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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She woke up on the day of the event and it took her a couple of seconds to realize where she was. Not physically, but to orient herself that this was the day of the premiere. That she would be there, and so would he.
Of course, she was going to be dressed to kill. She usually was not the one to go for such risque numbers, however, after a couple of conversations, she convinced her manager that it would indeed be a good - great - idea to go with the sheer, floor-length, barely there dress.
It was genius! Looked a lot like the dresses from the campaigns, but in a much more fuck you kind of way.
Usually, she would do her own makeup, but this time she had a whole glam squad come to her.
She rubbed her eyes and checked her phone for the time. She got distracted by a couple of miscellaneous messages, but then it was time to go take a shower and eat something very light before the glam squad arrived. Partly because she had to look good for tonight, partly because she was too nervous for anything more.
Maybe nervousness was not the right way to express herself, it was a strange sort of anticipation - one of fear and hunger - and one that made her want to run straight into the fire.
After hair and makeup were done, and she was finally in her dress, she only had the moment to take a few deep breaths before the car came.
Isabelle looked outside at the big black car outside her window and resolved herself to put one-foot in front of the other.
She felt more powerful in this outfit, holding herself up in a new, more meaningful way.
In the car, she continued to do her deep breathing exercises. Then she stared out the window, in awe of how alive the city seemed. Something was happening on every corner, the mind did not have a chance to be bored.
All of a sudden, the overcast skies gave way to a light rain, and she felt that for sure she was in a movie.
As the car passed the Brooklyn Bridge, the Bowery, and SoHo, they finally got to the venue in Tribeca.
They pulled up to a closed-off, tent-like thing.
"We're here miss," the chauffeur tipped his hat, and Isabelle nodded.
Somebody opened the door for her, and she stepped into a bustling area. Security guards and managers and models.
Her agent spotted her before she did: "Isabelle!" She heard her voice being called and saw her agent approaching. "Just in time," her agent continued, "we need you on the carpet in 10, then there will be a presentation of the campaign."
"Hello to you too," Isabelle said jokingly giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, "okay, that sounds alright."
"You look...incredible!" Her agent took a short moment to assess Isabelle's look, and then said, compeltely off the cuff, "oh, and there's a dinner," the agent said, while furiously scrolling through her phone.
"What dinner?" Isabelle's brow furrowed.
"The photographer? He organized it, but I think you should go, it would be a great networking opportunity for you. All the crew, and some of the other artists, models, you know - the scene - will be there."
A great networking opportunity? "You have no idea..." Isabelle was screaming on the inside.
"You're invited," the agent told her, and then continued to give her various updates on other campaigns, but Isabelle had it go in one ear and out the next. She couldn't believe it.
Of course, she was going to go, she just didn't have the time to mentally prepare herself. But maybe all she had to do was trust herself. It felt like she was trying to hide something, not from anyone else, but from herself. She had no idea how this night would end, but she knew there would only be one way to find out.
She stepped out onto the red carpet when it was her turn, and was amazed at the paradox of the blinding flashes actually making her feel calmer - she couldn't see the faces behind the cameras. It didn't feel nearly as intimate as being in a room with one photographer.
Specifically, that very same photographer, who all of a sudden, Isabelle turned her head and he was there. Like in a dream she had many times before, except this was no dream. She felt her knees buckle underneath her, but she collected herself in time. He was a couple of feet away from her on the carpet, and turned to look at her at the same time as she at him.
Something passed between them, and she didn't know whether this was for the cameras or not, but the hostility she was expecting wasn't there. She didn't know at all what it was that she was feeling - attraction, fear, eroticism....maybe all of them all at once.
She was completely disassociated from the carpet at this point, but hearing the screams of the photographers, she zeroed in on what she was there to do. Of course, she didn't expect Milo to come up to her and give her a classic fashion world kiss, two pecks on the cheek. Of course, she smiled, of course, she blushed, but she did her best to keep it professional.
As they stood together for the pictures, Milo said under his breath: "You look really pretty."
Isabella kept smiling for the photographers, though all the guards inside of her were crumbling.
"I'm glad to see you, actually," she said to him as they were walking down the carpet and into the room.
Isabelle was counting her steps so as not to fall.
Milo turned toward her and said, "I hope I'll see you at the dinner tonight," and before Isabelle could comprehend it all, he was whisked away by some manager to once again go and give a speech.
Isabelle was outside of herself. Without thinking, she grabbed a champagne flute from a passer-by waiter.
They were now in the official presentation room, with official photographers. A little quieter, but there were still lots of other people milling around. Industry...models..agents..friends.
She iddn't care how odd she must have looked, standing there in the middle of the room. She only wanted one thing now, and she knew what she came for after all.
