began.
She would know about Carlo.
He stood, tucked the magazine under his arm and sauntered to the other room. His mother stood in front of her bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. He cocked his head, considering his mother. Tall and curvaceous with flyaway sandy-colored hair, a scattering of freckles and a fondness for offbeat clothes, his mother looked part tomboy and part bohemian bombshell.
He stopped in the doorway and smiled at her. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey to you.” She looked at him, and her eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’re up and dressed early.”
“You know how excited I get about school.”
She made a face at his sarcasm. “If you put a little effort into it, you might enjoy it.”
“I don’t have anything in common with all those kids. They’re like babies.” He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans. “Big job today?”
“Mmm. Giovanni has eight models booked. It’s going to be tough wrapping the shoot in one day.”
“I’d like to come. I could help out.”
She frowned and dropped her lipstick into the small zipper bag she took everywhere. She met his gaze in the glass, then looked away. “You have school.”
“So? I’ve missed before.”
“You’re in high school now. It’s different. The stakes are higher.”
“I get okay grades. I hold my own.”
“You’re very bright, Jack. And I’m proud of what you’ve done.” She zipped the bag. “My answer is still no.”
“I can’t go because Giovanni doesn’t want me around.” He folded his arms across his chest. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “We’ve been through this before, Jack. Your not coming has had nothing to do with Giovanni. It’s been my decision.”
“Is his precious Carlo going to be there? Is that why he doesn’t want me around?”
She made a sound of surprise. “What do you know about Carlo?”
He handed her the magazine, opened to the blurb. She read it and met his eyes. “I see you know the basics.”
Jack cocked his chin. “Is he living with his dear, devoted daddy? Is that why I’ve been shut out of all the great man’s shoots? Giovanni doesn’t want his legitimate son dirtied by contact with his illegitimate one, right?”
He said the last with a sneer, and his mother’s features tightened with anger. “You know better than that, Jack. I don’t want you there because I don’t think it’s good for you. And yes, Carlo is living with his father. He’s been on location with us.”
“I want to get a look at him. That’s all.” Jack made a sound of frustration. “He’s my half brother, I don’t see why wanting that is so wrong.”
She crossed to him. Even though she was tall and he was only sixteen, she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “I don’t think it’s good for you to be around Giovanni or Carlo.”
“Why?”
She touched his cheek lightly then sighing, dropped her hand. “Isn’t it obvious? Giovanni hurt you. The situation is hurtful. I love you, Jack. I don’t want you hurt more than you already have been.”
“I can handle it,” he said, curving his fingers into fists. “I’m not a baby, after all. I’m not eight anymore. I won’t cry, for Pete’s sake.”
She said nothing. He saw sympathy in her eyes, and he hated it. He turned away from her and crossed to the window. He stared out at the street for a moment before turning back to her, frustrated. “I want to go. I love going on location. Those people are my friends. I belong there.”
She shook her head. “Not this time. I’m sorry. Maybe another.”
“Mom, I—” He bit the words back, angry with her, furious that Carlo would be there, and he was being excluded. “You say you’re doing this to protect me, it feels like you’re punishing me.”
“Oh, Jack. That’s the last thing I want you to feel.” She went to stand beside him, and laid a hand on his arm. “I don’t think it’s healthy for you to be around Giovanni or Carlo. Try to understand, I’m your mother and I have to do what I think is best for you.”
“Well, you’re wrong. It’s not what’s best.” He shook off her hand, knowing it would hurt her. “It’s unfair. And it stinks.”
“I’m sorry, Jack, but I’ve made my decision.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He swung away from her. “Thanks a lot.”
Jack went to school, but he didn’t stay. He wanted to get a look at his brother. He wanted to meet him. He decided, despite what his mother wanted or thought, that was exactly what he was going to do.
The shoot was being held at Giovanni’s studio; Jack had been there at least a hundred times before. Giovanni preferred studio work, he preferred sharp, controlled lighting and minimal backgrounds. Using both with figure and fashion created an almost surrealist fashion scenario, one that had been the hallmark of his style. Critics lauded his work as portraying the existentialism of modern life with a cool, sexual chic. It stirred the viewer. It created controversy. It had made him a star.
Giovanni’s studio was located in an old warehouse district in Los Angeles. Not the most trendy or safest part of the city, it afforded the huge, reasonably priced spaces required by fashion photographers. Giovanni’s space encompassed two floors of an old furniture warehouse. On those two floors there were changing and wardrobe rooms, several prop rooms, a room for makeup, one for hair, two bathrooms, an office and two large spaces for shooting, one with an abundance of natural light, one with none. The second-floor studio had an eight foot by eight foot section of floor that could be removed to provide dramatic, bird’s-eye angle shooting from above.
Jack made it onto the set without problem. Tank, as everyone called Giovanni’s doorman/driver/bouncer, let him in, commenting on how little they’d seen of him lately. Jack shrugged, told him he’d been busy and swaggered inside.
Jack saw that he’d come at a good time—things were not going well. Giovanni was shouting at everyone in English and Italian—the lighting wasn’t right, the models were incompetent, his assistants slow. The entire staff was under fire, and everyone was rushing to make corrections and adjustments.
No one had time to notice him, and he made it to the second floor without being spotted by his mother. Jack found an unobtrusive spot behind the action and looked for him. He didn’t have to look far. Carlo stood beside Giovanni, so close their shoulders almost brushed, hanging, Jack could tell, on his father’s every word. As Giovanni talked, he put his hand on his son’s shoulder. Possessively. Proudly. The way a father did a son.
Jack swallowed hard, not able to take his eyes from the two, even though watching them made him ache. Giovanni explained the lighting to Carlo, explained what he was looking
