“The thing is, I’m not sure any of them would be as good as you. They certainly don’t look as good.”
I start to crumble. “Stop it,” I say, swatting him with my hand.
“But it’s true. You’re the right body shape, you make the clothes look good and you already know the moves.”
“You know why I don’t want to do it.”
“Yes, and I totally understand. And there is no way I would ask you to put yourself in an uncomfortable situation any other time, but I need you just this once. Please! Just do this for me and I will never ask you to model again.”
I think about it for a moment. “Fine. But only because I’m leaving the country next week. If I make a complete fool of myself, I’ll at least be able to hide from Western society.”
“Where are you going?”
“Oh right, yeah, I forgot to tell you. That’s why I called earlier. Work is sending me to Osaka to work on a beauty campaign. And I might be promoted when I get back!”
“Wow! That’s fantastic! I’m so proud of you!” Alex looks genuinely pleased for me.
“Thanks. I leave next week.”
“Well, it seems like both of our careers are on the up. This calls for more than just juice.” He pulls out a bottle of champagne hidden behind the counter and pops the cork. He pours us each a plastic flute and hands one to me.
“Here’s to us.” We clink plastic and sip the fizzy liquid. Yum. I love champagne.
“Another one, please.”
He obliges. “Better go easy, though. You don’t want to be falling over on the catwalk.”
I falter with the flute halfway to my mouth. “Are you sure there’s no one else who can do it?”
“There really is no one else who can do it. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you look fantastic. I even hired a hair and make-up artist.”
“I hope it isn’t Cindy.”
“Of course not.”
“Good.”
“It’s her sister, Janet,” he adds.
“I hope she’s nicer than Cindy.”
“I’m sure she is. But anyway, the end result is what’s important, and haven’t we decided that your hair isn’t actually that bad?”
“Yes, but I still can’t believe Cindy styled it so terribly and then got hair dye all over my white top.”
“Okay, I get it. Now can we talk about something else for a change?”
“Fine. But I’m sure if someone wrecked your precious hair, you wouldn’t be too happy about it.”
Alex has beautiful shiny dark hair. He always looks like he’s just stepped out of a catalogue.
I can tell he’s about to respond with a scathing remark, but someone calls him over to the stage to attend to a minor emergency. I’m saved. For now.
***
Time passes a bit too quickly for my liking, and before I know it, I’m sitting on a stool in the make-shift backstage dressing room having my face made up by Cindy’s sister. Thankfully she’s the complete opposite of Cindy with her long black hair, towering height and generous curves. I wonder if they have different fathers.
“So this is my dear sister’s handiwork,” she mutters as she applies bronzer to my cheekbones. “I can’t say it’s her best, but it’s passable. I bet she didn’t even show you how to do it properly afterwards.”
I nod furiously. “That’s right. She waxed it all up in these weird pieces and everyone thought I was homeless!”
Janet laughs. “That sounds like Cindy. Look, we’ll just clip it here and here.” She does exactly the same thing the cabbie said to do. He really knew his stuff.
“And we’re done.”
I look in the mirror and grin. I do kind of look the part. Not that I have to be over-the-top glamorous or anything. I mean, I am only modelling sportswear. But my eyes really pop, and the make-up, which took ages to apply, is really subtle and makes my skin look like a baby’s.
“You’re a genius,” I gush.
“Well, I had a good base to work with. You have a pretty face and good bone structure.”
“Aw, thanks.” Girls almost never compliment me. But then I guess I don’t have many female friends except for Holly and Violet, and we’ve known each too other long to bother with stuff like compliments.
“Now go kick some ass!”
I obediently stand up and walk purposefully over to the clothing racks.
One of Alex’s helpers hands me my first outfit. It’s a pale mauve scoop-neck tank with black flared yoga pants. I’m quite thin, but it’s only because I skip meals. I hate exercise. Just the idea of going to the gym or jogging makes me want to lie down. I do like the look of these clothes, though. Perhaps I’ll buy some for lounging around in at home.
I step into some platform sneakers. They’re a bit taller than the ones I had on yesterday and they look ridiculous, like clown stilts.
I totter around backstage practicing my strut and waiting for my turn to bounce down the runway. I take a last swig of champagne to steady my nerves and stand at the curtain.
There’s my cue! They went with the highly original I’m Too Sexy by Right Said Fred. I try to remember all the things I was taught about modelling in the past few days (and what I can remember from watching Top Model) and slink down the catwalk.
Everyone claps politely. I even get a bit of a cheer from the corner where I see Holly and Sam standing against the back wall. Holly somehow managed to avoid being part of the show. I don’t know what kind of bribes she offered Alex to achieve that.
I dazzle them with a smile, and then almost lose my balance when I see who is standing next to them.
Luke!
What is he doing here?
I forget that I’m still on stage and just stand there gawking at him. He beams and points behind me. Another model is on her way down the catwalk. “What are you doing?” she whispers loudly through gritted teeth.
“Oops.” I swiftly recover and finish my circuit. I then hurry behind the curtain.
“Quick, you only have two minutes to get changed,” the helper warns me.
I’m all flustered as I quickly climb into my next outfit.
Far out. Where’s the rest of it? I look down at the stripy bra top and tiny gold hotpants dubiously.
“Ah, excuse me. I think I’m missing part of my ensemble.”
“No, that’s it. Go on, it’s your turn in a second.”
I can’t believe Alex is doing this to me! He conveniently left out the fact that I was going to be prancing around half naked for his show. And with Luke watching too!
I sashay down the catwalk again, pretending I agreed to this. I suck in my stomach self-consciously and smile as best I can.
Now I know why those beauty queens always look constipated. It’s hard to look natural when you can’t breathe.
I avoid looking in Luke’s direction this time around.
So far, so good. Things could be worse. I stop, do my little swivel from side to side and then make my way back up.
I hear a few gasps right as I’m completing the circuit, but I put it down to one of the other models just taking the stage. Her outfit is rather unfortunate—a fluorescent pink and blue cycling outfit with matching helmet. I feel kind of sorry for her. I almost prefer what I’m wearing.
Behind the curtain, I whip off my hotpants and look around for the next costume.
That’s when I notice the enormous gaping hole. Right over the butt of my gold hotpants.
I break out in a sweat. That means I was displaying bare cheek to the audience. And Luke!
How could this happen? And tonight of all nights!
I can’t possibly go back out there now. I scramble around for my own clothes, quickly pull them on, and then run out the back exit.
“Sorry Alex,” I whisper as I leave.
FOUR
Oh no.
I’ve forgotten my keys again. I’m standing at the door to my building, rummaging around in my purse when I remember that my original set is still lost. I was
in such a rush this morning that I didn’t get a chance to ask Alex for my spare set.
It’s almost 9pm—too late to call a locksmith. That is, unless I want to pay a premium for one of those twenty-four-hour guys—and I’m still a bit tight on cash until next pay.
My options are limited. I don’t have many friends I can phone at such short notice. Holly and Sam are still at the show. And I can’t call Michael—he’d tell Alex where I was. Besides, he’s probably lurking about somewhere at the show too. I’m actually surprised I didn’t see him.
There’s always Mum and Dad, but they usually go to bed early.
So that just leaves Paul. I wonder why he wasn’t with the gang. Maybe I can stay at his place. But I’m slightly reluctant, considering my latest vow to call off our sleeping arrangement. I rack my brain for an alternative solution but find there isn’t one.
I dial his number and wait.
“Speak.”
He’s a man of few words, that Paul.
“Hey, it’s Jess. Are you busy?”
“That depends. What are you wearing?”
Here we go.
“Um, Paul, I’ve lost my keys and the fashion show was a disaster. I have nowhere to go. Can I please stay at your place tonight?”
He sighs, like it’s a huge imposition. And that’s even before I tell him I don’t want to have sex with him. “Fine. Where should I meet you?”
“How about the bus stop near my place?”
“All right. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
I traipse over to the bus stop and sit on the curb to wait.
Alex tries to ring me. I almost answer, but I’m not quite ready to talk yet. I’ll call him tomorrow.
I sit in the evening chill and reflect on the past twenty-four hours. What has happened to my life all of a sudden? Did some mysterious force decide I was having too much fun and that I deserved to be taken down a peg or two? Or did I upset a karma god by accidentally taking an old lady’s seat on the bus or something? Before yesterday, my life was fairly satisfactory. At least I thought it was. I haven’t ever really considered it before. There always seems to be plenty of distraction about—work to finish, pubs to get drunk at, shops to do retail therapy in. But the last couple of days have made me stop and pay attention. I mean, I have a great job. The people at work are nice, and I feel challenged most of the time. And of course they must value my input, because they’re sending me overseas and maybe giving me a promotion when I get back. But the other areas of my life seem strangely empty if I really think about it. I don’t have a lot of friends, and right now I can’t even face my best friend. I don’t have a boyfriend—Paul is so not an acceptable substitute. And Luke—well, let’s not go there.
My family isn’t much better. My parents only live fifteen minutes away, but I really only see them once a month. They were in their late thirties when they had me—which was slightly unusual in their day. I was an accident, and they didn’t want any other kids, so I grew up living with two friendly, but distant people who mostly left me to my own devices. They did make a bit of an effort when I was younger, but after I turned sixteen I think they decided I could take care of myself.
And what else is there? Money? I have just enough to scrape by, but not enough to go on expensive holidays or buy my own place. My little rental studio eats up more than half my pay. I guess that could change when I get back. But still, when you break it down, my life isn’t that crash hot. What kind of existence am I living without great experiences and friends to share them with?
Maybe I can treat Japan as a fresh start. I’ll be there for a month or so, do a fantastic job and then come back and hopefully get that promotion. I’ll make more of an effort with my friends and maybe get some new ones. I’ll be Jess 2.0, all fresh and sparkly. Only I might not call it that—2.0 is so passé.
***
Paul pulls up in his four wheel drive. It’s one of those cars made for off-roading but I don’t think it’s ever had a speck of dirt on it. Paul would have a heart attack if the paintwork got scratched. He’s a real estate agent and uses the car as a statement to try and relate to the masses. I think he wants to seem well-off, but approachable. I know for a fact that he’s not really that rich and he has a huge car loan.
“Hop in, kiddo,” he drawls through the window. I think he’s trying to channel Mr Big.
I jump in the front passenger side and he zooms off. Paul drives fast. It takes a moment to get used to the G-force pushing me back in my seat.
“So what happened this time?” he asks.
“My hotpants had a big hole in the butt.”
He laughs. “You’re just a walking catastrophe, aren’t you?”
“It seems so. Hey, why weren’t you there tonight?”
“I knew Alex would try and rope me into helping, and I wanted to keep my Friday night clear in case anything came up at the last minute.”
“How did that work out for you?”
“Well, you called.”
“Yes, but I’m probably not your number one choice, am I?”
“I suppose not.”
Nice. Just what a girl wants to hear. Even if I did ask the question.
“So what were you doing?”
“Watching the football.”
“Oh. I hope I didn’t interrupt. Was it a good match?”
“Not really. We were getting smashed.”
“That’s a shame. Anyway, thank you for coming to get me.”
“No worries, doll.”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Kiddo, doll. You sound like one of those characters in a forties movie.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realise. But I don’t really give a damn.”
“You said it wrong.”
“Said what wrong?”
I look at him to see if he’s kidding. “Never mind. You’re so weird sometimes.”
“I know, but you’re still crazy about me.”
I change the subject. “Hey, can we stop and get pizza? I’m starving.”
“Sure.”
We stop by the Pizza Palace and grab a Hawaiian pizza. Paul’s already had dinner, but claims he’s still hungry. I order one with extra garlic. I know it sounds strange but a friend once told me about it and now I’m a convert. Plus, it will hopefully encourage Paul to keep away from me later on.
Paul stays in the car while I go in and order.
While I wait, I reflect on what a strange group of friends I have. We’re all so different. I wonder how we’ve managed to stick together for so long. I guess it’s mostly out of habit.
I’m not even sure how the gang started. Alex and I met at uni, I know that much. We were in the same marketing class. He was studying business and I was doing arts, but minored in marketing. About two weeks into term, I was sitting opposite him in a tutorial, and the girl next to him pointed out that I shouldn’t be wearing a short skirt because my cellulite was showing. I think she was trying to hit on him—although I can’t say much for her technique. Of course, I didn’t know about this at the time. Alex was quite upset on my behalf and totally zinged her with some comment about how she shouldn’t wear t-shirts then, because her tuck-shop lady arms were showing. He then tracked me down after class to say how much he loved my skirt. I was very flattered and we instantly became friends. A few years later, I accidentally overheard Alex telling Michael the story. Michael didn’t seem very interested, but I was touched.
Holly joined the group when I worked with her at a café one summer. We were two of the worst waitresses ever. We were always late, we messed up orders, and I’m pretty sure we broke more glasses and plates than the rest of the staff combined—but we had a great time. We got fired on the same day when our boss discovered we’d taken a four day weekend during the busy period to go to Melbourne for a holiday when we’d both called in sick (it had been Holly’s idea). I think he clued on when we came back bragging about how much money we’d won at the casino.
We were a bit sil
ly back then, but we didn’t care, because waitressing was a stepping stone—something to keep us going until we finished studying. Now that I think about it, it was a pretty crappy way to behave.
Sam ended up joining the group by default, because he was hanging around Holly all the time anyway. He didn’t (and still doesn’t) have many friends of his own, and I can kind of see why. He’s really argumentative and has to be right all the time. I’m not quite sure what Holly sees in him, but who she wants to be with is her own business.
And Paul just appeared one day. It was like one minute he wasn’t part of the gang, and the next, he was. I asked everyone if they had invited him along to the pub one night and none of them had—but by the time we figured it out, he’d bought us all a round of beers and told a funny story about how he once got arrested for streaking in Barcelona. So we just adopted him.
I’ll have to ask him about that one day.
***
My pizza is ready. I pay and head back to the car, immediately forgetting to ask him about when we met. We drive in silence all the way back to his place, with just a little blues music playing on the radio.
Paul lives in Bulimba in a cute renovated Queenslander. It has a big deck around the outside and a white picket fence out the front. He’s a total neat freak, so the lawns are perfectly manicured, and inside the house is spotless. I have to take my shoes off before going in so I don’t ruin the polished timber floors.
I get two plates from the kitchen and lay out some placemats. I need one for each plate and one for the pizza box. Paul would go nuts if I got grease on the coffee table.
He flops down at one end of the couch and I sit at the other.
“Hey, Paul?” I say, trying to sound casual. “Do you think this is weird?”
“What’s weird?” He’s already hoeing into a slice of pizza.
“Us. You know, hanging out as friends but with that added…dimension.”
“You mean having sex?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think it’s weird. Why? Do you?”
“Maybe a little. What if one of us meets someone else?” Luke’s face flashes through my mind and I feel a sudden burst of regret at how the night turned out. If my pants hadn’t split, who knows where I might be right now? Probably not here. But I’m fairly certain I won’t be seeing Luke again. I don’t think I could get past the humiliation of him seeing what happened.
Zen Queen Page 4