Shana
My heart beats so rapidly that I fear it may jump clear out of my chest. I’m confident the thin layer of silk covering me is jumping with each beat. I’m not usually concerned about my appearance. When it comes to my work, I’m confident and strong, yet in this negligee and about to walk out in front of hundreds of sets of eyes, I’m as insecure as a thirteen-year-old about to go to her first dance and sure she will spend the entire time in a circle of friends who no boy will ask to dance.
How have I been able to send other women out onto the runway without considering this side of the journey?
It’s because those women are models. I’m not.
I’m dressed like one for a single reason—to save this show.
Even with my good intentions, every lie I’ve ever told myself, every thought of self-doubt, and every time I’ve compared myself—even subconsciously—to another woman...all the moments so many women can share are dancing in my head. As soon as Chantilly helped me slip into the white negligee, I saw the world of fashion from an entirely new perspective. It is one thing to be the one applying body glue. It’s quite another to have the cool liquid rolled across my skin as goose bumps prickle and Chantilly yells for nipple tape.
I mean, nipple tape is a great accessory until it’s applied to your breasts. I don’t even want to think about removing it.
“You can do this,” Shelly whispers as I slip my feet into shoes that could easily double as stilts.
“I’m not even sure I can walk in these.”
“Did you take some painkillers? I have some Advil in my bag.”
I’m lost on her train of thought. The way my head is pounding and nerves are stretched, painkillers aren’t a bad idea. “Painkillers?”
“Oh, honey,” she says in a stage whisper. “Every model knows the tricks. If your shoe size is seven, wear a size eight. And always take some over-the-counter painkillers two hours before the show.”
“Two hours?” I say as a question. “Why?”
She shakes her head. “Let me get you some. It’ll still help.”
Before I can respond, Shelly rushes across the room and returns with a half bottle of water and two pills in the palm of her hand.
Eyeing her offering, I wiggle my toes. Immediately, I realize I’ve already agreed to the wrong size. Reaching out, I pop the two pills into my mouth, followed by a quick drink of her water. “Thank you. This is a lot easier from over there.” I tilt my head toward Chantilly.
Shelly smiles, reminding me of that circle of friends from the middle school dance.
“Sometimes it’s good to get a taste of both sides. You’ve got this. You and Stephen put this show together. You made it more than what we’ve done in the past. The audience is already going wild.”
She’s right. Since the show began, the electronic orders on every piece of lingerie shown are through the roof. The applause has been louder than I’ve ever heard at a junior’s show. If I weren’t about to ruin the entire thing, I might actually be happy about it.
Slowly, I stand, reaching out to Shelly’s shoulder as I steady myself.
“Take two steps, then another one. You can do this.”
As I start to move forward, imitating the grace of a baby fawn or maybe a newborn giraffe, she says what I’ve said to models for years. “Don’t look down.”
It makes a smile come to my lips. “Do you know how many times I’ve said that?”
Shelly just smiles knowingly back at me.
Taking a deep breath, I look over to Chantilly. Her grin widens as she nods her approval.
It isn’t just the shoes and negligee. In the short time since the show began—with Stephen in my ear giving play-by-play—the backstage assistants have teased my hair and painted my face.
“That’s it,” Stephen says through the earpiece, the roar of applause coming from behind him. “Give me three and I’ll make my announcement. Then it’s time to wow them with the finale.”
I want to respond, but I can’t. Even with him still in my ear, my microphone is gone. And then I hear Chantilly’s voice. “We’re ready. Wait until you see Shana. She’s gorgeous.”
My gaze shoots her direction, but she’s not looking my way.
Could she possibly not know I’m still wearing my earpiece?
“She can do this,” Stephen agrees.
Before more can be said, I take out the earpiece and tuck it behind my things. I can’t listen anymore. Their support means the world. If by chance something else was said, I’d never be able to go onstage.
“Ladies,” Chantilly yells. “Get in position. It’s finale time.”
As Shelly’s hand lands on my shoulder, I recall Stephen’s advice from earlier. “Shelly?” I ask, “Can you see the audience? Yesterday during rehearsal, the lights were so bright...”
She smiles. “If you try hard enough, you’ll see the first few rows. I recommend not trying.”
“I don’t want to,” I laugh as much as say. “I want to pretend the room is empty.”
“When I first started modeling, I imagined my family members were the only ones who could see me. And then I started modeling lingerie.”
“I can see how that became awkward. Now who do you imagine?”
“No one. It’s just me. It’s like practicing walking in my apartment. Just me. I count my steps. I know my spots. I hear the music and the cues, but the people are gone.”
I nod. “Good advice. Except I haven’t practiced.”
“Yes, you have. You know everyone’s position. And as for walking, think back. Remember those cheap plastic heels most little girls wear for dress up?”
I do. I remember the pink sparkly heels with the stretched-out elastic band that held them to my feet. I also remember slipping my feet into my mom’s shoes and walking around the house. “I’m afraid I wasn’t too graceful.”
She eyes me up and down as her eyebrows waggle. “But, honey...now you’re all grown up. If the no people idea for the audience doesn’t work, make it that one special person.”
“That’s what Stephen said to do.”
“What does he look like?”
“Stephen?” I ask.
“No...” We’re now moving with the rest of the models like a well-oiled machine.
My rational mind reminds me that it was Stephen and I who made them this way—who choreographed and made this show our own. But they did the hard work. They put in the hours. I owe it to them to stand tall, move about the stage, and not ruin their success.
“That special guy,” Shelly clarifies, bringing me back to reality.
Immediately, Trevor Willis’s image comes to my mind. “Tall, not too tall, but taller than me.”
“Even in those shoes?”
My grin widens, lifting my cheeks. Although, I’m suddenly afraid my makeup may crack, I think about Trevor. “Yes, even in these shoes. And his hair is light brown and a perpetual mess.”
“Oh, sexy!”
“Definitely. And his eyes, vibrant green.”
She shakes her head. “I’m imagining broad shoulders and just the right amount of facial hair.”
“That’s him.”
“Strut your stuff for him. We’re all counting on you.”
Those butterflies that had been dancing around my stomach grow to the size of bats as we make our way past the curtain and onto the stage. The runway before me is brightly lit as if it were a landing strip, a place to land planes instead of showcase models. The lights from above flicker with color as I move forward. Doing as Shelly said, as I’ve told others to do, I count. Though the sound of the audience is there, I hear the music. I’ve listened to this arrangement over a hundred times. I’ve counted out each model’s steps. I know it.
I’m lost in my own world, my body doing as it should when my gaze lands upon the first row. It’s at that moment that I know I’ve found my Zen.
I’m not sure how my imagination could work so well, but off to the left of the runway, I see the green gaze from my memories. His disinterested smile morphs before me.
Appreciation.
Shock.
Bewilderment.
Approval.
My feet continue to move. I have one trip down the runway and back. Having Trevor in my mind, his are the only eyes upon me.
I can do this.