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Glancing up from my book, I check the time and swallow the last of my usual school night dinner: peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a side of Cool Ranch Doritos. I head straight to the restroom to change into my runway look before class. People at work would have fallen over in their chairs if they’d seen me in this get up. Patting my hair, I assess myself in the full-length mirror. Not bad for an over the hill claims adjuster who got dumped. On the way out, I run into Tessa.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I ask, speeding up to catch the elevator.
“It’s going,” she says.
“Yeah, same here,” I say punctuated by a giant yawn. Tessa yawns too. Then I yawn again, and we break into tired laughter. “Oh god, I’m so tired!”
“Me too,” she says as the doors slide open. “At NBC, everything starts early and goes on forever. I have to be at work by 6:00 a.m. and I usually don’t get off until after five.”
“Wow, that’s what, a ten-hour day?”
“Yep. Sometimes more. I come home and take a quick nap if I have time then I come here.”
“Wow. I’m at work for nine hours including lunch and I’m beat. How do you do it?”
“I’m not crazy about my job itself but I love being in that environment, you know? I see the newscasters getting ready. I bring them coffee or whatever else they need. I get to see all the behind the scenes stuff that goes on and I love it. I’m more in love with the setting and the possibility of the place more than I am with my actual job. I’m just an errand girl but I’m hoping that if I pay my dues, that’ll change. That’s what really keeps me going. What about your job? Do you like it?”
“I’m a claims adjuster. I get yelled at all day and I hate it.”
“Wow, that’s a bummer.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me.” Saying it out loud gives me pause because if it’s really that bad, shouldn’t I be doing something about it by now?
“There are other jobs out there, though, right?” she asks.
“As much as I dislike my job, I think change scares me even more. I know what to expect at Silver. I know the ropes. I hate the ropes, but at least I know them,” I say. “I guess I’m a creature of habit.”
What I really think is I’ll find out there’s really nothing else out there for me that’s better. But I’m also terrified there is and I’ve wasted too much time in the wrong field, which ultimately makes me feel like my feet are buried in cement—stuck. I mean, I’ve always thought marketing sounded fun, but where would I even start?
We’re early and the door to our class is shut so we pause in the hallway. “I have student loans up to my eyeballs,” she says. “If I could get that big break I need, maybe I’ll have a shot at something more. But who knows if or when that will happen?”
“Forgive me if I’m being nosey. You said your dad worked for a global company. Can they help?”
“My mom doesn’t work. My dad was going to start his own private consulting firm, but when the economy went belly up, he lost a lot of money in the stock market, including my college fund. He decided it would be safer to stick with his company. They’ve definitely helped me a lot, but after they lost a good chunk of their retirement, I found out real quick I’d have to hustle if I want to succeed.”
“I wish I had some of that hustle myself,” I say, leaning my head against the wall.
“You can have it. You just can’t be afraid.”
I suppose I can. But there’s always something holding me back. Something I have yet to identify.
“It’s so funny because I totally had you pegged for a major rich girl who gets everything she wants when I first saw you.”
She throws back her head and laughs bitterly. “I was supposed to be. My parents’ downfall pretty well took care of that.”
“...and your clothes are so perfect.”
“I don’t spend a lot of money but I know where to find good deals and I know how to put things together.”
“Now that’s a talent I could use,” I say, admiring her outfit of the day, which certainly looks expensive to me.
“Well, if you ever want to go shopping together, let me know. And what about you?” Tessa asks. “Are you drowning in student loans like almost everyone else our age?”
My parents’ financial situation is and always has been tenuous. They foreclosed on my childhood home when they moved to Arizona in search of a lower cost of living. I got a voicemail message from my mom the other day letting me know they had to move out of their rental house because, with my Dad still not working, they got too far behind on rent. I sent them what I could from my dwindling savings account, and she never mentioned it, but she cashed the check and I know she wouldn’t have if they didn’t really need it.
“Up to my neck in those lovely loans they throw at eighteen year olds with no means of income. It’s impossible to get ahead of it.” I launch into another giant yawn. It’s obviously contagious, so Tessa yawns again too. Then we laugh over our chronic fatigue. What else can you do?
Sabrina approaches from the opposite direction, with Melody. “Hey, wake up!” she says, glancing up from her cell phone all bright eyed and bushy tailed, wearing another pair in the endless parade of designer jeans.
Tessa and I give each other a knowing glance that does not escape Sabrina’s watchful eye. We drag ourselves to class, entangled in a web of fatigue, and the contrast next to Sabrina could not be more glaringly obvious. I still don’t know what she does all day.
“Janine, what did you do?” Sabrina asks in surprise when she walks into the room.
She laughs at our genuine shock in seeing her in something other than jeans and T-shirts.
“I hired a personal stylist from Bloomingdale’s. I already knew there wasn’t a single shred of anything in my closet that would work. Not a thing,” she says, shaking her head in disgust. “My stylist was a genius. She re-did my entire work wardrobe.”
Turns out, she has a really nice figure when she’s wearing the right clothes for her body. The fitted but not too tight, high waist skirt takes the emphasis away from her hips and puts it on her waist where it should be.
“So, what’s up?” Sabrina asks with suspicion as we head towards our usual seats while the rest of the class streams in. “Why do I get the distinct impression that you two were talking about me?”
“Okay, Miss Paranoid, we were not talking about you,” I say, shaking my head. “We were just yawning our brains out and talking about how freaking tired we are after a long hard day of work, and couldn’t help but notice you so full of life and energy—plus, your really cute jeans. That’s all,” I say, plopping down in my seat with a heavy thud. “Thank goodness we’re doing runway or else I’d probably fall asleep right here. If it’s possible to fall asleep while walking then it’s about to happen tonight.” I put my chin in my hand. When I shut my eyes for a second, they burn.
“Well, it’s time to pay attention. If you’re ever going to make it in modeling, this is a big day. Don’t you know it’s all about the walk?”
“Great,” I mutter to Sabrina as Mindy and Molly walk in followed by a woman we’ve never seen before. Melody greets her with a hug.
Here I am with a real live model teaching me how to be a runway model and telling me all of these interesting stories about what it’s really like behind the scenes at fashion week. I love being here. Before I know it, fatigue gives way to excitement.
“Before we get started on runway, we have a special guest here to talk to you about Agency Day. Meet the person responsible for everything you guys are doing here.” Standing next to Melody is Chloe Dillon herself. I wasn’t even sure she really existed. She appears to be in her late fifties or early sixties. Like, you can tell she’s older but she looks really good for her age. I suspect there might be a little plastic surgery involved, but whatever she’s done is so subtle, it’s hard to tell. She evokes poise and polish with a pair of dark wash, straight cut jeans, a crisp, white, button up shirt that shows off a little cleavage, and black, peep toe pumps. Stick straight, wheat colored hair falls in chunky layers about her perfectly made up face. I wouldn’t expect anything less from the owner of a modeling and acting school.
“You’ve all worked hard and you’re learning a lot. Agency Day is your chance to compete and receive honest feedback from casting directors. It’s a meet and greet opportunity with agencies for anyone who receives a call back. In order to participate, you must apply. We would love to have everyone, but our goal is for this to be a legitimate event showcasing those with potential. The most exciting part is that we’ll be awarding one Chloe Dillon student a one-year full tuition conservatory to attend The Film Institute in New York City, and another will receive a $25,000 modeling contract with a reputable agency out of Los Angeles.”
Callie claps her hands over her mouth in excitement, and Janine tentatively raises her hand. “What if this is something we aren’t really interested in pursuing?”
“Why wouldn’t you be interested in changing your life for the better?”
Janine shrugs her shoulders.
“It’s going to be here in San Diego, but there will be students attending from our other locations in Orange County and Los Angeles. The top three will be recognized in each category and there might be one person in this entire room who gets a call back or none at all. We make no promises. You really never know unless you show up, but it would be a shame for anyone to miss out on the chance. If nothing else, it’ll be a fun challenge and something you can invite your friends and family to. We do expect you to show up looking professional, the way you were taught. Come with a positive attitude and do your best. You will be representing us that day. This is the first time we’ve ever done something like this, and we’d like it to continue. Eventually, we may open it up to those outside the school, but for now, it’s only Chloe Dillon Students and we want to see as many people get call backs as possible.”
Some of us appear stunned about this opportunity we didn’t realize we were getting just by taking a class. Mindy and Molly eye each other nervously. Agency Day could be the first step towards their joint Hollywood lives. Chloe Dillon wishes us luck and excuses herself so we can continue class.
“Okay, everyone,” Melody says. “Get your heels out, and let’s start walking.”
Melody demonstrates first, displaying mesmerizing intensity in her eyes, a subtle thrust of her hips and a silky smooth stride. It’s so much more than just walking.
“Okay, guys,” she says, expectantly clasping her hands together. “I can’t wait to see what you came up with. I want you to pass around your outfit inspiration so everyone can get a look, before you give us a walk down the runway to show it off. We’ll start with...” she pauses for a minute with her eyes scanning us as she decides who she wants to throw out there to the wolves first. Her eyes rest on me and she says, “Alexis.”
“Crap!” I think to myself but then realize I’ve said it out loud as my eyes widen in fear and my mouth drops open a little.
“C’mon now, it’s not that bad.”
I grab my magazine page, passing it to my left, as thumping music emanating from a large boom box in the corner fills the room. Melody motions with her hands for me to stand and has started to cheer me on. Soon, everyone joins in and suddenly, I’m not as nervous about doing this. I love my outfit and hell, I even like this song. So I put on a smile and get my strut on. I’m not thrilled with my walk reflected in the floor to ceiling mirror, but the music pumping and everyone clapping makes it a lot less excruciating. I’m trying to remember what I’ve seen on TV of models walking down the runway and the only thing that comes to mind is how they usually look really bored and vacant. And skinny. I strike what I think is a runway appropriate pose while everyone claps.
“Great job!” Melody calls out. One by one, everyone takes a turn showing off outfits and playing fashion model, then Melody shuts off the music and gets down to the business of teaching us how to do it.
“Slow down! This isn’t a race,” she yells out as Mindy power walks the runway with long strides. Molly’s pace is better, but her legs are so short, it looks like she’s moving faster than she is.
“It’s not a beach day, speed it up a little,” Melody calls out to Karen who actually looks quite sophisticated in a striped flared skirt and gladiator sandals. You can take the girl out of her cut off shorts and flip-flops, but you can’t take the beach out of the girl.
Talya doesn’t walk, she floats, but Callie is drowning. Her gangly arms and legs jut out at awkward angles while her face flushes a deep red, but she keeps on smiling with every step. I stifle a laugh at Janine’s sultry pout face and exaggerated attempt at a sexy walk but as bad as she is, I’m pretty sure I’m the worst one of us all today. I can’t focus.
“You want to make sure that your shoulders are back and your neck is long,” Melody calls out to me as I skulk down the catwalk.
When I put my shoulders back I feel like I’m sticking out my boobs, but it has to be way better than the hunchback of Notre Dame impression I usually run around with.
I never realized how hard walking could be. By the end of the night, the unsteady baby colt is looking more like a gazelle, so Callie wins the award for most improved. Her walk is plain but steady, and with her quirky, freckled face and thin body, she could be any one of those robotic models of Fashion Week. When class is over, Melody reminds us to keep up with our food journals and announces we’ll be going over it next week. But I barely hear her because I have already started playing the what if game in my head. The chance I was hoping for just fell into my lap.
Later that night, I methodically perform my nightly bedtime routine. Shower. Remove contacts. Brush teeth. Floss. I step into my pajamas like I do every single night, but my head is on another planet. What if I apply for Agency Day? What if I win an acting scholarship in New York City? What if?
