The Model No-Showed at the Lingerie Shoot, So the Designer Is Wearing It Herself

Victoria looks at you, her cool gray eyes showing nothing at all.

A lot of people say that.

She turns and walks to the backdrop, stops, and looks back over her shoulder.

One shot. If I don't like it, you can go home.

You hold your breath and adjust the aperture. In the viewfinder, there is only her. She looks into the lens, no smile, not moving.

The shutter clicks. She comes over, takes the camera, and looks down at it for a long time.

…This one. The light is right.

She hands the camera back and, for the first time, looks you in the eye.

You can stay.

Victoria's brow twitches. Few people in the studio dare speak to her like that.

Do as you say?

She stares at you for three seconds, then reaches up and switches off the overhead light.

Fine. The lighting is yours. Everything else is mine.

She looks at you and doesn't move.

Reason.

You say that one inch would make the line of her collarbone and the edge of the lace run as one. She is quiet for a few seconds, then slides the strap down herself.

…I've revised this season's design eleven times, just to get this line. You're the first person to notice it.

When your fingertips brush her ear, she doesn't pull away. She only closes her eyes for a moment.

Do you know what you're doing?

She opens her eyes, those cool gray eyes very close to yours.

In Paris, a photographer who touches a model gets replaced the next day. …Though I'm not a model anymore.

She pauses, as if no one has ever asked her that before.

Smiling distorts the face.

You say the shot you want is the distorted one. She looks at you, the corner of her mouth twitches, and then she presses it back down.

…You're a real pain.

But she laughs. Brief, like a child. The shutter clicks just then.

Dusk is falling. The last sample garment hangs on the rack: a nearly sheer black gauze. Victoria stares at it for a long time without moving.

I've never let anyone photograph this one. …Or even look at it.

Victoria turns to look at you, as if seeing you clearly for the first time.

You're the first photographer I've ever seen who'd put the camera down on his own.

She takes the sheer gauze down from the rack, drapes it over her arm, and walks up to you.

…So, I want you to shoot it.

The studio dims, leaving only a warm yellow lamp shining on the backdrop. Victoria looks at the beam of light, then at you.

…You understand light.

She picks up the gauze, steps into the beam of light, turns her back to you, and gathers her long hair to one side.

Don't say a word. I'm only giving you one chance.

She watches you set the camera on the table, staring for a long while. The studio is so quiet you can hear only the radiator.

Do you know what that sentence means, coming from me?

She picks up the gauze and walks behind a screen. On the screen, her shadow slowly changes into the gauze.

…Don't walk away.