Vogue

‘Oh God, unholy!’ Justin shouted as Arabella walked out of the makeshift change room, into the main tent. Her brother – dramatic as always - threw his arms around his face, stumbling backwards before he turned around; exited the tent and walked off further down the beach. Arabella laughed, looking down at her clothing before raising her eyes to the lost boys who hadn’t immediately run off to a. the surf or b. the two other models when they had arrived at the beach earlier this morning.

‘What’s wrong – it’s a bit low cut, but not bad, right?’

’Fuck me dead’ was honestly all John could think. He didn’t blame Justin for leaving the tent, and he did notice the other guys slightly avert their eyes from Arabella’s figure. Her hair was wet and loosely tousled and her eyes were covered in dark, smoky makeup. But the dress, now that was the kicker. Her small frame was sheathed in a thin, tank-style, black, gauze dress that fell straight to her bare feet – well it would have fallen straight had it not been for that fact that it was drenched. He doubted she knew it but the water, that had clearly just been sprayed over Arabella, made the thin material semi sheer, highlighting a hint of her breasts and dark nipples underneath the fabric and making it cling to every curve, emphasizing the swell of her hips and other …round places. If it had not been for the outlandish gold neck plate, large canary drop diamond earrings and masses of bejeweled cuffs stacked on her wrists – John thought Arabella would have belonged better on the set of a men’s magazine that at a fashion shoot.

‘Guess that’s what fashion is these days…’ Chris muttered to the boys as they where ushered out of the tent the management had erected and along the beach towards where Justin had set up some towels. ‘…soft-core porn.’

***

The two tour buses had arrived at South Padre Island in the early hours of Saturday morning, something Arabella was thankful for when she looked back and saw the extensive bridge they had crossed in her sleep; she knew she’d be anxious on the bus ride home. By 6 am, Marie had practically knocked down Rocket’s door and dragged Arabella into hair and makeup and by 8 o’clock, most of the boys had joined her on the beach where the shoot had roped off a certain section of sand and shoreline from the crowds - which even in the early morning were filling up the beach. Closer to the boardwalk, three white tents had been erected; a small one for the model’s change room, another for production and the biggest for hair and makeup and general congregation. Closer to the shore where the Caribbean-like water met the untouched white sand was where the shoot would take place.

Arabella waved goodbye to the boys as they left before getting a makeup touch-up whilst being briefed for today’s ad. As much as she had resisted taking this shoot, Arabella was already enjoying herself. Gilles was one of her favourite photographers and her revelation a couple of days ago meant she was increasingly conscious of trying to make friends with the other girls.

Once Arabella had started the shoot, lying down on the beach whilst her hair fanned out around her and the sand stuck to her moist skin, she felt content – energized and happy. This was her zone, what she loved.

***

It was mid-late afternoon before Bella’s individual and group shots were complete. The sun had moved on from its overhead tyranny; but despite its rays being softened, the mercury hadn’t dropped.

Off of the shore, chest deep in water, John and Eric had been snorkeling, attempting to get their under-water camera to work. As John angled his body around to face the sand, he spotted Arabella exiting the large white tent further up along the beach. She had changed from her jewels and dress and was back in a pair of jersey short shorts and a v-neck tee and was in the process of placing sunglasses over her eyes as she walked towards the boys’ towels on the beach. Arabella had been amazing today; on several occasions he had stopped past the shoot to see her in action. Once she had been by herself, on her back in the sand whilst the energetic French photographer stood above her. The second time he walked past, Arabella was again lying on her back but this time, flanked by the two other models that were dressed identically. Despite the overwhelming beauty of all three women, he believed that Bella outshone them – and it wasn’t just the revealing dress or her sexy makeup, it was the fire he saw in her eyes as she looked into the camera. Looking at Arabella as she laid on the beach, John thought she looked ethereal because he could see the passion she had for modeling – it was clear how much she loved her job, and for that he admired her even more.

Looking at her now, John still thought that and flirted with the idea of kidnapping her and bringing her into the warm water with him, before he had to stop himself short of literally slapping his forehead when he remembered it was Arabella; who number one, didn’t swim and more importantly, wouldn’t be interested in the awkward body of John O’Callaghan.

Despite this, a little voice in the back of his head – sounding suspiciously like Tim – told him to ‘Just do it!. Shaking the voice out of his head, he turned to look at his manager who was passing a football to his little brother up on the beach. Earlier in the day, Tim had uttered the same words to Vito and Jared after they had spent half-an-hour ogling a couple of blonde bombshells in skimpy bikinis. ‘And see how good that paid off for them, John’ the voice uttered again. Whatever part of his brain created that voice was indeed right – Jared and Vito hadn’t been seen for hours. Maybe John would have the same luck?

***

‘You sure I can’t convince you to come into the water?’ John O’Callaghan’s voice floated into her ears. Arabella looked to her left to see the singer, clad in a pair of black board shorts and his omnipresent Ray Ban Wayfarers, sitting next to her on the towels. She had just been thinking about the surf. Ever since she was little, there was some irrational fear she held for water – something about the darkness of it, how you couldn’t see the bottom, didn’t know what was swimming around you – just thinking of it made her want to shiver. A shrink would probably say the fear of the unknown was the result of deep rooted, abandonment issues, but to Arabella that didn’t matter; open seas, bays, lakes, ponds or pools scared the shit out of her.

‘No way John Oh, I saw turtles and Halvo in the water - no matter how many times you flutter your pretty little eyes, no way’

‘Even if I stand right behind you and promise to wrestle any sea and/or human life that threatens you?’ He laughed and whilst his sentence was jovial, the intent behind his words wasn’t – honesty overrode the playfulness. Arabella turned her face away from the surf towards him and smiled; He made her feel safe. Not like Justin or Jack did, even they could only get her in a swimming pool (and only as far as the steps). John was different, something deep in his tone made Arabella believe that no matter who or what scared her; he would honestly fight them to the death to protect her. Nodding her head, a toothy and surprised smiled broke out across John’s face before he stood up from the towel and offered his hand to the still sitting Arabella.

‘No deeper than ankle though!’ She held her hand out towards his. Just as John had finished pulling her upwards, Arabella’s cell tinkled a tune alerting the brunette of an incoming call. Turning back to look at John she motioned for him to go on ahead of her. ‘I’ll be there in a minute…’ When he raised his eyebrows quizzically she promised. ‘…I’m not going to chicken out, I swear!’ He laughed before moving down along the sand towards the crystal water.

‘Low cut, see through, shirts that make you …’ greeted her ears when she answered. The put-on British accent warmed her ears though, despite the crude song it was singing.

‘Alex?’

‘The one and only. So, what’s cookin’ good lookin’?’ only he could be so forgivingly cliché and crass.

‘My skin at the moment Gaskarth, it’s so fucking hot down here’

‘And still, I wish I was there to see you in a wet, sheer dress instead of looking at Jack’s hairy balls falling out of his booty shorts.’ Arabella was glad for telecommunications – a soft blush tinted her olive cheeks that she wouldn’t want him to see; she was sure Alex Gaskarth had learnt to flirt and flatter before he could even talk – despite the questionable second half of his comment.

‘Hmm, well unfortunately I’m no longer dressed as a goddess, but ah, how’d you know about…?’

‘The power of picture messaging baby.’ he laughed through the phone. Beyond Alex’s voice, she heard some shouts in the background along with something suspiciously sounding like the lyrics to ‘Slob on My Knob’. ‘Fuckin’ hot photo Bells!’ a Vinny-like voice cried before Alex bantered with it for a couple of seconds whilst Arabella sat thinking about what she wanted to say next. She felt like a nervous teenager all over again but she wanted to know, to just test the extent of the ‘friend’ boundaries that had been long established. ‘Just do it, Bella’.

‘So, did you like what you saw Gaskarth?’

A smiled spread across her face when his laugh, a wolf whistle, and a brash British accent, met her ears again.

***

Placing her phone in her pocket, Arabella lifted herself off of the beach towel for a second time in less than ten minutes. The sting of the hot sand on her bare feet quickened her pace towards the water where a smiling John stood waiting.

‘Ready, Milady?’

‘Lead on, gallant Solider’ She giggled taking his outstretched hand as he lead her step-by-step into the water, gently lapping against the white sand, until the clear blue liquid hit a couple of inches above her ankles.

‘So far so good?’

‘Perfect Cornelius, just perfect’