Sins of the Fathers

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Mark did find two spots where he felt comfortable. They were quiet—unlike others he’d checked out—more neighborhood style gay bars than pick-up places. That was fine with him, as he wasn’t looking. Not, he knew, that he’d turn down someone if he found them interesting, but that was probably unlikely in his considered opinion.

Other than the one or two nights every once in a while when he stopped into one of the bars, his life was very routine—work, go home—meaning the hotel—and sometimes go for long walks when the spirit moved.

During one of those walks his life took another major turn.

It was his day off, so he headed toward the Hudson River and a park he’d found just south of the Heliport, his lunch in the backpack he’d purchased soon after coming to the city. As hot as it was predicted to be, he was wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

As he walked down one of the paths between the trees he heard someone call out, “Hey, you, in the blue T-shirt.”

Mark looked around, seeing no one other than himself wearing one. Puzzled, he stopped where he was. A harassed looking man, appearing to be a year or two younger than Mark, came dashing toward him.

“Thank God. Look, can you do me…do us a favor? We’re doing a fashion shoot and one of the models didn’t show. You’re about his size and you wouldn’t have to do anything but stand around with the others behind Ms Graham and look interested.”

Mark just stared at him, muttering, “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Please? You’d be perfect, and you’d be paid. Not much, since you aren’t a professional. You aren’t, are you?”

Chuckling, Mark replied, “For sure I’m not. Ah, what the heck. I’ve got nothing better to do, I guess.”

“Fantastic! You just saved the shoot—and my life. Come on.”

Three minutes later, they were walking down a long pier. Ahead of them Mark could see a flurry of movement, which soon coalesced into dozens of people, most of them standing around idly. The man, who had told Mark his name was Paul, called out, “I’ve found someone but he needs dressing.”

“Wow, I’ll say you did,” Mark overheard a young woman tell someone.

Suddenly everyone’s attention was focused on him. A woman hurried over to stand appraisingly in front of him. “Okay, he’ll do,” she stated. “Follow me.”

Mark did, and found himself in a makeshift dressing area. She handed him the outfit he was to wear, pointing to a curtain. “Change—and hurry. Ms Graham is getting antsy.”

He stepped out a couple of minutes later wearing black slacks, a white tux coat, and all the paraphernalia that went with it. Seconds later, he was accosted by a man who said, “Follow me.”

The watchword of the day.

Mark smiled in amusement. He was quickly ordered to sit on a stool while the man dealt with his hair.

“You know,” the guy said, “you’ve got possibilities.”

“Uh-huh,” Mark muttered in reply.

“No, you do. I bet the camera will love you. Okay, let’s get you out there.”

‘There’ turned out to be the end of the pier where several similarly dressed men were standing, chatting with each other, while a female in an elaborate wedding gown, Ms Graham, Mark presumed, paced back and forth impatiently.

“Okay, folks, let’s do it,” someone shouted.

Paul reappeared, taking Mark in hand to tell him where he was to be and what he should be doing. For the next three hours, Mark followed Paul’s instructions while watching what was going on with great interest. Ms Graham made several changes, each dress more elaborate than the one before. The men only had to change their tux coats, much to Mark’s relief. It all seemed chaotic to him but the photographer and his assistants appeared pleased with the results.

As they changed back into their street clothes, a couple of the male models told Mark he’d done well, ‘for an amateur’, while the rest patently ignored him. Mark smiled, thanking the two, and got ready to leave, only to be corralled by Paul one more time.

“I need your particulars so you can be paid. And Mr Phillips wants to talk to you.”

“Who?”

“The man in charge—the owner of the agency, Phillips Models, Inc. It’s one of the biggest, most prestigious agencies in the country.”

“Okay,” Mark replied, amused at Paul’s gushing enthusiasm. Although for all he knew that was the truth.

He trailed after Paul, who took him to a large trailer that seemed to serve as a mobile office. Across the side was the name of the agency in bright, bold lettering. When they entered, Paul went immediately to a desk, took some papers from the drawer, and handed them to Mark, along with a pen. A few minutes later, Mark handed them back, at which point Paul went to a door separating the front part of the trailer from the rear.

“Mr Phillips, Mark Collins is here.”

The door opened and a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a slight paunch came out. Extending his hand, he said, “Nice to meet you, Mr Collins.”

“Please call me Mark,” Mark replied, after they shook hands.

“If you’ll call me Nate,” the man said, smiling as he indicated Mark should have a seat in one of the upholstered chairs against the wall opposite the desk. When he had, Nate took the other one, studying Mark. “You have good bone structure. That’s a definite plus.”

Mark c****d an eyebrow but remained silent, wanting to see where this was going.

“You’re also a good height. I’d guess six-one?” Mark nodded and Nate continued. “Late twenties, which is good. You appear to be in good condition. Your hair needs some styling but that’s easily accomplished.” He paused then asked, “Have you ever done any modeling before today?”

“Me? No. I’ve never even considered the idea.”

“Well, please do. You’re a natural from what I saw. Fell right into what was happening.” Nate tapped his fingers together then glanced at Paul. “I’m thinking the Lauré account. They’re looking for a new face. Mark here might be just the man for them.”

“Hold on a second,” Mark said. “What makes you think I’m even interested in modeling?”

“What do you do now?” Nate responded.

“I’m a waiter,” Mark admitted. “Not a glory job but it pays the bills.”

“Have you always done that?”

Mark paused before replying, “No.”

“That was a reluctant answer at best.” Nate chuckled. “I won’t press for your past history at this point, unless you were involved in some criminal activities that landed you in prison.”

“I wasn’t. But that’s neither here nor there. I honestly don’t see myself as model material. I mean, today was fun and interesting, but that’s about it.”

“Would you think about it at least? I wasn’t blowing hot air when I said you’d probably be the perfect man for a new ad campaign.”

Mark folded his hands together, staring down at the floor. He had to admit he found the proposition interesting. It would be a radical change from his life so far. Still, it would put his face out there for everyone to see. Not a bad thing, he supposed, if it wasn’t for the fact that his ex-parishioners were part of the ‘everyone’ in question. It would shock the hell out of them for sure. He smiled at that thought. Looking up again he asked, “May I have a day or two to come to a decision?”

“Absolutely.” Nate took a case from his jacket pocket, extracted a business card, and handed it to Mark. “Call at any hour, day or night. Leave a message if I don’t answer in person.”

Pocketing the card, Mark thanked him. They shook hands then he left the trailer and walked pensively down the pier.