I plan to update weakly
Everybody Join My Party - 3 -
It was only a matter of a two or three minute wait before Edward turned up and he was as down-market as ever, although those jeans he was wearing... the cut was, well flattering, you could say. He was such a show-pony - unkempt and chiseled and six-foot plus.
"Coffee?" he asked, sliding into the seat opposite me, and I shrugged.
"I've already ordered."
"Let me guess - white, strong and not too sweet? I hope that's how you like your men."
I wasn't even going to dignify that remark with a response. "About your pictures..."
"Uh-huh. You're the sort who wants to get straight down to business, hmm? No preliminaries? Useful to know - I'll file that away."
He had a manila folder with him and he opened it, pulling photographs out and arraying them on the table. Every single one was a shot of me. It was exhilarating and creepy at the same time. They were all from after the party, I could see that from the clothes I was wearing, and the settings. What I couldn't begin to guess at was why on earth he should be watching me, and why he was taking pictures.
"What's this about?" I asked abruptly. "Or don't I want to know?"
He slouched back in his chair, smile lazy but eyes intense.
"Isabella Swan. Take them all. They're yours. No fee, no strings attached. Good luck with your campaign, and let me know if I can help you in any way. I'm pretty handy with art software, and I can throw together much better promo material than what you've had so far."
"I don't understand." Party-boy, explain yourself.
"You don't need to."
I leaned across the table, unwilling to put up with any nonsense. This weirdo had been hanging around places I'd been, not showing himself, and photographing me. And now he was offering me images of myself, to use as promotional material free of charge. There had to a catch, and I didn't trust him in the slightest.
"You think I'm going to use these? I'll tell you what. You're clearly a stalker. So, no. And leave me alone."
I stood up.
He rose too, placing a hand on my arm.
"Fuck. Don't go. Have these. I mean it. I'll send you the files and delete them from my drive. This has all gone really wrong. I wanted to find a way to talk to you and I thought these pictures would be an angle. I'm sorry. I've obviously come across as sinister, and that's not it at all. I have a fucking stupid mouth and a fucking stupid attitude, but won't you at least stay for coffee?"
I glared down pointedly at his hand, which he removed straight away. The waitress chose that inopportune moment to bring the coffee, which I would have left without drinking, just to get away from him. One hot drink. Ten minutes? Then go.
I sat down, and his posture changed, as though he'd been tense all over.
"Can we start again? I'm Edward Cullen. I'm new in town. Moved here from Chicago and got my credits transferred across so I don't have to start again. I was invited to that party by someone in one of my tutorials, and that was really kind of them, because I didn't really know anyone here yet. It threw me a bit that you came up and spoke to me. I had no fucking idea whatsoever what you were talking about, but something made me want to ruffle your feathers. You called me out on it. You were right."
I frowned.
"And anyway, I'm in the habit of taking pictures. I'm captivated by faces - all faces. I've never seen a face I don't find intriguing - even when it's expressionless. I want to document them, it's a compulsion I've had since childhood. I know I didn't get your permission to take pictures of you, but then I find candid and unaware shots every bit as powerful as posed and knowing portraits. I would love to have you sit for me. You have a compelling duality. Without wanting to blow my own trumpet, I've had a couple of books published where I explore dualities - children who appear aeons old, and seniors whose faces are alive with youthfulness. You're a contradiction. You appear private and yet open. Guarded but friendly. The sociable introvert. I wanted to capture the essence of that dichotomy."
My coffee grew cold as I listened. He was a walking cliche but he had revealed the sensibility of an artist - if this whole "essence of the dichotomy" business was genuine. He could just be playing me.
"Actually, there's something I've always wanted to do. Glamor shots," I said, to test him. "But not trashy - subtle. Where the viewer doesn't actually see anything revealed, but they know the subject is naked."
He sighed, and looked across the room. "You'd have to go elsewhere for that sort of thing. When I say portraits I mean faces."
"What about the dichotomy? The contradiction? Like, the shy seductress? I'm talking about tasteful, not pornographic. Artistic renditions of the female form as both innocent and worldly. You know?"
He spoke slowly and carefully. "You're perfectly aware that harboring political ambitions as you do, you couldn't pose for shots like that without seriously compromising yourself. You're too clever to even contemplate such a backfire, therefore you're saying this just to be provocative. That's not fair. I laid my cards out, I admitted I was a creep, and instead of accepting my contrition with any goodwill or grace you're winding me up. So I guess that concludes our conversation."
Well, damn. I'd expected him to start salivating at my proposition, and then I would have shot him down. But I'd misjudged him, and misread his intentions. And he'd shot me down instead.
"Right. I guess it does," I answered. "Conversation concluded."
Top marks, Party-boy. Bella Swan - fail.
I stalked out of there, photos left lying on the table. Hadn't even drunk the hot, white, and not too sweet coffee.
And Rosalie Hale won the election to become leader of the student's representative body. She would do no good at all. She didn't even know what a representative body was, other than her own.
Damn.
.
.
.
There's a girl who says I've left her at the altar, but it wasn't intentional. I didn't even know she was there. I'm not surprised. Sometimes even on bright days you're a little cloudy.
