Your Company

4

I woke up the next morning because of the loud alarm I set on my phone. 

I snatched my phone and slapped the 'Stop' button. I close my eyes, trying to finish that one dream of me making out with my favorite MMC, Nero Gallo. Sadly, I could not. 
I groan and slowly get up. Blinded by the sun's rays directly pointing at me, I fall to the ground and wake up. 

"Fuuck!" I yell. I get up and walk towards my closet. 

Today, I'm getting my first gig as a model. I'll be the face of the 'Yusuko' wine company of this year! 

I choose my clothes for today- a grey turtleneck with white jeans, a black belt with a golden latch, silver flower earrings, dark square sunglasses (since the sun fucking hates my eyes), and black platform boots.

Instead of taking a taxi towards the building, I take the train instead. I can't stand the smell of taxis.

The train was packed. Too packed. I squeezed my way in there, almost crawling my way into an empty seat in the back. Graffiti was all over the walls, doors, and chairs. The litter was sprawled all over. The stench of sweat, BO, and stinky breath was horrible for my lungs- it was equivalent to vaping or smoking.

Suddenly, the train's PA spoke.

Next stop: Grand Central Terminal.

Once the train stopped, the whole train was almost empty. I stepped out, glad that I wasn't in such a cramped position anymore. I go up the stairs and see the whole building. I take it in, also remembering the first episode in Gossip Girl, where Serena was looking over the whole terminal. And Dan, admiring her. I envy rich and beautiful blondes.

It takes me about 10 minutes to arrive at the building. I take out my phone and open the text that was sent at fucking 4 am. I open Messages and click on the contact that said: westwood78@email.com

westwood78@email.com sent at 4:03 A.M.: Sorry to inform you very early, but regarding your first task as one of our models, your photo shoot will be on Floor 9, the second door on your left. 

I walk to the elevator, get inside and press the button 9. I wait, listening to the jazz from the small speaker in the top right corner. 

God, I remember that interview last night. I remember losing 2 hours of sleep because of replaying that stupid scene in my head. And that silly question! Why the hell would he even ask that anyway? It's rude. He hasn't changed. At ALL.

The elevator door opens, and I quickly stomp out. I look towards the second door on my left, labeled with a golden sign on the door that says 'PhotoStudio #28'. 
How many photo studios do they even have in this building? I open the golden door knob, and see so much photo... stuff. Not like phones on a stand, but actual professional cameras. And those overpriced expensive lighting I either see on eBay or Amazon. Plus, a green screen. With a LOT of people.

I see Yelena Westwood- the girl who texted me early in the morning. She looks a bit older than me. She had her hair tied up in a straight bun, with no extra hairs sticking up because of the shiny gel she put on her damn head, chunky silver tiny hoops on her ears, and dark red nails with those fake diamond gems. She's wearing one of those suits that you'd wear at a boardroom. If she were a doll, she'd be Corporate Barbie. 
Yelena spots me and walks over to me with her black heels. God, they clack so loud. 

She clutches a few papers in her hand and a dark blue pen and talks to me. 
"Ivory. You're right on time. Go over to that vanity in the back," she informs me as she points to a mini makeup area. "..and sit on that stool. The makeup artists will be arriving shortly."

I nod and take steps towards the vanity. 

The vanity was simple- it was painted white, with 6 drawers and the Hollywood type of mirror with lightbulbs. A bunch of cosmetics and perfumes were either placed outside or inside. The stool for the vanity was ripped, though.

"You must be Ivory, correct?" A voice says on the right side of my ear.

A girl approached me. A girl with hot pink wolf-cut hair with neon green highlights, foxy makeup, and wearing a plaid orange skirt and a white blouse.
She smells like lemon and cinnamon. And has pizza earrings with the wrong colors; blue as the cheese, yellow for the pepperoni, and red as the crust.

"Yeah," I said, shyly. "That's me."
"Great! My name is Defne. I'm your makeup artist. For all your model shit. Oof, sorry for swearing. Do you mind if I curse in front of ya'?" she says all in one breath.
"It's fine. I'd like to swear in front of you, too. I fear that there will be a lot of times when we'll need to swear. A lot." 
"Yes! A swear pact. For life.  Alright, could you face in front of that mirror? We'll get started. With your hair first..."

---

30 minutes later, I look... wow. Stunning. That's the first time I've ever heard myself say that. I look like a replica of Adriana Lima. Or without the fur bikini, Raquel Welch. My hair has so much volume, that it's ridiculous if you compare how I do my hair with the hairstyle I have now. 
Defne dressed me in a jet-black spaghetti dress, a big pearl necklace, and earrings. 

She led me to the photoshoot area and gave me further instructions.

"Pretend you're in a class—English, specifically. Pretend you're bored," she ordered in a very dramatic voice.
I was sitting at a barstool with a dark oak desk and a red wine bottle on display. I put my hand on my cheek, rolling my eyes to create that bored look. 

The cameras and white lights snap and flash. Defne has a wide smile on her face. "My work is getting published! On the cover of Vogue and other magazines!" she sniffed. "Thank you, Lord."

After 10 minutes of retakes and positioning, my job was finally done. 

I left the building and took the train to the Upper West Side to try a new Japanese restaurant. I felt like rewarding myself with my favorite food.
I walked out of the station, admiring the tall buildings and posh shops and cafes all around. The cars, taxis honking, and people talking while walking were kind of my type of place.

Finally, I arrived at Raku, the Japanese place. Inside, the restaurant would be something you'd watch in Naruto. It was a sit-down type of place. It was dark inside but had a comfy and warm feeling to it. I sit down where the guys work.
I ordered eel sushi, California rolls, and sashimi, plus Chicken Katsu. And soju. I felt happy. And I wanted to get drunk.
My food arrived, and just as I was about to gobble it all down, I heard a familar male laugh behind me. 

I turn around; Terrence.

But he wasn't laughing with me, exactly. He was with a group of friends. They looked like they were getting drunk too. All of them were holding shot glasses, except for Terrence. He looked the most serious and sober out of all of them, just nibbling the salmon rolls. 
I swear, I'm not an eavesdropper, but they were close to me. I started listening to what they were saying.

A girl, blonde like Blake Lively laughs loud. Oh my God, why does she laugh like that?
"...Omigod? Did she go there and apply?" she laughs. She drinks another shot of alcohol and burps out loud. Everyone laughs except Terrence. "That is SO funny. Good luck Terry!"
He looks nonchalant and unbothered. He rolls his eyes and sighs. "Yeah," he says, in a bored voice, spinning his chopsticks in soy sauce.

My heart jumped. Were they talking about me? I ate my sushi slowly and decided I shouldn't get that drunk now. 

Terrence continues, after taking a long drink of the can of Pepsi in his left hand. "I don't know why she applied to become a model. I know that she was good-looking- or at least was considered beautiful. But she had the brains. She became President. Valedictorian. She was the type of girl that everyone admired." he chuckled. "So yeah, it is funny."

A man with a black buzzcut looks at him smiling. "You sound like those stupid Disney romance movies." he laughs. "Or one of Justin Bieber's songs."

Terrence shakes his head and sighs. Again. 

I turn around, not wanting to listen anymore.

I hate this, I thought while forcing chicken, sushi, and sashimi into my mouth. I take one final swig of the soju and place $55 on the table. I give a quick thanks and stomp out of the restaurant.

He's a bastard. Talking about me to his friend group! Total asshole! He has his foot up his asshole. 

I went home and flopped in my bedroom. I turn off the lights and close my eyes.

This isn't good. At all.