"Okay honeys, now try something different. Kal, move your hand up her thigh. Smiley turn a bit more toward him. That's perfect."
The entire concept of him being in a photo shoot is almost laughable. The flashes going off around him and the echoey voices and the warm, familiar body pressed up against him make it a surreal experience. He finds it easier to detach himself from the outside world and just mindlessly follow the directions being tossed around. He isn't thinking, isn't feeling. It's almost freeing; the lack of control and power is surprisingly relaxing.
He doesn't really know how he got roped into it. At first he tried fighting it. He tried to reject Doll's plea, and almost left Smiley there. He almost walked out of the store and drove away. Instead he allowed himself to be led to the back room when he was sized and outfitted, and then shown upstairs, where the actual shoot was taking place.
Smiley was radiating when they got upstairs. She reminded Clark of a child, curious and precocious. Looking at her now makes his heart beat just a little bit faster. Her black hair is styled into something less greasy and more voluminous, and her eyes shine in their charcoal brilliance. Her cheeks are still hollow, but she looks different to Clark. She looks like something really special.
Her eyes flicker up to his and she holds his gaze for a long moment.
"That's perfect! Beautiful!" The photographer says, and not long after that the shoot is over.
"I'm certain we'll be using your shots." Doll says to them after they've got their old clothes back on. "I'll need a mailing address where I can send your cheques."
"Can't you pay us in cash?" Clark asks, and at the same time Smiley rattles off a post office box number. Doll writes it down.
"Who can I make it out to?"
They both pause and glance at each other.
"Make it out to. . ." Smiley hesitates. "Suzanne Delaurier."
"Wonderful." They turn to leave. "Wait. How will I contact you?"
Clark shrugs and refuses to wait any longer. "Let's go."
"Hold on." Smiley says, and runs over to three bags leaning innocuously against the wall.
They leave the store.
"Look at this!" As they get into the car, Smiley reaches into the bag and pulls out a camera. She grins widely.
"Where did you get that?" Clark asks, starting to smile.
"I jacked it from the photographer." She says, smile narrowing to a smirk. "I hid it in one of the bags of clothes they gave us."
He turns his attention back to the road and ignores her until he hears the telltale click of the camera. "Don't take pictures of me." He says sharply and she immediately turns the camera away. She takes a picture of her own face instead, and then she rolls down the window and leans her head out.
"Where are we going?" She asks him after snapping a few more pictures of the scenery.
Clark considers. "Suzanne, eh?" The moment he asks she shuts down. Her arms go across her chest and her lips purse and she crosses her leg away from him. She stares straight ahead.
"You said you'd only been here twice. Why do you have a mailbox?"
She says nothing. Clark's anger is simmering below the surface and he's been holding it back for days. He hasn't had a proper outlet for it since he picked her up for the ride what seems like weeks ago but is really only days.
"Fucking Christ!" He yells, pulling over abruptly. "Get out!"
She just stares at him, eyes wide and lips parted slightly in a way that makes Clark want to take back the command. The thought somehow increases the potency of his rage; as if any girl could make him do something he didn't want to! He immediately gets out of the car and runs around to the passenger side. He yanks the door open so violently that it creaks on its hinges, and then he rips the seatbelt neatly across the seam. Her arm feels fragile in his hand and he thinks he probably used more force than necessary when he drags her out of the car and allows her to fall into a puddle of dirty water.
"What the hell?" She asks, almost in shock.
"You're not fucking pretty enough to keep around if I have to deal with this fucking attitude that you have! And I know I can find someone else to fuck me, so fuck off!" Clark stalks back around to the driver's side and pulls away from the curb. As he drives away he sees her picking herself up in the rear view mirror. She wrings out her skirt and the bottom of her shirt, and pushed the wet hair out of her eyes. She watches the car drive out of sight, and Clark watches her watch him.
Clark doesn't know what attitude he was talking about, and he's not sure if he even wants to find someone else as permanent as she was, but the words came naturally, and all he could think of was getting rid of her. After driving for another few minutes her finds out why.
He can't help but swerve wildly when the first wave of pain starts. It's the sudden burn in his chest that makes Clark want to throw up and cry and take the damn ring off all at once. Of course he settles for taking his ring off momentarily.
He pulls into an alley, barely keeping it together, and puts the car in park. Almost immediately he begins convulsing. He can hardly hold his hands still enough to manoeuvre the ring off his finger and the relief when he does is like nothing he's ever felt, at least it seems that way now. The burn on his chest chafes against his shirt but he's too exhausted to take it off or rip it open or whatever. He sits, slumped against the steering wheel for a moment and finally puts the car in drive.
He has to get back to Smiley and see if she's alright! He can't leave her alone in the city. There is a different pain in his chest now, one that is achingly familiar. He stares at the ring on the dashboard as he tries to retrace his steps back to where he'd dumped her, but she's gone. It's almost like his heart is shattering. . . Why the hell did he come here anyway? To get away? Unable to help himself, Clark snatches up the right and shoves it onto his finger.
The relief is almost physical. The tightness is released and his face relaxes from the grimace. He returns to the hotel, unbelievably tired.
When Clark gets back up to his room he sees Smiley's chain sitting innocuously on the bed. He realises she doesn't have it with her and isn't at all surprised by the numbness that follows that thought. He doesn't think about the fact that she has no money and nothing to defend herself with and nowhere to go.
Clark falls into bed at eleven-thirty and is out like a light.