The Disastrous Love Lives of the Delaney Family

3.4 Cecil Beaton

The stylist (I didn't bother to remember her name because I have visual blindness so it makes it pointless to learn names if I don't recognise them) has made the executive decision to rearrange the order we were to shoot the pictorial series. 

By my list, the sessions are in this order:

1. The Minimalist Series

2. The Spanish Lady Series

3. The Dripping Diamonds Series

Only, it seems that we are skipping the Spanish Lady Series and jumping straight to the Dripping Diamonds Series, because, according to the stylist, the hairdresser and the makeup artists, it will be easier to turn Bronwen into the 'sexy senorita' of the Spanish Lady editorial than to go from that look back into the sleekness of the Dripping Diamonds look. It was either we change the order of the photographs or we spend hours waiting for them all to re-do Bronwen's hair and makeup. 

I don't care what's easier for them; I only care that the plan that I've been studying all week has been changed and that Tao and I have to re-do the entire studio set up to accommodate this unexpected change. ANd we're still having to wait around, anyway. The security company who were due to bring the jewellery to the studio aren't due for another hour. Once the stylist notified them of the change in place, they promised to get here as soon as possible but their definition of 'soon' and my definition of 'soon' are two different things. 

Which is how I now find myself going stir crazy in the studio. Since the flouncy Tidda people had finished with Bronwen's hair and makeup, and she's changed into the first of many black outfits, everyone is waiting. And talking. Phones are pinging. Tao is hovering. And it's all just... overwhelming. 

But I have nowhere to go. This is my studio, the place where I seek solace. If this is where I run to get peace and quiet, where do I go if this is where all the noise and irritation is? None of my stimming is helping, either. Mimicking guitar riffs isn't helping. Listening to music has become tedious. I don't have a guitar, and I can't take any photos because we don't have anything to photograph for another fifty-eight minutes.

I suppose I could go into the darkroom and develop some photos I took last week. I've been procrastinating because I know the deadline is still a week away but there's no harm in getting a headstart. It would make a change from leaving it until forty-eight hours before the deadline.

"I'm going to the darkroom." I don't announce it to anyone specific. I turn to Tao. "When the jewellery gets here, make sure she's ready to be photographed and then we can work on composition and make sure the softboxes are correctly set up."

Toa nods. 

I have to walk past practically everyone to get to the hallway outside the studio door but this poses an issue in itself. It's practically torturing having to walk by a group of loud people; the noise coming from their mouths is like... well, I imagine it is for me what nails on a chalkboard is for everyone else. A shiver spreads through my spine and makes my back muscles tense up just thinking about it. I have no choice, though. That's my only exit.