Chapter 2
Carl Marefield didn’t have sample size sixteen but they were able to procure something for her to wear to the show with a minimum of bitching. The reduced bitching might have had something to do with Elmira snap chatting the entire experience. Her fans were plus sized women who had felt excluded from high fashion for too long. What with the economic climate, designers could not afford to turn up their noses at that segment of the market anymore.
“You have a wonderful figure though, I envy you,” the preternaturally thin and pale blonde who was taking her measurements said.
Elmira’s brow lifted, “Really. You’re envious of all this?” she asked indicating her ample hips even as she suspected she was being made fun of.
“Yeah. I mean you like…literally have that hourglass figure. Full hips, smaller waist, big boobs…you’re a Renaissance pin up model.”
“Yay me. Now if only I was born in the right era.”
“Sarcasm will get you everywhere,” the woman said with a smile as she pinned and tucked Elmira’s hem. Elmira suspected her name was Becky but wasn’t sure enough to actually call her that.
Next she was presented with a choice of shoes to wear, and chose a black stiletto pump dipped in black caviar glitter and embellished with cut-out star and lightning motifs in bright, sparkling colorways made from calf leather that slimmed her feet and lengthened her legs.
“Good choice,” Pale and Blonde said.
“Thanks.”
*****
Elmira sat down on the padded wooden chair in the front row which had her name printed across a piece of paper, reaching behind and plucking it from it's attached tape. She crumpled it into a ball noisily before looking around to find a bin to drop it in. When she couldn’t identify any, she surreptitiously rolled it under her chair, biting her lower lip anxiously. Not one heartbeat passed before a woman with a clipboard and headset, dressed in tall black heels and a tight black dress, rushed over to pick the paper up. She shot a glare at Elmira slamming the paper against her clipboard to emphasize her annoyance. Elmira paid her no mind, eyes focused forward and waiting for the show to start.
Sascha appeared suddenly and sat down beside her, and turning her body toward
Elmira she raised her eyebrows asking. "What was that?"
"What was what?" Elmira replied still distracted by her expectation of the show’s imminent commencement. She even forgot to wonder how Sascha was sitting next to her. Carl Marefield’s front row was coveted. All plus ones at the back please! Yet here she was.
"I saw you dumbass," Sascha muttered and snatching up Elmira’s new iPhone and snapping a quick selfie.
Elmira's eyebrow arched higher as the room began to fill with invitees drifting in to take their seats. Her eyes flickered up to track the front row fashionistas who leisurely sauntered by and missed stepping on her toes by a whisker. They took no notice of her fat ass as their tall bony figures arranged their spring 2016 creations so as to display themselves to the best advantage. Photogs wandered about, taking pictures; occasionally asking a celebrity to stand. Elmira thought she spotted Kitty; the singer was a little further down the row – but she could have been mistaken about that. In any case she wasn’t about to stand up or crane her neck or nothin. The clashing scents of cologne and perfume wafted about the room clogging up her nostrils and dulling her senses.
She smoothed her two tone ruffle dress, as its 94% polyester, 6% spandex material fit snug against her voluptuous curves. It was a sleek and feminine dress which accurately revealed her more romantic and playful spirit. It was accented with a fluid, black and white cascaded ruffle – this look undoubtedly encompassed ease, elegance and unbridled glamour. Elmira was enamored of her solid round neck sheath which allowed her boobs to peek out just the slightest bit. The sleeveless straight sheath silhouette slimmed her down ending above knee so her shapely legs were on display.
Elmira glanced at Sascha’s outfit as her friend wiggled in her seat, trying to attract the attention of the socialite sitting on her right. Surprisingly, her friend was dressed in an appropriately conformist manner, looking polished and presentable. She viewed the audience not as upper-class royalty but acquaintances with a shared interest and the fashion show not as a social climbing photo-op but as an event she enjoyed and could share with Elmira. Who was more awake to the reality of the situation. Sascha came from money though; yes it was illegal money – her father was the Puerto Rican equivalent of a Colombian drug lord – but nevertheless she’d grown up surrounded by privilege. She’d left it all behind as soon as she could, choosing to get a scholarship to NYU rather than letting her father’s money pay for her education. But she did know her way around rich people shit. Elmira was glad to have her at her side.
Suddenly, Elmira remembered that Sascha had said something to her and finally turned her head and looked at Sascha. "Saw what?"
Sascha rolled her eyes, lined up her arms and elbows flush to Elmira's, and leaned forward until the tips of their noses were almost touching. Like a student whispering to avoid getting yelled at by the teacher, Sascha quietly said, "You caused trouble for that poor lady."
The overhead lights
flashed three times. Those already seated situated themselves
properly and those that were still standing and mingling rush to
their assigned chairs.
Elmira pressed closer to rub their noses
together and whispered back, "I haven't any idea what you are
referring to."
As much as Sascha tried to prevent it, the corners of her mouth twitched upward in amusement and admiration. Elmira was always talking down about herself but she was actually the leader of their two-woman pack. Her unselfconsciously rubbing her nose against Sascha’s was so typical Elmira; and the fact that they were in attendance at such a high-end fashion show for a luxurious fashion house didn't change her or her behavior, a fact that Sascha found laudable. Though she didn't show or acknowledge it, she was aware that Elmira felt out of her element in this environment of money, pride, and vanity. However, as she mostly did in her life, Elmira paid no mind to the unimportance around her and fixated upon what mattered.
What mattered to Elmira was capturing compelling images and getting fodder for a killer post or three for her blog. She was determined to be invited back next year and the year after. This was not going to be a one-time gig. It was a foot in the door.
The overhead lights dimmed and the static noise of the audience quieted so considerably that Elmira only then noticed how loud it had been. Music with thumping bass and trance-like electric melodies filled the room at a high volume and the runway lights turned up as the first model walked out, applause breaking out.
Sascha clapped along with them, arms hooked around Elmira's, who pushed her fear aside to do her job. She took photos of the models walking down the runway and a few selfies as well. If the selfies also happened to include cameos from semi famous people who ‘just happened’ to be in her shot well…no one could exactly blame her for that. Or sue her.
Hopefully.
A model walked past them, and their eyes were transfixed on her, roaming up and down her body to take in every detail. Her stick straight black hair that fell to the top of her neck, the sleeveless tan dress that hung loose on her body. A low relaxed V-neck cut low between her breasts, the equally open back that revealed a scarily bony spine when she reached the pool of cameras at the end of the runway. Her long pale legs were lengthened by the bright blue pumps she was wearing, the tips of her fingers the same blue as she made her way back and passed the next model.
Model after model, outfit after outfit, garments and shoes and purses and struts and poses and flowing hair and extreme makeup and hips...
Their mesmerizing appearance and captivating presence became a little repetitious after a while. Elmira was horrified about that; this was only her first show. She could not afford to get bored so fast. She blamed it on the fact that Carl Marefield wasn’t her fave. Plus all the models he used were cast from the same mold. No variety, no diversity. It really did get monotonous.
"They’re…okay."
Sascha blinked at her in disbelief, hands still on her knee. "What?"
Elmira shook her head and Sascha leaned over to hear, "They aren't that good. Like, their ankles look like they're about to break from lifting those heavy shoes and those handbags are wider than their waists."
Sascha sat back but still facing Elmira. "They're models. The industry wants them that way."
"I can't see why." She tilted her chin at one model in particular, unimpressed by her dress and walk.
"If all skinny models are like this, I'd imagine that they'd want a woman who weighs five more pounds but can actually fucking model clothes instead."
Sascha laughed; she couldn’t help it, and pressed her face to Elmira's shoulder as the outburst died down to a chuckle.
The music around them was blaring and deafened their conversation as well as everyone else’s. Editors exchanged comments before speaking to their assistants, who wrote down what they said as well as their own observant notes. Celebrities discussed ensembles and pointed at certain pieces, taking out their Smart phones once or twice to photograph or message. Socialites attentively examined the models while keeping a secondary eye on the other socialites, tabloid photographers, and front row occupants.
As for them, Elmira kept up a commentary on every single model and outfit while Sascha attempted to keep a straight face. Not very successfully though; she was soon laughing out loud at Elmira’s observations and corny asides.
"I could rock those shorts better than she can. And I have like five times her hip span. However, those shorts would be rocking against your hips. You have the perfect ass for them." Elmira said as Sascha blushed in pleased agreement.
"So, those boots? Yeah, they're for chicks, but they have a touch of masculinity to 'em. I bet you’d look sexy in 'em, what with your thin calves and long legs. Sometimes I really hate you Sascha. Why are you so perfect?" she said a few minutes later. Sascha shrugged but didn’t disagree.
"I could strut better than that blond bitch can. Hell, I know I can. I mean, look at her stomp, Sash. Look at it! Isn't that the most horrendous thing since Godzilla?! And I don't think that lizard had knees!" Elmira had the presence of mind to whisper as Sascha howled, slapping a hand over her mouth. Fortunately the music was too loud for anyone else to hear.
"That one's not even all that pretty. Like, she genuinely thinks she is, but she's not."
Sascha slowly shook her head, moved to defend the models from Elmira’s biting tongue, "It's her job. Insecure models at New York Fashion Week?"
"There's a difference between projecting confidence for work and projecting confidence for your wrongly inflated ego, Sascha."
"Okay, on 'America's Next Top Model,' Tyra pretty much drills into their head to focus on the runway and ignore the audience. I'm pretty sure I remember the contestants getting sprayed with silly string and they had to keep going, keep a straight face, disregard the judges. Right, now, explain to me why that model's eyes shifted to me and glared as she came by. Because that isn't very professional and Tyra would have a hissy fit if she was here."
Sascha laughed, caught the model's glare directed at Elmira when she walked by again. It only made her laugh harder, but she didn’t say that it was probably because these models knew she was criticizing every one of them.
"I could be such a better model," Elmira softly remarked, more to herself yet Sascha caught every word, "but what they have that I never will...is height. And, well, thinness, too, if I'm being entirely honest."
Then, she tore her eyes away from her judgmental entertainment and to her best friend and roomie. "That's why I have you. You make up for everything I'm not."
"Nah," Sascha breathed out and slung her arm around Elmira’s neck companionably. "I don't make up for anything. Elmira, the reason you have me is to bring out the diva in you while you bring out the ratchet in me. Our relationship isn't to compensate but compliment."
Elmira melted eyes wide and expression soft. Her fingers squeezed Sascha's. Being who she was, she jested, "You're a real charming cheese ball, you know that?" before rubbing their noses together, "That was beautiful."
"That was the truth." Sascha smiled easily and then turned back to the socialite on her other side. She wasn’t much for chick flick moments, Sascha wasn’t. Elmira sighed, turning in her seat to see if she’d missed anyone. Sven’s disturbing gray eyes caught hers as her gaze swept the third row. He was sitting almost directly behind her and
Elmira frowned. She was pretty sure he hadn’t been there before. Between them though, were some fashion editors she didn’t want to shout over so she raised her hand in a small wave and then turned back when he waved back. Did CEOs usually concern themselves with individual clients like this or was he here for her?
‘Get a grip on yourself Olivette’ she chided herself, ‘pull yourself together and stop building castles in the air. You’re here to do a job. Do it.’
*****
“Hi.”
Elmira jumped just a little when she heard the deep low voice behind her. She knew who it was…she’d been hoping he hadn’t just gone off after the show. But she had enough presence of mind to finish with work first before seeking him out. She’d done a few ‘how do you feel about the show’ interviews with randoms in the crowd and had tried to get a one on one with Carl himself but of course he was not available. Probably sequestered somewhere with Anna Wintour.
She wasn’t hatin’.
If she was him she’d be cozying up to Anna Wintour too.
Instead she interviewed a few models and an administrative assistant just to get a feel for how backstage was doing after the show. Everyone seemed really happy with their performance and the reception to the clothes. Elmira took a few more pictures and then left. She swept a perfunctory eye around for Sascha but was pretty sure she’d been making a bit of headway with the socialite she’d been seducing. So she didn’t really expect to see her around. Not with the hotel only five minutes away and the next show not until three in the afternoon.
She stepped out of the hall and that was where she’d met Sven.
Who was looking her up and down like she was a prize morsel of beef and he was a Texan.
“You look nice,” he said.
“Thank you. You look very well put together as well.” She replied.
Sven laughed, “So formal. Can I buy you a coffee?”
“Now?”
Sven looked around like he expected a clown to pop up and suggest another time, “Why not?” he asked.
“Well, I’m kinda on the clock. Wanna put down some thoughts before they disappear?”
Sven spread his arms wide, “All the better. What more fitting place to do that than in a coffee shop? Come on, there’s a Starbuck’s not far from here. We can drink expensive coffee concoctions and you can write.” His hand landed gently on her back and he propelled her forward so unobtrusively, she was walking before she realized she was allowing him to lead her away.
“Uh huh. And you have no objection to me ignoring you while I write?”
Sven smiled, “The better to stare at you my dear.”
Elmira bit back the smile that wanted to blossom on her face, “You’s a fool,” she murmured.
He bowed elegantly in front of a black car before opening the passenger door and ushered her in, “I aim to please,” he said with a smile. Elmira found that she was staring at his too handsome face a little too intently before she jumped forward to slide into the BMW i8, luxuriating as she sat back in the soft leather seats. She waited for him to walk around and get in the driver’s seat, long legs eating up the road so it seemed like he only took three steps from her door to his.
“How tall are you?” she asked because why not.
“6' 3”. How tall are you?” he answered impassively.
“5' 8,” she replied unthinkingly.
“Excellent. Shall we go?”
“Yeah. Let’s.”