The Modeliser

by Havana Adams

  “Why would he be so vindictive?” Though Helena worked in one of the bitchiest industries, Talia always marvelled at how she genuinely seemed not to understand the depths to which people could sink.

  “He and Tamara were having an affair, I saw them together once, and he’s hated me ever since, not that I’d tell anyone. But…” Tamara trailed off thinking hard. “But I think it was really Tamara who wanted me gone. She hated the new storylines, hated how Angelina was becoming the break-out star of the show, guess she was killing two birds with one stone.” They were both quiet for a moment and then Helena spoke.

  “So what will you do? There must be a way…” she trailed off for she had no useful suggestions.

  “Mum thinks I should become a teacher.” Helena scoffed.

  “Like you even have the patience to teach,” Helena scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’ve worked so hard to make it in TV.” Helena was quiet for a moment and they watched the conveyor belt of sushi and Japanese delicacies move slowly past them. Talia shook her head and made a decision to change the subject, for this afternoon at least, she wanted to think about something that wasn’t her rapidly imploding career.

  “How have you been?” Her friend shrugged a shadow falling across her face before she quickly shook it off.

  “Up and down. Some good days and then some days I see little old men crossing the road and I find myself crying. I miss him,” Helena said simply. “But it’s been nice to have Alex here.” Talia felt herself stiffen. It had been impossible to ignore that Alex was still in London. He seemed to have taken up residence on the cover of every weekly magazine and tabloid paper. Day after day he was photographed spilling out of Bungalow 8 or the Punchbowl or Beach Blanket Babylon always with some tall willowy and probably dumb model. Talia had forced herself to stop reading when several pictures had appeared of him and Tamara together out and about. With effort she hid the distaste she felt.

  “I’m surprised he’s stayed so long, how is he coping with life outside of the thirty mile zone?”

  “I think he’s trying to be a good brother,” Helena smiled. “And there’s been stuff with the will. Actually I’m meeting him at Gramps’ tonight. We have to make a start clearing up the house.”

  “How about work?” Talia asked. “How are the big centenary plans coming along?”

  Helena grimaced. “Don’t ask, big troubleshooting meeting this afternoon, but between you and me, it looks like Poppy has lost her edge post drying out. Some of her suggestions are ludicrous.” Helena sighed again and something in her expression gave Talia pause.

  “What?” Talia asked curiously, watching the troubled expression on her friend’s face.

  “Actually I’ve been thinking, once this issue is finally put to bed, maybe I might start doing more photography,” Helena said.

  “That would be great. The pictures you had published last year were amazing,” Talia told her friend, thinking back to some of Helena’s occasional freelance photography commissions, which sometimes appeared in magazines. Helena had fallen silent again and Talia sensing the melancholy in her friend, reached out to touch her hand.

  “Everything feels strange now. But in a few months you’ll feel stronger and after this issue you’ll love work again too, it’s your dream job,” Talia said. Helena continued to look pensive

  “Since Gramps died, I just wonder- is this it? Do I really want to spend another afternoon arguing about accessories and whether Sienna’s hair is the right shade for a cover...” Helena trailed off. “It is my dream job though, isn’t it?” As she spoke, Helena seemed to shake the sadness off and she leaned forward to grab a few dishes off the moving conveyor belt. “What do you want?” She asked Talia gesturing to the little plates. Talia shook her head as she too reached for a few small plates, barely glancing at what she picked, food had been the last thing on her mind the last few weeks.

  “Am I the only person who has a phobia about conveyor belt dining?” Talia asked as she uncovered one of the dishes in front of her. Helena gave an affectionate smile, she’d heard Talia’s thoughts on conveyor belts and food many times before.

  “The food is great and the location is fabulous,” she replied.

  “It’s just not natural,” Talia continued. “Having food zipping away from you like that, going round and round. We live in the Western world, I shouldn’t have to chase after my food.” Talia finished with a small sarcastic smile.

  “Darling it’s inbuilt in us, to want to chase things,” Helena batted back at her. “It’s that hunter-gatherer instinct or something.”

  “Oh great,” Talia groaned. “I don’t have a hunter-gatherer instinct. No wonder they were able to push me out of my job.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Helena leaned a sympathetic hand on Talia’s shoulders. “They were a bunch of talent-less bastards, you can do so much better than them.”

  “Yeah how? I’m skint, have nowhere to live…” Talia took a deep breath; whining and feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t change a thing. She stopped as she noticed that Helena was staring at her with a look in her eyes. “What?” she asked.

  “When we were at university, you didn’t care about TV, you never even watched it. You always said you wanted to write a film, move to Hollywood.”

  “So?” Talia replied, though she had a sinking feeling that she knew where Helena was heading.

  “So, maybe now’s the time to write your film script.”

  Talia shook her head. She loved her friend’s belief in her but Helena didn’t have a clue. “Hel, everybody wants to write a film but this is England, we barely have an industry and if it’s tough to get into TV, it’s a million times harder to crack the film industry.”

  “Then forget the UK, you’re a great writer, write something brilliant and give it to Alex,” Helena finished triumphantly. Talia closed her eyes as she remembered Alex’s mocking expression at the wake.

  “I don’t think so,” she finally replied.

  “Why not? He’s here and he’s not doing much at the moment,”

  Talia cast around for ways to explain to her friend that she couldn’t stand her brother.

  “Talia honey, you’ve just told me that there’s no hope, and I’ve given you a good suggestion," Helena said reasonably.

  “I know and I’ll think about it… but anyway I’ve got one meeting this afternoon with Rough Draft Productions. That might yield something."

  “Wow,” Helena replied. Rough Draft were without question the biggest production company in England, they’d made a name making romantic comedies that performed well internationally and were the only real player in town. A small frown furrowed Helena’s brow. “You’re going dressed like that?”

  Talia sighed as Helena’s eyes moved up and down her body, taking in her scuffed Converse shoes, her wide leg jeans and the faded T-shirt that had seen better days. She could feel a lecture coming. Helena’s silence lengthened and Talia defiantly took a large mouthful of sushi, coughing and spluttering as a mouthful of spicy wasabi sauce went down badly. She gulped down some water quickly.

  “I’m just not in the mood for fashion,” Talia finally bit out defensively. It wasn’t the first time that Helena had gently tried to talk her into spending more thought on her choice of clothes. “My work should speak for itself,” she finished lamely.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Helena said with a musing look in her eyes, “maybe what you’re missing is that hunter instinct.” Talia rolled her eyes as her friend carried on. “Listen to me Tal, you’ve lost your get-go, your mojo, that stupid job sucked it out of you…”

  “Helena…” Talia said warningly as danger signs began to flash in her head and she saw the determined set of her friend’s chin. Helena had a plan.

  “Seriously Talia, I love you but you’ve let yourself go a little bit. You forgot what you really wanted. Did you dream of Encounters or did you dream of Hollywood?” she said. “You deserve to be a star and whatever it takes, I’m going to help get you back
on your feet.” With that Helena rose to her feet signalling for the bill. Talia watched her warily.

  “What are you doing?” She asked.

  “I’m not letting you go to the Rough Draft meeting dressed like that.” Helena firmly removed the glass of water that Talia gripped in her hand and set it down gently on the table. “Come on, I’ve got 90 minutes before my meeting. I’m taking you shopping.”

  Also lunching in Central London, this time at The Wolsely, the destination of choice for media types intent on being seen, was Tamara who sat shifting her fork through an exquisite Nicoise salad that she’d taken no more than two mouthfuls of. Sat across from her was the closest thing to a best friend that she had, Katie Wincup, the nation’s favourite sports presenter and all round English rose. Tamara watched fascinated and with a smidgen of envy as Katie tucked with gusto into a Chicken, Ham and Leek pie. Slowly Tamara sipped from her glass of sparkling water as she watched her friend. The daughter of a revered English international football star, Katie could get away with looking healthy but for Tamara, her enviable figure had been honed through a punishing mix of exercise and a rule that she’d learned during her brief modelling days. She had eaten only two meals a day for almost 20 years now, either breakfast and dinner or breakfast and lunch.

  “That was delicious,” Katie said without embarrassment as she finally put down her fork and knife. “Yours?” She asked Tamara with an amused smile, she’d grown used to Tamara’s eating habits when they’d shared a grotty apartment in London more than a decade before.

  “Delicious,” Tamara deadpanned. “So how’s life and Ian?” Tamara asked the question with little interest. Since Katie had married Ian, an Australian tycoon and owner of the biggest sports channel in the country, she’d turned into one of those irritating women constantly fixated with home furnishings, doulas, IVF and socially respectable Day schools.

  “Ian is wonderful, but that’s not why I called.” Katie leaned forward with a conspiratorial look in her eyes, lowering her voice as she spoke. “Ian has just negotiated the sale of the channel. 100 million smackers.”

  Tamara leaned forward too, impressed; Katie really had landed on her feet.

  “Guess who’s buying?” Her friend pressed and Tamara shrugged, she was hardly au fait with the major players in big business.

  “Don’t know. Who?” She asked with what she hoped was suitable interest, even as she was mentally itemising the tasks she had lined up for the afternoon ahead.

  “Vassily Romanov,” Katie breathed the name with reverence and a smile spread across her face as she registered that she now had Tamara’s undivided attention.

  “Really,” Tamara drawled, schooling her features into polite interest, not wanting to seem too eager. As close as she and Katie were, Tamara had never told her about being stood up by Vassily. Even between friends there were some humiliations that should remain hidden.

  “Oh don’t be coy. I know you targeted him at the launch of Imperium.” Tamara grimaced.

  “Well, I was rather bored but I have Alex to play with now," she finished, smiling even as Katie waved her hand dismissively in the air.

  “Alex Schmalex, who wants some insecure actor, when you can have a billionaire?” Privately Tamara agreed but Vassily’s actions had more than made it clear that she wasn’t in with much of a chance with him.

  “I’m not sure I’m his type,” she said, managing to convey a measure of bafflement that any man might be able to resist her. “Perhaps he’s gay?” She wondered aloud.

  “Not gay, I have that on good authority. Married once, wife died in mysterious circumstances. Billionaire, well connected, buying up everything; property, football teams and TV channels, you’d be perfect for him,” Katie finished. “Aren’t you tired of TV? Those production hours have got to be killing you?” Tamara shrugged as her friend continued. “I have a plan, a way for you to meet him and make a better second impression.”

  Tamara leaned forward in her seat. In spite of her desire to play it cool, Katie’s words were drawing her in. Perhaps her opening salvo had been too brash, these Russian oligarchs were known for wanting to maintain their privacy after all. Perhaps something could still be salvaged and perhaps she could forgive Vassily the humiliating scene at San Lorenzo, which thankfully hadn’t made it into the papers; the pictures of her leaving Alex’s hotel had seen to that.

  “What do you have in mind?” Tamara asked.

  “Well to toast the deal, Ian and I are having a small gathering at the house, he’ll be there and of course my best friend in the world will also be invited,” Katie said with a wide smile. Tamara leaned forward and laughed.

  “Darling you are one in a million."

  “Of course,” Katie replied smartly. "Besides, if we can pull this off, you’ll owe me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Talia walked gingerly down a side street, her strides small and decidedly feminine as she fought to retain her balance in the designer high heels that Helena had ordered her to wear. Their whirlwind shopping trip had taken them to Selfridges and within moments of hitting the 3rd floor, Helena had scrambled two of the waiting personal shoppers with a series of instructions. Talia had had to put her foot down when she’d caught a glimpse of the pricetag on the Marc Jacobs shift dress that her friend had pronounced adequate for a chat at the country’s most successful film production company.

  “It’s £550,” Talia had hissed.

  “This chat could get your career back on track and I get a discount,” her friend had retorted quietly but Talia had held firm.

  “I have no job and will soon be homeless, can’t we just go to Topshop?” With a look of resignation, Helena had followed as she led the way down the escalators to the high street concessions area of the department store. They’d eventually agreed on a pencil skirt from Topshop teamed with a fitted, silk, polka dot blouse. The shoes were Helena’s own. The mark of a true friend she had taken them off her feet to hand them to Talia, changing into the Chanel ballet pumps, which she always carried at the bottom of her bag. Helena had then hustled her to the MAC counter in the main Selfridges beauty hall and had made sure that Talia’s face was made up to her satisfaction. Alone, she might have stopped at just a coat of clear gloss on her lips but Helena had been insistent that she get some foundation, some colour in her cheeks and an intricate mix of shadows, liners and bronzers on her eyes.

  “You don’t have enough vanity,” Helena said.

  Talia looked to her friend, the epitome of chic, un-showy style in a white peasant shirt from Theory and a pair of skinny fitting coupe cigarette pants. It went without saying that a lack of style wasn’t something that Helena suffered from, but then fashion was already in her DNA. How many women could boast an entire collection of original Biba in her attic? “You need to raise your game,” Helena continued firmly. “Life, especially in our worlds, is all about appearances, even the people who pretend not to give a shit, really do care.”

  Talia’s steps slowed as she finally arrived at the Fitrovia offices of Rough Draft Productions. With a deep breath, she began to ascend the steps that would take her into the offices. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass doors, Talia gave herself a small smile to steady her nerves. The clothes were making a difference, she was carrying herself straighter and she felt a small burst of confidence. This meeting really could get her back on track. She pulled hard on the heavy doors and stepped into the building. She was ready for this.

  Helena hopped out of a black cab outside Époque House, a dominating building that overlooked an impressive square, across from the old American Embassy. She handed several crisp bills to the driver, stepping out of the cab, her long strides carrying her quickly through the lobby and into the lift. Even in the Chanel flats, Helena still stood out and could easily have been mistaken for any of the models who sashayed in and out of the building almost daily for castings. Finding herself in the lift alone, Helena resisted the urge to simply head back down to the lobby, take a
cab home and hide under her duvet. Does this make you happy? A voice in her head piped up and with effort Helena gritted her teeth. This was her chance, she reminded herself, the editorship was within reach, all she had to do was stay focused. She took a deep breath and dragged her mind to the meeting ahead. Époque’s Centenary loomed but planning for the special celebratory issue appeared to have hit a wall and now the publisher had called an emergency meeting. Where Vogue now seemed to be chasing teenage girls and the populist market, Époque still strived for exclusivity, to be the magazine of choice for the uber stylish and the uber connected. It was a magazine less about fleeting fashions and more about the kind of style that endured. But of course such exclusivity came at a price and the recent downturn had seen falling circulation. The weeklies had bitten into their profits hard and this centenary special had to make a mark that would bring a whole new demographic to the magazine, without alienating the existing readers.

  These thoughts whirred around Helena’s head and by the time she stepped out on the 14th floor her doubts and ambivalence had been packed away. Ducking into her small office, she dumped her tote down and Talia’s ugly laptop bag, which she’d confiscated after the makeover. She grabbed her notebook and headed out to the conference room, dreading the meeting that lay ahead. As she moved down the corridor, Chloe an ambitious assistant editor fell into step beside her.

  “It’s going to be a bloodbath,” Chloe whispered gleefully. Inwardly, Helena grimaced. Chloe was good at her job but her tendency to gossip and a rather liberal attitude with merchandise from shoots was starting to earn her a bad reputation around the office. The girl just never knew when to shut up. “Apparently Poppy’s back on the sauce,” the girl mimed sipping a drink and giggled. Helena remained silent as they entered the meeting room. They were the first to arrive. Poppy Silver, Époque’s editor had a long running battle with alcoholism and it often fell to Helena to cover for her and fulfil her responsibilities. Poppy’s problems had been kept under wraps at first, but in an industry like theirs, tongues were soon wagging and Poppy’s addiction was now an open secret in the business, exactly the kind of publicity that the magazine didn’t need. There had been whispers that the publishers had finally grown tired of cutting her slack. Where did this leave the centenary issue? Helena wondered worriedly just as the door opened to admit the rotund frame of Tobias Vintage, the publisher of the magazine. From his face Helena knew that the news wouldn’t be good.