*Note: the Mr. Jefferson in this story is non-dark room crazy person

Chapter 1

Autographs

Rachel was frustrated. Her face didn't look frustrated. Her body didn't look frustrated. She didn't even talk like she was frustrated. In fact, Rachel was currently draped over a slick tombstone like an arching feline. Her back was melting on Elizabeth Mittle's grave (whoever that was) as icy rain drops were pelting her face. Mascara was running down her cheeks and she was trying to not sniffle. Her mouth was open just enough to convey a sense of longing or desire. Just the bottoms of her teeth could be seen like a sword peeking from its sheath. Her legs itched from her cut-off short strings slithering along her thighs. Her feet were pushing into the cold and grimy soil as she pressed harder to achieve what she wanted. She took in another breath and tried to hood her even eyes more. She imagined that she was waiting for some man to come find her. Her lover. Her lover that she could barely contain herself while she waited for him to show up in the Arcadia Bay Cemetery since their love was forbidden.
Click.
Click.
"Rachel, that's beautiful," Nathan purred. He was laying on the wet ground and smiling. In his hands were a ridiculously expensive digital camera. But also in his hands, which Rachel willed herself to believe, was her ticket out of Arcadia Bay.
"Just a few more, just like that," Nathan encouraged.
Rachel furrowed her eyebrows and pretended that she could barely wait any longer for this pretend-lover to arrive. But she also pretended that she didn't find Nathan creepy and that this entire thing felt borderline ridiculous.
BOOM!
Rachel jumped at the rib-rattling roar of thunder.
Nathan jumped up and shouted, "Okay! Let's go! We got it! It's getting too crazy out here!"
Rachel gladly scrambled up as they ran to Nathan's new red truck.
She dodged through the soggy dirt and as they ran he unlocked the doors. Rachel went to grab her door handle, but Nathan yanked it open first. A squirm of annoyance wiggled down her spine.
Nathan raced over to his side, hurled himself into the driver's seat and started the car. He looked over at Rachel and yelled, "Get in! It's freezing outside!"
The last thing Rachel wanted to do was spend even more time with Nathan, especially in a private confined space. She hesitated. "Can I see the shot?"
BOOM!
"What?" Nathan cried.
The rain was now a curtain of cold jeweled crystals. Each drop angrily boring into the car.
Rachel had a decision. As much as she did not want to spend time with Nathan, he did have in his hand all their hours of hard work. If she grabbed her shoes, ditched him and called Chloe to come get her, he could delete them. Rachel huffed internally, but instead forced a gentle expression on her face.
She hauled herself into the heated cab and slammed the door. She started to wring out her hair on the floor and asked playfully, "Can you take me home? It's a straight shot."
Nathan did not seem bothered at all that Rachel just rudely dumped a bucket of water all over his cloth interior. Instead, his mouth was curled into a smile. With a lighter voice, he uttered, "You are beautiful," he then shook his head, let out a small manic laugh and corrected, "I meant, you were beautiful. The pictures were beautiful." He continued to stare after the words hung in the air.
Rachel wanted to push herself against the quickly fogging window, but instead leaned forward. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a clumpy white wet feather earring and said, "Oh yeah?" as she raised an eyebrow.
Nathan's cheeks flushed red. "O-oh yeah."
The heat brushed against both of their cheeks. With shaking hands, Nathan started showing Rachel the photos. She was pleasantly surprised. For as stupid as she felt, for as annoyed as she felt with Nathan wriggling stupidly around on the ground, for as frustrated as she felt that she was wasting her time once again, she finally felt like she was wrong. In Nathan's monochromatic camera, he had somehow caught a visceral rawness of Rachel looking desperate, yet desirable. Rachel had thought the cemetery shoot was weird and almost cliché, but instead, there was a somehow symbolic realness to it of her young body overtaking an ancient set of bones. And in the last shot, Nathan had just started to capture the lightning bolt. A balloon of excitement surged in Rachel. This may actually be it. This may be the series that gets her out of Arcadia Bay. Throwing herself at Nathan had worked.
"So, once I get into Photoshop, I am going to clean it up some and maybe add some effects to enhance it," Nathan rambled nervously.
Rachel leaned back and titled her head slightly back, "But Nathan, you already did such a great job with these original shots. Are you saying what I did on the first take isn't good enough?" Rachel smirked.
He shook his head quickly and explained, "No, no, no! These are incredible, but all shots need cleaning up. I want them to be perfect for you." Nathan then looked down at his camera and put it away.
Rachel let out a small confident laugh, "Okay, okay. So when will these amazing shots be done?"
Nathan had his hands on the steering wheel and turned to face her. His expression was sober. "Tomorrow. I'll have them for you tomorrow. I promise."
Rachel wanted to reel at the desperation, but instead said, "I bow to your wisdom Prescott-Camera-Master. But will that be enough time?"
Nathan nodded his head and inched closer, "More than enough. Like I said; you--I meant, the shots are beautiful. It won't take much. Just a few adjustments to the noise and shadows."
Rachel smiled, leaned closer and purred, "I can't wait to see what magic you can work." She let her fingers lightly grave his arm.
His blue eyes grew larger and looked down at where she had touched him. However, when he glanced back up, Rachel was already resting against the window, aiming the heat from the vents onto her.
Nathan immediately sputtered, "Do you want to eat at Two Whales before I take you home?"
Rachel continued to adjust the vents and bent into them, the hot air starting to ripple her drying white undershirt. Nathan's eyes traveled down her body and blinked a few times.
Rachel placed her hair next to the vents and turned to Nathan. With a sad smile, she said, "Nathan, I would love to, but I really want to get out of these wet clothes."
Nathan blushed and put the car in reverse, "Of course. Sorry."
Rachel laughed. "Nothing to be sorry about. Maybe another time?" she mused.
Nathan pulled out of the cemetery and started onto the slick main road. Excitedly, he said, "When? I would love that. I can pick you up!" He hooted.
A bubble of disgust raised in her throat. Rachel continued to dry herself and said, "A rain check?"
Nathan laughed longer than he should have and hit his knee. "You're too funny, Rachel. You really are!"
Rachel looked out the window and rolled her eyes. She then turned back to him and said, "You're not too bad yourself, Prescott."
Nathan blushed.
Rachel turned on the radio and contemplated, "Now let's see what you listen to."
Nathan started talking, but instead Rachel turned up the music. It was rap music, which she felt was unexpected for Nathan, but regardless she happily sung along to the chorus while being so thankful that she didn't have to talk to him anymore. Nathan did try to take a few more stabs at a conversation, however Rachel pretended not to hear him. She was tired of pretending and just wanted to go home and be alone.
When Nathan pulled up to her house, she thanked him and hurriedly exited the truck. She couldn't wait until the day when she would get paid for doing photo shoots.
With her red Converses in her hand, she dashed to the front door in the still pouring rain. She let herself in and was thankful to see her Dad had jazz music playing with his office doors shut and her mom was nowhere to be found. Rachel quickly snuck up the stairs and headed straight to the bathroom.
After a refreshing hot shower (where she watched the dirt suck down the drain, which to her, felt symbolic as being her repulsion to Nathan), Rachel settled into her bedroom to finish her homework due the next day, Monday. She usually spent most Sundays doing homework or practicing for the play, but Nathan really wanted to do the shoot in the rain and Sunday held the forecast for rain and Saturday did not. She turned on some indie rock and stared at her desk. Dozens of envelopes were spread on the desk. The older ones had addresses from New York City and Los Angels, then the newer ones were from Seattle and Portland. Each envelope had been carefully opened and each letter had been crisp with perfectly typed letters. And each one said the same thing: "Thank you for submitting your portfolio, however we are not accepting new models at this time." Reading these sentences over and over again infuriated Rachel. She knew they were accepting new models "at this time," but they didn't want to hire her as new model "at this time."
And why the hell not!? She tried the basic headshots that everyone said she needed. Rejected. She tried more poses, but still staying in the basic headshot requirements. Rejected. She tried unique locations (well as Arcadia Bay allowed, which were railroad tracks, the junk yard, the ocean, the lighthouse, and the diner). Rejected. She decided to ask good photographers at Blackwell (with the exception of Victoria Chase, who Rachel knew would sabotage her) like Evan Harris. Rejected. Finally, she decided to ask Nathan Prescott, who although his style was decidedly disturbing, he would definitely help her make a statement. And if this didn't work, she felt her options were slipping away as if she was trying to crawl up a lubricated rope.
She shoved all the envelopes off the desk and onto the floor. She was tempted to burn them, however she felt as though she may need them one day. She imagined that after she made it big, that she could show interviewers all the model agencies that rejected her in the beginning and smugly saying, "aren't-they-sorry-now?" That was the only reason she didn't light the entire stack on fire.
Rachel started to pull out her books, but before diving in, she checked her phone. Multiple messages were waiting from her, but the only ones she really cared about were from Chloe.

11:06 am Chloe: "Hey, are you still out with that creep?"
1:22 pm Chloe: "Please tell me he didn't kill you lol."
3:42 pm Chloe: "Hey, are you still coming over after you're done?"

Rachel looked at the time: 5:25 pm. She knew Chloe would be pissed, but texted. "Hey, so sorry. It went longer than I thought. I just got home. But I think the pics are really good. And yes, he is still a creep."

She waited a few minutes as she began to look over her planner, when her phone went off.
5:29 pm Chloe: "Fine. I have my own people to hang out with."

Rachel groaned and looked up at the ceiling. That was the thing with Chloe. If she didn't get her way, then the guilt trip came. Rachel decided not to respond. She was too tired for this at the moment and she had a math test the next day.
Rachel muted her phone, turned up the music and got to work.

It was the end of September and everything was beautiful. Rachel loved the scent of the crisp fall air, burning leaves and watching the reds, yellows and oranges intensify. Rachel tightened the scarf around her neck and wore a simple beanie: one of Chloe's.
She knew Chloe normally liked to bring her to school, but today Rachel wanted to walk and not deal with Chloe's drama this morning. She sipped hot cider that her mom brewed fresh and her heart fluttered in her chest. She watched small leaves twirl in the air and people put out the yet to be mutilated pumpkins on their front porches. Not only was it a perfect autumn day, but she could feel it was going to be a good day. She never thought that she would think this, but she was actually excited to see Nathan. No, wait. That wasn't right. She was excited to see the photos that Nathan took. Not Nathan. He still revolted her. But she knew, she could feel it, that these pictures would finally be the key to getting her out of Arcadia Bay.
It took Rachel about 15 minutes to walk to school and when she arrived, other students were hanging out and talking. She made her greetings, but did not talk. She was meeting Nathan at one of the picnic tables in front of school. She had beat him there and could barely contain her delight.
As she sat and waited, she was able to see inside the photography lab window. She could make out Victoria Chase talking enthusiastically to Mr. Jefferson. Rachel simpered. Victoria was so desperate and each time they spoke, Mr. Jefferson ignored her sycophancy. Victoria didn't understand that when someone acts submissive, it gives the other party all the power. The key was to offer something in return for their services. Maybe Victoria had offered a sexual favor (Rachel wouldn't put it past her), but even if so, was that really enough for Mr. Jefferson to risk his job and reputation? She doubted it. Given how wealthy and incredibly famous Mr. Jefferson was, Rachel felt pretty sure that Mr. Jefferson would not have a relationship with a student would who not be able to keep her mouth shut. He seemed wise enough to realize that if things went poorly, a student could blackmail him. No, what would work with Mr. Jefferson was a fair-trade where if there were risks, both people would equally be at risk and both people would equally benefit if things went well. Whereas Victoria represented maximum risks and minimum benefits.
Rachel took another sip of her cider and smirked. She loved analyzing people and it gave her great satisfaction to—
"Hey," Nathan breathlessly said.
Rachel turned to face him and forced her features to soften. In his hands were pastries: A pumpkin muffin and maple scone. "Why hello. I see you bring me great gifts," Rachel observed.
Nathan quickly sat down. "Which one do you want? I wasn't sure, so I got both." His hands trembled.
Rachel reached for the still-warm maple scone. "Thank you very much, Nathan Prescott." She took a nibble. The dough dissolved in her mouth reminding her of fresh pancakes.
Nathan did not touch his pumpkin muffin.
Instead, he was sitting across from Rachel with his mouth agape. His brilliant blue eyes were transfixed by Rachel.
Rachel swallowed. The scone no longer tasted good. "So, do you have the photos Photoshop Master?"
Nathan jerked and sputtered, "Oh! Yes!" He almost ripped his book bag as he dug through it frantically and placed a manila envelope on the wooden and splintering table.
Rachel's eyes widened and her stomach shot into her lungs. She grabbed the envelope and began pulling out the photos.
Nathan stuttered, "I did the best I could. I mean, they are the best. But, I dunno, maybe I could have fixed some things. But, you're already so beautiful in them, I meant the photos are already so beautiful, and I may have got carried away, I—"
Rachel was mesmerized. The photos looked surreal. Almost like a fairy tale. He had added mist and black birds. Rachel's face was enhanced with deepening shadows. The lightning was more pronounced. Something appeared to be lurking in the mist. The water was sharpened and it looked wetter than before.
These were it. These were the shots that would finally land Rachel a modeling agency contract. She was holding in her hands her way out of Arcadia Bay.
Rachel shot up and hugged Nathan. She gave him a peck on his cold cheek and whispered, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
Nathan was left obtunded with a slack smile on his face.
Rachel picked up her belongings from the table with the photos in hand. "I've got to go to class for my math test, but I'll talk to you soon! Thanks so much, Nathan!" she shouted as she sprinted across the courtyard.
Nathan merely waved, still grinning.
Rachel started her way to her math class, almost bumping into people in the halls, but her eyes were unfocused. She was dizzy with glee.
Right before she pushed the doors open to go upstairs to her math class, she passed by Victoria fawning over Mr. Jefferson in the hallway. His back was to her, but she saw Victoria handing him some photos.
"Look these over and let me know what you think. I know you know best and then I could change them to whatever you suggest," Victoria practically slurred. "You are one of the most famous photographers in the world, after all."
Rachel kept walking. Victoria was so stupid.

Rachel was siting in her math class and was counting down the minutes until she was done. She had finished 15 minutes early and now all she could do was wait. She wondered if she should re-submit these photos to some of the more prestigious modeling agencies. She knew not to flood them with too many submissions. But she really really really wanted to know if they would accept her now. She was itching to leave Arcadia Bay and waiting seemed stupid when she was almost certain that these would get her in.
She wanted to take the photos out and look at them some more, but she knew that was not allowed since other people were trying to finish their tests. She tapped her foot.
Rachel looked over and saw Victoria still working. Her blonde hair glimmering in the fall morning light. She studied her perfectly ironed collar, her pill-free sweater (no doubt cashmere), her opaque black tights with no runs, her straight socks that had similar maroon and yellow colors that matched her sweater and collar, and finally her shoes. Rachel felt as though shoes said a lot about a person. If they the shoes are well worn and scuffed: practical and frugal. If they are well worn, but scuff-free: practical, frugal and type A personality. If they are new, but cheap-looking: obsessed with appearance, but unable to afford the newest fashions. And finally if they are well-worn, the designs have immaculate attention to detail and high quality material: obsessed with appearance and able to afford the newest fashions. This last category was Victoria. And Rachel respected her for it.
Victoria suddenly stood up, turned in her test and waltzed back to her desk. She gave Rachel a frigid smile and twirled back down into her seat.
Not too bad. She finished 5 minutes after me, Rachel thought.
But then another idea struck Rachel. Maybe Victoria was smarter than she gave her credit for. Victoria was obviously a perfectionist and Rachel didn't doubt that Victoria would become successful one day. World famous? No. Locally famous? Sure.
But asking for a second opinion on her work, much less a world famous second opinion, was smart.
Rachel knew what she needed to do. She needed to ask Mr. Jefferson about his thoughts on the photographs Nathan took. Rachel thought they looked amazing. But Mr. Jefferson knew a lot more about photography than her and if she was going to risk re-submitting her portfolio to prestigious model agencies, then she had better be sure that it would get her in. She had class twice a week with him (basic Introduction to Photography, nothing like the class Victoria was in), but it was a start.
To ask him, she needed to get him alone. And she wasn't asking for a lot. She was just asking for his opinion, which wasn't like a trade or anything; nothing like a Victoria scenario where he could end up in a compromising situation. Rather, Rachel would appeal to his ego and then he would help her. It was as simple as that and for Rachel that would be easy.
The day slugged by. Rachel thought she could catch Mr. Jefferson at lunch, but he was teaching a class, which felt frustrating. She resigned to meeting him after class. She didn't really want to do that because it seemed to imply the same things that Victoria wanted with him, but it also would give her more time with him.
Chloe had texted her apologizing finally. She asked if Rachel wanted to hang out after school at the junk yard. Chloe said she would pick up some food and they would meet around 6 pm. Rachel agreed and was honestly relived that her and Chloe had made up. She missed her and she really wanted to show her the photographs. She was curious would think and since they planned on leaving together, it would really brighten Chloe's day. She loved seeing her smile.
As the last bell rang, signaling class was over, Rachel tidied her hair and blue feather earring, and tried to casually walked up to Mr. Jefferson who was standing by his desk. The sunlight casted a warm glow in the room and the red and orange trees outside made it look like the world was on fire. Rachel knew that this color would bring out her hazel eyes which she hoped to use to her advantage.
Mr. Jefferson looked up and smiled. "Rachel Amber. How can I help you today?"
Rachel pushed her shoulders back and unleashed a dazzling smile. "I am here to seek your professional and world-renowned advice, Mr. Jefferson."
Mr. Jefferson chuckled. "Okay, okay. Advice on what?"
Rachel titled her head. "Well, I was wondering if you could look over some photos for me? I am submitting them to a modeling agency and to be honest, I haven't had much luck. In fact, this will be my second time to send them in and I want to make sure they're perfect. And since I have Mr. Jefferson at my fingertips, I figured you could give me your professional opinion so I can do whatever I need to to make them better."
Mr. Jefferson remarked, "I see."
"Why yes, Mr. Jefferson. You're the world-renowned expert and I am the naïveté in the world of photography, so I figured you would know best."
Mr. Jefferson held out his hand. "Well, let's see what you have."
Rachel nervously pulled the manila envelope out of her book bag and pulled the photos out. She handed him the stack.
As Mr. Jefferson started looking at them, Rachel realized she was holding her breath. She made a point to steady herself. He was just giving his opinion. If she wanted to succeed, she needed it.
Mr. Jefferson frowned and titled his head. Without looking at Rachel, he asked bluntly, "Who took these?"
Rachel felt her voice nearly choke, but caught herself. Instead, she leaned her hip against the desk and said, "Nathan Prescott."
Mr. Jefferson made a small grunt and continued with brows furrowing. He inspected each photo; titling it in the light and moving it closer to his face.
Rachel bit her lip.
He put down the photos and stared directly at Rachel.
Rachel realized how much taller he was than her and resisted the desire to step back. She folded her arms and beamed expectantly. "Well?"
"Can I have a few days to look over them and get back to you?" Mr. Jefferson asked, his face decidedly neutral.
"Of course," Rachel replied. Of course, she did not want to wait. She wanted answers now, but she also knew not to push her luck.
Mr. Jefferson nodded and said, "Thank you."
Rachel wanted to ask who would contact who and when, but decided that it was best to try to appeal to his ego one more time before leaving. "You're the worth the wait," she complimented. "I look forward from hearing what you think." And with that, she waltzed out of the room and into the hallway to play practice. It was only then she realized that Mr. Jefferson had the photos and she had none of them. The only others were with Nathan and she did not want to ask him for them knowing it would lead to more than just a simple request. She gritted her teeth and kept walking. All she could do now was wait.
On Tuesday, she only caught a glimpse of Mr. Jefferson teaching class. He was nowhere to be found after school. Even Victoria looked lost without him.
However, Nathan was everywhere to be found. He called multiple times during the day. Which Rachel ignored. At school, she apologized to him and said she as busy. He seemed undeterred.
On Wednesday, Chloe drove her to school. Rachel had wanted to walk again to maybe catch Mr. Jefferson before classes started, but she knew it meant a lot to Chloe to drive her and Rachel didn't feel quite ready to tell Chloe about her asking Mr. Jefferson's opinion until she knew the outcome.
At school, Nathan tried to meet her in between each class. Rachel faked interest and hoped he'd leave her alone soon. He was talking about their upcoming "date" to Two Whales, which made Rachel nauseated. She did see Mr. Jefferson in between a class talking to Victoria. Rachel didn't want to look over eager, so instead she decided to leisurely walk past him while nonchalantly looking at her phone. This way if he was ready to reach out, he would call her name and if he wasn't, he wouldn't.
She strolled past with hands trembling while texting Chloe. He said nothing.
After school, he wasn't in the classroom and Rachel did not want drape herself into his office or worst, walk in and find a sneering Victoria in there.
On Thursday morning, Mr. Jefferson was walking a little in front of Rachel. She wanted to greet him, but instead decided to pick up her pace and "accidentally" run into him. As she neared him, Mr. Jefferson was startled. "Hey, Rachel!"
Rachel smiled and returned, "Nice seeing you, Mr. Jefferson. It's been awhile."
Mr. Jefferson chuckled. "It has. Have you worked on the assignment for Friday?"
Rachel felt irritated that he talked about his homework for her over her homework for him. She responded, "Already done. Did you work on the assignment that I gave you?"
Mr. Jefferson's phone rang. He looked down at the caller ID and said, "I'm really sorry, but I have to take this. I'll see you in class tomorrow!" He walked into his classroom, shut the door behind him as muffled voices were slowly silenced.
Rachel seethed and spun around to go to the courtyard for some fresh air.
Once outside, she took out a black lighter and flickered it on and off, staring at the tiny fire. Her pulse and respirations slowed. She stared at the blue flame and told herself that she was like this flame. No matter how many times it flickered out, she would keep finding the energy and igniter fluid to keep shining. She would get out of Arcadia Bay to be a star even if it killed her.
Friday came and the entire day she felt like she had a bubbling spring of anxiety and excitement in her chest. She jiggled her leg during classes, spent too long looking at her phone in the bathroom so she could hide from Nathan, and was pretty sure she did poorly on her biology test because she was so distracted for her final class of the day; Introduction to Photography.
When the bell rang for her last period, she sauntered in attempting to look uninterested. She made a point to laugh with her friends and flip her hair, outright ignoring Mr. Jefferson sitting a few feet from her. However, even though on the outside, she was a cool crisp winter night with dazzling starts, she was actually on the inside, a booming and blinding fourth of July fireworks show with humidity, heat, and chaos.
Mr. Jefferson asked the students to settle down and started teaching. He droned on about Alfred Hitchcock. Rachel was bored, but pretended to be interested. He talked about how Hitchcock did not have the ability of special effects and high budgets of movies today, but he worked with what he had and what he saw, the audience saw as well. Mr. Jefferson described him as a true artist.
After that, Rachel had no idea what he said and no longer cared. She doodled and practiced her autograph.
The bell rang. Rachel grabbed her things and marched over to his desk.
"Mr. Jefferson?" she asked. She no longer was concerned about looking desperate. She wanted answers and more importantly, she did not want to go into the weekend without these answers.
Mr. Jefferson turned around and beamed, "Rachel! Thank you for being so patient. Is now a good time to discuss your photos?"
"Yes," Rachel said a little quicker than she liked. She pushed her shoulders back.
"Great."
Mr. Jefferson pulled the photos out of his inner pocket from his black blazer. He put them down on the desk and looked at Rachel over his glasses. He asked seriously, "So, you really want my honest opinion?"
Rachel crossed her arms and said slyly, "I've waited this long, haven't I?"
Mr. Jefferson let out a sigh and stated, "Terrible."
Rachel recoiled like she'd been slapped. Did he not see all the work she put in and Nathan? Rachel asked defensively, "You think I could have done better?"
Mr. Jefferson was staring down at the photos. With a clipped voice, he said, "No." He then looked up at Rachel. His expression softened and he said, "You deserve better."
Rachel opened her mouth, but the words escaped her. She was expecting more criticism, but she was not expecting that. Rachel narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
Mr. Jefferson straightened up, took off his glasses, pulled out a handkerchief and started cleaning the lenses. "How badly do you want to succeed? Would you be doing anything for it? Even if it involved risking your life?"
"Yes," Rachel affirmed.
Mr. Jefferson put his glasses back on and crossed his arms. "I thought about this all week and decided to ask you something. What would you say you to help me with a project? It must be done under complete secrecy and it will be extremely difficult for both of us, but I can promise you, it will make you famous. You will never need to submit another portfolio to a modeling agency again because after this project, every agency in the world will be begging for you. It will open every opportunity you could ever want for yourself. But if you agree to do this with me, you cannot go back on your word. Once you commit to it, you have to stay with it. Do you understand?"
Rachel could no longer feel her fingers. Her heart was beating loudly in her ears. She felt that the sunlight around Mr. Jefferson was intensifying. Rachel opened her mouth and breathed, "yes."
Mr. Jefferson walked past her to his desk and sat down.
Rachel turned, looked down still smelling his earthy cologne, forced herself to focus and ventured, "What kind of project is this?"
Mr. Jefferson pulled out a stack of papers. He casually started flipping through them. "I have been offered time and time again to put on an exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art"—
Rachel's eyes widened. "In New York City?"
Mr. Jefferson nodded and he licked his fingers. "That one. It would be like my 'comeback' collection and I have refused over and over because I felt like I didn't have anything to say. Any work strong enough to put out there. Now that didn't mean that I didn't have ideas or make plans, but something was always missing. It never felt right."
Rachel was tempted to interject, however, her gut said to shut up and listen. So instead, she bent closer.
"Here it is." Mr. Jefferson pulled out a packet of papers. He then looked up at Rachel and explained, "But with you. If you let me, I think we might be able to create a beautiful work of art. You are extremely talented, as am I, and together we could make history. What do you say?"
Rachel's stomach felt like it was floating. She smiled and laughed, "Of course!"
Mr. Jefferson grinned. "Okay, if you want to do this, which again, it will be extremely difficult and dangerous, then here is the paperwork to start."
Rachel wrinkled her forehead. "Paperwork?"
Mr. Jefferson gestured for her to sit in a chair and come to the desk. Once settled, Mr. Jefferson stated, "The first thing you want to know is that paperwork is your lifeblood in Hollywood. Get used to it. I took the past week to draw some up with my lawyer in case you decided you would be interested in doing the project." Mr. Jefferson then pushed her the papers.
Rachel started reading it. There was talk about a non-disclosure agreement clause where if she told anyone, she would be sued. There was an area about how she had to accept dangerous conditions to her well-being and possibly could experience death. There was another about how she had to be available to Mr. Jefferson 24/7 for the duration of the project. And finally, there was one about how if she backed out of the project after signing on or broke any of these agreements she would be fined—
"2.5 million dollars?" Rachel asked, exasperated.
Mr. Jefferson was now inspecting a camera and shrugged. "That's how much money I will lose if you back out of the project. So, yes. You will owe me 2.5 million dollars if you break your agreement."
Rachel was at a loss for words. She nervously tucked a piece of hair behind her ear while letting her fingers graze over her blue feather earring. It calmed her.
Mr. Jefferson put the camera down and leaned across the desk. "Rachel, I don't expect you to sign this today. Now, you legally can because you're 18, but I strongly recommend you take this home to your dad, who is a lawyer, a very good lawyer, to look over it before you sign. It's ironclad."
Rachel pretended to look over it more. Her brain racing, she set it down and met Mr. Jefferson's gaze. "How long is this agreement good for?"
"Bottom paragraph," Mr. Jefferson pointed at the section.
Rachel looked down and saw that the dates were missing. "So, indefinite?"
Mr. Jefferson laughed. "God, no. It would be from today until the exhibit ends."
Rachel narrowed her eyes, "And when is that?"
Mr. Jefferson leaned back in his chair. "Exhibit is at the end of May and then you'd be free."
"That's not too bad," she pondered. She then smiled. "So, a short term relationship?"
"Short term indeed," Mr. Jefferson agreed.
Rachel reached out her hand. "I'm ready to sign."
Mr. Jefferson raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure? I recommend you take the weekend to think this over and have your dad"—
"I need a pen," Rachel stated confidently.
"Give me the contract first so I can fill in the dates. After I do that, I will initial and then you will too with today's date, okay?"
Rachel slid Mr. Jefferson the contract and they both wrote the necessary information and exchanged personal contact information with each other.
"Are you sure? Because once you do, your time is mine." Mr. Jefferson maintained.
"Just give me the contract. I am sure," Rachel said frustrated.
Mr. Jefferson slid it back to her and watched her sign her name.
Rachel tried to hide the fact that her fingers were shaking. Once done, she emphasized, "There. My time is yours."
She stood up and grabbed her belongings. Smiling, arched her eyebrow, looked down her shoulder at a very amused Mr. Jefferson and said, "When do we start?"
Mr. Jefferson smugly smirked and said, "Tomorrow after 6 pm. We will meet at the lighthouse."
Rachel opened her mouth and stopped. "I have play practice tomorrow. I'm the lead, surely you won't make me miss that? My people need me," she made a dramatic gesture with her hand.
Mr. Jefferson leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, you'll need to miss that practice and to be honest, you need to quit the play all together. You won't have time for it anymore."
Heat flooded Rachel's cheeks. Abruptly feeling foolish and exasperated, she demanded, "What do I tell everyone if I can't tell anyone about this secret project?"
Mr. Jefferson shrugged his shoulders. "I don't care. Whatever works for you."
Rachel's body stiffened and her fingers burned into her palms. "But opening night is only two weeks away, what will they do?" Rachel's stomach churned at the idea of Victoria lurking from understudy to beaming star.
Mr. Jefferson stood up and walked up to Rachel. He leaned in close and smiled. "Rachel, at the end of May, you will be signing contracts for movies. Forget the play. They'll be fine without you. You'll be fine without them. Trust me."
Rachel glanced nervously out the window. People were enjoying their Friday, reading books and laughing, having no idea that a few feet from them someone's life was on the axis of change. She nodded her head. Not at all liking where this was going, but feeling like she had no choice in the matter, she conceded, "Okay."
Mr. Jefferson radiated joy. "There you go! In a two weeks, you won't even remember the play."
Rachel turned her back and started limping away like a retreating solider, her heart thudding in her temples. However, she lurched to a stop at the doorway and with gritted teeth, she called, "By the way, what's the concept for tomorrow?"
"Don't worry." Mr. Jefferson said, "You're going to hate it."