In the Life of a MySpace Photographer

Chapter One

Alex stomped into my room and whipped the covers off of my head. “How many times have I told you,” she shook a leather miniskirt in my face, “Ask me before you borrow something of mine!” I groaned, “I’m sorry! I had a photoshoot with MySpace magazine yesterday and you weren’t home. One of the models needed a skirt for the centerfold shot.” Alex sat on the edge of the bed and her expression softened slightly. She glared at me playfully, “As long as it was Nicki and not Anna.” I nodded and rolled onto the floor with a THUMP! “Ow.” Alex laughed and turned me over with her feet and gasped softly. Bruises pebbled my chest. “What happened?” She bent down and touched my ribcage tenderly. I groaned and shook my head from side to side. She “tsked” and, with strength unknown to many girls, lifted me and settled me back onto my bed, feather-down coverlet whispering beneath me. She left the room in a flurry of black wool, leather slippers pattering down the hallway.

Alex dabbed maroonish bruise balm onto the purple spots dotting my torso, blowing on the wounds the entire time. “So,” she sighed after applying balm to the last visible bruise, “Do you want to tell me what happened?” I sniffed and then nodded. I shifted gingerly into a sitting position, “Last night I went to that new club “Scene” and Jeffree Star was performing…These guys burst into the club, all drunk and shit; they were makin’ fun of everyone in there sayin’ shit like ‘look at these fags’ and ‘dumbass drag-bitches.’” I sighed as Alex looked me in the eye, “And you just had to start something didn’t you?” I nodded and whispered “You know me.”

I was on my way to work, briefcase in hand, as my hone started ringing. I pulled out my electric-blue Helio and punched the answer button. “Bonjour! Je suis Mandalina!” I gasped and realized how late I actually was, “Oh, mierde! Je suis tres-tres desole! I’m almost there Mandalina, I promise!” The man on the other line laughed, “Well you had better hurry up sweetie, cuz Lisa’s on the war path this morning. I’ve covered for you by telling her you were picking up some coffee for the shoot…oh yeah…you might want to pick up a dozen white-chocolate mochas from Starbuck on ur way…” I smirked as I walked into the store, “No problem, I’ll be there in a flash!”

The editor in chief of MySpace magazine, Lisa Donatello, tapped a stiletto heel on the marble floor of the photo-proofing room. I cringed when she sighed at every few shots,; she gripped a huge stack of them in her hand, flipping through them with another. “Dis cova of Joffree? It need to be redone.” I nodded nervously and ran the offending picture through the shedder.