Quarrel with the Moon Read Online Free PDF

stopped to see what was going on."
    Cresta, looking slightly vexed, joined the twosome. Without acknowledging Josh she spoke directly to the photographer. "Simon, aren't we ready? I don't like to complain, but this organdy itches like a son of a bitch."
    The photographer's reserve evaporated. "Well, you see, Cresta, this gentleman claims he's not the model we've been waiting for."
    Cresta turned to face Josh. "Are you sure?"
    Josh grinned. "I'm sorry I'm not. Not the model, that is."
    Cresta looked first at the photographer and then at Josh. "Simon, I've got another shoot at nine-thirty and it involves an elaborate hair style. I mean, wouldn't he do? He's perfect. Beautiful legs." She smiled at Josh. "You should be a model anyway. Why aren't you?"
    Josh began backing away. "Really, I don't think I ... They wouldn't like it where I work ... I've never...."
    The photographer interceded. "Look, you wouldn't even be recognized. You'd just be a blur running past Cresta here." He glowered at his assistant. "Find out what happened to that fag from Macho. He'll never work for Charisma again." Then back to Josh. "Look, I'll pay you the full fee, even though you're not a professional model. We've got to get this done. Like I said, not even your own mother will recognize you."
    "Please do it," murmured Cresta. "I can't be late for my next booking without really screwing things up."
    The photographer persisted, "All you have to do is sign a release, then run past that arbor where Cresta will be standing."
    "You must," pleaded Cresta. "My career depends upon you."
    Josh smiled self-consciously. "Well, if you're sure I'll just be a blur. Is there some way I could check the photographs after they're taken and before they're printed? What's this for anyway?"
    The photographer slapped his head. "Oh boy, now we've got an amateur who wants photo approval for a spread in Charisma . You probably don't know, but it's a women's magazine." He went on "patiently" explaining. "You see, this is a bridal shot. See the bridal dress that Cresta's wearing? Instead of hailing a cab, she's going to be hailing a bridegroom. Get it? You, the runner. Very tongue-in-cheek and all that."
    Josh did not like the photographer's condescending attitude but couldn't resist the hopeful look on Cresta's face. "All right," he said finally, "I'll do it if it doesn't take too long and if you promise I won't be recognized."
    "Just a blur," sighed the photographer. "Now, come on, let's see what we can do with you."
    Cresta squeezed Josh's hand. "You're wonderful for doing this. I'd give you a kiss but Rudy's just spent forty-five minutes on my makeup." Nevertheless she brushed her lips against his cheek and hurried back to her position.
    For the next fifteen minutes Josh endured attacks from all sides. He was wrapped in an oversized towel while his green shorts and white tank top were quickly pressed by one of the flunkies. His face and body were dusted with a shiny orange powder and glycerin was dribbled over his temples and arms to simulate perspiration (his had long since evaporated). His hair was teased and sprayed until it was "perfectly unruly." And a piece of bright green fabric had been found to use as a headband. The photographer examined Josh with a critical eye and pronounced, "Christ, you look gorgeous. Can you really run?" Josh opened his mouth to answer. "No matter, we've got to get on with it."
    Josh spent the next half-hour streaking across the pathway directly in front of the arbor which framed Cresta. The young model was humorously posed clutching an oversized bouquet of white lilacs and green grapes, and, using two fingers in the mouth, whistling after the handsome runner. A message was implicit: today's young woman - the Charisma woman - was calling the shots.
    As soon as the shooting was over, Cresta dashed into the portable dressing room and changed into her working model's uniform - tight, frayed jeans, a halter top made of two red bandannas, and giant