Red. Erica Spindler

school, he’d grocery shopped and run errands for the old ladies in the apartments around his and his mother’s. At night, he’d bussed tables and done dishes at the Italian restaurant on the corner. At shoots, he’d done the gofer work everyone else hated. He now owned a used Nikon F2 with a motor drive and two lenses.

      Jack ran his fingers lovingly over the camera’s black metal body, over its levers and buttons. His camera. His first piece of professional equipment, the first of many. He would need a medium-format camera soon, more lenses, tripods, lights, umbrellas and darkroom supplies; he would need a place to work.

      But the 35mm was a good place to start, it gave him flexibility and mobility. It was the single piece of equipment that Giovanni used more than any other.

      Jack frowned and set the camera back on the shelf above his desk. Since that day eight years before, he’d only seen The Great One a handful of times. His mother had stopped bringing him to Giovanni’s shoots. She’d claimed it was her own choice and had nothing to do with the photographer, but Jack thought otherwise. He believed Giovanni had asked her to keep him away. As if by keeping him out of sight, he could deny his existence.

      Whenever Jack thought about it, his determination, and his anger, grew.

      As did his curiosity about his half brother. He wondered about him: what he was doing, what he looked like, if they would like each other if they ever met. He never allowed himself the foolishness of imagining them as friends, as real brothers; facing his father had taught him a powerful lesson about caring too much and about opening himself for rejection. He had promised himself he would never be so naive again.

      But he wondered about Carlo, anyway. He looked for him. For some mention of him, for a picture. His mother, an avid face-watcher, took all the fashion magazines, took glossies like Vanity Fair and Lears, took commercial pulp like People. He scoured them all.

      Finally, he had found a mention in People’s Passages section. Carlo’s mother, a former model, after having been involved in a tragic, disfiguring car crash, had committed suicide. The blurb mentioned her husband, fashion photographer great Giovanni, and their son Carlo.

      Jack slid open the magazine and stared at the blurb and accompanying photograph, eyebrows drawn together in thought. She’d been beautiful, Carlo’s mother. Now she was dead. Did that mean Carlo would come to live with Giovanni? Had he already? The magazine was many months old, the news could have been dated already by the time the magazine had gone to press.

      From the other room, Jack heard the sounds of his mother moving around, getting ready for work. It was early, not quite six, but she had a shoot with Giovanni today, a big editorial spread for Vogue, and support staff had to be on location and working hours before the shoot actually began.

      She would know about Carlo.

      He stood, tucked the magazine under his arm and sauntered to the other room. His mother stood in front of her bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. He cocked his head, considering his mother. Tall and curvaceous with flyaway sandy-colored hair, a scattering of freckles and a fondness for offbeat clothes, his mother looked part tomboy and part bohemian bombshell.

      He stopped in the doorway and smiled at her. “Hey, Mom.”

      “Hey to you.” She looked at him, and her eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’re up and dressed early.”

      “You know how excited I get about school.”

      She made a face at his sarcasm. “If you put a little effort into it, you might enjoy it.”

      “I don’t have anything in common with all those kids. They’re like babies.” He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans. “Big job today?”

      “Mmm. Giovanni has eight models booked. It’s going to be tough wrapping the shoot in one day.”

      “I’d like to come. I could help out.”

      She frowned and dropped her lipstick into the small zipper bag she took everywhere. She met his gaze in the glass, then looked away. “You have school.”

      “So? I’ve missed before.”

      “You’re in high school now. It’s different. The stakes are higher.”

      “I get okay grades. I hold my own.”

      “You’re very bright, Jack. And I’m proud of what you’ve done.” She zipped the bag. “My answer is still no.”

      “I can’t go because Giovanni doesn’t want me around.” He folded his arms across his chest. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

      She sucked in a sharp breath. “We’ve been through this before, Jack. Your not coming has had nothing to do with Giovanni. It’s been my decision.”

      “Is his precious Carlo going to be there? Is that why he doesn’t want me around?”

      She made a sound of surprise. “What do you know about Carlo?”

      He handed her the magazine, opened to the blurb. She read it and met his eyes. “I see you know the basics.”

      Jack cocked his chin. “Is he living with his dear, devoted daddy? Is that why I’ve been shut out of all the great man’s shoots? Giovanni doesn’t want his legitimate son dirtied by contact with his illegitimate one, right?”

      He said the last with a sneer, and his mother’s features tightened with anger. “You know better than that, Jack. I don’t want you there because I don’t think it’s good for you. And yes, Carlo is living with his father. He’s been on location with us.”

      “I want to get a look at him. That’s all.” Jack made a sound of frustration. “He’s my half brother, I don’t see why wanting that is so wrong.”

      She crossed to him. Even though she was tall and he was only sixteen, she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “I don’t think it’s good for you to be around Giovanni or Carlo.”

      “Why?”

      She touched his cheek lightly then sighing, dropped her hand. “Isn’t it obvious? Giovanni hurt you. The situation is hurtful. I love you, Jack. I don’t want you hurt more than you already have been.”

      “I can handle it,” he said, curving his fingers into fists. “I’m not a baby, after all. I’m not eight anymore. I won’t cry, for Pete’s sake.”

      She said nothing. He saw sympathy in her eyes, and he hated it. He turned away from her and crossed to the window. He stared out at the street for a moment before turning back to her, frustrated. “I want to go. I love going on location. Those people are my friends. I belong there.”

      She shook her head. “Not this time. I’m sorry. Maybe another.”

      “Mom, I—” He bit the words back, angry with her, furious that Carlo would be there, and he was being excluded. “You say you’re doing this to protect me, it feels like you’re punishing me.”

      “Oh, Jack. That’s the last thing I want you to feel.” She went to stand beside him, and laid a hand on his arm. “I don’t think it’s healthy for you to be around Giovanni or Carlo. Try to understand, I’m your mother and I have to do what I think is best for you.”

      “Well, you’re wrong. It’s not what’s best.” He shook off her hand, knowing it would hurt her. “It’s unfair. And it stinks.”

      “I’m sorry, Jack, but I’ve made my decision.”

      “Thanks, Mom.” He swung away from her. “Thanks a lot.”

      Jack went to school, but he didn’t stay. He wanted to get a look at his brother. He wanted to meet him. He decided, despite what his mother wanted or thought, that was exactly what he was going to do.

      The shoot was being held at Giovanni’s studio; Jack had been there at least a hundred times before. Giovanni preferred studio work, he preferred sharp, controlled lighting and minimal