Braless in Wonderland

by Debbie Reed Fischer

  Kate pushed a button on her phone and talked into her headset. “Kate here. They confirmed April. Well, you only had second refusal on her—what do you want me to do, love, shoot her out me bum for you? Right, ring me back. Cheers.” She held up the phone, brandishing it like a weapon. “That client better confirm someone soon, or I’m going to beat myself unconscious with this.” Slam. “Now where were we?”

  I didn’t remember. I was distracted. The man was standing up now, grimacing at Momma. Did they have a security guard in this building? I glanced at Kate, thinking she must have realized by now that this man was dangerous, but she just looked at me, waiting for me to talk. “It’s just that, uh, I moved here to make money for college and—”

  He’s reaching around to the back waistband of his pants!

  I kept rambling, “Um, um, I was thinking you might have something, anything, just to show my dad that—”

  He’s pulling out a—

  “OMIGOD!” I screamed. “HE’S GOT A GUN! CALL 911!”

  “Allee—”

  “CAN’T YOU SEE HE’S HOLDING A GUN TO HER HEAD? CALL 911! CALL 911!” I was at the door already.

  “Allee, come back,” Momma said calmly. “It’s just part of Bob’s monologue.”

  Monologue?

  The man didn’t look that scary or angry anymore. He looked kinda sheepish. He was holding the gun up. “It’s a prop,” he said. “A toy, actually.” He opened his mouth, pointed it toward his throat, and pulled the trigger. Water squirted out.

  Oh.

  I went back and sat down. Just in case I wasn’t feeling stupid enough, Kate knocked on my head and said, “Are you daft? Don’t you recognize Bob from the Capital One commercial? He says, ‘What’s in your wallet’ and all that?”

  Ooooh, yeeeaaahh, that’s who he was. I did recognize him now. He played the purse snatcher. “You’re a really good actor,” I told him.

  “Thanks.” He cleared his throat, put the gun back to Momma’s head, and went back into his monologue.

  Kate’s eyes kept flicking to her computer screen. “What were you were saying, Allee?”

  “Just that I’ll do whatever it takes to work. I’ll do anything and everything, I’ll—”

  “You see this gun?!” Bob suddenly screamed. “I’ll kill you the way you killed my father, you whore!”

  “Bob, could you keep it down?” Kate said. “Allee’s trying to talk here.”

  “Sorry,” Momma answered for Bob. “The conference room was taken. Allee, sweetheart, I’ll be right with you. Keep going, Bob.”

  I started over with Kate. “I’ll learn Spanish. I’ll—”

  “That’s another thing, Allee,” Kate said, butting in. “We’re very cross with you about Saturday. Momma normally drops people who miss a booking, but since we had that conference call with your father, we’re letting you slide. This time. And were you ever going to tell us that you don’t speak Spanish?”

  “I told Momma I didn’t speak Spanish. What booking? What are you talking about?”

  “I will blow your pretty brains out!” Bob yelled.

  Kate slapped her hands over her Keira Knightley face. “Allee. Your comp says Allee Rosa with your stats in Spanish and you don’t speak a bloody word of it. How do you think that makes us—and you—look? That movie would have been perfect for you.”

  Huh? “What movie?”

  A vein was popping out on her neck. “You missed a direct booking. Do you understand? Not a casting. A booking. That sodding Argentinian crew that’s filming at the Eden Roc. I tried getting you on Saturday, but your BlackBerry voice mail was full.”

  “It was my birthday. I stopped answering.”

  “Brilliant. Well, you were booked. I e-mailed the director a light box of fifteen models, and you got it. He booked you from your e-comp.”

  What? I was blown away by this earth-shattering news. I actually got booked on something! I didn’t know anything about this. “It’s not my fault,” I said. “I didn’t know.”

  Kate was pissed. “I called the apartment, but Summer didn’t know where you were. That’s when she broke the news that you’re not bi-flipping-lingual.” She threw her hands up and complained to some invisible person on the ceiling. “It was only a few lines. She could have faked it, right?”

  Saturday. I was with Miguel, shopping. Summer knew! I’d even invited her to come with us. If Kate had known I was with Miguel, she could have called him on his cell and he would have given me the booking. Summer deliberately screwed me out of a job. When she knew I need one so badly.

  Kate was waiting for an answer. “Right,” I finally said. “I could have faked a few words in Spanish. And I’ll do extra work, anything.”

  Beeep. “Kate, Dimitri on four.”

  “What do you want, Zorba? Yes, she’s sitting right here. Pardon? Confirmed?” Kate’s whole expression was brightening. The crease between her brows was softening. “Hold on one sec. Let me tell her.”

  She held the phone against her chest, blinked at me. “You’re confirmed. You got it.”

  “What?”

  “Dietra magazine. Uta Scholes just booked you for that big editorial, the Alice in Wonderland thing.” Momma’s jowly jaw was smiling. Bob with the gun was smiling. Kate was actually smiling. I was afraid to believe it. “Allee, love, you got it! Come give us a hug!”

  I got the job. I got the Dietra job! I, me, myself, I got it! Feelings of relief and total joy flooded through me. “What about Summer?” I asked, still finding it hard to believe. “She was on option.”

  “They dropped her. April got booked too, with you, but you’re Alice.”

  I beat out everyone, even Summer! Even April! Uta booked me! Finally. Finally! Yes!

  Kate was back on the phone. “So give me the info, I’ll tell her. Six-thirty weather check, call time is seven at the Raleigh. Clean hair, clean makeup. Bring chicken cutlets, nude stockings, strapless bra. Six-page spread, two full days at one fifty each.” Only three hundred dollars. Editorials didn’t pay like catalog because the tear sheets were sort of like your pay. Allee, reality check: it would take you weeks to make three hundred at Wal-Mart.

  Hugs, hugs, hugs from everyone. And shouts of congratulations when I walked past the booking room, even from bookers I didn’t know. Miguel rushed over to me and planted a loud kiss on my cheek, jabbering in Spanglish.

  And then Momma, in her man-voice, the voice that I now loved, said, “Sweetie, this is going to give you a lot of exposure.”

  Who stole the tarts?

  chapter 15

  If my tutu and tights weren’t a tip-off that this shoot involved a kinky Alice, the names said it all. There was Yaya (as in moccachocolata) the prop stylist; Havana (as in good time), the wardrobe stylist; Poe (as in Edgar Allan), the hair guy; Heini (as in tush), the makeup lady; Wolfgang (as in Amadeus), the art director; and Toto (as in not in Kansas anymore), Uta’s shirtless assistant. Let’s recap with Santa’s new roll call, shall we? Yaya, Havana, Poe, Heini, Wolfgang, Uta, and Toto. Maybe all their parents were celebrities.

  The “set” was a checkered picnic blanket set with English bone china and fancy finger foods. We were near a lake under some large oak trees, so it was nice and shady, but these trees had me a little nervous. Not because the light was tricky with the branches moving around making shadows, which is why Toto was anxiously checking the exposure every minute and muttering in Italian. The reason Yours Truly was worried was because of an allergy to oak tree pollen. Which means I’d be red-eyed and drippy-nosed if this shoot didn’t get started soon. So far the prep was slower than a Norah Jones song.

  Uta and Wolfgang were shuffling through photos, and Yaya was arranging fruit and tea sandwiches all around me while Poe touched up the gold paint streaks in my hair. “So, Allee,” Wolfgang called, bending over the tripod to squint through Uta’s camera. All I could see was the top of his head and the point of his devil beard. “What’s your favorite magazine?”

  “I don’t have one.
I’ve been reading tons of them lately and they all kinda look the same. I don’t think any one of them really—”

  “They all ‘kinda look the same’?” Wolfgang squeaked in this super-offended tone. Poe and Yaya laughed nervously. Uta did too.

  “She’s hilarious,” said Poe, sprinkling gold glitter on my head.

  “So hilarious,” agreed Yaya.

  They were obviously not familiar with my “lighten up, Wednesday Addams” history.

  Wolfgang pulled on his devil beard and huffed, “You know what? It is funny. The others do look the same. Not Dietra, of course, but the others.” He and Uta started having another animated discussion in German. Poe whispered, “Allee, you were supposed to say Dietra is your favorite. Clients don’t want to hear your real opinion.”

  “But he asked me for it,” I whispered back. “He wanted to know what I think.” Yaya and Poe giggled again at the very idea.

  I sniffled. Louder than I meant to. My nose was getting stuffy.

  Wolfgang called out, “Legs straight, Allee. Yaya, fluff out the tulle more.” Yaya stuck her hands under my tutu and fluffed away.

  “I found the Christian Louboutins!” It was Havana, the wardrobe stylist, who looked like she was probably a model when she was younger. “They were in the RV.” She handed Yaya a pair of baby blue satin stilettos with long ribbons that exactly matched the ribbon woven through my gold-dusted hair. Yaya laced them up onto my feet, wrapping them around and around my ankles. Heini powdered me again and let me look in her hand mirror.

  I was a glamour diva version of myself. This felt like an out-of-body experience, and yet it was my body. I had to admit, I liked the way this looked and felt. I liked the way this tight satin bodice squeezed me, the way the baby blue set off my skin tone, the way my legs muscles looked all sleek in these ankle-wrap heels. I had never, ever felt this sexy and grown up.

  “Okay, do we have the kid?” Uta asked. “The kid” was a cute little preschooler in a white tuxedo and top hat, with an old-fashioned pocket watch on a chain. He walked up next to me and my heart stopped. The black hair, the brown eyes—he was a clone of Robby.

  “You’re not supposed to stare at people,” he said, all quiver-lipped like he was about to cry. Havana walked up behind him and ran a lint roller up and down the back of his jacket. He didn’t even turn around.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just, you look like my brother.” He looked down at his shiny white dress shoes, lower lip curled out, eyes and nose starting to scrunch up. Oh, no. No crying, kid. There’s no crying in modeling. “Are you the white rabbit?” I asked, trying to distract him. “Are you late for a very important date?”

  He lifted his little head, saw Uta and Wolfgang pointing and smiling at him, saw his mom and Poe laughing, deep in conversation. They must have already known each other, probably from other bookings. Havana kept rolling her lint roller up and down, as if his back was a wall she was painting. All of them were blind to the fact that this kid was about to bawl, until he exploded into a full-blown wail. His mother scooped him up, knocking his top hat to the ground.

  “Everybody’s making fun of me,” he sobbed, wrapping his legs around her waist.

  “Don’t wrinkle the suit!” Havana yelled.

  Yaya smoothed out the blanket where the kid’s mom had stepped on it while the mom calmed her son down. In the meantime, a dirty old van drove up and a man with a handlebar mustache and a tie-dyed T-shirt got out and walked over to us. He was holding two cages. “Hey, hon, where do you want these rabbits?” he asked Yaya, who glowered at him. He gave me a long, icky look. Then, in a voice as slimy as the filth under his fingernails, he went, “What do we have here? Alice all grown up? I’m into that, yessir. Or I’d like to be into that, heh heh heh.”

  Kill me now. Kill me immediately, if this letch was hanging around.

  Unfortunately, he was, and I didn’t have a knife to slit my throat. He was supposed to get the rabbits in case they went out of frame, but they were just sitting there. It occurred to me that they might be drugged. I wondered if I should report this skeez to PETA.

  Uta was giving me directions. “Okay, Allee, you’re just waking up, you see the boy, you look surprised, sweet and innocent, ya? Let’s go.” Snap. Snap. “Not so stiff, chin down, tilt your head a little. Soften your face, Allee, you look angry. Better.” Snap. Snap.

  Wolfgang was chiming in, “Relax your shoulders, that’s it. Look at him, smile just a little bit, not too much.”

  The kid and I saw it at the same time, wet circles under Fluffy and Hoppy, spreading, larger and larger. By some miracle, our bunny buddies had decided to urinate in unison. I’d swear they planned it, like a protest. Call me immature, but it was really easy to smile now. For me and the kid. Nobody saw the pee yet but us, and it was our own private joke.

  “Wow, that’s it, you two are really connecting, now you’ve got it,” said Uta. Snap. Snap. “Ya, look at each other, openmouthed smile, show surprise, both of you.” She stood up. “Great, got my shot. But let’s do a few Polaroids.”

  I felt a sneeze coming on. My nose was tingling, and so were my eyes. Uta stopped shooting. “Allee, is the sun bothering you? Close your eyes. Good, open on three. One, two, three. Open.” Snap.

  Except I could barely open them. I needed a tissue. “Ah…could I have a…a…”

  “The blanket, the Hermès blanket!” shouted Yaya. “Those fur-balls are pissing on it!”

  “Ah…”

  “Don’t sneeze on the tutu! It’s a Gaultier!” Havana shrieked.

  “Take the Kleenex!” Yaya urged, waving a tissue in my face.

  “Ah…”

  “Not on the dress! Not on the dress!”

  “CHOO!!!”

  Silence. Then two more sneezes. Silence again. Even the rabbits were holding their breath. Until they completely freaked, running away, scattering the china and sandwiches and fruit, sending the pervy animal handler in hot pursuit, and prompting a scream out of Poe that could have shattered his Dior Homme sunglasses.

  “Salute!” Toto said to me. “Eet mean, eh, like-a gesundheit.”

  I checked my clothes. No signs of wet spots or damage. Only poor Yaya got the brunt of my sneezage, smack-dab in the middle of her face, but all she did was wipe it with tissue and say, “Those goddamned rodents ruined a nine-hundred-and-forty-dollar cashmere and wool Hermès blanket. How am I supposed to send this back to the PR house now?” That bit of info got Wolfgang and Uta’s attention, and they started shouting in German. Nine hundred and forty dollars for a blanket? If the blanket was worth that much, how much were these clothes?

  “What do you expect from rabbits?” Poe said. “The only thing they’re good for is collars and cuffs.”

  “I like them with black olives and a pinch of salt,” said Toto, kissing his fingers. “Delizioso.”

  “How’s the makeup?” Heini asked, examining my face like a doctor searching for a flesh-eating virus. She whipped out a Q-tip and a mascara from a pocket in her makeup belt. “Your eyes need a redo.”

  The kid was handling all this just great. He was standing stock-still with his finger up his nose, waiting to see what happened next. And that got me laughing. Big-time. Jumbo-size, two-ton buckets of whoop-ass hoots. The ridiculousness of this whole scene hit me, all of it. The rabbits, the pee, the blanket, the names, the kid, my outfit, the money. All for a picture. It was just so silly, really, when you thought about it.

  Our second location was at the Versace mansion. It was easy. I just had to look into a mirror. On the way to our last location, our RV got stuck in late-afternoon traffic on the MacArthur Causeway Bridge, and Uta and Wolfgang started worrying we’d run out of time for the last shot, but I didn’t mind the delay. The view was so choice you could eat it with a spoon: water on both sides of us, luxury cruise ships to the left, private boats to the right, puffy clouds and blue sky above it all.

  Now we were at the Delano hotel and I was wandering around in my sundress, expl
oring. The crew was setting up outside, and we’d just done hair and makeup in one of the hotel rooms. Poe fixed my hair in two high pigtails like I wore when I was five, then put a big white bow in my hair. I guess they wanted me to go younger-looking for the next shot, like a more traditional Alice. I hoped so.

  Models usually waited in the hotel room or the RV until the photographer called them, and I really should have been getting dressed for the shoot, but I wanted to walk around this beautiful hotel. The lobby was shaped like a huge tube, open at both ends, with a breeze blowing through it, white curtains where walls should be, giant furniture that didn’t match, and titanic columns. The floor was so slick it was like walking on cherrywood diamonds. There was so much to take in. That wall had a harlequin pattern. A chair over there had high-heeled shoes for feet.

  “What story does this all remind you of?” Uta asked me, coming out of the ladies’ room.

  “Story?” I scanned the kooky tall, overstuffed chairs, the Blue Door restaurant. It dawned on me that this whole breezy tube lobby might be designed to give the sensation of falling. Falling past crazy furniture and doors? “Alice in Wonderland?”

  “Ya, that’s right! Philippe Starck had it in mind when he redesigned this hotel.” Uta swept her arms out. “All this inspired the idea for the shoot. It’s a beautiful thing when art inspires art.” Art? I wouldn’t exactly call what she did art. She took pictures for catalogs and magazines. She created pictures that convinced people to buy criminally overpriced clothes. What was so artistic about that?

  We went out the back doors, down the steps, and onto the manicured garden area that had a life-size chessboard. The crew was in a corner of the hedged-in garden, setting up the shot and prepping the other model I’d be working with. She was lying on her hip and elbow on top of a round gray table. Toto was blocking my view, so I couldn’t see her face, but she was wearing an ankle-length green skirt that fit her bony frame like a tight sleeve. I just didn’t understand why she was wearing a bikini top with it. I could see her whole rib cage. Whoever she was, she couldn’t weigh more than a paper plate.