A few seagulls call out high above, their voices stolen by the wind. A portable stereo sings nondescript dance hits. Mikal is kneeling in front of the headboard of the big four-poster bed laughing, his arms outstretched and relaxed on the dark wood. I have a white linen pillow, grasped by the end in both hands, slung over my right shoulder. “Okay guys, you know the sequence. Mikal, bigger laughing this time. You’re really having fun. He’s not hurting you even if he does. Ashley, don’t hurt him. And action!” the photographer yells, obviously a guy with aspirations of working in the movies. I raise the pillow over my head and charge Mikal, who really is laughing. At least I “charge” as best I can on my knees across the bed. Mikal puts his hands up in self-defense, and I land him a good one on his shoulder. Feathers fly up from just behind Mikal, strategically blown by a fan. Mikal grabs the pillow and tosses it to one side. He takes me by the waist and pulls me to the headboard.
