Etoile (The Mannequin Series) (3 page)

Elodie had seen it many times before. So many times, in fact, that it was actually quite humorous, despite the fact that there was nothing funny about it at all. The occasional fifteen-year old rookie would strike it big, causing other genetically-gifted teenagers from around the world to make the costly journey to New York, the mecca for hopeful young models. Fresh-faced girls arrived in droves everyday, each one as determined as the one who came before her. Little did they know that the city and industry would eat them alive so long as they allowed it. She knew the story very well. After all, she had once been one of those starry-eyed girls too.

When she had first arrived, the buzz of the city had given her a new lease on life. She could hardly believe her luck that, at just 17-years old, she was living in the most glamorous city in the world, about to burst onto the scene of the top global modelling market. My whole life is about to change, she remembered thinking as she got out of her first bright yellow New York taxicab. Sure, the driver had smelled like day-old Mexican food and had grumbled acerbically at her, but nothing could have dampened her naive and cheery mood that day.

Walking into the dingy tenement-style accommodations to which she had been assigned didn't faze her. Nor had the detailed list of the agency's endless fees that the bookkeeper had handed to her upon her first visit to the office. Having her new agent, Adam, tell her that she needed to lose five pounds and an inch in her hips merely spurred a feeling of determination within the girl's hopeful little head. She didn't even mind too much when one of the transient roommates took the $60 bottle of Bumble and Bumble hair conditioner from Elodie's luggage as a souvenir on her way back to Germany.

"She must have mistaken it for her own," Elodie had reassured herself aloud as her Texan roommate, Cassandra, rolled her eyes.

It was only after a few weeks that Elodie slowly began to realize the realities of her situation. Watching her roommates eat only the occasional bowl of spinach caused her to start monitoring what she consumed as well. When the other girls went to sit on the fire escape to smoke cigarettes in their pyjamas, Elodie eventually joined them. And when her roommates explained that cocaine worked excellently to quell hunger pains, Elodie was more than happy to partake.

Soon enough, she was the stereotypical chain-smoking model with a permanent scowl affixed on her face. The endless rejections and critiques had hurt her feelings at first, causing her to spend countless nights weeping silently into her pillow. She constantly found herself comparing her body, face and hair to those of every other girl in the room whenever she went to castings. What do they have that I don't? she often wondered with tears in her eyes as she flipped through the glossy advertisements in fashion magazines.

Eventually, she developed a thicker skin that allowed her to shrug off comments about her supposedly uneven shoulders and slightly lopsided lips. Some casting directors said that her calves were too thin, while others said that they had a tad too much muscle tone. Her lashes weren't lush enough for mascara advertisements, and her arms too long for handbag campaigns. She was too blonde, or not blonde enough.

While she had been warmly welcomed by the European and Asian markets, the gatekeepers of New York's modelling bubble always found something scathing to say. Simply put, there were too many girls competing for too few spots, and the margin for error was, essentially, nonexistent.

In a few months' time, Elodie did not give one fuck. In New York City, she was disposable, as there were at least twenty other girls who had the same look with the same imperfectly blonde hair and the same lopsided lips. They were all interchangeable, and nobody ever let them forget that. At times, she felt hopeless, unsure of how she would ever get a chance to show the world what she could do when none of the clients would even give her the opportunity.

When she turned eighteen, she was freed from the confines of her chaperoned dormitory and allowed to move into a smaller apartment with just three other models, all of whom were just as fed up with the industry as she. And, with time, Elodie began doing fairly well for herself.

By the time she turned nineteen, she was booking the occasional editorial or small online campaign. Not much had changed, save for the fact that she had finally learned how to play the game. That is, she had received one vital piece of advice that had become somewhat of a lifeline for her fledgling career.

While working on a job for an old client in Paris right after her eighteenth birthday, a veteran model named Maarja had decided to take the virginal and frustrated Elodie under her wing. Maarja was wildly successful and always had the most beautiful bags and shoes. Elodie yearned to have even half of the success that Maarja had. And one day, Maarja decided to let her in on a little secret.

They had been sitting in their respective chairs after getting their makeup and hair done, waiting for the production intern to call them over to the set. They were shooting an advertisement for a French skincare company's special care line for teenaged skin, and were to play the parts of best friends frolicking through a park in pink dresses, flippy ponytails and deranged smiles.

While they were sitting around until they were needed, Maarja was purring to someone on her phone, making suggestive comments that made Elodie blush.

"Beebi, you are going to buy me La Perla?" she cooed in a high-pitched voice. "You know I only like lace lingerie. Do you not like it too? It is more for you than me, no? Yes, we can do that... Of course, beebi."

After hanging up, Maarja had looked over at the young girl and smiled sumptuously, to which Elodie squeaked out, "Your boyfriend?"

Maarja had looked at her with a bemused smile and replied, "One of them, I suppose you can say."

"You have more than one?" Elodie had choked out with huge eyes. Who was this woman?

As she admired her own reflection in the mirror, Maarja had given the naive girl a sage piece of wisdom.

"Oh, beebi, I am going to help you. You do not have a boyfriend, yes? Good. You are your body. Modelling, it is all about selling your body. Your body gets you power. It gets you money. It is not about who you know, it is about who you fuck. You are just a mannequin. Bat your pretty little eyes and you can have anything you want. Remember that." 

And remember she did. On the plane ride home, Elodie thought back on all of her failed auditions and castings. There were always those girls who sparkled, who touched the rare straight casting director or photographer's arm and giggled charmingly. She thought of the many times that she tortured herself by looking at those finished editorials or campaigns that she had been passed up on, only to see that the giggling girls had been chosen instead.

She thought back on how the girls in the images stared back at her with taunting eyes, as if they were part of some secret society to which Elodie didn't belong. How one revered photographer had refused to keep taking test shots of her when she didn't want to take off her shirt, irregardless of the fact that the photos were to be beauty shots of her face. How one of the skinny teenaged models of the moment was well known to be sleeping with the 55-year old head designer of the fashion house that had shot her to fame. How Elodie had none of it, but those minxes had it all.

Sitting in her crappy seat in Economy, she pondered what Maarja had said. It was glaringly obvious that the woman knew what she was doing. The only question was if Elodie was up for the challenge.

All she knew was that she didn't want to live in debt, and she didn't want to wait amongst a sea of girls for her chance at thirty seconds with a photographer who could care less, only to get rejected for the hundredth time. She wanted to be one of those girls in First Class, sipping on champagne and sleeping in her fully reclinable seat. She wanted the money, the fame and the good life. She wanted what she had come to New York for.

In that moment, she vowed to let the frightened child inside of her go. The little brokenhearted girl, what with her emotional scars and low self-esteem, had held her back for long enough. She knew very well what she needed to do, as had the many girls who had come before her.

Taking a deep breath, Elodie swore to herself that she would get as much experience as she possibly could and make it big. Maarja had passed her the golden ticket. This was her chance. She was going to become the best mannequin that she could be.

Two

There had only been one problem.

While her peers had spent long nights partying and hooking up with the male models, an eager young Elodie had usually chosen to stay in, slathered in face masks and hair treatments. When her old roommates had been busy nursing their hangovers and ruminating over their bad decisions until noon the next day, Elodie had gone to the gym or yoga class instead. She had been so focused on keeping herself in tip-top shape that she hadn't noticed that everyone else around her had been busy embracing their hormonal urges and learning about the power of sex appeal.

If only she had known at the time that her efforts would prove futile, she could have begun her climb to the top at a much earlier time-point. As she had been focusing all of her attention on trying to book jobs and charm casting directors the old-fashioned way, she was as completely naive as the trepid fourteen-year old girl in Felix's father's office. But, being the determined young woman that she was, she wouldn't let a trivial matter such as inexperience get in the way of her future endeavors.

She still vividly remembered how she had breezily lost her virginity to a male model from Kentucky named Tyler, who had just booked a Prada eyewear campaign. They had all been drinking champagne on empty stomachs at the agency holiday party at a fancy gallery in SoHo, and she had been tickled by his Southern twang.

Tyler was simply beautiful. Standing at 6'2", he had the ideal high fashion body type with a thin torso and long, toned arms. With deep chocolate brown hair that was parted at the side and framed his lightly chiseled face, he looked not of this world. He had thick, impeccably groomed eyebrows that highlighted his stunning light green eyes. She remembered thinking that he reminded her slightly of Felix, though she barely remembered what he looked like.

"You're Elodie, right? I'm Tyler," he introduced himself after she had caught him glancing at her repeatedly throughout the night.

Elodie had been slumped in a corner with her three roommates, all of whom had the same terrible posture and were just as antisocial as she. When he came over, their eyes widened and they pushed her towards him as if she were a sacrificial offering. While they may have looked like they would be chic and nonchalant, the beautiful girls were still, after all, boy-crazy teenagers.

Tyler was also a new face, but he was already one of the bigger names at the agency. His classic good looks and boyish charm had won over many people and earned him countless high-profile jobs in a short amount of time. All of the girls, even the ones who shunned male models, wanted a piece of him. Hell, a lot of the boys in the agency wanted a piece of him, too.

While the rest of the models left the party soon after the free alcohol had dried up, Elodie and Tyler remained in a secluded corner with the bottle of Perrier-Jouët that they had pinched from an unattended cater waiter station. From afar, they looked like they could have been in the middle of a hauntingly glamorous photo spread in Vogue. The dramatic paned windows above allowed the soft glow of the moon to shine on them in their dimly lit hiding spot. Tyler looked impeccable in a fitted Dior Homme suit and Elodie looked ethereal in a beautiful white Stella McCartney dress that her agent had pulled for her to wear that evening. The two pretty young things were sitting intimately, seemingly whispering secrets to each other with mischievous looks on their faces.

"I love your accent. French accents are my weakness," he slurred adorably as he played with her hand. His cold fingertips tickled the soft skin of her palms as he traced light circles on them.

"Really? Can you even understand me?" she asked as she laid on a thick accent that belied all of the years that she had spent speaking English. She batted her long eyelashes as she gave him a long, seductive gaze. They locked eyes for what seemed like eternity, and she could see the corners of his cherry red lips turn upwards as his eyes lightly shook as they searched her own.

"Are you flirting with me?" he asked jokingly in a soft voice as he moved his hand slowly onto her thigh. The sudden coldness against her warm flesh made something inside of her stir. He continued to trace circles ever so lightly on the tender skin of her inner thigh, the indecent movements of his hand hidden underneath her dress. As he alternated between small swirls and large, exaggerated patterns that ventured closer to her body, she took deep breaths to steady herself.

Though unsure of if it was due to the fuzziness from the many cocktails that she had indulged in, Elodie decided then and there that she would become a woman that night. And she was sure that Tyler was the absolute best candidate for the job.

They continued to look into each other's eyes intensely, and Tyler's gaze slowly moved down towards her tiny lips. "You look like a little doll," he whispered as he observed her wide-eyed expression. He stopped the movement of his fingertips and gripped her small thigh in his hand as he gave her a one-sided smile. Elodie swallowed hard to get rid of the suffocating lump that had formed in her throat. Her mouth was so dry from the champagne that she was sure that he could hear her press her parched tongue against the roof of her mouth.

He gently craned his neck and began moving his lips towards hers at an excruciatingly teasing pace. She closed her eyes as her heart thudded loudly in anticipation.

"There you are! You kids didn't leave yet?" Ed, the owner of the agency, had sauntered over and was boisterously interrupting their special moment. He had brought along three other older gentlemen, all of whom were oblivious to what had just happened. Tyler and Elodie both shot up and straightened their expensive outfits with their sweaty palms.

Ed emitted a cloud of whiskey fumes as he grabbed Tyler's cheeks. "Look at this boy! Isn't he pretty? This is the one I told you about!" Ed continued to babble nonsense as he shook Tyler's pinched face at the stuffy old men in suits. They nodded appreciatively as Ed showed off his shiny new toy.

Sigrid, Ed's supermodel girlfriend who was fifteen years younger and two inches taller than him, soon came over to retrieve him. ”Babe," she drawled out without even wincing. "Baptiste wants to say goodbye. Leave these two alone, yea?" She shot Elodie a knowing smile. Ed gave a cocky laugh and crudely placed his hand on her ass, while Sigrid continued to smile prettily like an ornament. After slapping Tyler on the back roughly, he and his entourage made their way back to the other side of the room.

Elodie looked at Tyler, whose cheeks were still flushed from the rowdy ambush. "Fuck, what a dick. Do you think I'm pretty?" he asked her with an embarrassed smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. She laughed at his oozing charm as he slowly slipped her hand into his.

"Come on, let's get out of here."

They made their rounds and said goodbye to a bunch of people who could care less, and he led her out of the gallery and into the elevator. Once inside, he cornered her and tilted her chin up.

"The night is young. Whatever could we do?" he asked with an innocent expression.