Maybe ten, he considered, while she shifted behind him, leaned in closer.

"Turn a page-or start to, don't turn it all the way. Just-stop, hold it. Good. It's good. But . . ."

She straightened, frowned at the laptop image. He had to twist around to check it himself, and what he saw surprised him.

"I thought you were crazy, but it looks like an ad in a high-class magazine or something."

"It's good, but it's not quite there. It needs . . . Of course."

She pulled open his refrigerator, took out a beer. When she spotted the opener, she popped the top, then to his shock, poured a good third of it down the sink.

"What? Why?"

"Tough hands, a beer, and Pride and Prejudice." She set the beer on the table, framed it, moved it closer to the top right edge of the book.

"You didn't have to pour it down the sink."

"It needs to look like you're drinking a beer and reading Austen."

"I have a mouth, and a throat. We could have poured it in there."

"Sorry, didn't think of that. Left thumb under the page, turning it, right hand on the beer. I need you to cover the label-I'm not looking for product placement. Hand on the beer like you're about to pick it up, maybe even lift it a half inch off the table."

Since there was no use crying over spilled beer, he followed instructions. Picking up the beer, setting it down, turning a page, not turning a page, until she lowered the camera again.

"Perfect. Just exactly right."

He turned to see for himself, saw the beer had been inspired. It gave the shot a cheerful edge, and added balance.

"Real men read books," Naomi said. "I'm going to offer poster size."

He felt weird all over again. "Posters."

"Brick-and-mortar bookstores, adult learning centers, college dorms, even some libraries. You've given me some damn good work today, Xander. I'm going to tell Kevin it's a go on the steam shower."

"You're putting in a steam shower."

"I am now." Nodding, nodding, she scrolled through the shots on her computer. "Yes, I am now. I'd talked myself out of it, but when I get this much good work on a Sunday? I'm steaming."

He pointed at her. "I earned time in that."

"You definitely did."

She didn't resist when he pulled her onto his lap, but did hesitate when he started to take the camera.

"I'm not going to bounce it off the floor. It's got weight," he commented.

"Just over nine pounds. I'm mostly going to use the tripod with it, and it's worth the weight. It's tough and reliable, and you can see just how sharp."

"And this deal on the back makes it shoot digital?"

Nodding, she removed it. "Excellent system-no pins to catch on anything, and it has its own integrated software. It's not something I'm going to take on a hike, but for what I wanted here, and for what you want with the band, it's the machine."

He had to admit he'd like to play with it himself, just to see how the mechanics worked. But he didn't see that happening, any more than he'd let her under the hood of his GTO.

"I use my phone if I take a picture."

"Very decent cameras on phones today. I've taken some nice shots I've been able to manipulate and sell. And now, I wouldn't mind a half a glass of that wine while I break this down and we set up in the garage."

"I can take care of that. I've already got most of a beer."

"Thanks." She hesitated again, then kissed him. "Thanks," she repeated.

"No problem."

She rose, went over to carefully replace her camera in its case. And as he rose to get her wine, he saw her gaze shift back to the books.

"So, it's a classic therefore a cliched question, but have you read all of these?"

"Everything out here, yeah. There's some in my office, in the bedroom I haven't gotten to yet."

She pulled off casual, he thought, compacting her tripod, sliding it into its soft case.

"Mostly fiction, right? But you've got some nonfiction mixed in. Biographies, histories, books on cars-surprise-true crime."

He could pull off casual, too. "Nonfiction, written well, is a story."

"I tend to only read nonfiction that's work related. How do you know if something based on true is written true?"

"I guess you don't."

"Sometimes it must be perception or personal agenda, or just enhancing or adjusting for creative effect. Like a photograph. I take an image that's real, but I can manipulate it, change tones, enhance or soften or crop out to meet my own agenda."

He brought the wine to her. Fifty-fifty, he'd thought. She'd done the work she'd come to do on the first fifty. Now, he could see, she'd tied herself up in the second half.

"I'd say the person in the original image knows what's true and what's manipulated."

"That's the thing about words and images." She took a slow sip of wine. "Once the words are on the page, the image printed, it becomes what's true."

She turned away then, set her glass aside to break down her lighting. "They're not so different, words and pictures. Both freeze moments, both stay with you long after the moment's over."

"Naomi."

He didn't have a clear idea what to say, how to say it, and decided it would be nothing as the sound of an old truck with a rusted-out muffler boomed outside.

"That'll be Lelo and his muffler from hell."

"If he had a friend who was a mechanic, he could get that fixed."

"I'll have to suggest that. For the millionth time. At least he can help us haul all this down."

- She liked Lelo-and it generally took her longer to like. And Tag loved him at first sight. Man and dog were all over each other in an instant, like long-lost friends (possibly brothers) thrilled with the reunion.

"That's a good dog. That's some good dog." Crouched, Lelo rubbed Tag all over and got licked lovingly in the face with every stroke. "I heard you found him out of gas on the side of the road."

"That's right."

"Not out of gas now, are you, boy? Not out of gas now."

Tag rolled over, exposing his belly. His hind leg pumped like a piston in time with the rubbing.

Lelo had straggly hair halfway to his shoulders the color of a Kansas cornfield. He came in about an inch shorter than Naomi with a skinny build and ropey muscles set off in a tie-dyed T-shirt and jeans frayed at the knees and the hems. An emerald green fire-breathing dragon rode sinuously up his right forearm.

"How are you doing up there on the bluff?"

"I like it." Naomi set up her lights as she considered ideas and options for the shoot.

"Needs help with the landscaping," Xander said as he brought in-as ordered-his guitars, both his ax and his old acoustic.

"Oh yeah. They sure let that place go. Never did have much what you'd call creativity with the landscaping. And Dikes never gave a shit."

"Loo's ex," Xander explained.

"Stayed stoned most of the time. I should know since I got stoned with him. I don't do that so much anymore," he said to Naomi. "I could take a look up there, if you want. Give you some ideas."

"I could probably use the ideas."

"No charge for thinking. Here comes Dave and Trilby."

Dave the drummer, Naomi remembered. Broad shoulders, compact build, brown hair worn in a kind of modified Caesar. Jeans, a faded Aerosmith T-shirt, banged-up brown hiking boots. Trilby-keyboards-made a striking contrast. Smooth dark skin, wide dark eyes, a head full of dreads. Cargo pants and a red tee on a gym-ripped body.

They hauled in their equipment while Xander called out introductions. It helped that everyone had full hands and tasks. She always had a problem meeting so many people at once.

Of course the dog eased any awkwardness, happily roaming from one to another after he'd sniffed enough to reassure himself they were okay.

"I took a look at your website," Dave said to Naomi as he set up his drums. "Slick. I'm in charge of the band's. Not so slick. Techwise, it rocks-that's what I do-but the look doesn't hit it hard."

Since she'd taken the time to view it herself, she couldn't disagree. "It's really thorough, and easy to navigate."

He grinned. "Which is saying yeah, the look blows. I was wondering if we could get some shots today I could use there, juice it up."

"I've got some ideas."

"Good, because in that area I'm fresh out. My wife said maybe we should go more retro."

"You're married?"

"Eight years, two kids."

She couldn't say why she'd assumed he, and the rest of the band, would be single.

At the serious engine roar, Dave adjusted the angle of his snare. "That'll be Ky. Lead guitar," Dave added, as she watched the big, black, tricked-out Harley roar up.

Tall, dark, and dangerous, she thought. You couldn't say handsome, not with the narrow face, the scruffy goatee, the hawkish nose and just overly generous mouth.

But he made you look.

He aimed eyes as dark as his hair at Naomi. "Hi there, Slugger."

Xander glanced over from setting up the speakers. "Naomi, Ky."

"Yeah, I saw you put Marla on her knees the other night. She'd earned it."

"Nobody's seen her for a couple days," Lelo said.

"Yeah, I just heard about that." With a kind of practiced shrug, Ky swung his guitar case off his back. "Hooked up with somebody at the bar. Wouldn't be the first time. You had a lost weekend with her back when, didn't you, Lelo?"

"A half a weekend, in a weak moment."

"We all have 'em. Got beer, Keaton?"

"Cooler, outside the bay."

He gave Naomi a lazy smile. "Want one, Rocky?"

"No, thanks."

"Water and soft stuff in there, too."

"I'd take a water."

She put her hands on her hips, looked around.

Yeah, she had ideas.

"I'm going to take some basics, just to warm everybody up, test the waters. You're set up like you are onstage, so go ahead, play something."

She pulled out her Nikon, changed the lens, checked her light meter as they got in position, decided what to play.

"Dave's got his Aerosmith on, so let's go there," Xander suggested.

"Don't look at me unless I tell you to," Naomi ordered, and began to shoot.

Standard, she thought. Good, solid, but standard. She got some decent head shots, some wide angles, some where she let the motion blur.

When the last chord crashed down, she lowered the camera.

"Okay. Now, we're not doing any of that. I need to see the wardrobe options. Lelo, I want to stick with what you've got on, but let's see what else there is."