Before she turned away completely from the camera, her smile had already fallen off. She wasn’t looking for the next pose. That would take care of itself. For her, it was a pause from what the world wanted, so she could exhale into the sea of her bobbing ordinariness. She lived for the Jane in her. She worked, when the right gig came along, to pay for the Jane in her. She held on to the Jane in her with clenched fists. This was the price for high fashion.

Then she would turn back, countenance lighting up the lens, nuanced to the rise-fall whirring of the motor-drive – giving, giving.

Gone. Gone.

Once, she broke her silence while I still had the shutter-release pressed, as if to break the ice between us. Except this was our seventh time working together.

– What’s your next project? she asked.

– Vacation.

– Yeah? Where?

– Your place. And I hope you’ll be there.

She looked away for her usual pause, fiddling with a button on her blouse. The client ended up using that particular shot, when she had looked away, of all shots!

– Said they could use the moment of the girl surging within the woman, the editor explained.