The Spectator

By ArtemisWinnick

32.9K 639 128

What if our knight in shining Armani fell for a plebe? The last thing Ella Vazquez wanted when she pursued a... More

Chapter 1: What Not to Do at a Job Interview
Chapter 2: Shakespeare's Dick Jokes
Chapter 3: A Guide to Repeating Outfits and Befriending Your Editor
Chapter 4: Rumor Has It
Chapter 5: To Meddle or Not to Meddle
Chapter 6: A Plebe at an Upper East Side Soiree
Chapter 7: Table Manners
Chapter 8: Nice Limo You've Got Here
Chapter 9: The Fine Art of Gossip
Chapter 10: Getting Dressed is Half the Fun
Chapter 11: Chuck, Blair, and an Inquisition
Chapter 12: P'arriba, P'abajo, P'al centro, y P'adentro
Chapter 13: Lost on the Way to the Bathroom
Chapter 14: How to Get Your Shit Together
Chapter 15: 'Tis the Season for Fuckery
Chapter 16: Welcome to Miami, B*tch.
Chapter 17: No Party Like a Vazquez Party
Chapter 18: Weekend at Primo Julio's
Chapter 19: Chauffeurs and What to Do With Yours
Chapter 20: New Years by the Beach
Chapter 21: Casa Casuawhata?
Chapter 22: El Rubio (Or: The Blond Guy)
Chapter 23: Cheese Metaphors Signal Trouble
Chapter 24: No Boys Allowed
Chapter 25: Breakfast at Humphrey's
Chapter 26: Ms. Vasquez
Chapter 27: Friends
Chapter 28: Long Live the Queen
Chapter 29: Like Like
Chapter 31: Secondary

Chapter 30: Aaazucar!

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By ArtemisWinnick

     Modeling was not as easy as Ella thought it would be. The clothes and locations were gorgeous-- she felt right at home amidst the familiar, vibrant neighborhoods Blair had selected. But it was these same familiar streets in addition to the sky high heels they'd put her in that proved to be the very problem she was facing. She kept tripping over cracks in the sidewalk and it was taking all of her concentration to stay looking model-esque.

     But, if the photos were to be believed, she'd been managing just fine.They started Monday in Wynwood, based on a suggestion from Ella. The photographer flipped over the abundance of murals, following her through the Wynwood Walls public exhibit. She was a little stiff at first, but then Blair called her over.

     "Stop taking this so seriously," She advised. "I'm not looking for Vogue. I want you to have fun-- okay?"

     Armed with that advice, Ella quickly loosened up, jibing the photographer.

     "How's that, Jean Paul?" She looked down at him from over her shoulder so a huge painted octopus looked like it was sprouting from her neck.

     "Belle!" He kissed his fingers. "That is what I'm talking about, mon Elle!"

     In front of a mural of two lovers, hearts glowing neon in their chests, Ella was photographed in a quiet moment, head down, hand on the wall as though leaning there, purse at her side. Jean Paul surreptitiously showed it to Blair. It was a beautiful photo.

     They'd started shooting in Little Havana on Wednesday, yesterday. The locals were amused and mesmerized by the over the top dresses, stopping and staring. Eventually, Blair had Ella start interacting with them. She was photographed ordering a colada from a little shop. She approached the famous domino tables and sat down for a round. Blair thought they might have found their cover shot to the whole catalogue when they captured Ella mischievously looking over her dominos, the structured shoulder of her dress sweeping out so she looked like a bird of paradise.

     Right now, as Thursday was winding down, she was wearing her favorite dress yet— a rich navy blue number with a bright red sash, swirling into a large flower under her bust. They'd styled her with a warm bronze eye and flaming red lips, hair piled into a chignon. Walking down the arcaded sidewalk, they admired the murals of various celebrities. The caricatured faces of the Beatles, Pitbull, Celine Dion and more stared back at them.

     "Stand in front of Celia," The photographer instructed. "Yes, show her you love her, mon amour, she is queen of salsa and you are princess-- like that! Yes!"

     Laughing at the instructions, Ella threw her head back. CLICK! Went the camera. She turned to the photographer, suddenly playful with a hand on her hip, her head tilted back and her purse hanging delicately from the crook of her other arm. CLICK!

     "Oui! Like that! Beautiful! Give me more Celia-- channel her energy, mon amour!" The photographer squatted to get a new angle.

     Just fucking around-- but also channeling her inner Celia Cruz-- Ella threw out her arms like she was about to start shimmying her chest as the salsa star was known to do.

     "Aaazucar!" She cried, striking her pose. CLICK!

     "Perfect!" Now that was a cover shot!

     Blair had brought Henry and Chuck with her. Chuck was at the hotel taking care of some business, but Henry had been helping his Mom all day. The well-dressed pair sat in the shade of the makeup/wardrobe tent.

     "Hey, kiddo," Ella greeted the young Bass. "What have you been up to? Helping Marie again?"

     The little boy had been scurrying after the wardrobe manager all morning and when Ella had asked him what he was doing, he'd replied that he was her assistant. She wondered if he'd tired of the position yet, looking at him slouched against his mother, cheeks red from activity.

     "Marie says I did all the 'sisting she needed. I'm taking a break," He informed her, rubbing at his eyes.

     "Besides, it's almost the end of the work day-- and we don't pay overtime, mister!" Blair tickled him. He laughed. "I'm thinking it's almost naptime, huh?"

     "Almost," He nodded sleepily. Ella smiled at the little exchange.

     "Is it almost naptime for me too?" She asked hopefully. Blair laughed.

     "That was the last outfit of the day. Just one more day of shooting and we should have the whole collection photographed. I'll call the car around and have them take you home," The woman smiled at her. Ella leaned down to kiss the top of Henry's head.

     "I'll be seeing the two of you tomorrow bright and early, then. Later!"

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