Stone In Love

Chapter 3

My alarm forced me out of a peaceful slumber, reminding me of the previous night's poor choices in the form of a throb behind my eyes. Damned strobe lights. I didn't even imbibe, yet I suffered the consequences just the same. A strip of sunshine stretched across my pillow, discouraging me from rolling over to catch a few more winks, but the sun was actually a good sign. It meant I would be working with natural light for the photo shoot.

Sitting up, I reached for my water bottle on the nightstand and chugged until my stomach gurgled gratefully, then I crawled out of bed and began my morning routine. Other than the pounding in my skull, my body felt pretty good, and I didn't have to deal with the added guilt of waking up with a random guy in my bed. The morning goodbyes were always awkward.

Hey, how did you sleep? That was fun last night, eh? You want some coffee? Okay, see ya round. Not.

Christ, I needed more mornings like this.

Properly caffeinated, showered, and rubbed down with body butter, I prepped for my gig. As far as makeup, the prep was easy. A light dusting of bronzing powder to boost my pale complexion and a coat of mocha lipstick. I couldn't risk smearing the view finder with mascara or eye shadow, so function always won out over style when I was on the job. I blew out my hair, and once my curling wand heated up, I added some waves to give it body, pulling a few strands back with small tortoise shell claws.

I opted for my fave pink blouse, pairing it with a heather gray pencil skirt and capping off the look with ivory thigh highs and Zara wedges. As usual, I went with sparse jewelry, choosing silver hoop earrings and the camera pendant my parents gave me when I graduated from MICA. As I slipped on my shoes, I made a quick time check on my phone. Five minutes to ten. I needed to be out the door at ten, which coordinated perfectly with Mom's weekly call, something we negotiated when I left for college.

With only a few minutes to work with, I grabbed a power bar in lieu of breakfast and rifled through my camera bag, pulling out my Nikon and making a quick switch of SD cards. I penned Shane's name on an envelope and dropped his card into it. Keeping track of those tiny buggers was priority number one. An unorganized photographer was a broke photographer. My phone rang and I answered as I stepped onto the third floor landing and locked my door.

"Hey, Mom. Hang on a sec while I check on my neighbor." I knocked on Mr. Pearlman's door and called out to him. "You alive in there, Mr. Pearlman?"

"Unfortunately," came his morbid reply.

"I'm heading out for a few hours, but I'll be back for our afternoon walk."

"Don't knock yourself out."

I rolled my eyes at his sarcasm as I hit the stairs. Sometimes it seemed like I was more concerned for his health than he was. "Okay, Mom. How have you been?"

"Can't complain. Did I catch you at a bad time, honey? I can call back later."

I knew my parents' weekends were usually packed with activities, so calling back later probably meant next week. "No, it's cool. I'm on my way to an assignment, so I'll be catching the subway in about ten minutes. Fill me in."

"Well, your father bought himself a new set of golf clubs yesterday. He took off for the driving range early this morning to test drive them." She snickered at her pun and I joined her. Hearing Mom laugh was something I never took for granted. There was a long stretch when she rarely did it. "And we've got squash buds bursting all over the place, which means we'll have plenty for Thanksgiving."

"Nice. I always look forward to your butternut squash soup." I tried to focus on our conversation as I navigated the obstacles on my street. The Saturday morning crowd was in full combat mode. Moms jogged behind SUV-sized strollers, a roller blader whizzed by like a bat out of hell, and the elderly Indian couple from my building shuffled down the center of the sidewalk, slowing everyone down.