Façade (AHS: Hotel)

Prologue

"Very nice!"

Click...

Then came another pose.

"Love the hand on the hip thingy going on!"

Click...

And yet another pose ensued; the fan was gracefully blowing back the wavy, dark brown hair of the model, while its breeze caressed her smooth pale skin.

"Can you give a bit more of a suggestive look?" asked the photographer with a prominent, effeminate lisp, his index finger on the shutter of his Canon EOS Rebel.

"How do you..." Just as the model began to ask what he meant, the photographer gave his impression of the facial expression he was going for.

"Like this, hun," he said with a sly smile, preparing his camera as he watched his subject try to imitate him with bedroom eyes and lips slightly parted. However, she blushed with embarrassment and burst out in laughter. This is gold, the photographer thought as he snapped candid shots of the endlessly smiling model.

"Oh my god, fabulous!" he said, snapping pictures repeatedly as the flash sought to capture the happiness of her moments in front of the stark white backdrop dressed in a cool white blouse and a silver-toned bib necklace with faux stones set in the metal. The model's azure gaze seemed to glitter even in the screen on the Canon EOS Rebel, but her smile was what seemed to make the shoot worth it.

Within moments, it was over-Angela Saxon was officially out of breath and in need of a break.

"Can I leave now?" she asked.

"I thought you loved modelling," the photographer smirked, his lisp as strong as his sarcasm.

"I do," Angela said wearily with a sigh. "I need a break."

"Want to go for a smoke?" the photographer asked as he held out a small blue carton of Newports. The model held her palm outward and shook her head.

"No," she said. "I'm trying to quit."

"You had one yesterday."

"Still," Angela said in a monotone. "No."

The young woman made her way over to one of the director-style folding chairs, made of sturdy ebony plastic and sky-colored canvas, and sat down. She crossed one of her long, well-formed legs over the other and sat back, taking the open neck of her plastic water bottle to her full, natural lips. As the refreshing fluid flowed down into her body, she sighed and licked her lips slowly before turning her soft cerulean gaze upward to see a well-dressed older Hispanic woman walk up to the photographer she had been working with. She eyed the strange combination for an ensemble, consisting of a beige suit jacket and bright yellow pencil skirt with a zebra-print scarf and laced combat boots, especially because odd aesthetics caught her attention in a usually negative fashion. Angela opened her ears to the dialogue between her and the effeminate photographer, biting her lower lip nervously as her face drew inward.

"What do you mean?"

"We are filing for bankruptcy," the woman said in her thick Spanish accent. "I am sorry, but we cannot pay to keep you."

"But..."

Angela's face froze-was the agency closing?

"Ms. Gonzalez?" she interrupted, catching the woman's attention as she finally noticed the vintage purple handbag hanging from the arm that held a few full, pale yellow folders.

"Angela, I was just about to tell you," the photographer interrupted.

"I was given orders by the owner to lay off the models here," the woman in the badly-matched ensemble said; she doesn't sound too discouraged, thought Angela.