Elsie checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror. She’d gone back and forth on the makeup question: at the age of thirty-two, did makeup make a woman look younger? Or older?
She lifted her chin, checking for foundation lines, but her makeup inspection looked satisfactory. She’d purposely purchased grocery store cosmetics: CoverGirl products in pink and brown, the shades that younger women purchased. She even used a pink lipstick. When she smiled, it made her teeth look yellow.
Elsie started to frown at her reflection before she stopped herself: she didn’t want frown creases to appear in the makeup. Not today, of all days.
She sat down in the kitchen chair in her breakfast nook: the padded red chairs and gray-topped table that had once occupied her grandmother’s kitchen.
She adjusted the angle of her computer screen. Behind her, only a blank wall was visible. Elsie checked the clock: it was showtime.
Now that she was so close to meeting the villain, her armpits grew damp. She jumped from the chair, wiping them with the dishtowel that hung on the oven door handle.
Back in the kitchen chair, she adjusted the spaghetti straps of the aqua nightie she’d purchased at Walmart for the occasion. Her breasts, freed from the confines of her bra, were clearly on display.
She sat straight up in the chair, thinking they are falling out of this flimsy scrap of nylon. She worried that they looked too big. Were they starting to sag? One thing she’d always been confident about was her rack.
Her inner debate was silenced: a ding on the computer informed her that Marvel Modeling wanted to chat.
She accepted, her hand a shade shaky. When the screen on the other end appeared, Elsie adopted an ear-wide grimace of delight.
“Hey, there,” she said, with a twang that was pure Ozarks. “I’m Tessie!”
A sour-faced woman with auburn hair faced her on the screen. “Well, hey, Tessie. I’m Dede, with Marvel Modeling Agency.”
Elsie pursed her pink-tinted lips into a pout. “Mighty pleased to meet you, Miss Dede. But where’s Mr. Tony? Ain’t he in charge?”
Dede’s eyes darted to the right. “Tony’s here. I’m his assistant. I’ll do your preliminary interview.”
“Well, okay then. I’m happy to talk with you. But you know—” and she heaved a dramatic sigh “—I was real excited about meeting Tony today.”
At that juncture, a dark-headed man popped onscreen, over Dede’s shoulder. He studied Elsie through slitted eyes before he spoke.
“Hi, baby. It’s Tessie? That right?”
“Right as rain! And you’re Tony, ain’t you? I can just tell.”
Tony’s smile thinned. “Say, honey, how old are you?”
Elsie could feel blood rush to her face. She hoped it might give her a youthful, rosy glow.
“Tony, I’m twenty-five. And I read your ad on Backlist. You are looking for models between twelve and twenty-five. When I saw that, I went: Phew!” Elsie pretended to wipe sweat from her forehead. “Just barely made it!”
Dede glanced up at Tony. Elsie could see the skeptical look she gave him. Tony glanced down at Dede, then resumed talking to Elsie.
“Tessie, baby, how big a girl are you?”
“I’m five-eight, I hope that’s tall enough. I know you’uns all like models to be real tall.”
His mouth twitched. He said, “What do you weigh?”
Elsie sat back in the chair, slumping against it before she remembered to sit up straight. Good posture put her at her best advantage.
When he raised his chin, the tattoo inked across his neck came into view: a snake. It danced when he took a swallow from a red plastic cup. The sight gave Elsie an involuntary shiver, recalling the fuzzy driver’s license photo bearing a neck tattoo she’d seen when Mandy was hospitalized after the beating at the Rancho.
He set his cup down and said, “Don’t be shy, honey. We’re a modeling agency, it goes with the territory. Now come clean. How big a girl are you?”
Elsie gave the computer a Mona Lisa smile. She turned in her seat so he could see her in profile, and took a deep breath.
“I wanna be a plus-size model,” Elsie said.
There was silence on Tony’s end. She broke her profile pose, turning her head to peek at the screen. Tony was staring at her, nodding his head.
“Looks like you got great tits,” he said.
Elsie flashed a triumphant smile and swiveled back around in her seat. “Oh my goodness gracious sakes. You sweet talker!”
“Let’s see them.”
Elsie’s face went blank. She hadn’t expected a test, a game of striptease, not at this juncture.
Her face must have amused Tony; he burst into laughter.
“Just look at you: like the Catholic schoolgirl being told to drop her drawers. Didn’t you just say you were twenty-five? Twenty-five years old?”
Elsie nodded, with a little toss of her head.
“Then you’ve surely bared your tits before. This is business, baby. I’m a modeling agent. And you are not young, or tall, or thin, or beautiful. You do have nice hair.”
Elsie’s hand jumped to the high ponytail she’d pulled her blond hair into, and pulled it over her shoulder.
“Yeah, good hair. But mostly, what you’ve got is good tits. Now let me see them.”
Elsie froze again. Then Tony lifted his brow and said, “Are we all done here? Is this it? Because it’ll be the end of the road.”
Desiree, she thought. Mandy. Taylor. She forced her hand up to the spaghetti strap on her right shoulder. She pushed it down.
Tony nodded with approval. “Okay. Keep going.”
She pulled the other strap and shimmied the nightgown down to her waist. Her breasts were bared to his view on the screen. She had never felt so exposed.
“That’s my girl. Pull your hair out of that band. Let it fall down.”
She did, following his orders like an automaton.
“Now arch your back and make a pouty face.”
She complied, her heart pounding.
He smiled. “Great. Just great, baby.”
He leaned in and kissed the screen.
“You’re a natural.”
Elsie twisted her mouth into a smile, though it took tremendous effort.
Tony said, “I think we ought to meet in person. What you doing Friday afternoon? Got some free time in your calendar?”
Elsie was amazed at how natural her voice sounded as she said: “I got time for you, Tony.”