When up-and-coming model Isabelle meets talented but jaded photographer Milo, sparks fly despite their age difference. Their romance becomes the talk of the New York City fashion scene, fueling rumors and speculation about their scandalous affair. A...
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Much to her surprise, her agent woke her up with the phone call that she indeed got the call back.
"What time is it?" Isabelle's agent Diana asked her in that perpetually bright and perky voice that she awls seemed to have, "are you still in bed?" Diana asked her again and it was like Isabelle could see her furrowing her eyebrows over the phone.
"No, of course not," Isabelle yawned as quietly as she could and stumbled out of bed, suddenly energized by the news.
She dreamt of symbols and signs she could not decipher and felt she was still half in a dream world. She walked over to the mirror hanging on her wall and stared at her face as if for the first time, wondering what these photographers see in her, but she could not find an answer to that too.
"Hello? Are you there?" Diana's voice brought her back to reality. "Did you hear what I said?"
"Yes, of course," Isabelle said, but she wasn't quite sure what that would have been either.
She heard Diana do a heavy exhale on the other line.
"You have to be in Manhattan in 45 minutes, so I suggest you start scurrying now. I'll meet you on set, I have to be in the area anyway. See you soon, okay?" Diana hung up before Isabelle could protest.
She was determined to get there on time. Exited about the prospect of this job, and secretly - though she would not admit it to Diana or barely to her own self - about that photographer. Daniel..or David...she thought she should probably figure put his name considering everything. She lazily opened the mail app on her phone and found the email about the casting.
It was David. David Balliole.
She quickly copied his name into Google and hit search. Her heart quickened involuntarily. He was clearly a big name. She wasn't surprised considering everything. Of course, she knew he was a big name but she didn't fully realize to what extent. Scrolling through the articles and news results she suddenly shut off her phone, thinking it would be terrible to find out more about a person like this than in real life.
She gathered her thoughts and went to the bathroom. In 15minutes, having perfected the technique of a quick get together, she was calling the car to pick her up.
She prayed she'd make it on time, surmised that she even got the call-back and angry at herself for sleeping in (for all her success her weakness was occasional laziness), they hit unexpected traffic on the bridge.
She reminded herself to breathe, but there was only so much breathing she could do.
When the car finally pulled up to the studio, she was already 15 minutes too late. And in her haste, she almost didn't notice when she practically stumbled into him. The photographer.
He was there outside, smoking, and when he saw her he smirked.
"Hi," she said, not knowing what to do next. It must have been a pause, but it felt like an eternity.
"Hi," he said simply, "you here for the shoot?" He asked her though he must have remembered her, she thought, wondering why he was asking her.
All she could muster was a nod. She looked him up and down. He had faded jeans on and a simple button down. It was somehow effortless and expensive all at once and she was wondering if maybe he should be the one modeling.
Catching herself observing him, she stopped, and watched as he motioned to the door for her to go in.
"See you in the studio," he said and then looked past her, taking a drag, blowing it out on the other side.
Isabelle walked past him, with her head down. What was that? She asked herself. All of a sudden she felt a deep need too get his approval, and not just because she was vying for this job. She hated how powerless it made her feel. He was at once approaching and pushing away. She was fascinated by this approach, but couldn't spend too much more time thinking about it as she wished she could, as the first thing she saw once she made her way up the stairs to the studio, was Diana - her agent - arms crossed. Looking cross.
"You're late," she stated bluntly.
"I know," Isabelle replied, looking sorry.
"Come on, let's get you into hair and makeup," and Diana did what she did so many times before, taking Isabelle under her wing and leading her to the next room.
