A Girl’s Best Friend. Lindsey Kelk

not following,’ I replied. ‘Sorry.’

      ‘You,’ he pointed at me with a thick, unappealing finger, ‘are gash. Mags for you. Gash mags.’

      Agent Veronica had warned me not to mess up this job. Those weren’t her exact words because Agent Veronica loved to swear like most people loved to breathe, so the whole exchange had been a lot more colourful than that but when she told me not to mess up, I just thought she was warning me not to be late or break anything. Dropping a camera seemed as though it would be considerably less damaging to my career than sprinting across the room and stabbing Ess through the heart with a biro.

      ‘Jess, are you with us?’ Ess snapped his fingers in front of my face and pointed at the mark on the floor. ‘I need to check lighting on this shot. You’re tall, well done. Get down on your hands and knees so I can see where to position the daft model tart when she finally shows up.’

      Taking a short, sharp breath in, I reminded myself of how important this job was, of how much I wanted to get somewhere in my career. How this was all vital experience for my very light CV. Besides, what else was I going to do with my Saturday? I only had three episodes of Game of Thrones to watch and then I was completely caught up. After that, I was going to have to put myself into a medically induced coma until the new season started if I didn’t find something else to do.

      ‘Shall I just stay here?’ I asked, kneeling down and holding a hand over my eyes as 7 turned on the blinding studio lights, all aimed directly at my face. ‘Is this good?’

      ‘Look up at me,’ Ess directed, looking through his camera and edging closer to me. ‘Look right into the camera.’

      ‘I can’t really see it for the lights,’ I replied, blinking. ‘Am I looking at you? Can you see me?’

      ‘I can see you just fine, Jess,’ he said. ‘Now bend your elbows down a bit and look up. And stick your arse in the air.’

      When Agent Veronica told me I was going to have to start at the bottom, I didn’t realize that meant I would have to start with my actual backside. Reluctantly, I did as I was told. Making my arse centre of attention went against everything that I was, I was worried that if I kept it up there any longer, planets would be drawn into its orbit.

      ‘God, it’s not easy, is it?’ I said. My arms were already shaking with the effort of holding the pose and the air conditioning whipped around the exposed strip of skin between my shirt and my jeans. Hello builder’s bum, farewell dignity.

      ‘Now open your mouth,’ Ess said, coming ever closer. ‘And stop blinking, look right at the camera like you want to suck it.’

      I jolted backwards, backside crashing to the ground. ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, can’t you be professional for one minute?’ He turned on his heel and threw the camera at a waiting 7. ‘I asked you to hold a pose for one minute and you’re giving me bleeding Naomi Campbell.’

      ‘No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could think better of them. ‘I misunderstood. Where do you want me?’

      ‘On your knees, with your mouth open, waiting for me to come all over your face,’ he replied.

      ‘OK, yeah, sorry, no.’ I leapt to my feet, standing up and hitching my jeans back up over my backside, my face bright red. ‘That is totally not cool.’

      Now I was standing up, and less than three feet away from him, it was clear that I was a good six inches taller than Ess, even in my Nikes. And with the righteous indignation jacking me up another foot, it felt as though I was towering over him.

      ‘You can’t say things like that to people,’ I said. My face was hot and my mouth was dry. ‘It’s not OK.’

      ‘It’s art, Jess,’ he said, hammering a fist into his hand as he spoke, his face even redder than mine. ‘It’s editorial. It’s a method. Didn’t you just say you were a real photographer?’

      ‘I am a real photographer,’ I stated as clear and loud as I could manage, while 7 skittered over to the computer, visibly shaking in his overpriced silver boots. ‘But I’m not going to sit there and let you talk to me like that. It’s horrible.’

      ‘It’s art,’ Ess repeated, not quite as sure of himself. ‘It’s my style. It’s why the magazine hired me and not you. It’s not like I’m really going to jizz all over your chops, is it? I’m just trying to make you look sexy – although clearly I’m fighting a losing battle on that front.’

      ‘It doesn’t feel sexy,’ I replied, flushed and upset. ‘It feels horrible. Why can’t 7 stand in for the lights? He’s exactly the same height as me and he’s probably skinnier. He looks more like a model than I do.’

      Ess and 7 turned to look at each other and burst out laughing. True, hysterical, body-shaking guffaws.

      ‘Oh, Jess, he does, you’re right,’ Ess wiped away an actual tear. ‘That is priceless. I didn’t realize you were funny, I just thought you were shit.’

      ‘Do you think I might be able to set up some of the shots this afternoon?’ I asked. It had to be worth a try. ‘Or shadow you? Rather than, you know, just make the tea?’

      The smile on his face evaporated in an instant.

      ‘Until you’re capable of making a drinkable brew, you’re on tea duty,’ he sniffed. ‘You don’t come within ten feet of my camera until I’ve decided you’re ready. Now go and get the kettle on before the model gets here.’

      I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him he was a complete arsehole who didn’t deserve his job, his assistant or the air that he breathed. But I didn’t. I was broke, I was bunking down with my best mate and I needed the job. So I did what millions of women had done before me: shut my mouth and went to put the kettle on.

      Tea soothed all ills. And failing all else, I could always piss in the teapot. That would probably make me feel a bit better.

      ‘And then he said he was going to jizz …’ I paused for effect while Agent Veronica stared at her laptop. ‘On my face.’

      She looked up for a moment, fag hanging out of the corner of her heavily lipsticked mouth, her glasses hiccupping across her nose as she sniffed before turning her attention back to her computer.

      ‘And?’

      ‘Well, he can’t say things like that to me!’ I exclaimed before squeezing my eyebrows together with concern. ‘Can he?’

      ‘He can say whatever he wants as long as people keep hiring him,’ she replied. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

      ‘Yes,’ I said, dropping my bag on the floor and my arse into a chair. I’d been too incensed to sit until now but her non-reaction had taken the rage right out of me.

      ‘What the fucking fuck is wrong with you?’

      My arms froze in mid-air as I tightened my ponytail.

      ‘What’s wrong with me? Seriously?’

      ‘It’s got to be something,’ Agent Veronica said, stubbing out her cigarette and immediately lighting another. ‘Because I can’t think of a single reason why you’d be in here, complaining to me about working with one of the best fucking photographers in London.’

      ‘Because he said he wanted me to look at him as though he was going to jizz—’ I started.

      ‘Yeah, we covered that,’ Agent Veronica cut me off before I could finish. ‘It doesn’t get funnier the more you say it. Actually, it does, but I digress. What are you complaining about?’

      I was stunned. In my old job, people were sent to HR for as much as showing an ankle to a chimney sweep and we worked in advertising, an industry that saw itself portrayed as a misogynistic, glass-ceilinged nightmare on Mad Men and thought, nope,