Aim to Please (wlw)

ch. 5 • two sides of a favor

AN: body image issues, implied fatphobia.

"Show time!" Jayce crowed. He threw his arm around me and squeezed. "How're you feeling, superstar?"

"Like I'm going to throw up," I mumbled. My stomach was doing cartwheels and my muscles were tense.

Jayce and Ellie rubbed my upper back. "You'll be fine, Mackenzie. You've got this," Ellie reassured.

"May I have a moment with her?"

The two designer's eyes went wide and they nodded emphatically. I groaned softly in protest at their departure. They left me alone with one of the many facets of my anxiety—

Laurie Montague.

"Mackenzie," her voice, soft as silk-wrapped sin, confirmed how close she was. Next was her perfume, a scent I normally reveled in. Now, it just made me nauseous.

"I'll be fine, Ms. Montague," I squeaked out, an octave higher than usual.

"The nerves of your first show will always be one of the most miserable times of your career," she continued, resting a hand on my shoulder. "You push through it."

"How?"

Her hand stilled after I whimpered. She took in a sharp breath of air and exhaled slowly. "Would you feel better if you had a single focal point to focus on while you walked?"

I nodded and took a deep breath. Stage fright is heinous.

"I will be at the end of the runway." Laurie tilted my chin upwards so that I had no choice but to look at her. Her eyes were...sad? "You focus on me. And think about how you will never have to do this again if you don't want to."

"I'm sorry," I whispered hoarsely. "For being such a baby."

"You have no idea how many models I've had to talk through their first shows," she claimed with a nonchalant shrug. "The nerves can be deadly. Now, I must go— but when you walk, look for me. I will be directly in front of you, darling."

"Yes ma'am," I agreed halfheartedly, giving her a weak smile.

The hustle and bustle of the backstage area was a direct view into chaotic organization. Each person knew their places, their next steps. It was a tornado of activity, one that I was scared to be swept up in. But, knowing that my time was approaching, I breathed in deeply and took the plunge.

Hair. Makeup. Posing practice. Climbing into the pantsuit, praying that it fit as well as it did a few days ago.

The rollercoaster of being in awe about hair and makeup to the plummet caused by the possibility of not fitting into the piece— that hurt, but was exhilarating at the same time.

"Three, stage right!" The chaos coordinator shouted out.

I'm next.

A flurry of activity jostled me closer to the stage exit. Flying fabric and limbs as assistants and designers helped the models out of the old and into the new. The sounds were overwhelming, the lights from the stage were bright, and my esophagus burned with—

"Four, stage right!"

Go.

The idea of the lights backstage was nothing compared to the runway; it was almost impossible to see two feet in front of you. I funneled all my energy into exuding confidence, fake it til you make it constantly running through my head.

At the end of the runway, my eyes found Ms. Montague. She gave me two thumbs up and her face was brightened by her gorgeous smile. I felt a blush creep up my neck— I wasn't disappointing her.