Catwalk

03. Make sure you look your best.

I'll want to be in Madeleine's car. I'll like to hear the nonsense of Granny Josie and her stories about wars and good looking lieutenants. Being summer, my father has free time between preparing the following year and some private classes. After our talk I couldn't expect less, he insisted on taking me to the shoot. So, instead we're in Dad's car.

When I say we are, I meant it. I'm sitting in the passenger seat while Madeleine and my brother are in the back seat. In fact, my father and my best friend are the only ones who do not seem fucking uncomfortable. My brother usually doesn't want anything wich has related with me. And I, come on, Who wouldn't be ashamed to go to his first job with his whole family? Sincerely, I hope they leave me a few miles away and I can walk. I wish that they wait in the car and nobody else has to live this ridiculous situation.

"Stop here." God bless the damn GPS, thanks to the stupid thingy I realize that we are close enough to walk. I have interrupted the pleasant conversation about literature that my father was having with Mads. Both look at me as if I had blasphemed Shakespeare or something similar. "I didn't mean to sound rude." My apologize is lame but it something. "I'll walk with her, she is being a paranid Carrot right now." Dad is looking confunsed and Cohen has already his earplugs ignoring everything around him. "Good luck, hun." Josh Lawrson is priceless and the mayority of time I know I'm not worthy as her daugther.

I give an apologetic look to my father before getting out of the car. Madeleine and I are walking to the office of Zett Management Model, actually is the first time since I started this madness I am not nervous. A strange self assurance floods me, it's as if I could feel that I'm finally in the right place. "You don't have to go along with me. I know you, Mads, probably right now you want to burn this place to the ground, I just hope not with me in there." I can not stop my face from turning into a sad smile, all this would be a million times better if we could do it together. "Don't be silly, I'm still reserving that card in case they don't make you get as far as I know you can. You know, I'll keep saving your ass while you're still willing to save mine." There is not need to say I love you the quote about our asses is always working for us. We got a quick goodbye hug and I'm heading to the office.

***

At the desk there is a girl who could be in any cover of Vougue magazine. She is speaking in weird lenguage with tick accent by the pin at her ear. She makes me a signal and gives me a formulary, by that moment I'm starting to regret about coming here by myself when someone taps on my shoulder. I don't need to turn around to know who it is.

I'm starting to be scared of myself for recognizing his smell wherever I find it. "Do not worry, Greta, she's my business." Again that song in his voice and the fucking dimple salute me. I promise that despite my null experience in this field, no one had ever made me so horny with just his presence. It's not just because Malcolm Nash is damn handsome, it's because he's the first man to act as if there really is something interesting in me. It's just work, right? I have to stop rambling. "Nice to see you again." It mean to sound profesional and distant, but I can't hide the real excitment un my voice.

We go to another room. Upon entering it we find Isabella and a hairdressing and makeup team. Right in the other corner of the room there is a wall that I can recognize, it is what I saw in the photos of the models that work for the agency when I did my search on the Internet. I'm thinking that I'm going to be one of them, when Malcolm puts his hand on the end of my back to guide me around the room and introduce me to everyone.

At the end of the round we are in front of the photographer. He seems really young and with an air of freakiness. "And here we have one of our last star additions, he's a genius, you'll see." There is something in the boy's gesture that makes me understand that he doesn't believe any of the words he just heard from Malcolm. It bothers me, even though I believe that maybe they are just my imagination. "Elliot Grayson, at your service." His tone doesn't make me believe what he says either, I hold out my hand and he narrows it with a confidence that doesn't correspond with anything that has happened up to now. "I'm Bowie Lawrson, I'll do what I can." Elliot makes a weird face, I don't have too much time to answer because apparently the styling team has to do a lot with me.

The hairdressing, the makeup and the clothes that have prepared me is more a torture process than something that has kept my interest. When I finish I'm so sweaty that I think I'll form a pool if they put me under the spotlight right now. However, they take me to the seemingly famous wall and Isabella comes over to take my measurements.

It's the first time I hear her voice. Her accent is sweet, contrary to his appearance and apparently to everything she does. "It wouldn't hurt a little more breast." She comments as if I weren't there, standing and submitting to the touch of her hands. "At least an inch less of waist." I want she to stop, fuck, I really want she to stop.

I'm so embarrassed that I don't dare to look up to see what the rest of the team is up to. Anyway, I can't help doing just that when I hear a cough. My eyes go directly to Malcolm and I can't help feeling a sting in my stomach when I see that he is nodding slightly at the comments of this harpy. It takes a couple of gazes around to recognize where the sound had come from, it's the photographer, he's watching me without dissimulation and when our eyes meet, I can see him vocalizing bullshit.