Jack & Alana

Part. I
The Longest Day Of Summer

Jack. Big, handsome Jack. Jack, a man who futurists might call a true product of his time. A considered and gentle man, but sharp like a whip and in command of his masculinity. And, he was very much in love. In love with The Girl From Kauai. An apparition, three shades of gold and the owner of every room she entered. Her name was Alana, and how they’d come to be was inconsequential. Only worth knowing was that they’d met unexpectedly like two melodies in a song, and now hummed through life in euphoric togetherness. Jack and Alana were both film stars. Both versatile performers. And, each of them present among the world’s most famous.

It was the longest day of summer. Jack had worked hard in the heat and arrived home with thoughts only for a brief moment of leisure; one which might involve a tumbler, two portions of whiskey, one large piece of ice, and a view of the horizon as the day’s final embers burned down. Alana had also worked tirelessly that day, as was her way. She’d arrived home a touch earlier than Jack, and made herself more comfortable before heading out to the yard to cool off. Jack took a certain level of satisfaction in hearing his key un-click the front door lock. He fixed a drink on his way out to the yard, where he knew Alana would already be. And she was, looking as divine to him as she had the day they’d met. They locked eyes as Jack lumbered across the grass, everything necessary communicated through a moment’s glance. Alana surveyed Jack’s tightly cropped hair, a recent change with which she hadn’t entirely come to terms with yet. But like most things about this man, it’d soon grow on her.

Part. II
The Sweetest Pisco Sour

When the light afternoon breeze had done its job, Jack rather unwound and Alana considerably less flustered, they decided that a Pisco Sour might be in order before readying themselves for the theatre. Jack adored the way Alana made Pisco Sours. He adored watching the process. She made them the Peruvian way, with egg white, rather than the Chilean way without, and took the greatest care in each of her measurements.

Part. III
Perfect Imperfections

Jack had disappeared into the bedroom after finishing his drink, so Alana sauntered to the record player and placed the needle on a volume of Gordon Jenkins’ Secret Love. As she sat listening to it, she enjoyed the soft crackle of the vinyl. Alana liked imperfections. They made things warmer, and more real to her. She thought about Kauai, and the cliffs of Na Pali, the rich green caverns plunging into the ocean, so perfect in their imperfections. The only thing that could have, and did, shake her from the reverie was the appearance of Jack at the doorway, shirt unbuttoned and midway through dressing for the evening. He smiled cheekily towards the clock and Alana took his meaning.

Part. IV
Love Is A Many Splendoured Thing

After the theatre, Jack poured himself a nightcap, his third and final drink of the evening. He had a practised discipline and knew that his health was a crucial commodity to his livelihood. But he also knew that to deny oneself an occasional pleasure was no way to exist. He looked at the honey-coloured liquid in his glass and thought about all the honey-coloured things in his life; His mother’s favourite necklace, the first trophy he’d ever won, the soft skin on Alana’s back… And as if summoned by his thoughts, she appeared at the doorway; a simple act, yet enough to steal any man’s full attention. She smiled cheekily at him. And then, if someone had been passing on the street, they might have seen the bedroom light go out, but they’d have never known that perfection lived inside.

The End.

Photography by Richard Freeman
Styling by Jana Bartolo
Hair & make-up by Georgia Hull
Produced by Lucas Townsend

Miss Blanchard rides for Rip Curl clothing and swimsuits | Mr Freestone rides for Billabong clothing and wetsuits

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