Cold Coffee

one.

She was onto her fourth cup of coffee in the space of merely ten minutes , and she was tapping her foot impatiently against the table legs. It was decaf, Thomas would throw a fit if she went within teen feet of any caffeine. She was 5'9" at not even twenty years of age, and he was insistent that she was still yet to grow at least another two inches.

So she was simply jittering from the intensity of today's schedule. The twenty minute break she had in between meetings right now was the only rest she had for the next eight hours, and the thought of getting on a sixteen hour flight at the end of it all gave her no relief.

She was never able to sleep while travelling, although everybody insisted that she have to learn to, if she expected this career to last without any breakdowns.

Her coffee was getting colder by the second, releasing its succulent warmth into the frosty December air. The streets of New York were bustling and busy, as usual, and she was glad to be inside the high rise office, instead of amongst the chaos. Although lately she has had to be escorted everywhere, the levels of manic rising due to New York Fashion Week's presence.

Yesterday she had walked for three collections, and today once more before she were to hop on a first class flight to Milan. The week had been extremely long, yet it was going so fast. It certainly wasn't slowing down, with two more international fashion week's to walk, and like six shows to walk for in each.

She had the kate spade new york collection this evening, with hair and makeup beginning at four. She checked her watch; 2:12pm. The black, high-waisted jeans she was wearing were cutting into the backs of her hips, and she was regretting kidding herself into a size seven instead of an eight, as she sifted through the papers a smartly dressed assistant has just laid out on the table in front of her.

BEATRICE VIVIENNE CARTER.

Those were the bold underlined words that titled the profile shot of her against a brick wall. It was her 2015 portfolio for IMG Models, and she was actually quite pleased with it. She had never been one to be vain, but she was gaining confidence in herself and her modelling ability, and quite frankly, it felt good.

The profile photo, though, she thought was terrible. She was looking down in it, which, to her, just lengthens her already rather huge nose. You also can't see her eyes properly in it, which she refers to as her best feature. She doesn't like how they put her name in there too. Her name is Vivienne, or Vi, not Eleanor.

Eleanor is cowardly, or shy or whatever, and Vivienne radiates confidence. Eleanor is smart, and awkward, with bushy eyebrows. Vivienne just signed a contract with one of the largest, most renowned modelling agencies in the world. They're both the same person really, just alter egos. One of them, the person she is, and the other who she wishes she was.

As she placed the folder neatly back down on the table, two tall, eccentric looking men marched in. Thomas, her agent/publicist/best friend/manager/momager/lover of life/hater of christ/persona extraordinaire, was waving his hands around in exaggerated gestures as he spoke,

"Are you actually fucking serious?"

His voice cracked as he shouted desperately. A few people glanced up from their desks. He had a tendency to curse inappropriately.

"Beatrice here-"

"It's Vivienne." She corrected abruptly.

Thomas adjusted his pinstripe suit.

"Right," He continued, "Vivienne here, is one of the hottest models IMG has to offer right now, and you expect me to bind her to one shoot, for an amount f time where I could book her in for like... four jobs!"

The other man spoke up, his unusually deep voice startling them both slightly,

"But Thomas, you must understand, Miss Westwood requested her, and her only. I'd hate to think how disappointed she would be if you weren't to agree to this campaign."

She and Thomas made eye contact, and frowned. They knew exactly what each other was thinking; the guy wasn't making the most convincing appeal for what he was proposing. Noticing this exchange, the man spoke again,

"I do admit the shooting days are spread out, but I'm afraid not quite enough to fit other jobs in between. But it does offer a great opportunity for you to relax and recuperate, I am well aware of how busy you have been recently. The shoot is on location, no green screens, Vivienne decided to go all out for this campaign." Her attention was grabbed for a second, with the mention of her adoptive name, until her realisation that he wasn't talking about her there.

"So, you would be travelling to coastal Croatia for sixteen days," her attention was grabbed once again and held onto. Croatia. "and the accommodation there holds the perfect space to either just chill out, or even explore the delightful culture, in between the scheduled work days."

She and Thomas made eye contact. She widened her eyes at him, trying to get across the enormity of this offer. She knew he would try and play hard to get, but she didn't want to risk the proposition being retracted, and immediately replied,

"How much did you say it would pay?" She furrowed her eyebrows, before adding on, "Besides the honour of working with the Vivienne Westwood,"

The guys rolled his eyes and said, "It isn't an hourly salary, of course Vivienne has decided against the normal for this particular campaign," Thomas cringed at that statement, "But for roughly 70-80 hours of work, that is about nine hours a day, over sixteen days, you are being offered fifty-two thousand U.S dollars. The specific times of this work, and the dates, may be negotiable with Miss Westwood and her team."

She held in a gasp, and asked another question that popped into her mind, "What about the expenses of travel, accommodation, etcetera?"

Thomas looked rather smug with her observance and intelligent questions, she wasn't going to let anything slip her.

"That will, of course, all be covered. No hidden costs, or fine print, I swear. Vivienne Westwood genuinely requested you for her exclusive Fall 2015 campaign." He gulped, "Although I may not reveal to you the name of this campaign, as that is something Miss Westwood would like to tell you in person."

She pondered for a moment. The she nodded to Thomas.

Thomas took a deep breath in, "Alright then," he said, "it seems as though you have convinced Vi to agree to this campaign, and who am I to stand in her way? But she is due at the Lincoln Centre in forty minutes, and the traffic is fucking mental, so I'm afraid we'll have to be leaving now."

Thomas stood up in a quite a grand manner, and picked up his purple trench coat. He straightened out his trouser legs, before the man interjected once again.

"But there are contracts to be signed! You cannot leave just yet, you haven't legally agreed to anything!"

Thomas sighed and she knew exactly why. He really didn't agree with this campaign, and could tell she was only excited about because of the week's paid holiday. He had tried to blow the man off, so he could lecture her in the taxi ride to the events centre, and probably also on the plane to Milan.

"Fine, yes, of course, whatever. Have the papers delivered to the Gold Lounge for Emirates at JFK, before 11pm tonight. We will be there, and just be sure to see that nobody else handles the documents, but me. They will be completed by the time we arrive in Milan, so have a rep pick them up at 8am our time, like New York time, tomorrow morning."

Suddenly the room was silent without Thomas' booming voice taking it up, and the man, realising he had stopped talking, jumped into action.

"Wha-"

"No, I don't what time that is in Italy, you figure it out. If any shit goes down, here's my phone number." Thomas handed him a business card and waved at him, slightly mockingly, "Hurry up, Vivienne, get your beautiful behind into gear, kate spade awaits."

He grabbed her by a bony wrist and yanked her towards an open elevator, Fashion Week bound.