From Rags (3 page)

Throughout her entire shift his gaze remained settled on her. Though it hadn’t made her nervous, it had made her downright irritated. Still she had ignored the out-of-place ogler. No, not ogler. His glare was studious. When he was the last punter to leave, Jaxxon had expected that he might approach her. He didn’t. It was Joe who he went to. For a moment Jaxxon wondered if she had got it wrong and it had been Joe that the glarer was concentrated on all along. Quickly she discarded that notion. No, she had
felt
his gaze.

“Jaxxon,” called Joe. He didn’t speak again until she reached his side. “This punter here would like to speak to you.”

“Yeah, so?” It wasn’t exactly unusual for one of the oddballs drinking here to want have a ‘chat’ with her – something they considered preliminary to the sex they also had planned. It came with the barmaid territory. It was a wonder she hadn’t succumbed to the urge to murder any of them.

“
So
he’s paying me one hundred to
accommodate
a ten minute talk with you, and I’m really fond of money so -”

“One hundred…to talk?”

“
Just
a verbal exchange, nothing more,” assured the stranger in a shockingly well-spoken voice. But his words weren’t comforting at all. What kind of person pays that kind of money for someone to talk to them? Why didn’t the oddball just approach her himself?

Before Jaxxon could speak again, Joe added, “And seen as your shift hasn’t technically finished yet, you can consider this a task from your employer.”

She scowled at Joe but he simply giggled and left them to have their private ‘verbal exchange’. The posh stranger instantly spoke. His voice was reassuring.

“I realise that this might be quite an unorthodox way to arrange a conversation with someone -”

“Oh really, you think so?”

He smiled. “I had the distinct feeling, after watching you closely tonight, that any attempt I made to engage in conversation with you wouldn’t get me very far.”

She nodded, conceding that.

“Plus, I wanted us to be able to speak privately and I understood that it would need to be a place where you felt safe. I somehow couldn’t envision you inviting me to your home, especially at midnight.”

“You going to tell me who you are and what you want?” He handed her a business card which she read aloud. “Richie Moore. Moore’s Modelling Agency. Partner.” Jaxxon scrutinised him through narrowed, keen eyes. Maybe she could believe that an oddball recruiter might decide to approach her thinking that they might get a shag in exchange for offering her a non-existent modelling job, but a
partner
of a modelling agency?

“You are wondering why the top of the food chain would bother personally with the hunt,” he guessed. “Please allow me to explain.” He perched himself on the stool beside him. “A close friend of mine runs a very successful cosmetic company, and he and I have come together on a project, a joint venture you might say. A new range of cosmetics was designed between the two of us; a line that is
dramatic
and echoes a
bold yet carefree mind-set
, a collection that will cater for both the everyday look and the socialising evening.”

“You really think you have products that can pull that off?”

His grin was dripping with confidence. “Oh indeed I do. And so now we are searching for the face that will set it off. When you open magazines you have your sweet, open, angelic faces that look ridiculously happy, and you have those who have mastered the sexy, seductive, erotic look. In both mine and my partner’s opinion, neither are particularly representative of true life. After all, if all people were truly so happy or so sexy, there would be no need for cosmetics or other such things.”

She guessed that much was true but she didn’t comment.

“Neither look echoes the product line. What he and I have been looking for is someone
real
. Someone truly representative of life as it really is. And, unfortunately, life has its fair share of pain, suffering and tests.” It had therefore been Richie’s idea to look in areas like this where poverty and crime was prominent, where silver-spoon lifestyles were alien. Thank God he had. “I believe that you, Jaxxon, know a depth of pain that some may never experience. I have sat and observed tonight as many others who know pain were drawn to you; as if they look at you and see another wounded soul, and your strength is like a homing beacon to them.”

Homing beacon?
This all sounded like psychological bollocks to her. Jaxxon gave him a sceptical look but he seemed to ignore it.

“That kind of strength can only come from being accepting of what you have endured and who you truly are. I like that you refuse to act as society expects you to act. You’re not civil if you do not believe the person you are speaking to deserves it, you’re not patient if you do not believe the person trying your patience is worthy of it. You’re true to yourself, you’re real. And that is what we need: someone who is bold and dramatic just like the range itself.”

Richie gave her a moment to digest all that he had said. Anyone else may have become defensive during someone’s analysis of them, or argue with the conclusions of that analysis. But no, this young woman was totally accepting of who she was and cared not what others thought. He deeply admired and respected her for it.

“As you are undoubtedly aware,” he continued, “in my line of business, beauty is a large part of a model’s success. You have a natural and uniquely strong glamour. Your desirability is not something that need be enhanced; your appearance is just as compelling as your character.” He smiled widely. “What will be the key to your success, young Jaxxon, is that pair of eyes you have. They take on a certain intensity when you are…shall we say frustrated? They literally
smoulder
. It is most entrancing. I’ve honestly never seen anything like it. I’m sure we can somehow manage to frustrate you a little during the photo-shoot.”

The latter sentence distracted Jaxxon from her contemplating whether he was a little nuts and had missed his medication. “Photo-shoot?”

“Yes, I’d like you to come and meet my business partner, have some test shots, and then together we can go from there if this is something that we would all be happy with.”

Jaxxon might have sent him on his way with a snort and an insult if it weren’t for the fact that her instincts seemed to like him. She trapped his gaze with hers, searching for the truth. “You’re really who you say you are?”

Richie wondered if she had any idea just how enthralling her gaze could be. Like she was literally yanking the truth from his soul. “Indeed I am.”

“This isn’t some kind of scam?”

“No, it is not.”

“You are honestly considering me as the face of your new cosmetics range?” She didn’t hide how idiotic she found that idea.

“Yes I am.”

“You’re not a fruitcake?”

Richie laughed at that. “I understand this may seem a little surreal. I don’t suppose opportunities like this just crop up all the time.”

He had that right. It was certainly not every day that someone like her was approached by a modelling agency, and then be told that she was super because she was sort of damaged and rude. It would have made sense for her to be experiencing some kind of shock at this moment. However Jaxxon had long ago concluded that life had so many twists and turns that trying to anticipate anything in life would be downright stupid. Expect the unexpected – isn’t that what they say? She still lived according to the theory that it was best to always roll with the punches. And as punches went, this risk wasn’t even a slap. It wasn’t as if she had anything to lose.

And yet, for her to reach for this opportunity would make her feel somewhat of a fraud. Sure she knew suffering and pain but so did a gazillion other people, it made her nothing special. “Listen, if what you’re looking for is someone who’s experienced real pain then you should go further down the poverty drainpipe; plenty of people have been through worse than me.”

“True, but the depth of your pain is not the main factor here.”

“And I really don’t get this ‘entrancing’, ‘compelling’ crap that you’re saying about me.”

Richie’s lips curved into a smile, he liked that she wasn’t vain. “That is merely a matter of self-confidence. We can work on that.”

“The trouble is you’re not really considering what you’d be letting yourself in for. Something tells me I’m not the kind of person you’re used to having around you.”

“How so?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not friendly or polite.”

“Most pleasantries, pleases and thank-yous are insincere, I find.”

“I don’t smile much.”

“Your intensity is what I like.”

“I don’t pose and I don’t know how to strut – nor would I want to learn.”

“Has nobody ever told you that there is an effortless sensuality to your movements?”

God this bloke was persistent. “I don’t work well by myself or as part of a group.”

“Then you’ll be dearly frustrated which will very conveniently bring that incredible spark in your eyes for the photos.”

“I wouldn’t think twice about hurting someone who tried to touch me if I felt I needed to.”

“I shouldn’t worry about that; you’re scary enough to make people hesitate to touch you anyway.”

“I curse like a sailor.”

“We can always say you have Tourette’s Syndrome.”

“Even someone with Tourette’s Syndrome would be wide-eyed by some of the things that come out of my mouth.”

He shrugged. “That is simply because you are an expressive person. There is nothing at all wrong with that. It is part of what makes you so intense and puts that look in your eyes.”

“So basically what you’re saying is that you want me as the face for this range of yours because I’m a bitch who doesn’t care that she’s one.”

He grinned at her opinion of herself. “Even bitches can get a break in life.”

CHAPTER TWO

A week later Jaxxon found herself standing outside Westwood Studios shaking her head and wondering what the bloody hell she was doing there.
Her
a model? Compelling character? Entrancing eyes? What a load of old shit. That Richie bloke had
to be some sort of fruitcake if he really believed all that. She was just a person the same as everybody else. She didn’t see anything special when she looked in the mirror. For the life of her she couldn’t figure how being a bitch would land her a job. Particularly a modelling job.

Even if Jaxxon had thought ‘big’ in terms of her future, modelling would never have held any appeal for her. Nor would fame. Fortune might be nice. Or at least enough for her to move out of that shithole that Don had the nerve to call a flat and to escape the crap situation that she was currently in. But modelling…She couldn’t see how she could pull it off.

So then why was she stood there?

Two simple reasons: Firstly, curiosity. Wouldn’t it be nice to just go in there and have a peak into that world? Secondly, she had never been one to miss an opportunity, even if the outcome wasn’t likely to be in her favour. Jaxxon was pretty certain that when she got in there and dazzled Richie’s friend with her lack-of-charm she would be thrown out without so much as a pat on the head. But the fact was that she needed to get out of that mangy flat so why not go for it?

Had Leah ever been to a studio like this?

No, she wouldn’t think about Leah. Just like Leah didn’t think about her; she couldn’t possibly think about her considering that Jaxxon hadn’t seen or heard from her since that day Leah left her at the foster home alone. Shrug. Sometimes people who you loved just didn’t love you back, even if they were supposed to. Thinking about it or dwelling on it only wasted minutes out of your life. What was the sense in doing that?

With a clear mind and a loud sigh, Jaxxon allowed her curious side free-reign, and was soon stood in a stylish, bright reception area facing an extremely pretty redhead. Jaxxon would have shot her a brief smile if she wasn’t staring at her as though she had walked in with dog shit on her shoes. It seemed that the redhead didn’t approve of Jaxxon’s casual look; a simple black t-shirt and dark blue denim jeans. It was a proper Ugly Betty scenario.

“Whoa, tone down your cheeriness,” said Jaxxon with heavy sarcasm. The redhead forced a smile, though it seemed to kill her.

“Good morning and welcome to -”

“Yeah, thanks, I’m supposed to be meeting Richie Moore at nine.” Which was ten minutes from now. With a twist of her over-glossed lips, the redhead consulted the fancy computer which Jaxxon knew cost more than triple her own yearly expenditure, including food, rent and clothing.

“Mr Moore and Mr Miller,” muttered the redhead to the computer.

Jaxxon thought she sounded a mixture of impressed and bitter. Mr Miller had to be the friend Richie talked about.
Hang on a sec…Miller? Miller as in Ollie Miller, the make-up artist on all the commercials for Storm Cosmetics?
Bloody hell. Jaxxon wasn’t big on make-up and only really bothered with mascara but even she knew who he was. Not that she’d ever been able to afford any Storm stuff so she couldn’t say whether they were any good or not, but
God
they were international best-selling products. She hadn’t realised Ollie Miller ran the company. Well this might turn out to be an interesting morning.

“Jaxxon Carter, I presume?” said the redhead. “If you take a seat, someone will be down shortly to escort you to see Mr Moore and Mr Miller.”

Jaxxon nodded and slouched into one of the seats, which was really comfy she noticed. She also noticed that apparently her attire wasn’t appreciated by the girls seated around her either – particularly the one beside her who was wearing something that may as well have been a flannel. They all looked at Jaxxon as though she was a failed science experiment or something, though they were quick to look away if Jaxxon even
half
scowled at them. Inside, she was smiling. If her casual appearance made them feel uncomfortable then they had to lead very sad lives.