Etoile (The Mannequin Series) (7 page)

Nine

"Lo, you not have fun?" Tatiana nudged her friend gently as she finished off her vodka soda and stamped out her cigarette.

The three of them, minus Heddi, were out at the trendy downstairs lounge of a hip restaurant in the West Village. The entire room was packed with models, celebrities and professional athletes, though everyone tried their best to play it cool and not gawk at each other.

After getting home and scrubbing herself clean that morning, Elodie had wanted to spend the rest of the day lazing around in her pyjamas while watching French movies on Netflix. She wasn't in the best of moods as her agent had told her that he had nothing for her that day. Again.

The two troublemakers, on the other hand, had spent the whole of the day coercing her to join in on their night out. “Wednesday is always best day, you know,” Jelena had stated matter-of-factly, as if she didn't say the same thing every other day of the week when attempting to convince everyone to go out.

At first she had refused, groaning into the dusty pillow on their futon in misery after taking an Adderall to quell her ever-present hunger. But peeping at her friends putting on their cute little Parker dresses had caused Elodie to cave in. So she had expertly thrown on her all black ensemble of a sheer sleeveless top, tight leather leggings and Alexander Wang booties in five minutes flat, joining them on the curb mere seconds before the car arrived.

Elodie smiled at her friend and tossed back her own drink. She was out to have fun, she reminded herself, not to mope. Tatiana threw her scrawny arm around her friend's shoulders and led her to the dance floor, where Jelena was dancing with Melissa, another girl from their agency. Two grey-haired men in suits leered at them as if they were pieces of meat. In an attempt to let go of her stress, Elodie let the alcohol, and the tiny amount of coke that she had done earlier, course through her veins and loosen her nerves as she stomped to the music.

The girls danced as onlookers snapped photos and asked them to join their tables. Jelena would brush them all off with a firm "no" as they enjoyed their girls' night, like some sort of Mafia bodyguard. The night was a blur as they rid themselves of any inhibitions, enjoying the scene and pushing any negative thoughts aside.

While heading back from the restroom with Tatiana, Elodie heard Jelena let out a high-pitched squeal and watched as her friend pranced over to the bar area. She was surprised to see the toothpaste commercial kid from the night before envelope her friend in a bear hug. And her stomach fluttered for a brief moment when she saw who was with him.

Tatiana grabbed her hand and walked with her to where Jelena was talking rapidly with her admirer. "Banker boys from yesterday," she informed Elodie in a hushed tone as she guided them through the crowd. "I like redhead. Do not touch."

As the two approached the huddled group, Tatiana made a beeline for her ginger-headed victim like a heat seeking missile. When Elodie got closer, James looked at her with a warm smile.

"Hey," he greeted her. "Didn't think I'd see you again. No spills tonight?"

Elodie tittered charmingly, "No, but I guess I should be careful now that you are here?"

"Ouch," he smiled with his perfect teeth. Perfect, so perfect. "I hope you're not going to hold that against me forever. Can I get you a drink?"

As she nodded and walked with him closer to the bar, she felt his hand lightly rest on the small of her back. She normally wouldn't even notice a gesture like that but, at that moment, she felt like a giddy little schoolgirl.

"Boyfriend didn't make it today?" he asked nonchalantly as he signaled to the bartender.

"Oh no, that was just a silly friend. No boyfriend," she corrected him quickly. Tyler who?

James turned and gave her a sidelong glance as he raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really," Elodie assured him with a nod.

"Huh."

...Huh?

That was it? Huh?!

What did he mean by “huh”? Did he not believe her? Was he not interested? Why would someone say “huh” aloud? Was he trying to insinuate something? Discombobulated thoughts raced through her mind as she attempted to decode his simple response.

James handed Elodie a vodka soda and clinked his glass of scotch playfully against hers. She gave him a tight smile as he cocked his head and looked at her. "You look different. Prettier. I like you better without all that makeup."

She felt her cheeks burn. Was she blushing?! What was happening to her? Don't make an ass of yourself, she mentally screamed at her brain. Trying to seem casual, she did her best to breezily shrug her shoulders as he gave a tiny laugh.

"Come on, you're a model. I'm sure you hear stuff like that all the time."

She fought back the urge to make a face. Rude comments on her thighs, forehead, back curvature, hair ends and toe cleavage were more like it. But she knew that if she said anything otherwise, it would seem as if she were fishing for compliments. She chose to smile graciously and change the subject instead.

"You are a banker?" she asked with genuine interest.

He let out a small sigh. "Yep. I work downtown in investment banking. Nothing glamorous about that, huh? I actually just got off of work, swung by my place and came here. Sad thing is, this is a slow week."

She looked at him in awe. All she'd done that day was sit around and whine.

"So you never answered me yesterday," he slowly began. "Are you going to let me buy you dinner? I mean, it's the least I could do."

Elodie looked up at him as her heart thudded violently, threatening to beat out of her chest. She prayed that he wasn't able to hear it. Be cool and think of something clever to say, she willed herself. Nodding ever so slightly, she replied, "Well, I really did like that dress."

He gave her an appreciative laugh. "Cool. Maybe we can actually have a conversation. I'm not really a fan of scenes like this. You can't even hear yourself think."

They exchanged numbers and arranged to meet that Saturday night. He would come pick her up at nine, he told her. She couldn't help but zone out while they were talking and think to herself how cute he was.

The day before had not been a fluke. He really was adorable with perfect hair, perfect teeth and perfect manners. He was dressed casually in a white tee, gray sweater and fitted black jeans, but looked like he could have just stepped off of a VMAN shoot. She was smitten.

"Elodie?" he called her name as he looked at her teasingly. She had been spacing out the whole time that he was talking. He motioned towards the end of the bar, where Tatiana was waving her arms at them like a madwoman. "Shall we?"

The tips of her ears burned as she nodded at him, and he guided them over to the rest of their friends. Jelena was nowhere to be seen. "Lodie, Lodie! Where you go? I want go home," Tatiana announced with a pout.

"Why?" she asked cautiously.

Tatiana had already grabbed her hand and had begun pulling her away. "Redhead is not banker, he is
accountant
," she grumbled simply as she briskly walked towards the door. 

As she was being whisked away against her will, Elodie turned back to look at James. He gave her an understanding smile as he waved goodbye. "Saturday!" he yelled out to remind her over the noise of the crowd.

Saturday. How the hell would she make it until then?

Ten

Elodie could no longer feel her butt as she approached her second hour of sitting on the wooden floor of a crowded magazine office. She numbly chewed on a piece of stale gum and looked around the room at the 40 other variations of herself, all equally listless and bored. The two 16-year old Americans sitting next to her were chatting about braces or some other topic that she couldn't follow because they were speaking so rapidly. Elodie's head hurt.

She wasn't even sure what this casting was for. Her booker had just sent her a text with the address and a "try to be on time! xx". When she had asked around earlier, everyone else just shrugged their shoulders.

"Beauty?" some pretty Asian girl had guessed in a thick accent.

This was the type of moment where she thought that modelling was so inane. Why was she waiting for hours until her number was called? What was the point of her subsisting on Adderall, coconut water and bland vegetables? To get paid nothing for a grueling photo shoot so that she could "build" her portfolio?

How did they even decide on which girl to use? Everyone looked the same with their awkward bodies and long, straight hair with the severe middle part. All of the girls were wearing some sort of plain tee shirt or tank top that cost $100 and skinny jeans with black heels. Mannequins, all of them.

"Sixty-four," an irritated intern in an unflattering lace romper came out and barked.

Elodie swiftly got up from her spot and heard her knees crack. She put her heels back on and followed the girl into the casting room. With a big smile plastered to her face, she handed her portfolio and pictures to the people at the long table.

The art director took a few without saying a word to her and handed back her iPad with a tight smile. The intern mumbled to her to stand against the wall so that she could snap some polaroids.

"Thank you," Elodie tittered cheerily as she gracefully left the room afterwards.

Roughly forty or so pairs of judgmental eyes watched her as she walked out of the room, and she tried her best to shrug them off. Models were always checking each other out, sizing up the competition. She suddenly felt exhausted, dreading the two other castings that she had lined up for the day.

"Sixty-five!" the intern grumbled behind her.

After pressing the button repeatedly, the elevator doors opened and she slumped into the corner as it made its way down to the lobby. She caught the envious glances of two girls who probably worked at one of the magazines that had offices in the same building. She always wondered why normal women looked at her like that. Didn't they know how lucky they were? As the elevator beeped and the doors slid open, the women began to chat about where they should go for lunch.

Though she had never told a soul, Elodie often wondered what it would be like if she had a normal job. A job where she was judged for her intelligence and efforts as opposed to how her skin or hair looked that day. A job where she had a desk and assignments and a set lunch break. As she walked out of the building's heavy glass doors, she sighed wistfully and shook the thought out of her head.

That would never happen. She had barely received her baccalauréat and could only dream of going to college. She had always wanted to attend, but didn't even know where to begin. She had been so busy with her attempts at social climbing and trying to convince people to book her that she had never really thought about it in detail. The familiar feelings of dread and uneasiness washed over her. What was she going to do later on when her looks wouldn't be enough to save her?

Many of her model friends were looking for rich husbands, or at least sugar daddies. The majority of the girls from Europe had come from poverty and had no reason to go back, except for their families. But Elodie didn't even have family to go back to.

Deep inside, she knew that she didn't want to continue living like this. She didn't want to be some empty-headed doll, standing languidly in front of a camera, using her body to get ahead anymore. And she definitely had no interest in becoming a kept woman for some overweight, perverted, tacky man who talked with his mouth full and boasted constantly about his money.

She wanted romance. She wanted an education and a real career. She wanted purpose and direction. In essence, she wanted so many things that she could never have.

Why was she even thinking about all of this? Stop being silly, she told herself. There was no point in daydreaming about the impossible.

Wanting to get these depressing thoughts out of her head, she decided to skip her next casting, choosing instead to walk around the corner to the Museum of Arts and Design. Whenever she wanted to escape reality, Elodie would make an effort to go to either this particular one or the Museum of Modern Art and walk around in the huge, open spaces to remind herself of how tiny and insignificant her problems were. She loved to stare at the fashion and jewelry collections that passed through and hide from the crazy world outside of the museum walls.

As she slowly perused the exhibits, she felt her phone vibrate and debated whether she should check it. She eventually pulled it out of her bag and felt her cheeks redden when she saw the screen.

how are my hostages

She had completely forgotten about Tyler's sunglasses and shirt from two days before. Hell, she had forgotten about Tyler in general after she had seen James again. She vowed not to mess things up this time. This was the first normal person that she had ever felt even a smidgen of genuine attraction to in as long as she could remember. She turned her screen off and stuck the phone back in her bag.

She would give Tyler's things to Tatiana to give to Soren, she decided.

Her head hurt again.