Curve Couture

by H. M. Irwing

  “Out!” Rafael shouted then pushed at Erin’s obligingly retreating back to make sure he went out the way he came in.

  “My sister has my phone number. She can leave her own messages,” I shouted out after him belatedly. He hadn’t even conveyed the message she’d left me.

  “Sorry, luv.” Erin grinned wide and unrepentantly this time. “That was the best I could manage on the spur of the moment,” Erin returned, with a wink over his shoulder, before he disappeared to the other side of the curtains.

  “I don’t care what he said. You are fat, and you have to do something about it,” exclaimed Rafael as he huffed back to us.

  “Of course, I’m fat! That’s why I’m here—as a plus-size model!”

  Duh?

  “Don’t sass me. They will Photoshop these extra folds,” Rafael said, pinching a flab of fats at my waist, “but you cannot hide this on the runway.”

  “Rafael is right. We’ll have you signed up at the company’s gym,” Michelle started a to-do list, pointing out all I would need to start doing to take care of my skin, hair, and shape.

  This was beginning to sound like more and more work.

  “We will have to get you ready in time for the fashion week in a little over the next quarter. We can launch you then,” Michelle said, as she busied about me, taking my measurements.

  “Five months? I cannot fix this,” I exclaimed dramatically, pointing to my excessive curves, “in merely five months!”

  “With our guidance, you can, and you will!”

  Michelle and Rafael exchanged a wicked grin that had me groaning.

  This was the worst photo shoot ever. I was stuffed into clothes that were too tiny for me and told to pose at angles that were mostly sheer impossible and made to smile in odd manners through it all. I mean, what is a pouty smile anyway? I could barely respond to the poor photographer’s cajoling. His attempts to get me hot and bothered for a sensual shot only had me frowning, and my serious shots had me smirking. I was only thankful Erin had not been in there with me, or all my shots would have shown me blushing.

  I still felt embarrassed over him having seen me naked. It put me at a disadvantage somehow, as if all my secrets were mine no more. I guess it really wasn’t and less likely to be in the future too. This was a very public profile job that I was after. My face would be purveyed by the masses. My body no different, and my personal life would be splashed across tabloids and trash-talked across town. It was hardly an inviting profession, but it would be the one that would launch me out of my sister’s shadow and more importantly from beneath her dainty, well-manicured, painted thumb.

  After hours of torment, the photographer finally released me with a mild dismissive. “Right! All done.”

  I stared at his preoccupied face, looking for something that might indicate how the shoot actually went. But naturally, he was a professional, and I could tell nothing. So off I went to do as I was bid and changed back into the street clothes I had arrived in. It felt good to be back in clothing that wasn’t stuck to me like a second skin and then some. Where I usually squeezed my plus size down into a size eighteen, I didn’t put it past them to try to pull off a stunt of having squeezed out my life in a size zero. Perhaps those were the only sizes they had? It sure certainly felt like it. I rubbed away at the sore redness where the fabric’s grips were too tight. Glancing momentarily at my nude form in the mirror, I could clearly tell all the bits and pieces that I could do without outlined by the clothing I had worn. I shrugged into my clothing and shrugged off my day. I had done the best I could with what I had been given, and the rest was up to the fates. I emerged from the dressing room a short while later, carrying my duffle, and I gave a vague wave at nobody in particular and a murmured farewell in general before gladly making good on my escape. But a message that pinged on my phone had me cussing a short while later.

  Erin wanted to see me.

  Erin: Wait for me outside.

  I swiftly tapped back an answer. Both nervous to see him and yet impatient to know the outcome of my shoot. I waited impatiently at the curb outside, cursing myself for the umpteenth time. I should have just called a taxi instead of agreeing to meet with Erin after the shoot. What was taking him so long anyway? Were my shots really so disastrous that he balked, unable to face me?

  I fumed over the delay as I started to pace up and down, uncertain whether to call him. But then, the clock ticked on, and I found myself calling his number to tell him off.

  The ringing of a mobile phone right behind me had me spinning around to confront a grinning Erin Robertson.

  “What was taking you so long?” I spat out at him rudely.

  “Oh my, what temper.” He clicked his tongue at me, mockingly. “If you must know, I was getting your preliminary shots before Photoshop did their magic.”

  “Eww!” was my instant unavoidable reaction.

  “I thought you’d want to know how you did,” he said seriously by way of an explanation.

  “You thought wrong!” I exclaimed, grimacing at the sight of the brown envelope in his grasp.

  “Don’t you want to know how you did?” Erin asked me tauntingly, dangling the envelope before me like the proverbial carrot stick. Well, I was no rabbit. I would not bite. Not the carrot anyway. Or that envelop. Erin however…

  “Not particularly,” I said, raising my nose at his taunt.

  “Well, I do,” he said before making a grand gesture of unveiling its contents.

  “Nooo!” I shrieked before I threw myself at him and tried to wrangle the envelope free. I wouldn’t have him looking at my pictures within my presence.

  “So, that was all it took to have you throw yourself at me?” Erin taunted smugly.

  His arms wrapped tightly about my thick waist, and that was saying something. They were mighty long arms just like the rest of him. I glared up at him, not at all amused, while I struggled to get hold of the damned envelope, all the while, having to ignore the sudden thrummed-up beating of my delicate heart as a result of our close proximity.

  “Tell you what. I’ll hand this over without a peek inside if you will give me a ‘thank you’ kiss.” He grinned wickedly as he attempted to negotiate the impossible. No way was I planting a pucker on his delicious lips.

  There would be no stopping me from eating him up whole. Then, where would I be? Without a modeling agent; that’s what!

  “I don’t trust you. You’re a cheat. You meant to come ogle at me naked earlier, didn’t you?” I accused outright, unsure why I brought that embarrassing moment up at this particular moment. But then, I was rather glad I did. It certainly put things into perspective once more. The man had already seen me in all my naked glory. What was one non-photo shopped picture?

  “Well, of course, I did. I just had to see what was under all this packaging. It’s a matter of professional interest. My timing, as always, was impeccable.”

  “You… you.” Even knowing to expect his answer as I did, I still found myself helplessly sputtering.

  Chapter 3

  “Lift your tits!”

  “Higher!”

  “Bend over to the side a little.”

  “Yes, like that! Let it all hang out!”

  “There, it’s drooping to the side.”

  “Those are some great pieces of meat you have… now spread your legs apart. Wider!”

  I was about to let off steam in another two seconds. I was sure my face was flushed red in molten anger, but the photographer appeared oblivious to my mounting anger and continued his ceaseless instructions, sometimes praising, but most times just down right insulting.

  I was soon beyond anger and reduced to fuming at near boiling point. Any moment now, and my whistle would blow. And it wouldn’t be short and sweet. I was clad in a champagne colored, floor-length gown, for goodness sake. What does it matter that my legs needed to be spread apart beneath it? But I did it anyway.

  I shifted awkwardly into a new back-breaking pose and frowned out a grimaced version
of a smile. Lights burst into flashes all around me, illuminating the shot to the point that it had me seeing stars.

  It was only two days ago that I had a tussle with Erin over my photos. I was now on strict diet and exercise regime to tone down and firm up some excess, and that wasn’t helping with my disposition either. Most of my shots had been duds, but the ones taken where I had been reduced to molten anger had been brilliant. Spitting fire and with a sensuality I was in no way naturally capable of. Even I had been stunned to see those shots. But Erin had merely grinned with an I-told-you-so expression—as if he’d actually known. But I wouldn’t put anything past him. Erin could very well be all knowing when it came to this world I was trying to fit into. And that was exactly how I should’ve viewed this new venture into modeling as just another attempt to fit into something that was already too tight for me. But squeezing into where I wasn’t wanted was my forte. So, if it were molten anger that they wanted, then that was what I would give to them.

  I swung my body into an impossible arc and displayed my assets in a very forward, 3-D pop-art manner. The lewd commentary from Jim Burnet, the photographer, urged me on. I was being made to feel like nothing more than a piece of trash, but I guess that was the price it took to bring out the very worst and best of me.

  “I’ll frame this one and place it at my bedside,” Erin had teased, running a caressing hand down the front of the photo. It had been beyond hot, watching him caress my photo with his finger. I felt a shiver of goose bumps breakout along the surface of my skin as I shifted yet again, this time to stare intently at the camera. Recalling the expression in Erin’s eyes had me turning to stare searchingly into the camera lenses before more flashes lit up the room and blinded my vision entirely, if momentarily.

  I straightened up from yet another impossible pose as Jim called a halt for a costume change. Then, Marie, my stylist for the day, swept in to cart me away. Rafael immediately took me under his wing to freshen up my makeup and fluff up my hair. Michelle then brought out a skimpy two piece that was clearly several sizes too small. When were they going to start stocking up on something other than size zero? Shouldn’t they know my measurements by now? I distinctly recalled having to stand for hours on end in nothing more than my undies for that sole purpose of their taking my measurements. Did they lose the sheet they’d been scribbling on?

  It was these mind-numbing questions that had me preoccupied while I accepted the garment change and went through the routine of squeezing out of one outfit only to squeeze into another.

  Then, I was back under the expertly wielded camera lenses and its accompaniment of flashing lights. I took my mind off its roving eye and thought back to Erin. He was all I thought of really. It was impossible to think of anything or anyone else when there was Erin.

  Erin, Erin, Erin.

  Always Erin.

  He had given me a car ride home that day. After that first photo shoot. He offered it gallantly, with his usual mischievous smirk that sent my heart fluttering and my breath stuttering as I hesitantly accepted. Hesitant only because I knew what to expect of that ride. More Erin, Erin, Erin. The ride in the car had been all kinds of Hell. I had been reduced to a nervous wreck by the time we reached my home. The tension in the car had been palpable. But all that resulted from it was a swift hug and a fond farewell. I had ended up going into my home with immense longing, acute disappointment, and nothing more.

  The lights flashed, and Jim urged me with yet more inappropriate remarks. But my attention had already wandered. After a couple of hours of the same vile comments, they’d begun to lose their shock value. I was already growing immune, and this was just my first official photoshoot. But I was still fuming mad. Only my anger was at myself. I feared I was well on the path to resuming my teenage infatuation with Erin Robertson. I had been all of sixteen when he first hit the runway and had his pictures splashed across every available media. The frenzy his images invoked was positively cultish. Just a glimpse of his face or torso invoked mass hysteria. He had been raised on a pedestal and worshipped by every hungry teenage girl that world over. Sad to say I was a voluntary worshiper of that God. If Erin was macho, manly, and sexy now, he had been positively to die for back then in my hormonal teenage days. I still had my collections. Memorabilia of his works—pinups that still hung in the back of my closet.

  “Give me a growl, puss. Roar like a tiger!”

  My next shot was unavoidably confused.

  Then, I got his meaning; only it was my stomach that rumbled out an answering growl. Still, my scowl was back on and mighty fierce, too. But that was only expected when they kept me worked up and starving. Anger and hunger was not an attractive mix. I was ready to let it all out, and my target was the man dressed in khaki shorts and tee, who was doing a strange tribal dance in his bid to get the perfect shot. I wished him luck with that before emitting a truly fearsome growl.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Those husky tones sent shivers of anticipation rippling down my spine. A hunger of a new kind invaded my senses. “Must you glare murder at the poor guy? He is just doing his job,” Erin reprimanded me teasingly as he casually crossed the distance from the door to stand by Jim. Jim not only faded out into the background, but he disappeared altogether—as did everyone else in that room. At least to my overheated sense, they did.

  I’d try to deny it, but it would have been a blatant lie to say I hadn’t been impatiently waiting on edges to see him again. Having only just seen him this morning didn’t matter. The hours since was too long in between to not immerse my senses in his company. And to think of that one instance when I had been enveloped in his arms would serve only to send me up in flames. Or down as the case may be. I did think to have lustful thoughts of anyone was sin in the eyes of God. I had been condemned to the pits of Hell ever since my eyes laid on him at sixteen.

  But I was here, beneath the spotlight, being maligned and verbally insulted for hours on end. All because of him.

  So, it was really a glare that I shifted to face the smirking Erin, rather than the adoring worship my idle mind had lingered on, only to be struck dumb for my efforts in awe over his otherworldly charms. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was a vampire, but his deep tan was a dead giveaway. How did that man manage to take two steps forward without being accosted by every weeping woman? I didn’t know. I felt tears of my own frustrations coming on with a bawling vengeance. But again, the hunger pangs rumbled in to the rescue. I merely shook my head at him instead, more out of disappointment than admonishment. Erin stood there, unknowingly with a ridiculous pose that just screamed to be photographed. I felt like calling out to the idiot who was circling me like a leopard to his prey and telling him to focus on the hottest dude on earth just meters away. I didn’t understand what Erin was doing, jeopardizing his most photographic years away to boost others in the industry.

  But I didn’t care! I reminded myself of the mantra I had been repeating since the wee hours of this morning when Erin popped up at my place and insisted I accompany him to his gym, where I was promptly brow beaten to attempt all sorts of bone-breaking equipment. It was a miracle that I was upright at all. I shot him a venomous glare at that reminder and was promptly lit up with yet more flashes as Jim no doubt went in for yet more shots. But then, I recalled the carrot Erin had dangled my way.

  “I’ll promise to massage away your aches and pains if you’ll finish this one last lap,” he’d offered sweetly as I slavered away on the treadmill.

  As far as lure went, that was one that could literally move mountains. I was no different. I fulfilled my part of that bargain and now only eagerly awaited only delivery of his. Yet, here I stood, still awaiting the great moment when Mr. Hotty Pants would do the deed and massage away the kinks persistently forming in my muscles even as the moments ticked on.

  “To the left, babe. Tilt your bust to the left.”

  I ignored the man behind the lenses and turned my head to the left to face the hottie who threw me a deliciously slow wink before
lifting that sensual smirk of his up a notch as if I weren’t already combusting inside out with nuclear level heat. The man’s allure was nothing short of explosive.

  I would happily go up in flames for him.

  “Alright, that’s a wrap! You guys did great,” announced the photographer as the shoot ended.

  I hurriedly rushed to get off the stool and dash past a grinning Erin into the changing room. Grabbing my old tattered jeans and a men’s shirt that I sometimes wore, I started to unzip the cumbersome top I had on, cursing at the missing assistance who conveniently disappeared altogether at the sound of pack up.

  “Need a hand?”

  I looked over my shoulder to find Erin leaning over with a wicked smile. I shook my head at his cheekiness and offered him my back. “Unzip me,” I said daringly. Two could play at this game.

  The zip was tugged down with grating slowness. The sound of it reminded me of a trip to the dentist. I gritted my teeth and aimed for patience.

  “Almost there,” Erin breathed in my ear, stealing my breath and attention. My focus, on him and on his fingers leisurely running down my spine trailing the reluctant zipper, was absolute. So, I was caught unaware as my top peeled away to fall at my feet.

  I trembled momentarily underneath his avid perusal before modesty caught up to me, and I bent over to grab at the offending bodice.

  “Leave it,” he bit out ruthlessly. I jerked up in response as his arms went about gathering me close.

  “Do you need help with your dress?” came a snide query from the door. I watched Marie hurry in to pick at the discarded blouse that lay on the floor. “You might want to get some cover on those little beauties,” said Michelle, bustling in after her busily.

  “Pah, they’re not in any way little. Huge is what they are, and by the looks of Erin’s expression, juicy too,” said Rafael crudely as he too cluttered in to pick at some obscure piece of hair ornament for melting away with a soft chuckle. Was this the way it would always be? No sparing my dignity? With a heavy sigh, I knew I would have to simply get used to it. My body was mine no more. It was a vessel to be dressed and put on display. I was not so naïve to not have expected this, having seen Janice all but naked, prancing around in nothing more than a G-string and heels in countless changing rooms in the past. It would naturally be no different for me. I suppose I should go invest in a pair of G-strings at the very least.