VALERIE

Chapter 35: When in Milan 2

“What was that about?” Sophia’s brows furrow once she questioned me and I toss myself at the back of the seat, sighing tediously while rubbing my temple. I could have a headache after what happened.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head a bit, shrugging my shoulder in utter uncertainty. I don’t have a clue as to what those paparazzi were talking about. But then again, paparazzi are so stupid. They would make-up stories just to make it to the headlines. So I just push the repetitive questions reeling in my head aside and decide to myself I won’t be bugged by them anytime soon.

*****

The same crazy situation is happening backstage of the show. While everyone is running around with high-heels on, wearing the designer clothes that we’re modelling later, I am here sitting on a high chair, taking deep breaths to relax my tense muscles.

I am already set, just waiting for the fashion director’s cue when the show starts. My make-up is semi-dark, complimenting my hazel brown eyes and I’m clad with a black bodycon dress with hints of silver near my chest. My hair is tied up in a neat chignon—it’s a decorative term for a bun, by the way—but there are some loose strands swaying to my fringe. The blonde roots of my hair are now concealed when I dyed my hair before flying all the way here.

I haven’t still come into terms with my blonde persona. I’d still want to hide it as much and as long as possible. Aside from my family, it’s the stereotype that I’m also running away from. Let’s face it, people can always prejudge other people based on their appearance. Not because I am blonde, doesn’t mean I’m stupid and bitchy—well I am stupid and I can be a bitch too but can’t other colours be like that too?

The world would be of a less trouble if people weren’t judgmental—I am speaking to myself too. I can be judgmental to myself and to other people sometimes, but I’m working on it. I’m starting over.

With the fashion director’s whistle, I hop off of my chair and all the models now line up in a long queue, getting ready for the show. I have yet to understand why the collection is called Mirabella Blues but most of us are dressed in combinations of black and white or silver. I would never understand some designers though.

By the time that it’s my turn to get out to the cat walk, I take another deep breath and try to discard the negative thoughts that have been bothering me before the show has even started.  With an endearing smile, I strut all the way to the runway and look straight ahead, ignoring the fact that there are so many people watching me—the dress I’m wearing— carefully.

I scan the audience unnoticeably to look for Sophia with Walt, but I failed. Rather, I notice some of the spectators look at me with dismay while whispering to one another. Some of them are grimacing and glowering at me—or maybe there’s something wrong with the dress. I push the thoughts aside and continue walking to the end of the catwalk, turn on my heels with my hand propped on my waist before letting go, and return to the backstage with a relieved sigh. We still have another set of wardrobe to show off to the audience so I quickly run to my stylist to get changed. My heels are already killing me, but it’s nothing I can handle.

“Congrats, Val! You did uhm-mazing!” Walt gushes, squeezing my hands while he gives me a proud grin. He came to the backstage with Sophia once the show has ended and I couldn’t be more relieved that it finally did.

Sophia then reaches out for a hug as well and kisses me on the cheek. “I’m proud of you, Val. I really enjoyed the show.” Her shoulders shrug enthusiastically once she pulls back, flashing a genuine smile at me.

“Thank you for coming, Sophia. I really appreciate it. You could’ve been in Australia with-“I try to finish my sentence but she cuts me off and squeezes my hand tenderly.