Fireside by Susan Wiggs (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

Cal Shattuck? He was driving a meat truck in the off-season, and then they ran that iconic shot of him on the cover of Vanity Fair, and the next day, he was a star.”

“I’ve seen that shot,” Daisy said. “He was buck naked.”

“The grapes were strategically placed,” Chantal said.

“Yeah, don’t get any ideas,” Bo said.

“As if.” Daisy shuddered. “Ew.” Because of his connection with Noah, she had always regarded him as someone not of her generation. An older guy, one of her stepdad’s friends.

At long last, Daisy declared it showtime. He quickly found out that posing for photographs was not for sissies. In fact, it amazed him that something so simple could be so much fuss and bother. You looked at a player on a baseball card or roster sheet and you never thought about the work that went into the shot. Models who did this for a living were nuts.

Everybody worked nonstop. They turned him every which way but loose, posing him like a double-jointed action figure. He was on the stool, off the stool. He was holding a bat, then a ball and mitt. Cap on, cap off. Then they tried some creative artsy stuff—Bo playing his bass. Brooding out the window at the snowy woods as though willing spring to come. Every time they paused to review the shots on the laptop, he stood back, discomfited by the dozens of images.

“These are not quite right,” Kim said.

“Come on, I look good.”

“She’s right,” Daisy said. “These are okay, but we can do better.”

“You look…stiff,” Kim said.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“You look scared of the camera, see? You look like someone who’s having his picture taken.”

“Okay, so I’m supposed to look like some guy who just happens to be sitting here?”

“Exactly. The best shot makes me forget it’s a set-up.”

“Here we go.” Daisy advanced to some other frames. “You’re better when you have the gear in your hands. Still not quite right, but better.”

“There, that one’s my favorite so far.” Kim indicated a shot of him with his electric bass. “See how natural you look?”

Not really, but he nodded his head.

“This is good because you’re a left-handed pitcher and the focus here is on your left hand. And you’ve got a look of concentration on your face.”

“Some models get into their role by telling themselves stories in their heads,” Daisy suggested. “It’s a subtle thing, but it adds dimension.”

They went back to work, and he tried telling himself a story. However, with Kim standing there, checking him out the whole time, the only story he could tell himself was X-rated. In his story, she was wearing leather and lace, and not very much of either. In his story, he held her pushed against a wall and did it fast and hard, and later, he laid her down on a cloud-soft mattress and made love to her so slowly and so tenderly that she wept.

“Oh,” she said, moistening her lips. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled softly. “I’m telling a story in my head.”

“Keep doing that,” she said. “It’s working. You’re taking me somewhere else, and it makes me want to come with you.”

“In that case, the story’s got a happy ending.”

After a while, they exhausted all the props, including his twin amps, the wind machine and even articles of clothing, like his Under Armour shirt and spike-soled shoes. Daisy looked out the window. “There’s a little bit of sun, but it’s fading fast,” she said. “I’d like to get a series of exterior shots. We’ve got to work quickly.”

A glare from Kim convinced him not to bellyache about the cold. Daisy explained that the “golden hour,” the deep amber of the lowering sun, was a gift this time of year. In winter, the sun didn’t like to show itself, but when it did, the light was strong and intense, creating a natural drama everywhere the camera pointed.

“I love this idea,” said Kim, bundling into her parka.

“The key is going to be for you to look totally cool but not cold,” Daisy explained. She did a series of shots in front of the lake, saying she wanted him to look like he was dreaming of summer in the dead of winter.

“I’m dying here,” he said, steeling himself to keep from shivering. “I am flat-lining.”

“You look great,” Daisy objected. “Let’s hurry before your nose turns red. Let’s go over here.”

Despite the cold, Bo knew it was a one-of-a-kind backdrop. Meerskill Falls was a cascade that started high in the secret reaches of the hills and spilled down a steep gorge spanned by a footbridge. In winter, it turned into a wall of ice so thick and layered that it seemed to conceal a different world within its depths.

“This is genius, guys,” said Zach, holding a reflector on Bo as he strode along in front of the frozen falls.

“Try it with these shades.” Chantal tossed him a pair of sunglasses.

“We’ve only got a few more minutes of sunlight,” Daisy said. “Knock yourself out. Do whatever you like.”

“That would be running for the fire to thaw myself out.”

“Baby,” Kim teased.

He scooped up a snowball and lobbed a line drive at her.

“Hey!” She threw one back and he fielded it with ridiculous ease, his mitt so soft he barely broke it.

“You don’t want to get in a snowball fight with me,” he said.

“Ha. You don’t scare me.”

He packed a snowball, gave it a fine windup and pitched it straight at her. The ball exploded against her shoulder, right where he’d aimed it.

Her laughter taunted him to keep up the attack. She looked like a supermodel herself, laughing and completely in her element in the snow. She was the one who should be in pictures, not him.

As the late golden sunlight slanted across the snow, Daisy declared a wrap. “And guess what, the best shots of the day are going to be the ones I just took. It’s so often the case that the best come last.”

That was probably because