CHAPTER TWO: Lights, camera, hurl!
I hate photo shoots. As a rule the photographers we get are "just to sexy" for anything. You know the type, "Sweetie, turn this way! FABulous! Yes, yes, MAKE LOVE to the camera!" Who do they take lessons from, Austin Powers?
We were all in jeans, white shirts with white t-shirts beneath, and sneakers. I made the comment that we had done a similar shoot before, only it was an outside shoot but no one cared what I thought.
We were doing the same-old-same-old sit on stools and try to look like this was the most interesting event in our lives, ever. Ok, sit, turn, smile. Have make-up retouched. Sit, turn, smile. Wait while AJ changes his hair color. Sit, turn, smile. Wait while Howie finishes his thirty-seventh telephone call of the day. Stop the world, I want to get off.
Two hours later I was tired, hot, and nauseous. During the break, I had consumed a Snickers and a Coke. Not fast, and not the entire of either. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. I was tired, thought I needed some energy, and caffeine and sugar looked like a fast answer. For the benefit of others, let me point out my mistake. One, do not eat these two items if you have had an upset stomach anytime within the last year. Two, do not do it in front of Kevin.
"Nick, I thought you had a stomach ache. That junk is not good for it."
"Well, I thought you thought I just had a pulled muscle, so how could this hurt that?" There you go Kevin, argue with that!
"You heard...oh, never mind. Look, I’m sorry about that. I was just in a cranky mood. AJ and Brian told me on the way over that you really didn’t feel well this morning." So that’s what the conversation in the front of the van was about.
"Funny Kev, because I told you the same thing earlier, and you blew me off." Score one for the Nickster.
"Nick, let’s not get into it today, ok? We have a lot to do. Let’s just get the job done, and we’ll talk back at the hotel, Ok?" I must have looked skeptical, because he felt the need to continue. "Look, put yourself in my shoes."
I lost track of the conversation at this point. Put myself in his shoes? Not likely. They were too small. I had a suspicion that the pain was the point. Some strange " young grasshopper" teacher thing Kevin had going.
"Look, Kev, ok. I just want to get this done, too. I’m really tired and I just wanted some energy, enough to get through it."
"Nick," he started, looking concerned, but Howie took that moment to stick his head in the break-room with the announcement that Mr. FABulous was ready for us.
We hurried in, anxious to get this done, and I think a bit anxious to get away from one another. Kevin and I tend to work best when we don’t spend massive amounts of time in one-another’s company. I don’t want you to think Kevin doesn’t care for me. He really does. He tends to gives off the impression that my participation in the group is his only concern, and that’s just not the case. It’s just that we are caught in this time warp, I’m 14, he’s legal. Once you have a set idea about someone, and let’s face it, I have been a kid for most of our mutual years; it’s difficult to make a switch. AJ says I can break the time warp by setting Kevin’s watch one hour ahead, mine one hour behind, standing on one foot balancing a goldfish bowl on my head while simultaneously striking one of my pugs on the nose with a rolled up newspaper. I asked AJ what he had been smoking.
"Your sweat-socks." Damn, AJ, try to kill yourself, why don’t you?
I guess it’s time to point out that I am not the most mature person in the world. Not on the BSB bus, for that matter. Hell, I’m not even the most mature person in my bunk, and yes I am in there alone. Yes, I know how strange that sounds. And yes, I am aware that I have been hanging with AJ for a bit too long.
Back to the point, I may not be the maturest person, but at least I buy my own underwear. For the record, Howie does not. Well, not always. I’ve seen his Mom pick up a pair. Now, my Mom use to do this on the road as well, but I was 15! Howie is, what, 26, 27? Frankly, I think it’s time Howie purchased his own undies. Actually, I think it’s time Howie moved out of his Mom's house, but far be it from me.
So the shoot began. Now, two hours latter I was in a jam. I felt my stomach making enough noise to be heard over Howie’s snoring, and man, that’s saying a lot. The other guys were eyeing me, and Lord knows what they were thinking.
My stomach was not the only factor causing me some discomfort. Frank (pronounced Frahnk, like the guy in "Father of the Bride") had this habit of touching me when he was showing us how to stand, sit, or whatever the case may be. At first, it didn’t bother me, but it became increasingly noticeable that he was touching only me, and ignoring the others. Still, this would not be so bad; a touch on the shoulder or elbow is nothing to get your tighty-whities in a wad about. Frank, however, had taken to touching my thigh when he wanted me in a certain position. That was my fear, that Frank wanted me in a certain position, and though there might be a camera there, I felt sure that the other guys and my clothes were not part of the mixture.
Of course, the guys were having the best time with this, touching me whenever Frank turned his back. Mocking Frank’s directions to me. "Oh, Nick, put your leg here. That would look FABulous!" " Nick, love, just here, yes, open those lovely eyes! FABulous!" I wish I had that plastic trash bag now. Suffocation was really the only answer.
I said something rude to them, and they just laughed. I was feeling rotten by this point, sick to my stomach. The lights were so hot and I was so tired. Tired, of the shoot, of Frank, of the guys, and yes, even myself. I was fighting it for all I was worth, the shoot would be over in just a few minutes and I could haul ass to the bathroom. I was desperate to keep it down. One, I didn’t really want to gross out the guys with any pyrotechnic gastronomical displays, except of course AJ, who’s response would most likely be "Dude, way to loose that Snickers bar!" Two because I didn’t want a repeat of the teasing I was the recipient of after last summers carsick incident. If I have to hear the "we had to pull the van over to let Nick puke" story one more time I may just give a repeat performance, all over the guy tattling.
Ten years later, or so it seemed, Frank called a break to check his shots. I got up slowly, and headed for the bathroom. I didn’t want to run, because that could set my stomach off, and because I didn't want the guys to think I was running from them. I can take a joke, just not when I am tired and sick.
Howie rushed ahead with his cell phone. Kevin, Brian and AJ were off to the side having another of those quite conversations, which most likely included something about my childish behavior. At that point, I couldn’t care less.
There it was, Mecca with a tiled blue floor, three stalls, sinks, and a couch. Apparently, some people carry on sit-down conversations in the bathroom. The lengthy kind that can’t be done on the commode, because your legs will fall asleep. Either that or they sleep there, and considering what goes on in a men’s room, both are just too gross to contemplate.
I turned to my right, heading for a stall, and who walks out in front of me but Howie with his damn cell. Normally this would not cause a problem, but the bathroom was narrow, I couldn’t get around him, and the situation was reaching a crisis point.
"Howie," I know I sounded desperate, because I was. "Howie," in that whiny voice I know the guys hate, but I couldn’t get any other words out. Something else was trying too hard to make an appearance.
Howie was either ignoring me for fun, or involved in the world’s most interesting bathroom cell-phone conversation. Whatever the reason, he didn’t move. Just as I was about to shove him back into a stall and make a run for it, Kevin stuck his head in and announced Frank needed us NOW. One roll of film had some type of problem, and we needed to do a re-shoot of several poses.
No way, no way I could do that. "HOWIE," I was getting loud, whiny and mad.
Howie just looked at me as if I had grown another head, which for all I cared I might have. Kevin took this opportunity, as he does so many, to take over and make the situation work. He walked in, grabbed us both by an arm and yanked us towards the door.
Mistake. That is really the only word for it. No, wait. Big mistake. Gargantuan mistake. Mistake to end all mistakes. The status point had just been reached.
I ralphed. I couldn’t help it, though I can say I wish I had better aim. I’m sure Kevin and Howie were wishing the same thing. Ralphed is really too mild a word. I hurled, projectile style, over Kevin’s shoes and lower pants legs. It was worse for Howie, who caught it from the chest down. All I can say is that half-digested Snickers and Coke look interesting on a white shirt. Actually, the color was quite pretty. The smell was not.
"Shit, Nick! What the hell!" Only vomit could arouse such a heated response from Howie.
I had no time to formulate a snappy comeback, as I was too busy trying not to add to the already bad situation. Kevin, in quite shock, just stared at me. The good thing about this was he saw my face, and realized that the spectacular event was not over.
"Nick, you moron! You’re only three feet from a commode! You..." Howie didn’t get to finish, as Kevin went into "super Kevin" mode. He slammed his hand over my mouth (though I think it was a bit late for this), put his other arm around me and guided me to a stall. There he held my head while I finished my business. Friends will hold your head while you puke. Real friends will do it while covered in your vomit.
"Howie, get me some wet paper towels, ok?" Kevin was rubbing my back at this point, using small gentle circles. For some insane reason, it occurred to me that Kevin would make a great Dad. I often feel he is too meticulous or strict, but hey, he started with a 13-year-old. Next time around he would start with a baby, and his own flesh and blood at that. "Baby, are you feeling better?" And speaking of baby. Kevin hadn’t used that word with me in years. He had only used it when I was really young and homesick.
"Baby my ass." Howie said in a snit. "No baby has that much puke in them." Poor Howie, he always lost his luggage and never remembered to bring an extra pair of clothes to a photo shoot.
Brian walked in, wondering what we were all up to. Considering our location, I was wondering what Brian could possibly have thought we were up to.
"Man, Howie, what happened?" Brain pinched his nose, trying to look concerned and not grossed out. He wasn’t pulling it off.
"Your best bud just hosed me, that’s what happened!" Howie was trying to scrape off the damage with a wet paper towel, but it was a lost cause. Mainly because wet paper towels are not the best things to use. They crumble, leaving those brown paper-buggers where ever they have gone. Anyway, the vomit was mostly liquid, as I had drank most of the Coke, but only took two bites of the candy bar.
"Nick? Buddy, you OK?" Brain was all concerned now. Apparently, the condition of Howie’s clothes did not move him to sympathy. However, the spectacle of Frack, red-faced and gasping, on his knees before a commode with no small amount of vomit on his own person, was the most empathy inducing situation he had been in for quite some time.
"Frack, man, what happened?" I would like to point out that this was a stupid question. I would also like to point out that I did not comment on it.
"Nick’s really sick." There are days when Kevin’s rate of thought is slower than his rate of speech.
"I told you!" Brian an octave above high "C." "We shouldn’t have had him under those hot lights for so long."
"Hell Brian, he knew he had an upset stomach. He shouldn’t have eaten that crap when he was hot." Howie had a point. Someone, build a monument to mark this occasion.
"Howie, back off. Nick didn’t hose you on purpose."
"Bri's right, but Howie has a point as well." Wow, Kevin can do Howie impersonations, and Howie can do Kevin impersonations. Someone call AJ. We could have a freaking contest.
The conversation raged above me. Have you ever noticed that people always lower their volume in a bathroom? It’s strange, as the acoustics are perfect for a good screaming match. The guys were exchanging angry verbal salvos in hushed tones. It sounded like so much escaping steam and as I was already hot the sauna reference was not what I needed.
"We can’t finish the shoot, I’m covered in puke!"
"Howie, we’ll have Frank take some individual shots while you and I take Nick back to the hotel. We’ll change and come back. Nick, I think you can just crash, OK?" That is one of Kevin’s best characteristics, in a crisis he always drops any attitude and comes through with a working solution.
After some brief consultation with Frank, Brian reported that the idea would work, as Frank wanted a bit of a break anyway. Then he would shoot Brian and AJ until Kevin and Howie returned. Frank was SOL as far as photos of me went, and Brian reported that Frank was MUCH put out about it. I wanted to suggest that he manhandle AJ while I was gone, but I still didn’t trust trying to talk, and AJ would most likely kill me. Some things are just better left unsaid.
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