The Model

Ch.2 - The job I can't pass up

It's Monday. I dump the article on my bosses desk, eager to leave as quickly as I came. She finds me as I turn the corner.

"Oh, hey, Renée, I just dropped off the article." I watch her in her tight red pencil skirt, white long sleeve ruffled blouse, and black heels, walk towards me with a sly purpose. Many men here love watching her as her blonde hair sways as she walks. Personally, I am terrified her heels will kill me. She's a few inches taller than me in my heels and even more so when I'm in my boots.

"Perfect, and you're the perfect girl I need for an upcoming project. Come in for a moment," she says and opens the door. I gulp nervously and enter the lair of my boss. Renée hasher taste for women but keeps it professional. With me, she flamboyantly shows it off. I look around as I take a seat in her black, plush chair. She has a black desk with a big black chair like some monster boss. Behind her is a clock and a picture of her and her girlfriend. She has stacks of papers on the desk and file cabinets filled with old articles dating back to twenty years ago.

She isn't old however. She's the youngest to run the firm single handedly. One day, I'll run my own and I'll be just as successful.

"Vogue is issuing a new selection of models for their cover and asked for an interviewer to find someone they deem most interesting. That interviewer has to have an insight to the mind of a woman, the heart, the soul, the drive. She must be quick, thorough, and ask important questions. Their time is precious so the interviewer has thirty minutes."

She looks at and continues to say, "With that, I offered your name in. You're the most respected writer Turner Weekly has to offer and it would be great for you! You get your foot in the door and start interviewing big names after this!" She's excited. I can feel my own excitement building. But there's a catch. Always a catch.

"What's the catch, Renée." I fold my arms over my chest. Today I dressed conservatively in my tight denims, black long sleeve, light scarf, and black heels. My hair is pulled back in a low ponytail to stop myself from playing with it out of stress.

"The photo shoot is in Ventura and you'd have to leave tomorrow because the interview is Wednesday." Renée starts to bite her lip through nerves. I couldn't pass this opportunity up. A chance at this and big label companies will want me. I have to agree.

"Fine. But you owe me," I say as I stand. She smiles and hands me a file hiding behind her stacks of paper.

"I'll take you out for dinner with Carrie. But for now, these are the pictures and backgrounds of all three candidates for the interview Wednesday. Good luck!" She waves me off as I roll my eyes.

Walking to my desk, I briefly see a glance at the phot inside of the file. Of all the people in that file, could it be here from the cafe last week? That would be ridiculous.

I place the stack down and take a seat in my computer chair. I open the first manila colored file. The first girl is named Casey Legler a model for Vogue and other magazines. She is dominantly dressed as a male, has a taste for rock and roll, and is a very opinionated soul on equality. She's beautiful with her tattoo on her neck. But she's already represented Vouge a number of times. I think shining the light on a new face is more important to me.

I pull the next face up. Her name is Elliott Sailor. Reading her file, she has no want to be dressed as a male. Happily married with a husband, they both fundraise transgenders for awareness and is an enthusiast for expressionism in one's mind, body, and soul. She has a beautiful body with perfect curves. But she's still lacking that ... Out of the blue, I need. I set the file down.

The last folder isn't as large as the others. That usually isn't a good thing. But she wouldn't have been picked if she weren't in this pile. I open it up and the first thing I see is the person in the cafe. The person who sat two tables in front. Who saw me looking. Who left without a trace. A beauty. The epitome of it. The one haunting my dreams. Her. Her!

Her name is Erika Linder. She was in the music video 'Unconditional' by Katy Perry. She's too new to be known but her revenue is based off of Google search and Tumblr. I stare at her picture. I wonder if she'd remember. I doubt it. She's beautiful. And handsome. Her face is chiseled to look both man and woman. Her body is toned as a man but her breasts are perfect.

I find myself staring at her for too long and set the file down. I get three different colored pens and write down three different interviews that are a considerable amount of time. I chose to write three because each of these models are individualists with other interests and in order to expose the good of them, I have to get personal to a point.

I can't stop thinking about that per-Erika Linder. She had something about her. That something is cross gender modeling. Which is fine. It's great, actually. I think it's interesting. I look back at her file with a green highlighter mark. I bite my lip and ponder what the interview would be like.

I can imagine her sitting in her makeup chair with the makeup artists doing her make up before the shoot. I sit beside her asking questions. She answers briefly and when the interviews are done, she whisks me away in the sunset and-

I stop right there. I blink. I fix my already fixed hair. I crack my fingers and stretch my arms. I put the files in a pile to save for later with my interview questions inside.

By the end of work, I rush to my car. I rush home. I change in more comfortable clothes. I scatter the files on the large coffee table and pack my things for the trip. I'll need my recorder. My laptop. Clothes. A room for the night or two. And my notepad. I pack my clothes while booking a last minute hotel suite for the two nights and get my battle gear set in another bag. I cook myself dinner, all the while, avoiding three folders that need to be picked.

I eat spaghetti, ready to take it with me up to Ventura and sit on my couch. I turn on the TV but I stare at those files. More specifically, the one with the green highlighter mark. I finish my food and head for bed. Maybe tomorrow I'll have a clearer mind. But I dream of brown eyes, a tattoo on someone's neck, and a woman in a black suit.