Imperfect Pictures: Part One: Episode Three

Episode Two

---

---

---

Imperfect Pictures:
Part One:
​Episode Three

---

I could not describe the headache I woke up with. The pounding at the back of my skull was persistent and sharp. My entire body ached, and my stomach was still a little unhappy. Jet lag was a bitch. Or maybe it was just too much Chinese food.

A bit after seven in the morning, I finally forced myself out of the soft bed and popped four Ibuprofen, despite knowing it was terrible for me. I stayed in the bath for way too long, leaning against the cool tiles as the two shower-heads hit my back and front at the same time. I never wanted to get out.

Julian was still asleep, so I took the chance to snap pictures of his house. He told me to make myself at home. Some locations screamed of his personality, while others seemed utterly ignored. The living room, dining area, and kitchen was a beautiful open space with two of the walls made up entirely of glass. It had a view of the small but lovely pool with a waterfall. He only had an oversized brown couch I could lay totally flat on in any direction, an end table, and a dining room table far off to one side by the windows. And, of course, the stools. But there was no art or decorations- not even a throw pillow. I hadn’t realized the night before.

His office seemed to be the spot that was the most his. It was stuffed to the brim with shelves of books, video and board games, movies, toys, and awards. It looked as if it never occurred to him to spread his belongings out. His Grammy was on the shelf like a bookend with another award I didn’t recognize, holding up graphic novels. Actually, there were dozens I wasn’t sure of. I took about a hundred pictures in that small space. To a degree, it reminded me of the bedroom of the wizard in the movie Howl’s Moving Castle. But it was comfortable with a black leather couch, a coffee table, a television, and a desk with his gigantic computer, as well as a location arranged for filming.

The kitchen was almost empty, except for a cabinet with a few snacks and a fridge packed with beer and wine. There was a seldom-used collection of matching pots, pans, dishes, and only the most basic cooking utensils. He appeared to survive entirely on delivery. There was a half-filled cardboard box with packets of sauce in one of the cabinets. I snapped a couple of photos of the dozens of different kinds of ketchup, duck sauces, mustards, soy sauces, barbeques, and hot sauces just for me because I loved all the colors.

Then I took pictures of the outside of his house and the small front lawn covered in pebbles and lovely cacti. I captured a dozen of them, but they were for me too. It was very California and modern, and I liked that he didn’t have the typical grassy yard.

I stopped when I realized I was getting odd looks from a neighbor across the street through the gates as they walked their yappy little dog. I couldn’t imagine a person less than an inch from a spiky cactus with a big fancy camera looked normal. Especially since I wasn’t Caucasian in an all-white neighborhood.

For breakfast, I had leftovers from the night before warmed up in the microwave. It was a crazy combination of everything on a bed of mixed noodles and rice, topped with a splash of soy sauce. I blended it together into a sloppy mixture. It was delicious. I sat at the kitchen table, eating and editing pictures on my laptop. When I was done, I washed my dishes and wiped down the counters where I spilled some. 

Everything was so tranquil. Though my mornings had started on entirely different coasts, the serenity helped to bring down my anxiety about what was happening. And at least I didn’t have the nightmare about my camera again. It was a pleasant way to start the day.

It was noon when Julian finally came out of his bedroom. Barefoot, he was freshly showered and was wearing khaki shorts and a tighter t-shirt. His feet were massive, perhaps half as long as my entire arm.

“Good morning. How did you sleep? Is the bed alright?” He asked brightly as he went to the fridge. Bouncing as he moved, he seemed to have so much energy. I still felt a little off inside.

“It was very comfortable, thank you. Frankly, I wish I could have slept more,” I answered. He rummaged in it for a bit, making faces at his choices. Suddenly, I decided I needed to be straight with him. “So, I’m going to be real honest. I’ve done nothing like this before, so I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m meant to follow you around and capture your authentic life, yes, but I don’t want to get in your way either.”  

Shaking his head at his options, he closed the refrigerator door with a thud. “You won’t be. In fact, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?”

Jules came to sit beside me at the table, me at one corner and him on the other. “I was hoping you’d be a guest in my videos this week.”

I was confused. “What do you mean?”

“You know how I enjoy having my friends in my shit?” He paused. “It’s weird to reference my work as if you know what I’m talking about. Have you watched anything of mine? I guess I should ask that first. It’s okay if not,” he explained quickly, almost as if he was nervous.

“Not every single one, but a lot of them. Like when you do a taste test or whatever?” A little surprised, I wondered why he would want me in them too.

He seemed pleased with my response. “Yes! Exactly. I’ve got three to film here today alone, and you could be in some of them. If you want to, of course.”

“What if I’m terrible and boring?” I mumbled before I realized what I was saying.

Puzzled, his expression was perplexed. “How can you be bad at trying new foods?”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay. Well... The boring part is more of a problem here. I’ve mastered eating. Mostly.”

He smirked some. “Don’t worry about that. It’s my job to be entertaining. If you don’t want to, I understand. It’s not for everyone, but I love filming with new people.”

I thought about it for a minute. Honestly, he always looked like he was having so much fun in them, and it was just YouTube. I had done stupid stuff for an audience many times before. At one point in my life, I had been a dancer and into the theater.

“Yeah, sure. Why not? But don’t hesitate to kick me out if I’m bad.”

Smiling brilliantly, Julian laughed. “Seriously, don’t worry about that. Alright, so... I need you to sign something. Basically, it says that I have permission to use your likeness. It’s so I don’t get sued.”

I wasn’t surprised. They had to do that in New York for some things too.

“Sure, but try not to make me look like a tool bag, please?” I begged, giving the paper a quick read before signing it. It was in basic wording and a single page long.

“The only person I make look like a fool in my videos is me,” he assured me as he pulled out another sheet. “Okay, so, do you have PayPal?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Everyone who’s in one gets a percentage. I give a standard percent of the advertising from my uploads to my friends. Or endorsements or whatever implies. It’s different for every video. Some make more than others, though some make nothing because they get demonetized for stupid reasons.” Rushing through his words, he seemed apprehensive again. “I do it through this program that divides it automatically, and it’ll send the cash to your account once you reach a certain amount. It can be one-hundred, five-hundred, one-thousand, five-thousand, or ten-thousand. Which would you prefer?”

It was so much to take in at once.

“Oh, wow. Okay. Um... I guess one-hundred? But you don’t have to give me any money. I’m going to get paid to be here,” I said in a tiny voice.

Swiftly, he waved off my worries. “No, I do it with anyone who’s in them. I mean, everyone, because I feel guilty otherwise. Here, just fill this out.” He passed me the paper, sliding it across the tabletop in my direction.

I didn’t know how much cash doing this would be or if I would ever see a single cent from it. I doubted it because I didn’t think that’s where he made most of his money if I read the news correctly. But even if it was only an extra hundred someday, it was something.

I signed the paper. A.L. Kind.

He seemed visibly relieved when I did. “So, I need to run to the store before we get started. I have to pick up a few things for the shoots. Let’s stop for lunch before, then we can go to Target. There’s one up the street,” he explained as he neatly stacked the newly filled out forms. He tapped the two sheets on the table several times, even though it was already straightened.

“Whatever you want to do,” I replied. “I’m just going to carry my stuff along with me everywhere and take pictures of you whenever I can if that’s alright? But please let me know if I’m bothering you or if you need me to leave you alone.”

“Yeah, of course. I will, but you shouldn’t worry about that. Bring your camera. It sounds like fun. I’ve never modeled at a Target before,” he teased with an enormous smile. Then he made the worst duck face that was both stupid and cute.  

Dryly, I asked, “Have you modeled at a Walmart before?”

He looked me dead in the eyes. “Yes.”

I laughed at his unexpectedly serious and blunt answer. 

He smiled as he shook his head. “No, I’ve not modeled before, but I’ve done some photoshoots. I feel very awkward in them. I try to avoid the press and all that. If I can, I make it part of my contracts.”

“Then why did you agree to this?”

Half shrugging, he lifted one shoulder. The way he looked up at me from underneath his lashes made me uncomfortably warm. “I got to pick my photographer.”

I blushed for some stupid reason and bit my lip as I considered what to say. “But... I’ve never done this before. I just don’t understand.”

He wasn’t looking at me when he responded. “They allowed me to look at the portfolios of my options, and I liked yours the best.”

But I still didn’t comprehend. “I’ve only ever done product photos for the magazine. I know what’s in my portfolio, and it’s not anything to write home about.”

Once more, he shook his head, then glanced over at me briefly. “I saw your pictures online. The ones in your gallery that you sell yourself. They are so... vivid. And beautiful. I like the colors. Everything you shoot seems to be so vibrant and full of life, even if I don’t know what it is.”

Unsure what to say, I breathed, “Thank you.” My face and chest felt as if they were on fire. “That’s very flattering.”

Slowly, he moistened his bottom lip. Then his voice changed a little, deepening. “I’m so excited to see your work. I feel as if you’ll capture the enthusiasm and optimism I want to portray in mine.”

Nervously, I thanked him again. But how was I going to live up to that?

---

Episode Two

---

---

Wanna read ahead? (Or just be awesome and support me? 😉) Buy your copy here!

Wanna learn about who's who in Imperfect Pictures?