Being a Model

1

I breathe in the unique New York scent.

A little wet and salty.

Birds play in the air, people call taxis, and I am about to start my new life... as a model. My curls lightly dance in the wind, but it's a warm April afternoon in the Big Apple. Straightening out my plain red dress, I wonder if people can tell I'm from Texas by the black cowboy boots. The shiny jewels on it sparkle as the sun hits them.

"Taxi!" I yell for the first time. The foreign word leaves an unfamiliar twinge on my tongue. Standing on the busy sidewalk with my two big suitcases I finally realize that I've made it. It's been a dream to come live in New York City, a huge change from a ranch in small town Venolia, Texas. Fashion amazes me, the different fabrics, styles, designs. I can't forget the models; they're the best part of it all. They are showcasing art on themselves and so will I one day.

"Where to?" The taxi driver asks in the accent I love hearing. His muddy eyes glance at me briefly.

"The Trenton's please." My lovely agent Jacquelyn got me an apartment in West Village and I'm so excited to see it. I get comfortable in the backseat leaning into the blue seats and staring outside. Everyone is so intent on getting to where they're going. The determination on their faces, the long strides, and straightforward looks, it's all the same, but different.

"Is this your first time in New York?" I didn't think there would be conversation so suddenly. He looks in the mirror.

"Yes, it is." I almost feel like a small girl in a big place. In our town you knew everyone. Here you can easily become a ghost. Shudders run through my back.

I want to be remembered.

Thanks to Jacquelyn, I already have a gig today at four thirty with a photographer named Michael Elklan.

"Um what time is it?" The driver doesn't answer right away.

Did he hear me?

"I thought in this age everyone had a phone," he chuckles.

I used to live on a ranch in a place where we usually only had house phones. Jacquelyn bought me one last week, an I-phone. Don't remember what number.

"The battery is dead," I fidget pushing hair out my face.

"In that case, it's three fifteen."

Only an hour and fifteen minutes before my career starts.

A grin spreads on my lips immediately.

"All right here you are. Welcome to New York City..."

"Mai, that's my name." He nods.

Soon you'll see it on billboards and say "Hey, I gave Mai a ride on her first day here!"

"Welcome to New York City, Mai," he says again. The Trenton's is more like a huge house with a lot of red doors. Jacquelyn gave me two keys, and now I see why. There's a black iron gate and a red door labeled number 42. The taxi driver hauls out the suitcases. The one that gives me blood beats like a bat in a cage. Goose bumps overtake me in a hurry. The gate squeaks open easily after I unlock it.

"How much?" I ask.

"No charge to the newcomer," he says walking to the taxi. Eyelids crank open wide.

"Thank you so much!" I wave at him leaving. My hand fishes out the cold keys out the suitcase pocket. Hearing the lock turn, my heart flutters. The door opens up to a cozy living room with tall windows showing the busy city life of NYC. Three gray couches surround a small glass table in front of the windows. To the left is the black and white kitchen. Next to that is a spiraling staircase heading up.

I'm glad it's furnished.

"This is... wow." My new mission is to unpack all my clothes and then go to the photo shoot.

There's a door that is slightly ajar, maybe it's mine. Entering it, I see a bed against the wall, purple glittery curtains on the window next to it, a tall plain white wooden dresser with a vanity.

The mirror has purple swirls on the rim and it lights up with a matching chair. I brought with me a small purple rug for the middle, and various pictures of me and my dad in Texas. I also have cut outs of models from fashion magazines on a board as a collage. Dana Rey, Silva Monet, and Chari Steve, just to name a few. I see their perfect selves and hope to become like them one day.

I also hope to upgrade my wardrobe soon when I start doing upscale modeling and I can take some of the designer clothes home. Now I have to settle for thrift store central.

At least I can make it look good.

I thumb through the used clothes, and stop at the red plaid skirt, and a white top. I put the skirt on, struggling to keep it down; I stare at my semi petite frame in the full length mirror. My light, loose curls, slide down to my shoulders, looking a little flat. The tone of my brown skin fits well with it, though a little blotchy in some places.

"I look so... average." I tilt my head.

Maybe if I don't stay in the sun too much now, my skin won't look so discolored. My hair definitely needs some volume, and those ears! And why are my cheeks so puffy?

Frowning, I roll my dark eyes and put on a pair of heels.