let go of him. With a cry of relief, she plopped backward onto the bed. “I had no idea,” she commented in between her breaths, “about the meaning of zhuren, until today.”
Dirk burst into a pleased laugh and went into the bathroom.
Photo Shoot
MITCH
THE LIGHTS WERE BRIGHT, like in an operating room, but it was a photo shoot for Play Thing, the hottest exotic-modeling magazine on the market. Background and foreground scenery with an Asian motif was moved from place to place in the square, warehouselike room. Technicians were rats racing with cords, lights, and furniture. Camera assistants were setting up cherry pickers and tripods, and checking on film and filters as on a Spielberg set.
It was almost 9:30 a.m. on Friday a week prior to Christmas. Lu Xun, the elderly but brilliant photographer, came into the room, crying in his Chinese accent, “Are we ready on the set?” Randy watched a parade of women moving to the middle of the room from his far right. A willowy female, robed in white, at the center of the procession was directed to a chair. She sat, and the other ladies fussed with her face and hair. “Ladies,” intoned Lu impatiently.
Finished, the ensemble moved to the side out of camera range. The figure on the chair stood and shed her robe. She was average in height, curvaceous, and wore a white bathing suit splattered with purple; the top was held in place with narrow straps and swooped to a point near her navel, exposing the insides of large breasts; a thong bottom bypassed her rounded hips and derriere, revealing sculpted legs. Black hair hung loose to her waist. Her smile was dazzling, like that of a Kewpie doll with bow-shaped, mauve-colored lips.
“Fabulous, Mali, you and that suit were made for my cameras; now move to the Chinese lanterns.” Lu indicated with his left hand and started taking pictures as she sauntered toward the scene.
Randy stood at the back wall; he was writing an article for Still Photo Magazine, and Play Figure management had arranged for him to observe and interview those involved. He was in his late twenties, stood more than six feet tall, had striking facial features, and wore his all-white hair in a neat shoulder-length shag cut. Two silver chains embossed with the yin-yang lay loosely on his hairy chest between the folds of a red, long-sleeved shirt open halfway down his chest. Faded black jeans circled his narrow waist and tucked into dark, ankle-high boots with short, one-inch heels. He stood comfortably near the concrete wall and occasionally wrote a comment in his Mead spiral-bound notebook.
“Fabulous, Mali, you’re a jewel to work with. Now change while the set is rearranged. Remember, people, it may be December but this session is for a summer issue. Give me more light and more motion.”
Mali’s entourage hurried to the dressing room. Randy observed her graceful walk and took additional note of her physical charms; he memorized the details of her body.
&nb
sp; During the change the stage director stopped and asked Randy if he had any questions.
“Who selected the model?”
“Play Figure’s casting department.”
“Who decides what outfits are modeled?”
“Prada, they provide the outfits.”
“Who selected the scenery?”
“Prada. It’s for a special line for the Asian market.”
“Is every shoot as scripted and structured as this?’
“With Lu Xun, yes.”
“Are the photos going to be used for other purposes?’
“Probably, they belong to Prada.”
“When will the layout be completed and will copies be available for my article?”
“Yes, Prada would like the exposure in Still Photo Magazine.”
“Thanks for your cooperation. When can I interview the staff and technicians?”
“Anytime there’s a break and it doesn’t interfere with the shoot.”
Mali and her company returned. She was wearing a sleek, black, one-piece suit with a plunging neckline and another thong bottom. A white bandanna around her forehead set off her ivory complexion and her dark brown eyes; her hair was pulled back in a single strand with three white coils separating it into four equal parts. Lu directed her to a scene of the Great Wall, lights were adjusted, a fan whirled, and Mali posed. Pictures were taken from a variety of positions. The scenery was changed to Shangri-la, the lights dimmed, smoke filtered across the scene like an early morning fog, and Lu, moving with the grace of a bird in flight, directed the poses and filled the room with flashes.
During a break Mali was sitting drinking Gatorade, and staring at the dirty old man who had been lurking, like a barracuda, against the back wall of the studio. However, up close he was not the same, and his effect on her was sexually arousing.
“Mali…Mali…Mali…” Breaking out of her trance, she heard her name. “Mali, I’d like you to met Randy Newsome. He’s a freelance writer working on an article for Still Photo Magazine. He’d like to speak with you,” Jerry said.