I was not going to give her and the other judges that satisfaction.
The contestants scattered throughout the store in search of clothing items that would complement their stylista visions within the fifteen minutes. I didn’t take more than two paces before the accessories fixture caught my eye. Most of the selections were bright colored. It reminded me of the retro eighties look from classic Cyndi Lauper videos. It was stuff Pam would wear with one of her candy-colored pairs of jeans and favorite Pastry sneakers.
Then I eyed a silvery bird pendant hanging on a simple, long silver necklace. I grabbed it before anyone else could—not that anyone was close by. The other girls— including Kelly—were leafing through clothing racks in a frenzy. They were all obviously saving the accessories for last. But this pendant necklace wooed me enough to work the other way around. I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing but I had no time to think it over. I’d heard of people decorating a room around one pretty lamp. So why not apply the same inspiration to clothes?
A photographer I didn’t recognize appeared out of nowhere and pointed her lens at me. She walked around me until she could see what was in my hand.
“Don’t get thrown off by the photographers.” Didier must’ve seen my reaction. “We’re documenting this part of the challenge as well.” I looked around and saw two other photographers following other contestants. Great. I inwardly panicked. Now my secret will really get let out the bag.
I focused on not looking so confused. This week’s challenge would separate the real from the phonies—and as I was so acutely aware, I was one big phony.
I’d made it this far off “alluring” vibes and reader support, but this week would spotlight my total lack of fashion sensibilities. I knew nothing about style. If I could live in my volleyball uniform, I would. It was thrilling to wear shorts without being laughed at, so yes, wearing my uniform booty shorts every day would suit me just fine.
The only way out of this would be to channel my inner Pam. What would she do in this situation? What would she pair up with this pendant?
I walked in circles around the same three skirt fixtures and still nothing came to mind. Click! went the camera pointed at me. From the corner of my eye, I saw a speed-walking Kelly pass by in a blur. She had a few articles of clothing folded over her arm. Now was a good time to panic.
“Ten minutes left, ladies,” Asha called out the nerve-racking reminder. It made me feel like they were breathing down my neck.
I decided to stop circling the three fixtures and moved on to tops. That was when I saw the perfect blouse—it was a vintage Victorian satiny blouse with short capped sleeves and a high neck, which would make it perfect for a low-hanging necklace. The color was perfect—a slate blue-gray always goes great with silver. I grabbed the size small [Click!] and moved on. Not heading to any location in particular, I thought the important thing was just to keep moving.
As I made a beeline to the opposite side of the room, a skirt that was on that trio of fixtures I had been circling came to mind. I did an about-face and this time walked with a destination in mind. On my way there, I stopped to pick up a pair of black ankle boots that Pam had been gushing about. “Those go with any look” I remembered her raving. I was stalled looking for the right size for Kelly. Click!
“Five minutes, everyone.” Asha would be great on a movie set.
The skirt I’d had in mind turned out to have suspenders attached, so I couldn’t use that one. Instead of freaking out [Click!], I leafed through the neighboring rack in search of a similarly shaped balloon skirt. I found a high-waisted pencil skirt. Click! I wasn’t crazy about the look of the waist, but the skirt was the length I was looking for. Plus it had pockets that would create a more hour-glass figure.
I looked at the items one more time. The look didn’t feel complete. I rushed back to the accessories fixtures and picked up a wide black belt. The buckle was a shiny silver, which went back to the necklace’s theme. Next, I picked up a pair of silver studs. Click! My mom always told me that large necklaces shouldn’t compete with large earrings and vice versa.
“One minute!” This time it was Monica who did the honors. Asha was probably midgulp on her coffee.
I got startled like someone had just snuck behind me and shouted, “Boo!” Click! My heart was thumping as I reviewed my items and asked myself if there was anything else I could bring. Just to be on the safe side, I grabbed a silver cuff with a blue center stone, a black toile clutch purse, and gray knit beanie. Click! Click! Click!
“Time!” Asha resumed her duties. I breathed in like I had just emerged from underwater. I hadn’t realized that I had been practically holding my breath those last few seconds.
But I did it. I picked out an entire look in the time given. We were directed to place our selections on three clothing racks. There was one shoe bag per person for us to drop the footwear in. Kelly and I were to share the same rack. Our individual selections were separated by a long blue garment bag.
Even though I didn’t make eye contact with Kelly, I did manage to sneak a peek at her selections for me. They were much different from mine. She’d chosen warm fall colors—burgundy and brown—while I’d chosen the cold tones of blue and gray. I immediately doubted my selections. I wondered if I had veered way off into untrendy zone. I wouldn’t know a trend if it gave me a tetanus shot, so I wasn’t sure if my selections would be seen as way off.
To get a second opinion, I looked over at the two other clothing racks. Pixie and her partner seem to have acted on the same wavelength. They both had chosen clothes you’d wear to go out clubbin’. Dark blue jeans were the foundation for both outfits. Their selections didn’t confirm or deny my sinking suspicions about my outdated choices. The girls on the other rack seemed to have selected more than one outfit each. I wasn’t sure if wearing both a dress and pants were what was hot in the streets, but it seemed like the amount of items exceeded what one girl was able to wear. It was as if some of the contestants had used their fifteen minutes to go two rounds of clothing searches.
I caught myself attempting to judge how well the other girls would do in this week’s challenge. I would never have tried to make such a judgment call in the contest’s earlier weeks. Something in me had definitely changed. I was putting my more competitive face forward. No longer just in it for the thrill, I told myself that I’d try my best to survive this week. Things had been going well so far, but I didn’t want to count my eggs before they were hatched. This week’s challenge was tougher than I’d expected it would be.
Kelly stood in silence next to me. We both looked straight ahead at our selections, while the other paired-up contestants whispered cordially to each other.
The judges were in a semihuddle, distracted by the logistics they’d written out. At that moment, the lead photographer emerged from downstairs. Brent was close behind him. Tiny butterfly wings tickled my stomach when I saw him. Brent and I made brief eye contact and offered a very subtle smile to each other as if to say hey. Since the kiss, we’d been texting each other back and forth. Nothing deep. Just some sweet hellos and a few LOL-worthy comments.
The lead photographer signaled to Didier that everything down there was set up. They were ready to get crackin’.
“Okay, two of you will have to follow me downstairs to the changing room and photo shoot area,” Didier announced as if addressing a nonexistent person in the back of the room when the rest of us were standing only a few feet away from him.
Despite his authoritative announcement, Didier didn’t know which two people that would be. He searched Monica’s and Asha’s faces for help.
“Why don’t we start with Kelly and London,” Monica offered. From the look on her face, I could tell she was proud of her problem-solving skills.
“Très bien.” I loved it when my BFF spoke French. He used it sparingly so as not to play it out. “Ladies, if you would please follow me to your makeshift dressing area. Brent will bring your items down on the elevator.”
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Kelly and I took our first steps at the same time. She didn’t want to be the one to tag behind and neither did I. We walked shoulder to shoulder. When I quickened my pace to take the lead, she attempted to do the same.
I wondered how obvious this was to everyone else. We were in a race, but neither of us wanted to be transparent about it by speed walking. We also couldn’t step too fast or we would clip the back of Didier’s shoes. Didier had that brisk Manhattan stride down, so we easily managed to keep him from becoming a casualty of our ridiculousness.
The path to the “Employees Only” door had been cleared so we weren’t forced to walk to it single file. A few quick paces later, a few clothing rounders dotted the pathway. Kelly and I split up on either sides of the clearance rounder. Since Kelly would end up a bit closer to the door, I took a wide, quick step so as not to lose ground once I cleared the rounder. When we were walking side by side again, Kelly was ahead by a half a pace. She would most likely be the first to get to the door.
Didier pulled the heavy door open and held it there. He turned and graciously asked us to step through and meet him at the bottom of the stairs. Kelly walked in first. Although I didn’t end up being the last one through (Didier was), it still bugged me that I was behind Kelly.
Once downstairs, Didier then took the lead, ushering us through a long hallway. After we passed the break room, we got to the bright open space where the cameras and lights were set up. Jazz music was playing on a low volume.
“Your fitting room is a shared one right there,” Didier said, pointing to a white door with plantation shutters at the far corner of the room. The clothing rack was already parked in front of that door.
We sweetly thanked Didier and headed for the room.
It was a relatively large fitting room, so I rolled the rack in there. There were floor-to-ceiling mirrors and clothing hooks along the walls, as well as a seating area.
I exhaled. Now was the time Kelly and I would have to set aside our differences and work together. After removing the ankle boots from the plastic bag, I faced Kelly.
“Hey.” I greeted her as if this was the first time I was seeing her. It was better than nothing. “Here’s what I selected for you.”
“Okay.” Kelly finally addressed me, but it was through the mirror instead of directly to my face. She had already tossed off her shoes and it seemed like she was ready to get to the business of modeling. I felt relieved that she was also deciding to lean on her professionalism to get through this awkward moment.
“Once you throw on the skirt and top, I’ll style the accessories.” I couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of my mouth. I never pictured myself styling anyone. It felt good knowing that I had a look in mind that I could bring to life. I got a slice of understanding for what Pam loves to do.
While Kelly was changing, I started gathering the accessories tangled around a spare hanger. Catching my reflection in the mirror made me proud. I was keeping busy, and it was giving me the perfect distraction I needed. All day while I was at school, I had been sulking over last night’s stupid argument with my mom. She’d left for work before I got up this morning, so I hadn’t seen her since she walked out of my room last night. I knew I had to call or text her to apologize but I didn’t. And the longer I was putting it off, the more I felt guilty and haunted by it. But ever since I walked into Chic Boutique tonight, I hadn’t been thinking about the argument or the guilt.
“What’s next?” Kelly asked, staring at herself in the mirror. She bent over to adjust the boots on her feet.
The blouse and skirt fit her nicely. So far, so good.
I handed her the wide belt. “Here you go,” I told her. The look was coming together better than I imagined. Kelly was already looking ready to parade down the city streets and stand out in a crowd of fashionistas.
I wasn’t sure I felt comfortable enough putting the accessories on for her, so I handed them to Kelly one by one. The earrings. The pendant necklace. The cuff bracelets. I had to help her clasp the bracelets. When she held out her arm, I stood as far from her personal space as possible. When that was done, I stepped back and took a look at her in the mirror. She adjusted the necklace because it was caught in her hair, but that’s all she did. She allowed herself to strictly play the role of model.
I knew that I would be judged for the way Kelly wore the look. So in my stylista mode, I studied the way the clothes lay on her.
I looked at her both through the mirror and directly. The tiny lace trim of the blouse’s neck was slouching so I reached out and stood it up. Next I noticed that the necklace clasp was showing, so as gingerly and respectfully as possible, I moved it out of sight to the back of her neck.
Her boots had been folded over, so I bent down and put the flaps upright. When I stood up, I studied Kelly’s look again.
“Can you adjust your skirt to get the pockets to lie right on your hips?” I asked.
Kelly took a pinchful of the skirt on each side and twisted the skirt into place. “Can you smooth down the pockets by putting your hands in them?” I’d noticed that bumps had now formed at her hips. Kelly obliged.
This was going great. Kelly and I actually made an okay team.
“One last thing,” I told her as I walked to the hook where the cable-knit beanie was hanging. “Let’s see how this tops off the whole look.”
Wordlessly, Kelly put the beanie on her head in a nondescript way. It was just sitting on the top of her head and didn’t look right.
I had seen Pam’s cousin Layla wear hats like this a few times and I loved the way she rocked them.
“Mind if I just show you how I want it worn?” I asked Kelly, before removing the beanie and laying it down toward the back of her head. “I’m just gonna put most of your hair in it and leave your bangs out.” I wanted to give her a heads-up before I made any sudden, unexpected moves.
Although Kelly was being cooperative and playing the professional model role, it was clear that she didn’t want to cross that line and style herself on my behalf. She may not have wanted to be caught giving me push back but she certainly wasn’t going to bend over backward just to keep up her falsely sweet reputation in this competition.
Once I wrangled her thick curls into the beanie, I lightly finger combed the wispy strands in front of her head so that the right amount of hair peaked out. After I was done, I stepped back to examine Kelly’s reflection. The bean was a very Katie Holmes touch. When I did that I caught a slight look of surprise on her face. Kelly liked her look, but she didn’t tell me. I had to admit it to myself—the girl looked amazing in the outfit I’d picked. I loved the womanly silhouette of the skirt and blouse. The beanie tied everything together nicely and gave Kelly the look of a sophisticated stylista.
Pam would be so proud.
“Not bad for a contest plant,” Kelly uttered under her breath just as I was beaming at my work.
“What’s that?” I thought she said what I heard, but I wanted to make sure.
“Just that you’ve come a long way for someone who was selected as a contest plant.”
I gave her a blank stare, too offended to speak. I wasn’t sure what a “contest plant” was but I knew it wasn’t good.
“You know,” Kelly started, “when someone like you gets picked for something like this, the judges usually expect her to phase out right away. It’s just important to them that an underqualified person gets in, other wise they’d be called elitist and exclusionary.”
Kelly eyed my reflection up and down.
“Wow, well, whatever makes you feel better about yourself,” I heard myself say. My heart was pounding because this classified as a confrontation. I just wanted her to shut up and go out there for her photo shoot. She was being crazy offensive and I wanted her out of my sight.
“I think they’re ready for you out there,” I told her.
The jazz music was still playing softly and the photo crew was joking around with one another and chatting. I heard Brent’s s
hy laugh. Didier hadn’t knocked on our door yet asking us to come out, but I was sure he wouldn’t mind us being a tad early on the scene.
“Just because you’re styling me on this round, doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.” Kelly was really looking for a fight. I couldn’t believe she was carrying on like this.
“Whatever, Kelly,” I repeated. “Why don’t you just grow up?”
“I’ll grow up right after you and your delusional ass get a clue.” She finally looked directly at me. The fact that she was dressed to the nines yet was spitting venom in a steady, subdued voice made her seem even more psychotic.
“Delusional?” The girl was going overboard.
“You heard me,” she folded her arms over the blouse and I was afraid she would wrinkle it. “You’re a sloppy, unpolished, and unpretty jock who somehow landed in this contest thinking that you belong here. Everybody knows you’re addicted to competition. It doesn’t matter if it’s on the court or on a walkway, you’ll take your high any way you can get it. And now you’re here acting like you know how to style somebody when all you wear is gym clothes every damn day.”
Kelly’s words hit me like a ton of bricks. Is that how people view me? It was like she had crawled into my head and dug up my insecurities and handed them to me on a silver platter.
This must have been how my mom felt when Kelly’s mom double-crossed her. It was like I was caught using the front entrance at Kelly’s elite country club when I was the help who was restricted to the servants’ entrance. I suddenly felt like her royal handmaiden standing there primping her highness in the fitting room. That realization felt like a cold bucket of water dumped over my head. The iciness of it obviously short circuited my response wiring because I said nothing. My silence prompted Kelly to continue her triflin’ tirade.
“Not to mention, you’re delusional if you think that the intern photographer is seriously interested in you.” Kelly went there. “It’s just too bad for him you’re just using him to get insider contest info that could cost him his job.”
Perfect Shot Page 11
