The Makeover (9 page)

FOURTEEN

Camellia spent the first week of February glued to her laptop, ingesting any and all news she could search out on New York Fashion Week. The palette for Fall 2009 was noticeably somber, a telling sign of the troubled financial times. The clothing had a more timeless feel, not as frivolous as in years past, pointing to designers anticipating a woman’s desire to fully utilize her wardrobe instead of chucking costly pieces to the curb the second a one-season trend’s moment had passed. While Camellia didn’t like why the movement was happening, she did approve of the end result.

She was also pleased her upper body was as toned as it was, with one-shoulder dresses and tunics showing up in most every collection from Carolina Herrera to Oscar de la Renta. However, she shuddered as she browsed far too many examples of an ‘80s revival for fall – especially from her beloved Marc Jacobs – complete with neon hues, tapered pants, and raised shoulders.

By the end of the week, Camellia knew without a doubt that she had to peel herself away from the computer and find something satisfying to do. She had spent days watching others’ outstanding accomplishments sashay down runways while she was merely a bystander. While it was one thing to be invited to the shows, it was certainly another to silently watch from afar. She no longer contributed to anything. And it had to stop. Somehow, she had to find direction and the only place to look for it at the moment was Markleeville.

Still without a car or the will to drive, Camellia trekked back to town on foot, this time pairing a matching fur hat to her sumptuous fur jacket, and pleasantly discovering that warm ears made for a more bearable commute. As she walked she pledged not to leave the town until she found one single thing that interested her. She also added in a pledge to first stop for a steaming cup of coffee. Her interest was piqued the moment she walked into the diner.

Behind the counter was a tall, willowy girl with long dark blonde hair dressed in black jeans and a slouchy black t-shirt. She looked positively chic and effortless at the same time. As she poured coffee for a couple at the counter, Camellia observed the girl’s high cheekbones and full lips. If this were New York, a modeling agent would have walked into this joint, taken one look at that girl, and had her signed before the day was over. But this was Markleeville. That girl could rot here and no one would ever understand what she had to offer.

A loud crash tore Camellia from her thoughts, and as she refocused, she realized the girl had dropped the coffee pot and was staring directly at her, her mouth agape. “Are you okay?” Camellia asked approaching the counter, concerned the girl might have had a seizure.

“Oh my God. You’re Camellia
Rhodes
,” the girl gushed, bordering on hyperventilation.

Camellia felt dizzy upon hearing her name. She couldn’t believe someone had recognized her in
Markleeville. She wanted to throw her arms around the girl, but reminded herself about constraint and instead held out her hand. “I am,” she said, perfectly poised. “How do you do?”

The girl squealed and grabbed Camellia’s hand like it was a lifeline. “I’m Shelby, and I love
Flair
more than just about anything in the whole world!” She continued to pump Camellia’s hand, smiling a wide toothy grin. Her green excited eyes were blinding.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Shelby,” Camellia said, patting the girl’s hand while removing
her other one from the firm grasp.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m just so excited.” Shelby reached under the counter and pulled out a cup, placing it in front of Camellia. “My mama owns this diner and she would whip my hide if she saw me behaving this way. Can I get you coffee?”

“That would be lovely.”

Shelby grabbed a fresh pot and poured, her hand noticeably shaky. The broken pot and its scattered contents were still on the floor. “What in the world are you doing in Markleeville?”

“Living here, apparently,” Camellia responded, taking the stool positioned in front of the cup and sipping her coffee. She noticed the handful of customers listening to their exchange, Shelby’s loud enthusiasm garnering full attention. “My husband and I moved to town about a month ago.”

“Well this is just the best day ever!” A thought crossed Shelby’s mind then, because her smile disappeared as her brows knitted. “But
why
are you here?”

Camellia crossed her legs and slipped out of her jacket, placing it on her lap. “My husband got a job nearby with a radiology practice,” she explained simply.

“Oh.” Shelby leaned on her elbows, her eyes darting about Camellia’s luxurious clothing. “I guess with all the technology available, you can edit a magazine from anywhere, huh?”

Camellia pressed her lips together. “Shelby,
Flair
doesn’t exist anymore. The publishing company decided to eliminate it from their group of magazines.”

Shelby’s fist hit the counter, startling Camellia. “Are you shitting me?” She clapped a hand over her mouth as Camellia burst into laughter.

“Between you and me, Shelby, that was exactly my thought.”

Camellia spent the rest of the afternoon drinking coffee and nibbling on a colorful fruit salad while she and Shelby talked all things fashion, beauty, and celebrity. She found out that Shelby’s favorite label was Rodarte – very fashion forward, especially coming from a small town girl – she loved Gucci’s ad campaigns, and she thought Jennifer Aniston was the quintessential It Girl. Camellia agreed with her on all parts, causing Shelby to once again shriek with pleasure. It was the most enjoyable day Camellia had experienced in months.

They parted ways with Camellia promising to return to the diner for lunch in two days. She would have liked to have seen Shelby the very next day, however, not only did Camellia not wish to appear too eager, she also needed time to muse about how this girl figured into her comeback plans.

It was impossible to deny Shelby’s beauty. She went beyond attractive. From her wide-set green eyes and straight nose to her high cheekbones and symmetrical face, Shelby would look just as good in photos as her long, slender body would look on a runway. And her bubbly personality was the tape holding fast the perfect package. Shelby was muse worthy. And she had absolutely no idea.

That evening, Camellia filled in Henry on her discovery. “This girl really has it,” she explained, her eyes bright. “She’s stunning, but not in that just-another-beautiful-girl way. You cannot take your eyes off of her and you can’t put your finger on why. That’s what makes for an extraordinary face and an über-successful model.”

Henry kissed Camellia on the forehead before adding wood to the cast-iron stove. The bright flames danced merrily. “It’s just nice to see you smiling again,” he said. “I
support anything that makes you this happy.”

Camellia spent the next day on the Internet, trying to determine the best route to take with Shelby. Perusing photos from the past year’s catwalks and magazine editorials, a number of the images from back issues of
Flair
, Camellia studied the faces and bodies of the most in-demand models of the moment: Karlie Kloss, Chanel Iman, Anja Rubik, Miranda Kerr. They all possessed the same winning combination of unforgettable looks and an inner glow that made them dazzle. Just like Shelby.

The way Camellia saw it, she could go two routes with the eighteen-year-old beauty: acting as her manager or starting a modeling agency built around a single superstar. Every agency had to start with one girl and then grow from there. Why couldn’t she do it? Granted, this wasn’t New York or LA or Miami or Chicago. Hell, where she was located in Michigan – just above the third knuckle of the mitten as Henry described it – felt like a world away from Detroit, which her research showed had several agencies in the city’s suburbs, with a couple of their girls landing a few major fashion show bookings. With amazing photos of Shelby and her contacts there was a real chance Camellia could find Shelby plenty of work, and wind up with a nice commission and newfound respect from the fashion world. Camellia Rhodes could be the next great ‘fashion eye” – finding the undiscovered gems and turning them into superstars. It would be quite rewarding, giving these young unknowns opportunities they could never fully imagine. And Camellia would once again have a full, exciting schedule.

Now that Henry was receiving a regular paycheck, and a nice one at that, Camellia could afford to have a logo and business cards created, along with a state-of-the-art website for her business, which she decided would be called The Rhodes Agency, keeping the business open for all types of talent, from models to actors.

She located a design firm in New York that she had worked with several times and spoke with one of the partners, arranging for them to start working immediately on her logo, which she expressed should be clean and modern in appearance. With a promise for a one-week turnaround of preliminary designs, Camellia ended the call feeling unbelievably satisfied. The next step was to approach Shelby.

At noon the following day, Camellia was back in the diner, as promised. Shelby was behind the counter, taking direction from a petite woman with graying hair at her temples and the same green eyes as Shelby. Camellia guessed this was Shelby’s mother, the diner’s owner, and apparently not where Shelby got her soaring height. Camellia took a table at the back, motioning to Shelby to join her. Within minutes, Shelby was at her side, looking rocker chic in black leggings, black embellished flat boots, and a little white tank, with silver chains dangling past her bust, which Camellia guessed was about a 34A, perfect for runway, but not right for Victoria’s Secret. “Sit,” Camellia said, patting the seat beside her. “I have an amazing opportunity for you.”

Shelby’s face flushed. “For me? Oh my gosh, what is it?” She slid into the seat and crossed her legs gracefully.

“Shelby, have you ever considered modeling?”

The flush on Shelby’s cheeks turned crimson, and she put a hand over her mouth, hiding her adorable gap-toothed smile. “Are you kidding?” she replied, her voice muffled behind the still-in-place hand.

Camellia pulled Shelby’s hand down and placed it between her own. “I’m not kidding. I’ve been in this business a long time, and I know a model when I see one.”

Shelby’s giggles were contagious; Camellia couldn’t help but laugh along with her. “Come on,” Shelby managed, genuinely surprised. “Me?”

“Yes you. What do you think about giving it a try? I’m starting my own agency and you can be the first girl I sign. Before you know it, you’ll be walking alongside Gisele and Naomi.”

That did it. Shelby’s shriek turned every head in the diner. She seemed to have a knack for it. “Miss Rhodes, I’m going to cry!” And then she did.

“Thanks for the heads up,” Camellia chuckled, patting Shelby on the arm. She noticed the woman behind the counter, who was rather skinny upon closer look, was watching them intently. “Is that your mom?” Camellia asked, nodding in the woman’s direction.

Shelby turned and gave the woman, who was now positively frowning, a little wave. “Yep, that’s my mama. Sharene Rosalee Jenkins. Wanna meet her?”

“Maybe another time. When’s your next day off?” Camellia thought it best to wrap up the conversation. She didn’t want to be the reason Shelby was neglecting the other customers. A good agent knew better than to get on the bad side of a model’s mom.

“Thursday,” Shelby sputtered.

The day before Valentine’s Day
, Camellia thought. “Be at my house at ten,” she said, writing her address down on a slip of paper she pulled from her handbag. “We’ll begin model training then.”

Camellia left the di
ner, careful to nod pleasantly at Shelby’s mother, and turned right, heading four doors down to Lisa’s Designs, one of the two women’s boutiques in town. The opportunity she had found in Shelby had cheered Camellia enough to attempt shopping in an unknown store with a window of outdated clothing.

“Welcome to Lisa’s Designs. I’m Lisa! How can I help you today?”

Camellia eyed the owner, who was sporting a close-cropped cut and wire-rimmed glasses. Her clothing paralleled the items in the window: beige pleated pants, an off-white blouse, and an embroidered vest depicting playful cats. “I’m...just looking.” Camellia was regretting entering the shop but didn’t want to be rude and bolt.

“That’s just fine,” Lisa said, not appearing to pick up on Camellia’s hesitation. “Have a look around, and don’t miss our Panty Bonanza next to the register. All t
he undies you can fit into a Ziploc for only $9.99.” 

“Uh, thanks,” Camellia said, stifling a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She wandered around, trying not to touch the racks of acrylic sweaters and polyester-blend pants. In the back corner of the store, she found was she was looking for. Sort of. The available lingerie wasn’t quite what she had in mind to surprise Henry for Valentine’s Day. The bras were heavy duty, with wide straps and four rows of hooks. Nightgowns were full length and made of flannel. Apparently all the underwear were participating in the Panty Bonanza, as there was no selection with the rest of the unmentionables. However there were numerous half-slips, all plain and either in white or cream.

Feeling particularly mischievous, Camellia pulled a few items from the rack, and then stopped at the Panty Bonanza – which was complete with a blue flashing police light – cramming four pairs of briefs into a sandwich bag before placing her finds on the counter.