Sarah said, “You dressed up for the cover shoot, I see.”
He looked down at his shirt, then back up at her. “I can honestly say that I gave it no thought whatsoever. Anyhow, I had some idea I might get naked.”
“Naked?”
He took off his shirt.
“Quentin,” Sarah warned him.
“Bear with me.” The pun struck him, and he laughed so hard that he had difficulty unbuttoning his shorts. Between spasms, he said low enough that only Sarah could hear, “You want some more, don’t you.”
“Who could resist an ego like that?”
He dropped his shorts and boxers together.
“Quentin!” she gasped. “The park’s still open!”
“We got permission to be here,” he reminded her, kicking off his shoes. “Surely they expected something like this. Everybody in Birmingham knows we get naked. It’s art, right?” He pointed to the art school girls for confirmation, and they nodded.
Erin called, “We’ve been arrested for public indecency so many times—”
Quentin finished, “We should set up the Jefferson County court system to debit our account.” He walked over to the photographers, who moved back ever so slightly. He pointed and framed with his hands, explaining his vision. Erin, Owen, and Martin went to sit on the retaining wall.
Then Quentin, with his back to Sarah and the photographers, struck a pose exactly like Vulcan, one arm raised to the sky. Sarah understood the picture now: Quentin as Vulcan in the foreground, his bandmates behind him on the wall, and the real Vulcan above them and in the background. The cameras flashed, and a ring of spectators began to form.
After a few minutes, Quentin relaxed and motioned to Owen. The two of them came toward the truck, Quentin still naked. They opened the doors and rummaged in the cab.
Now that Martin was at a safe distance, Rachel had joined Sarah on the tailgate. As Quentin and Owen found what they wanted in the truck and walked by again, Rachel commented in her demure voice, “You do get used to it.”
Sarah doubted this.
Quentin slid his boxers from the tailgate as he passed—pink boxers printed with little red hearts and the words Kiss me. He pulled them on and sat by Erin on the wall.
Now Owen stripped amid murmurs from the crowd. When he took the Vulcan pose, he held up one drumstick like Vulcan’s spear.
As the cameras quietly snapped, Sarah looked at Rachel beside her. Rachel’s gaze was fixed on Martin.
Sarah said conversationally, “I know Martin’s thirty-one, but when I first saw him without his glasses as we drove up, I thought Erin had acquired a twenty-one-year-old boy toy.” Sarah didn’t add that she’d been alarmed at first. Alarmed for her plan to make Erin jealous, and excited at her new prospects with Quentin if Erin were otherwise occupied and out of the picture. And then she’d realized it was Martin.
Rachel said, “He looks young because he’s lost so much weight.”
“That, too,” Sarah admitted. She went on cheerfully, “But I’d never noticed that he has dark blond hair, or handsome dark eyes. The glasses overwhelm him.”
“He can’t see a foot in front of his face without them,” Rachel told her, nodding slowly. “That’s why he has them off. He knew I’d be here. He doesn’t want to see me looking at him.”
What Sarah had read as Rachel’s reserve, she now realized was profound sadness. She said quietly, “With your experience, I could put in a good word and get you a job doing publicity for another group signed with Manhattan Music. Get you away from here.”
“Thanks.” Rachel kept her eyes on Martin, who sat beside Erin on the wall, zoning out. “I might take you up on that. But not yet. I’m not quite through here yet.”
Owen relaxed his pose. Quentin asked the crowd, “Which one looks better, me or Owen?”
Erin said, “You look more like Vulcan.”
Quentin craned his neck to look backward and up at the statue. “I’m not sure how to take that.”
Erin said, “Uh. You’re shorter. In height?”
Owen asked, “Well, which one do you prefer?”
“We won’t see your front in the photo, right?” Erin asked. “Because all I’m getting is the front, if you know what I mean.”
Sarah predicted that they’d ask Erin to pronounce judgment on the front view next. Then there would be a fight, wooden beams, and stitches.
“Okay, that’s it,” Sarah called, walking toward them. “Wrap this up and put your clothes back on.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a local news van setting up in the parking lot.
“This is great publicity,” Quentin told her through his teeth.
“If you get arrested tonight,” Sarah pointed out, “you might not make the album deadline tomorrow.”
Owen dove for his clothes.
“It’s still not quite right,” Quentin said. “Martin, you want to try it with a guitar pick? Is that insulting? No, a guitar!”
“That’s okay,” Martin said. He looked toward Rachel, then looked away. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Well, I’m going to try one more time,” Quentin said.
As Owen put his clothes on and sat down, Quentin stripped. Then, cocking his head and looking up at the statue, Quentin slipped his ancient deck shoes back on because Vulcan wore Roman sandals. He pulled his T-shirt back on because Vulcan wore a smithy apron. He held the microphone he’d fished from his truck like Vulcan’s spear. Then he resumed the pose, butt still bare to the warm sun and the mountaintop breeze.
“What are the rest of us supposed to do?” Erin called to no one in particular. “Get an eyeful?” She ogled Quentin. “Just sit here and look pretty?” She smiled sweetly for the camera.
“Shield your eyes,” Owen suggested. He and Martin shielded their eyes while Erin continued to look pretty. The camera flashed, and Sarah knew that this was the album cover.
The photographers kept working, capturing the scene from every possible angle with every available light setting. Sarah sat back down on the tailgate of the truck, next to Rachel. She’d known Rachel only a few days, but she felt for her. She put her arm around her.
“I was right to break up with Martin,” Rachel whispered.
“Of course you were,” Sarah said. “You couldn’t stay with an addict. You owed that to yourself.”
Rachel’s eyes widened. “How long have you known?”