Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“Hello, ladies!” Jacqueline says regally. She looks like a million bucks, wearing House Corbin, of course. Her white suit jacket and pencil skirt are tailored to perfection, her multi-strand pearls likely real, and I’m not sure if it’s a pet or an accessory, but she has a small, white French bulldog puppy cradled in one arm. It’s adorable and takes just a hint off Jacqueline’s harsh look. “Are you ready for tomorrow's show?”
No, we’re all so nervous I’m sure at least half of us are about to piss our pants. But we’re not going to tell her that, so we nod mechanically, hoping that’s some reassurance that things are fine, totally fine, completely ready for a show in less than twenty-four hours.
Instead of looking at Jacqueline, I turn my attention to Simon, whose eyes are heated even as his face remains professionally impassive.
“This is Albert,” Jacqueline says, introducing the unknown man. “He’s my right-hand man and head assistant. Treat anything he tells you as though it’s coming directly from me. Understood?”
She doesn’t wait for our agreement, continuing her speech. “I’m certain you have seen the names upon these chairs. Some of the crème de la crème of fashion. They will be judging you, providing feedback, and helping me to make my decisions.” She looks over the chairs and then to Simon. “Along with these guests, my nephew, Simon, will be assisting me.”
Simon does a double-take. “Jacqueline, we agreed I wouldn't be on the council.”
Jacqueline looks miffed that someone would question her words in public but waves it off. “I changed my mind. Dear nephew, you will help judge the outfits, and your feedback will be valuable for deciding who wins.”
Simon’s eyes find mine, and I know what he’s thinking. This means our spending time together is a clear conflict of interest and complicates things greatly. Before, it was questionable. Now, it’s flat-out wrong.
“After the showing, there will be little feedback. Nothing more than a few comments here or there if I see fit. I want each of you to present your best for every show, to strive for greatness with every opportunity.”
Wow . . . talk about cranking the pressure up. Not knowing how I’m doing other than a few comments? Adjustments are going to be totally on my gut, on the fly.
“You okay, chica?” Molly asks me as we go backstage to continue rehearsals. “You went white as a sheet at Ole Jackie’s announcement.”
“Just nerves,” I whisper, hating that I’m lying. “Shit just got real, that’s all.”
“Bah,” Molly says with a grin. “It is what it is. Either way, we got this!”
But for the first time, I’m not so sure.
Tits and ass . . . everywhere.
I guess I should expect it. I mean, I am backstage at a fashion show. But it’s still strange to be surrounded by all these examples of supposed female beauty, most of whom are casually naked or near naked as they get ready for the show.
It’s the big day, and I guess I shouldn’t be worried about the amount of supple female flesh on display around me. But the truth is, I am. I’ve been working my entire time in fashion to design outfits that are sexy on every body. I studied and worked with the idea that every woman, every man, every human, deserves to feel good in their clothes.
Yet, Jeanette is worrying over her non-existent ‘fat’, all the other models are rail thin, and even the hair and make-up artists are runway slim. Is it a French thing? A European thing? Hell, a global trend?
Frankly, it’s disappointing. It’s been, what, fifteen years since Christina Hendricks had men spanking the monkey left and right to her curvy redheaded sexiness? Some of these girls here today were in diapers when she was making their daddies have wet dreams.
At least the fashions we’re presenting are varied, even if the body types are not. Yet.
I feel like I’ve done my style and myself proud, creating unique pieces that stay true to who I am as a designer. They’re classic but fresh and would look good on anyone, regardless of their size.
I walk over to the makeup artist’s chair, where Jeanette is sitting. “Hey, girl, you ready for the Summer of Youth?” I ask, spreading my hands wide in a rainbow motion above my head.
“Oui. Walk: bouncy, like boing! Energy: young and fun. Smile, but with a good size,” she reports, word-for-word of our rehearsal notes that had taken Google Translate and a video search to communicate with each other.
“Excellent.” I watch for a moment, ensuring the bold green eyeshadow look I requested is working. After seeing that it’s going well and the makeup artist assuring me that she’s already sent my other models to hairstyling and is almost done with Jeanette, I relax a tiny bit.
“Ten minutes, over there.” I point back to my work area.