Brief Summary: Edward is a famous musician (Think of a younger, more attractive Eminem) Bella is a renowned photographer. The two have never met, but Edward's 16 year old niece is an aspiring photographer and talks Edward into pulling a few strings so she can get a one on one mentorship with Bella. Rated M for Language and adult situations.
AN: I am writing this story for dear friend of mine who has been begging me to write it. Jax, this one is for you, I hope you love it….
*I don't own Twilight. Darn…..moving on.
This story has already been outlined and I have a rough draft saved on my computer. I will be updating when I can (hoping weekly…but sometimes life gets in the way)
|Edward|
I had spent the last twenty minutes looking for a pen. Any pen. Fuck, I would settle for a crayon or a piece of chalk or a sharpie marker at this point. I may even resort to stealing one of Libby's makeup pencils at this point. I know she has a shit ton of those pencil things because she is always wearing makeup nowadays. Not that I encourage it. I don't. If I could, I would flush all that shit down the toilet and make her walk around dressed like a nun until she's forty…..or until I die. Whichever comes first. Unfortunately for me, she is the most stubborn 16 year old girl that ever existed and she has me wrapped around her finger. Libby is my oldest brother's daughter, but I have practically raised her. Carl and Esme couldn't keep a fucking plant alive if the fate of the free world depended on it, let alone a human being. Not saying that I'm perfect or anything. Shit, anyone who has listened to my music knows I have issues. But I have money and house and a large security team that I pay to watch Libby like a hawk whenever I am away. Despite my less than perfect tendencies and a career that requires me to be absent most of the time, I really do have her best interest in mind. Giving up on my search for a pen, I make my way up the stairs to Libby's room.
I always feel like a stranger whenever I first come home from a long tour. I bought our house on a large piece of land that is heavily guarded and away from all the shit that happens in Chicago. It cost a fucking fortune and I barely even live in it. Its 7:15 in the morning and I haven't been up this early in almost a year. Today is the first day of the school year for Libby and I thought I could give the guardian gig a try. I woke up at 6:30 in the morning, started breakfast…also known as pop tarts. I returned some emails to Alice and then noticed a permission slip for Libby's photography class sitting on the computer desk. Reading over the slip, I surmise they are going to some fancy ass museum to look at a bunch of photos some dead guy took. This is when I started looking for the pen. Libby has to be ready to go by 8:30 and I haven't heard a single peep from upstairs. I know she was up late last night picking out her clothes and all that other shit that girls do. She was really excited to go to Cambridge this year. It's a private high school that focuses on the visual arts. It's expensive, over accredited and full of trust fund kids. Considering the fact that I dropped out of high school, I really am in no place to judge, but I think it's absolutely ridiculous that they charge this much money for an education. I don't mind paying the money, I have it and I want to do everything for Libby that I can. I just hate dealing with the stuck up staff that runs that place. As I finally reach the top of the large staircase, I make my way down the hall to Libby's room. I know she is awake from the light spilling out from under the door, as well as the sound of a blow-dryer.
Why do girls need blow-dryers? Can't they just take a shower the night before and skip the extra trouble of drying their hair every morning?
I tap my knuckles against her door a few times to get her attention. She clearly cannot hear me over the sound of her annoying ass blow-dryer. I tap again, this time louder. Libby swings the door open with a smirk on her face.
"Wow, Uncle E. I didn't expect to see you up and around this early. What's up?" She retreats back into her room, leaving the door open.
"I get up early sometimes." I say defensively while walking in.
I immediately spot her makeup collection scattered out across her glass vanity table across the room. I make my way over to the vanity and begin rummaging through the many unidentifiable products. There is eye pencils, eye cream, eye powder, and a half dozen other eye products.
"How much shit can one person put on their fuckin' eyes" I mutter to myself while looking for something suitable to sign my name with.
I find a skinny black stick that twist's up from the bottom and examine the tip. It looks like it will do the job. I lay the permission slip down on the top of the vanity and carefully sign my name on the line reserved for the parent or guardian.
"You know E…. they have these neat little contraptions that are used specifically for signing one's name. They call them pencils." Libby snarks from over my shoulder.
I take the paper off the vanity and hand it to her.
"You don't say! The things they come up with now days….you know I heard they have these things called boarding schools where nuns and students reside in perfect harmony…." I am cut off by a hard punch to the shoulder that is actually quite painful considering the girl who delivered the blow is 5'4" and weighs a buck ten.
"You wouldn't dare send me to Saint Paul's and you know it!" She says confidently.
I rub the sore spot on my shoulder while scowling at her.
"I might. I don't think girls at Saint Paul's wear this much makeup" I say, waiving my hand at the pile of cosmetic products on her vanity.
"What do you need this much makeup for anyways? You got a boyfriend or something I should know about?" I raise my eyebrow in suspicion.
Libby blushes a bright red and hastily turns her back on me. She begins piling books into her backpack, ignoring my question. I feel my heart start to beat faster and my eyes bulge out of head.
"You do!" I accuse.
Shit, you knew this was coming. She's sixteen for crying out loud. Sixteen year olds date and shit. You were doing way more than dating….
I quickly end that train of thought, not even wanting to think about it.
"So, uh, I don't know…..maybe we should uh…have a…you know. A talk….about boys and sh-stuff." I say awkwardly, running my hands through my hair.
Libby turns around slowly. "I so hope you aren't trying to have a sex talk with me right now because it's so not gonna happen. I know what I need to know and that's that." She dismisses the idea.
I'm not really sure what she knows and doesn't know and I hope she doesn't know a whole lot, or maybe I hope she knows a lot, then I won't have to explain as much. I just don't fuckin' know.
"Look Libby, I know it's weird and shit, but my mom didn't really explain anything to me and well, I am your guardian and that is my job and…..well, do you at least know about condoms and being safe and….." I trail off, not really sure how to say it without embarrassing her and myself.
This parenting shit just got even harder. I could really use a drink and it's not even eight in the morning yet. This was not a conversation I planned on having with her this morning. It actually not one I planned on having with her at all. I think I was planning on having Kathy talk to her about this stuff. Too bad Kathy checked out the same as Carl and Esme and left me with all the shit to deal with. While my ex wife is up partying and snorting god knows what, I am here contemplating the appropriate way to talk to a sixteen year old girl about safe sex. "Look Uncle Eddie, I know about sex and condoms and all the others things the health teacher tells you during sex education week. Please don't embarrass either one of us any further." She rushes out while slinging her bag over her shoulder and stalking towards her open door. Before I know it, I can hear her feet carrying her down the stairs. She calls up from halfway down the stairs
"Mrs. Cope is going to drop me off at school today. See you when I get home!" I hear the front door close moments later.
I slowly make my way over to Libby's bed and sit down with a huff. I go to run both hands through my hair and realize I still have the permission slip for Libby's field trip to the museum. Shit .I guess I will be making a trip to her school after all.
Maybe I can track down the little fucker she's dating and scare him a little.
Making my way back down the stairs, I head for the kitchen. After eating a couple of pop tarts and a glass of orange juice, I quickly shave, shower and get dressed. I'm not planning on going anywhere too public, but I still wear a black beanie and a pair of sunglasses, just to make sure I am not spotted. The media is a bitch to get around sometimes. Especially right now. Kathy and I just finalized our divorce three months ago and the media is still in a frenzy over the controversial court paperwork that was released to the public last week. My music is a fairly accurate representation of my life. It's a very unconventional thing for any artist to do, be so upfront about their real life and the problems they have. It has caused a lot of drama over the years. What really bothers me is when Libby's name get's brought into it. I pay a lot of money to a P.R agency to keep Libby out of the media. I don't want her in the spotlight. I just want her to have the life I never had.
Thirty minutes later, I pull up in front of a large brick building located a few miles on the outskirts of Chicago. It sits on a large piece of land and is meticulously landscaped. It is the Middle of February and everything is frozen solid, but their grass is still green. I park in the visitors section at Cambridge Art Academy. I make my way to the front of the building and swing open the large brass door. There is a security team in black suits located in the front entrance. They stop be immediately and ask for my ID and the name of my child as well as my reason for visiting. I give them the required information and smirk at the look on their faces when they realize who I am. I speak with the receptionist at the front desk. Her name plate says her name is Jessica Stanley. I explain my dilemma with the permission slip for Libby's photography class, and Jessica promises to have it delivered to the correct teacher by the end of the day. I get back into my black SUV and make my way towards the shopping district.
I missed Libby's birthday last week and wanted to pick something up for her as a late birthday present. I know exactly where I am going. I turn left on River Avenue and pull up next to Eclectica. It's a camera store that sells new and vintage camera equipment. I know Libby really likes the old film lenses. She says it gives some of the photos a very distinct look. I am not here for vintage lenses though. Since Libby is starting at Cambridge, I decided I wanted to buy her a new DSLR camera. Her current camera is nice, but it's not a full frame camera and I know she is ready for an upgrade. I have been paying attention to the photos she takes and I have watched her grow over the years. She has a passion for it that I can understand. It is the same passion I have for music. Unfortunately, I don't really know a lot about cameras. I wait patiently for the store clerk to finish helping a customer so I can ask his opinion on what camera to buy. While I am waiting, I decide to browse around. There are so many different cameras to choose from, it's a bit overwhelming and reminds me of Libby's makeup collection. Again, I have to wonder why the fuck there is so many different options to choose from. I pick up a camera that looks nice. It's heavier than Libby's and quite larger too. It has the Nikon logo on the front of it and a smaller D700 logo on the side. I put the viewfinder up to my eye and look through the tiny square. I don't see anything but black. I start to put the camera back down when a voice to the left of me speaks.
"The D700 is a really nice camera. It's what I shoot with most of the time." A petite brunette says.
I take a moment to look her over. She is shorter than Libby by a couple of inches, maybe only 5'2" at the most. She has a petite frame and is wearing the tightest pair of jeans I have ever seen on a woman. My eyes slowly travel up from her jean clad legs to her hips and then her waste. She is wearing an off white top that hugs her curves and showcases a pair of C-cup breast. Her neck is long and slender and draws me further up. When I finally reach her face I notice a slight dusting of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. Her hazel eyes are framed perfectly by her long eyelashes. I notice her eyebrow is quirked up in an irritated expression once I stop checking her out. She's hot enough I guess, but she clearly has an attitude problem. Way more trouble than any woman is worth. I would know.
"You a photographer?" I question her.
She drops her annoyed expression and nods slightly.
"Yeah, I am. Are you just starting out in photography or…" she trails off.
"No. I am looking for a camera for my niece. She is ready for an upgrade. I don't really know anything, other than the fact that she wants' a full frame camera" I explain.
The brunette seems contemplative while she eyes me down. I am still wearing my beanie and the dark sunglasses and I can see her eyes trying to penetrate the dark tinting to see what is behind them. I am just about ready to ask if she is OK when I hear the opening chorus to a very obnoxious pop hit, the offensive noise is coming from her pocket. She glances down quickly and reaches back to put her cell phone from the back pocket of her skin tight jeans. She glances at the screen before turning back to me.
"Get the D700. Your niece will absolutely love it. I promise." She says before holding the phone up to her ear and answering her caller.
She offers me a brief glance before she turns around to exit the shop.