Calling the entire area behind the fancy curtains the "Backstage" part of a runway show is a nice way of saying it's a locker room.
Everything is covered in a thin layer of powder makeup and hairspray. Vanities, big mirrors with Hollywood-style bulbs are arranged in long rows, back-to-back. Even then, there's not enough room for all of us to get ready. People are packed in like sardines, and every time someone from catering puts out a new tray of sandwiches or salad, it's gone within five minutes. Girls sit on the floor, in random chairs, or lean against one of the hundreds of available clothing racks. Some girls look cool and calm. Those are the veterans. They know how to do their makeup just right, how to twirl and spin, how to pose. They've done this a hundred times, maybe more. They're all fully done up now, their designer outfit chosen for them already on. Other girls are a nervous wreck. The new ones, the inexperienced, the uncertain. Pacing, unable to sit still, trying to practice strutting in the too-big heels of their first outfit. I know which category I fit into.
"Hold still, Chas," Frances huffs in her accent. It gets more intense when she's in times of crisis, and I'm sure that covering my acne with Maybelline is Model Mission Impossible.
"We don't have time," I tell her, trying to look her in the eye. She's completely ready. She was instructed to leave her hair as is, pin-straight and long. Her makeup, which she did without anyone's help, is glamorous but still natural. Meanwhile, I still have rollers in my hair. Neither of us have changed. Paul said he would visit us, but we've been backstage for over an hour and there's been no sign of him. I was hoping to see him, to get some sort of last minute prayer in, with his words as the Grace.
God, if you're listening, please don't let me fall. Please don't let me make a fool of myself, or of Paul. Please let me live to see Axl after all this. It would really, really suck to die on a slick runway in front of hundreds of people. Thanks.
"You've got to calm down-Oh, sorry!" Frances ducks her head as an arm reaches above her to take a lipstick tube from another girl's hand. "It's going to pass by so quick that you won't even know it's over. We only have two outfits, anyways."
"Frances Hall. I have never done this before. You can't just try to tell me that it'll be fine, because it won't be. I don't even have the clothes on!" I feel stuck to the chair beneath me as I stare up at Frances. She wears a long nightgown, the same one she said she slept in last night. "So there's no red marks on my skin, they hate that. . ." She looks funny still in her pajamas while her face and hair are literally runway-ready. Meanwhile, I'm in a t-shirt and jeans. Paul didn't see me before I left the hotel today. If he did, he probably would've put me in a similar get-up to Fran. I'm sure I'll be the only one with red marks from my tight jeans. A lot of girls are in lounge-like clothes. Lots of sweatpants, sweaters, pajama shorts, baggy t-shirts. If I had known. . . Sorry, Paul.
"We do not have time for this!" Frances exclaims, finally agreeing with me. "You're right! We don't! But we can't freak out-"
"Well, you're making me freak out by being so calm-"
"My first show was even worse, and I still kept level-headed about it."
"You're you, though." I shake my head, which makes the room feel like it's spinning even more. "We don't have time! I'm going to find my clothes."
Frances doesn't stop me, or follow me as I get up, wandering off to where I saw my rack earlier. The one with my name on it isn't too far, and nearby, is a woman in all black. All the important people here are dressed in similar attire, which makes it easy to spot them. Before I can even try to unzip one of the two garment bags boldly labeled "CHASITY NOVELO", that woman is hurrying over.
As she helps me into the clothes I only wore briefly this morning for ten minutes to make sure the back could be zipped, I start to really panic, but not because I'm more than half-naked in front of other people. That just helps with the locker room feel of this entire experience. My high school was so big that our P.E. class had at least fifty girls in it. My palms start to sweat because of the long, flowing train of my dress, combined with the high heels that squeeze my feet too tightly.
Please don't let me fall. Please.
Just as the woman who helped me into the blue glittery gown steps back from zipping me in, Frances appears in front of me seemingly out of nowhere, all ready to go.
"Holy shit! Chas, you look so beautiful."
"I'm going to fall! And I still have rollers in my hair!"
Frances reaches out for me. "C'mon, I'll help you take them out-"
"WHERE IS CHASITY NOVELO?!"
The booming voice coming from somewhere behind the rows of vanities makes Frances and I stop our bickering immediately.
Even though I haven't heard that voice all my life, I could still recognize it anywhere now.
"Paul!"
I'm moving within seconds, seemingly unfazed by the train and the shoes that are too small as I head in his direction. Frances is right on my heels, and neither of us slow down until we finally see him.
"There you two are!" He stands with his hands on his hips, a puzzled look over his beautiful features. "It's two minutes until showtime, and you still haven't taken your hair down?" He glances at his watch, and back up to us in less than a second. "Tsk, tsk."
Immediately, Frances starts pulling at the pins and rollers. Paul doesn't stop talking as she works, and I listen.
"After this show, you need to make sure you're down the street at the other venue. Your next show starts at three, and they called to make sure you two know rehearsal is at noon. I was hoping to squeeze in a break for you to eat lunch, but we have to go to the agency dinner tonight, so there won't be time this afternoon. I hope you two brought a change of clothes that are sensible. Not jeans, Chasity. I know you grew up with a bunch of boys, but I cannot take you in front of my colleagues while you're wearing Levi's. Anyway, you both will do just fine! I've got to go. I just wanted to make sure Chasity hadn't fled the country overnight."
Frances is fluffing my hair as Paul pecks the air around both our faces before walking away, back the way he came in. I'm thankful for it, because I don't get the chance to confirm that I did, in fact, bring Levi's and nothing else. A problem for future me. . .
"Bye!" Fran and I both weakly call after him. I hear myself say it rather than feel it. I'm still trying to process that I have to do this twice today.
Paul never told me that yesterday.
All he manages is a brief wave as he walks away, trying to move through the crowd of girls about to line up, and all the staff making sure they're in order.
Frances gets pulled away from me, as her spot is further up, and closer to the beginning of the show than I am. I end up between two girls speaking what sounds like German. Near the curtain to the runway, I watch one of the people in black starting a sound system just before a Madonna song begins to play. Seconds later, the line starts to move, and every step makes me closer to the curtain. Behind it, I hear the sounds of cheers and clapping over the music. I don't know how I can make out anything over the sound of my own heart hammering in my chest beneath the blue silk. I haven't seen myself in a mirror, but I'd be willing to bet that I'd think the dress is beautiful, despite the back on it that's likely to kill me in just a few moments when everyone's eyes are on me.
The girls in front of me and behind me must not be new, because they don't stop their casual conversation until it's nearly time. I look straight ahead, wondering if maybe I'll pass Frances out there. Maybe she'll be able to catch me so I don't go overboard. . .
Just as the floor beneath my feet transitions from concrete to slick, black catwalk, I take a deep breath, and my mind shuts off.
I can do this. . .
((A/N: That's my baby!! Walking runways and shit 😢
This chapter and all the others are up on AO3! I've been pretty active on my Tumblr, @axlnchas too! I hope you liked this one, love you ❤❤❤))
