CHAPTER 9: BLOWUP

It is one thing to photograph people. It is another to make others care about them by revealing the core of their humanness.

~Paul Strand

Sookie

I relented. Eventually.

It may have been because I knew Pam wouldn't leave me alone until I did.

It could very well have been because she assured me that, even if I agreed to this one gig, it didn't mean I was committed to any more jobs here in L.A. It seemed like she somehow instinctively knew that I was more concerned about missing home than anything else.

Then she had to go and hit me in my soft spot—asking about my Southern manners with her trademark snarky attitude. I was speechless, because even though EN may very well be a man-whore, I was most definitely not raised to talk about it at the dinner table. Or lunch table. Whatever.

But what probably really did me in, was finding out that if I chose to take the job, I would be moving into a downtown loft – leased by the gallery for its artists in residence, and apparently functioning as Pam's backup shack pad—with its own private state of the art darkroom. I'm sure she knew exactly what she was doing when she dangled that bait in front of me.

She took me for a little tour around the apartment, and as soon as we made it up the stairs and entered the studio area, I was done. As in 'stick a fork in me'. Completely. Done.

My eyes widened as I took in the L-shaped desk that was built into the corner, overlooking the open living space below. One side of the desk, the side facing out toward the rest of the apartment, was a drafting table, with a light box that took up about one third of its length. Perfect for looking at negatives, while still leaving a large space to spread out prints or contact sheets. I began to drool, even before turning to look at the other half of the desk, which had a very high-tech looking computer, with what looked like three screens.

The darkroom, needless to say, was stocked with everything I could possibly dream of, all shiny and new and just begging to be used.

So, what could I do?

I shrugged my shoulders and gave in, ignoring the smug grin that Pam turned on me.

She dropped me off at the hotel, with instructions to call Eric and figure out the arrangements with him.

I must admit, I was quite shocked she didn't want to be present when I made the call. Oh well, I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The hardest thing I had to do, though, was calling Gran.

Even though I was just calling her to let her know I'd be delayed in coming home by a few days, it already seemed like such a long time since I'd seen her, that hearing her voice put a big lump in my throat. I could not remember ever being away from her—and so far away—for so long.

So I was quite surprised at her reaction when I told her how much I missed home.

"I know it's your first time being away from home, dear, but you need put on your big girl pants, missie!"

"Gran!"

"What? I just don't think you should be in such a rush to come home, that's all."

I huffed with indignation. I just couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Why?"

"I could ask you the same question, Susannah Stackhouse."

"Huh?"

"Tell me. Why are you in such a hurry to get back here?"

"I—I just don't think L.A. is the place for me," I answered. "Plus, I miss home. So much."

"Oh, I know that dear. It's always hard to be away from home, but especially the first time."

She remained silent and gave me the dignity of ignoring my tears.

After a long pause, she spoke again. "Sookie, you know I only want what's best for you. I just want you to consider, that just because you're missing home, that doesn't necessarily mean that home is the best place for you. No matter what, you'll always miss home."

Eric

I booked it out of the restaurant as fast as my (thankfully, very long) legs would take me. I was so done with this shit.

I could certainly understand Sookie being all defensive, but she wouldn't cut me any slack. It was like I could do nothing right.

Over the past few days, I had gotten to catch a glimpse of that gorgeous crimson blush of hers several times, and even a couple of genuine smiles and giggles, but it seemed like as soon as she would allow herself to let go for just a tiny bit, she would suddenly remember herself, and slam down that wall even harder than before.

Hell, if she wanted to throw away what was probably the best opportunity of her life, then that was her problem. I was done trying to convince her. Screw that shit.

The ball was in her court now, as the saying goes.

But as I sped down the highway on my way back home, her words kept ringing through my head.

Ho-workers.

My fingers clenched around the wheel so tightly, my knuckles were turning white. Why the hell was it bothering me so much? And why did I have the ridiculous desire to prove her wrong?

Maybe because she could actually be right, Northman.

Hell. No.

I shook my head to rid myself of that utterly ridiculous train of thought. Just because some silly little fangirl—as hot and talented as she might be—refused to look past her own stereotypes and insecurities, that was no reason for me to go all emo bitch.

I mean, Jesus fuck! If I were any more pathetic, I should be doing a photo shoot for the cover of emo Vogue. Hell, cake on the guy-liner, squeeze me into skinny girl-jeans, lace up the combat boots and throw me in a corner. I'd be the fucking poster boy, no need for any acting.

Oh, don't forget the man-bag, I thought as I pulled in to my driveway and yanked on the emergency break before the car even came to a complete stop. You have to have somewhere to stow away the guy-liner for those post-meltdown-sob touch-ups, and, of course, the moleskin journal to pen your whiny poems.

I headed inside, and made my way straight to the bar, where I knew there was a bottle of Jack waiting for me. God, I was being such a ruh taaard—drowning my ridiculous emo hissy fit was the only sane thing to do.

My hands paused over the shot glass for a brief second, but, thinking better of it, I just grabbed for the bottle and headed for the peaceful sanctuary of the balcony. Hard alcohol—and lots of it—plus the soothing sound of the surf was exactly what I needed to get her out of my fucking head.

But my cell phone rang just as I was reaching the door. I froze for a moment, but kept moving, deciding against getting it. I was in no mood for talking. They'd leave a message if it was that important.

Settling into a seat, I pulled the phone out of my pocket, and laid it on the table. After the first swig sent the familiar, welcoming burn down my throat, my eyes involuntarily darted to the phone.

You have one new message.

And it wasn't an L.A. number.

Well, well, well. This should be interesting. My lips curled into a smirk as I dialed up voicemail and waited to hear my message.

"Uh … hi, Eric. This is Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse. Um … Pam gave me this number and suggested I call. I … uh … wanted to say I was sorry for jumping down your throat. I … I was probably a little too hard on you. And rude. So, I wanted to just apologize for forgettin' my manners. Gosh. My Gran would give me such a talkin' to if she would have heard me. Well, anyway. Now I'm rambling. I, uh … wanted to see … well, I was hoping that we could talk a little more about our working together? Well, if you're still interested, just give me a call back at this number. (long pause, followed by a heavy sigh) 'Kay, well, bye."

Sookie's sweet southern drawl was filled with the most precious mixture of uncertainty and regret. Fuck. Did I just say precious?

I took another long, hard drag of the alcohol before I settled back into the seat and returned the call.

"Hello?"

"Sookie, so nice to hear from you. And so quickly, too."

"Oh, hi Eric."

"So … this isn't a prank, is it?" I teased, and was immediately rewarded with one adorable as fuck snort. Followed by a stifled giggle. Bonus.

"No. No it's not. I swear."

"Ooooh, I love it when you swear."

"Oh, stop it," she swallowed, uncertain. "Well, thank you for calling me back. And so quickly, too."

I chuckled. "You're welcome, Sookie. Only for you."

After the silence stretched a bit too long, I added. "So, what exactly would you like to talk about, Sookie?"

"Oh! Right, well … if you're still interested in talking about us working together …."

God, I wished I could see the 10 alarm fire that had to be burning her cheeks. "Of course. I meant what I said earlier. I think this would be a great opportunity for both of us."

"Yes. Well, I definitely appreciate this opportunity, Eric. And, if you're really serious about keeping it strictly professional, then I would love to work with you."

"Like I just said, I meant every word I told you earlier."

I could practically hear her swallow hard. "Okay, so how do you suggest we proceed?"

Wow, progress. Will wonders never cease.

"Hmmm … well how about we do this? We'll meet on neutral ground."

She snorted. "Neutral ground, huh?"

"Oh, I do adore that lovely snort of yours, Sookie. Yes, I'll take you to check out a couple of locations for the shoot. You should bring your camera, so you can take test shots of some of the possible backdrops."

"Oh, are you sure you want to be the third wheel with me and my camera?" She let out an embarrassed, choked half-laughter. "Sorry, I mean, it could get kind of boring for you."

"What do you mean?"

"Um … just that I tend to be in my own world when I have a camera in my hand. I'm not very good company. Maybe we could talk, and then you could just drop me—"

"Are you kidding me?" I interrupted her. I tamped down on the frustration in my voice before continuing. "I would love to see how you work."

Was she seriously loopy? Who wouldn't jump at the opportunity to see the world through an artist's eyes? "Seriously, Sookie, I would consider it an honor, and a privilege, to tag along."

She gave a heavy sigh. "Well, alright. If you really want to. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Okay, it's settled then. Meet me at 320 Golden Shore tomorrow at 8:00 a.m."

"What's at 320 Golden Shore?"

"Oh, you'll just have to wait till tomorrow to see." I replied coyly. "Oh, and Sookie?"

"Hmmm?"

"Make sure to get plenty of rest. We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow. Sweet dreams."

I hung up immediately, savoring the shocked gasp that was audible, even over the phone.

Oh, you think you know me, Sookie Stackhouse, but you have no idea.

Sookie

I held the phone away from my still-ringing ears as Amelia continued her shriek-squeals on the other end of the line.

I knew the girl was easily excited, but I never realized she had quite this impressive of a lung capacity.

She would not survive a horror movie for very long, I mused. The big screechers were usually the ones to go first.

When the screams finally abated, I put the phone back to my ear with caution. "I take it you approve then, Ami?"

"Ohmigod, Sooks! This is so … ahhh!" She barely paused for a breath. "What are you going to wear?"

I snorted. "Geesh, Amelia, you seem to be quite concerned with wardrobe."

"Girl, did you think that maybe you're not concerned enough with wardrobe, miss I'm-gonna-spend-the-day-with-the-hottest-vamp -on-the-fucking-planet!"

I tried to stifle my giggles, but wasn't very successful.

"Okay, so … where are you guys going?"

I started chomping on my lower lip, not quite sure what would be the best way to answer my friend.

"Hellooo? Sookie? Anybody ho-oome?" She sang into the phone.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, still here. It's just—well, we're meeting at 320 Golden Shore, but I'm not so sure what's there. He wouldn't tell me." I sighed, then added in an irritated mumble, "Just said to meet him there."

I doubt that Amelia heard half of what I said though, because she collapsed into a fit of cackles. It took her a full five minutes to recover. "Well, why don't you just google that shit?"

"No. No, I don't want to do that, that's like cheating, or something."

"Are. You. Serious?"

That didn't seem like it was much of a question, so I just walked over to my suitcase to search for an outfit while I waited for her to continue.

"Okay, fine. I'll do it, then."

"No! Amelia don't. Look, if he wants it to be a surprise, then whatever. That's fine."

"Ohmigod! Sookie, are you actually falling for Mr. Hot Stuff? I mean, not that I blame you but—"

"Oh, puhleeease, Ami," I interrupted. "I'm not that stupid. But, no, I think I have been kind of riding him hard," Damn. That wasn't a very wise choice of words. Ignoring Amelia's knowing snickers, I continued. "I do feel bad for being, well, kind of maybe a little bitchy. So … I'm gonna give him the benefit of the doubt. At least for now."

After much heated discussion, and finally settling on an outfit that met Amelia's exacting standards—just barely—I set out the clothes for the next day.

I was just about to hang up with her, when she cornered me.

"So … how do you plan on giving back?"

"Uh… giving back?"

"Well, yeah! To your fangirl sistahs, girl!"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, lordy. I'm afraid to even ask what you have in mind."

She giggled most mischievously. "Dooood! You've gotta get a spy pic of his fine Ass!"

Now I was the one consumed by uncontrollable laughter. After composing myself, and drying my eyes, I shot her down as gently as I could. But she wasn't having it.

"Come on Sooks! Take one for the team."

I rolled my eyes. "Ami, I can't treat the man like a piece of meat!"

"Why not?" she retorted. "He's grade A prime, girl."

I gave into the giggles again.

"Sook, seriously, it's eee-asy," she said, stretching out the word to stress just how easy she thought this was. "You just have to accidentally let something slip out of your hand, preferably next to his feet. Then, when he bends over to pick it, just pick your jaw up off the floor, wipe your drool real quick-like, and snap away."

Amelia's cackles filled my ears as I doubled over with my own side-splitting laughing fit.

A/N: So ... where, oh, where will EN be taking Sookie? Hmmm... well, she's not going to google it, but it is a real address, so y'all feel free to ;D Oh, and should she go for the, er, ass shot? Press that green button and let me know :-)

A/N: Xtra slobbery Nutella kissies to my amazing betas — nycsnowbird and youbettago. There are no words to describe how much I adore my girls! NYC- for spending a few good hours helping me to steer this story back on track. I'd be lost without you! And, YBG-- Eric would never have been able to make it through his emo fit without all of your late night luuurve (and smacks!).*blows kisses* BTW- if you're not yet reading YBG's amazing Saved By the Bus-- Go. Now. I just started reading it-- and it just OWNS me. So adorkably delicious :)

Any mistakes remaining are purely my own ;p

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas below are mine all mine.