Braless in Wonderland

by Debbie Reed Fischer

  “Whatever,” said Summer. “See, Allee, you’re not the only one what knows a thing or two.”

  “Great, now we got two of them.” Brynn jutted her chin toward me. “One know-it-all living here is enough.”

  “I’m not a know-it-all,” I said.

  “That’s not what Summer says about you,” Claudette said, tossing her book aside.

  Summer’s blue eyes turned icy. She aimed them at Claudette, but Claudette turned her head and lit up a cigarette.

  “Yeah, you do,” Brynn said to Summer. “You say that about Allee all the time. You’re full of it, Summer.”

  Summer talked about me behind my back?

  “Thanks a lot, y’all,” Summer said, throwing down her tights.

  She was. She was talking about me behind my back, calling me a know-it-all. My stomach tightened. “Summer?” I asked. “Did you call me a know-it-all?”

  “Sorry, Allee, it just pops out sometimes.” What else did she say about me? “I don’t mean nothin’ by it. You’re as sweet as a speckled pup, it’s just…”

  “What?” I wanted to know.

  “Well, you can git a little uppity, Allee.”

  “Uppity?”

  “About how smart you are and all, you do get uppity.”

  “Yeah, you kinda do, Allee,” Claudette said. “Sometimes.”

  Had they all been thinking that about me? That I was some kind of snob? That was so unfair. I was nice to everybody.

  “Yeah, you are an uppity little brat,” Brynn sneered at me. “Who the hell do you think you are anyway, saying I degrade all women?”

  “I didn’t say you degrade all women, I said the picture—”

  Brynn grabbed Claudette’s portfolio off the floor and chucked it. Crash. It knocked a framed print off the wall, one of the Mediterranean islands. The glass was cracked. None of us made a move to pick it up. I think we were all in shock, including Brynn.

  The phone rang. “Nobody get that!” Brynn yelled. She picked up the phone, went into her room, said, “Hi, Ma,” and closed the door.

  “She’s high,” Claudette said quietly, carefully picking up the glass. I got up to help her. “She does a bump every day. Luca gets it for her.”

  “Best thing to do is steer clear,” Summer whispered, looking toward Brynn’s door.

  I took a plastic garbage bag from the kitchen and helped Claudette put the glass shards inside. “But she needs help,” I whispered. “Shouldn’t we tell Momma or something?”

  “I reckon she knows,” Summer said. “Brynn ain’t the first model to use drugs. But y’all don’t need to be gettin’ involved. You can’t help someone that don’t want it.”

  chapter 18

  I spoke slowly and watched my voice quality. “Allee Rosen. Finesse.” I showed my hands, front and back, turned to the right, to the left, all the way around to face the wall so the camera could shoot the back of me, then forward again. My feet stayed on the mark, which was a line of tape on the floor. A guy named Blake was paired with me for this callback.

  “Okay, action,” the lady casting director said from behind the camera.

  Our eyes darted everywhere, searching. I made sure the camera saw three-quarters of my face at all times. Just like we rehearsed in the hallway, Blake took me by the hand and led me to a stool with two soda cans. Only we had to pretend that the drinks were growing out of a bush.

  “Okay…now you see them,” said the casting director.

  My eyes popped at the sight of these miraculous soda cans. I looked incredulously at Blake, then did the openmouthed smile of ecstatic joy while saying in my mind what I wanted my face to show: Wowee-Kazowee! Look at these drinks growing out of a bush! This is fantastic! Blake was trying to do the same, but he was nervous.

  “’Kay, Blake, now pick one up and drink, come alive. Remember, this is for Taboo, an energy drink.” Blake drank, trying to look like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

  I was supposed to be a wholesome college-age kid for this, which was why I’d worn the high ponytail Claudette had suggested with the tight polo and plaid mini that Miguel had picked out. The client wanted good-looking “real people” types, not over-the-top gorgeous model types. I did the cheesy commercial laugh clients all loved. It came more easily now.

  “Cut. You guys wanna do this part one more time? Let’s do it again, ’kay?”

  Blake put the can back and asked her, “What’s my motivation?”

  “Hah?”

  “My motivation. Like, for acting. Why do I want to drink Taboo so badly?”

  “You’re thirsty. Why don’t you go with that and see what happens. Do you need a motivation too, Allee?”

  “No. I want to book this commercial. That’s my motivation.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Now the jungle has turned into a house party. Blake, you just stand there. Allee, you drink. Ready? Action.” Mmmm. Delicious. I closed my eyes and sipped, transported by the flavor of carbonated water, high-fructose corn syrup, and psychotic amounts of caffeine. I’d tried Taboo before. It was like drinking a liquid hand grenade. Yummy!

  “Okay, Allee, this is where you dance. Let me explain how the client wants you to—”

  “We have to dance?” I interrupted. I thought Momma might have said something about dancing when she gave me the casting over the phone, but I was distracted. America’s Next Top Model had been on and I was taking notes.

  “Just you. Not him.”

  “But I’ve never danced in front of people. Not really, not in public,” I said with panic in my voice.

  “Didn’t I see you grinding on the bar at Privé?” Blake asked.

  “Must have been Brynn. People mix us up.”

  The casting director was looking at me funny. “You’ve never danced in public? Not even at a wedding or anything?”

  “No. I’ve never been to a wedding.”

  “Never been to a wedding,” she muttered. She cocked her head to one side. “So you’re saying you can’t dance?”

  I bit my lip. “I’m not sure.”

  “Let me guess,” Blake said, grinning. “You’re an undercover freak. You dance alone. In the shower, in your bedroom…”

  He had me. “Yeah, kinda.”

  “Well, let’s go ahead and put you on tape, anyway,” the casting director said. “Blake, you’re done. You can go, thank you.” Blake left and wished me luck. I’d need it. Because I was probably about to make a giant ass of myself. “Put some music on,” the casting director called to someone I couldn’t see in the room with all the equipment. No music came on. “Be right back.” She walked out.

  How was I going to dance on-camera? It had always been like a private thing. I didn’t know if I could let go the way I did when I was alone, all uninhibited and loose and everything. But I’d also never thought I could pose all sexified in tiny lace lingerie in broad daylight either. If I could do that, I could do this. I wondered how Summer had danced. Her time slot was a half hour ago.

  I closed my eyes and focused on what I’d learned in my workshop. I had to breathe deeply, rid myself of self-consciousness, let go, let flow, let insides show. Okay, I was feeling more relaxed. I pictured my room at home in my mind, my mirrored closet doors, all the moves I knew. I rehearsed in my mind.

  The casting director was back. “Okay, Allee. When I hit the music, go ahead and dance, but stay on your mark. Smile, energy, have a good time, got it?”

  “Got it.”

  She went back behind the camera. “And…action.”

  The music came on. It was Will Smith’s “Welcome to Miami.” Perfect. I closed my eyes and tried to get jiggy. She said energy, so I threw my hands in the air like I just didn’t care. I shook it like a Polaroid picture. Or tried to.

  I felt like a total fool. All my self-consciousness was back. I tried some hip-hop moves like Fergie did in her videos, but I had a feeling I wasn’t pulling it off.

  Uh-oh. Was I on the beat?

  The music stopped. Well, that was a
disaster. I opened my eyes. She was smiling from ear to ear. “Perfect. Great job.” That was unexpected. I thought I’d sucked.

  Hmmm. Maybe I was better than I thought.

  Nobody was home. I was in Brynn’s room. I looked in her drawers, under the piles of clothes on the floor, all over her closet, in her suitcase. The last place I looked was under the bed.

  And that’s when I felt it. She pulled my hair. I hadn’t even heard her come in. The pain was blinding. “Ow!” I screamed, grabbing my head. “Owowow, let go!”

  She did. “What are you doing, going through my stuff?”

  “Looking for my book.” My head was throbbing. I wanted to cry. But no way was I gonna give her that satisfaction.

  “I didn’t take your friggin’ book. Now get outta my room.”

  She didn’t have to tell me twice. The door slammed behind me. Then I heard her throwing things and cursing. I had to get out of here. As fast as I could, I threw on my sports bra and running sneakers. I had one foot out the door when I heard a sniff coming from Brynn’s room.

  That wasn’t what stopped me. I’d heard her sniffing in there lots of times. What stopped me was that it was a different kind of sniff. It was the kind of sniff that came with a sob. Brynn was crying.

  I couldn’t picture it. Crying was so…weak, so not Brynn.

  I was torn. I had such an urge to get the hell away from her. I mean, she’d just attacked me. My head still hurt. But hearing her cry did something to me. I knocked on her door.

  “Screw off!” she sobbed. I opened it anyway. Brynn was crumpled on the floor, hugging her knees and rocking, crying softly into a tissue. She looked like a little kid, a scared little kid. Nothing like the tough Brynn I knew.

  It weirded me out, completely.

  If I tried to comfort her, would she pull my hair again? Throw something at me? I couldn’t just keep standing there, watching her cry. So, even though it was awkward, I got down on the floor and kinda half-hugged her, until she stopped crying. She smelled terrible, like cigarettes, sweat, and bad breath. I asked her what was wrong, but she didn’t tell me. She just said, “Nothing.” Her gravelly voice, usually so loud and strong, was shaky and small. “I’m okay.”

  She was so not okay. In fact, she kinda grossed me out, to tell you the truth. I still wanted to haul butt outta there, believe me, but at the same time, I felt sorry for her, I really did.

  Because she was messed up and she knew it.

  Summer and I walked into the agency at the same time as Monique. She was looking a little Harajuku Girl today with her para-Asian features and a pink headband over black blunt bangs, but also a little bit Austin Powers in a pink pantsuit and ruffled blouse. “Allee! Summer!” she cried, and earnestly tried to stretch her swollen balloon lips into a smile. She took off her sunglasses to get a better look at us. And I let out a yelp. She must have been in a fire. Her eyes did that half-sleepy, half-disgusted Garfield thing. “It’s from a chemical peel. Bad reaction.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “You always look beautiful,” Summer said all convincingly. She really was a good actress.

  “You’ll know about peels someday,” Monique said, and pointed at some models lounging on the mint green couches. “You all will.” They cringed, terrified. She turned to Bonnie, the receptionist. “Get me an appointment with Anushka. And tell her that bleach she used on my arm hairs last time gave me a rash.” She turned back to Summer and me. “Make sure you check in with Momma. She’s got good news for both of you.” We watched her do a runway walk to her office.

  “Girls, girls, girls,” Momma said when we walked in.

  Kate was talking into her headset. “Three hundred quid for head shots and the photographer didn’t tell you to trim your nose hairs? You look like you’re wearing bloody nose-hair extensions. You’ve gone off your rails if you think we can use these pictures. They’re rubbish.”

  “Hey, Momma,” Summer said, kissing her. “What’s the good news?”

  “You’re both on first refusal for that national, the Taboo energy drink!” Momma said.

  “That’s great!” I shouted.

  “Both of us?” Summer asked, brightening. “Well, butter my ass and call me a biscuit, Allee. We’re up against each other again.”

  She might as well have said, “Start your engines.” I felt my competitive juices flowing. “We sure are,” I said, gritting my teeth in a grin.

  “Can’t you wax all that hair out?” Kate asked. “Bollocks, it hurts. So what if it hurts? Use a buzzer, then.”

  “I just put all the info on your charts,” Momma said. “Summer, Otto catalog wants you on the same day, but I told Dimitri just to give them a second option, because this is for a lot more money.”

  “Thanks, thank you so much for sending me on that casting,” Summer said, hugging Momma. “You’re the best agent in the world,” she gushed. She was such a suck-up to the agents. She was always bringing them little gifts and thanking them for every casting, every job. Then the minute she left the agency, she complained they didn’t do enough for her. She blew Momma a kiss. “I gotta check in with Dimitri. Fingers crossed! Love ya!”

  “I better check in with him too,” I told Momma. “Thanks, you guys.”

  “Wait, Allee, we have to talk to you,” Kate said, taking off her headset.

  “It’s about Brynn,” Momma said. “Sit down.” I sat. “She was supposed to be on location at six today for a sunrise shot. She was late a half hour, the sun had risen, and the client had a stroke over it. He wouldn’t sign her voucher and he won’t pay the cancellation fee.”

  “That sounds bad.”

  “That’s not the half of it. Then her boyfriend showed up and they got into a nasty fight in front of the client.”

  “The crew said she reeked of alcohol and her hair was dirty,” said Kate. “This is the second job she’s been late to, and she’s missed castings.”

  I kept quiet. I’d seen Brynn go to bookings drunk, but she managed to pull through and get the job done. Besides, what did they want from me? I wasn’t the girl’s mother.

  Momma continued, “I’ve already talked to her, put her on probation, but I don’t think it took. You know how much I care about all my girls. I love Brynn. Kate and I think she’s got potential to be a big moneymaker. Dimitri does too. But she better stop partying so much and get off the drugs or she’s done. I’ve seen it happen a thousand times.”

  “What does all this have to do with me?” I wanted to know.

  “We’d like you to talk to her,” Kate said. “We’ve already tried. We think she’ll listen to you.”

  “She won’t listen to me. She doesn’t listen to anybody.”

  “You’re very together,” Momma said. “And you’re almost the same age. You’re a good example for her. You’re booking jobs now, you’re smart, you’ve got goals with your plans for Yale and everything. You could help her see how much she’s hurting herself and her career.”

  “I don’t know. I mean, why would she take advice from me? She’s the experienced one. Maybe Summer could—”

  “Just talk to her. Try, mm-kay?”

  I nodded. Excuse me. How in hell was I supposed to talk to Brynn about anything? She wouldn’t even tell me why she was crying. They were mental if they thought she’d listen to me.

  “Thanks,” Momma said as I walked out.

  I was walking on Miguel’s back in the corner of the booking room, watching a model leaving the accounting office with an envelope and a big smile. I happened to know she worked a lot. She was wearing wrinkled sweats, a T-shirt with a hole in it, and a faded baseball cap. There were splotches of dried zit cream all over her chin. If you thought models walked around looking perfect all the time, then you thought wrong. In fact, sometimes the ones who worked the most looked as sloppy as unmade beds when they weren’t working, because when a day off came along without stylists and hair and makeup people working on them, they just wanted to sleep late, roll out of bed, and run around w
ith no fuss, no muss. I’d seen girls at the agency in pajama pants and slippers.

  What I didn’t get was how this girl worked all the time. She was shorter than me and didn’t even have good skin. “Now how does she do so well?” I asked Miguel. “She’s always booked.”

  “Easy. She’s a ready Betty.”

  “A what?”

  “A minuteman model. That’s her ticket. Always ready to replace a girl if there’s an emergency or a last-second cancellation, like when April had that allergic reaction and her face blew up an hour before the booking. That girl was there in two minutes to take her place.”

  “Wouldn’t they reschedule?”

  “Not always. Sometimes they can’t. That girl is great when you need her there in a pinch, or when it’s off-season and all we have are nothing jobs. Clients love her and she’ll do anything. Naked? No problem. A mierda rate? No problema. She’s a puta and we love her.”

  “What’s my ticket?”

  “I’m still figuring it out.”

  Beep. Momma’s cigarette voice came through Miguel’s speakerphone. “Allee, you there?”

  “Yeah, she’s here,” Miguel yelled from the floor.

  I stepped down off his back. “What’s up, Momma?” I called.

  “You booked the national for Taboo! The client loved your dancing.”

  “Cha-chingalingaling!” Miguel sang, jumping up to hug me.

  “Guess you’ll be even more uppity now,” Summer said to me when I got home.

  “Hey, Summer, lose the attitude,” says Brynn, trying on the new strappy sandals she’d just bought. She was in a good mood today. “Give the kid a break. She got the national, you didn’t, stop being such a friggin’ baby. Congrats, Allee.”

  “Thank you.” I turned to Summer. “I wish we could both do the job.” It was the kind of thing you were supposed to say.

  Summer pulled out a suitcase from under her bunk and started throwing clothes inside. “It don’t matter. I’m gonna be so famous someday, a little uppity bitch like you won’t make no difference.”

  Stung, I backed away from her. I knew she wanted to book it, probably just as much as I did, but what was her problem? Did she turn on anyone who took a job she wanted? I mean, she wanted the Uta Scholes editorial and when I got that she didn’t—