Etoile (The Mannequin Series)

by Olivia Besse

  Saturday. How the hell would she make it until then?

  Ten

  Elodie could no longer feel her butt as she approached her second hour of sitting on the wooden floor of a crowded magazine office. She numbly chewed on a piece of stale gum and looked around the room at the 40 other variations of herself, all equally listless and bored. The two 16-year old Americans sitting next to her were chatting about braces or some other topic that she couldn't follow because they were speaking so rapidly. Elodie's head hurt.

  She wasn't even sure what this casting was for. Her booker had just sent her a text with the address and a "try to be on time! xx". When she had asked around earlier, everyone else just shrugged their shoulders.

  "Beauty?" some pretty Asian girl had guessed in a thick accent.

  This was the type of moment where she thought that modelling was so inane. Why was she waiting for hours until her number was called? What was the point of her subsisting on Adderall, coconut water and bland vegetables? To get paid nothing for a grueling photo shoot so that she could "build" her portfolio?

  How did they even decide on which girl to use? Everyone looked the same with their awkward bodies and long, straight hair with the severe middle part. All of the girls were wearing some sort of plain tee shirt or tank top that cost $100 and skinny jeans with black heels. Mannequins, all of them.

  "Sixty-four," an irritated intern in an unflattering lace romper came out and barked.

  Elodie swiftly got up from her spot and heard her knees crack. She put her heels back on and followed the girl into the casting room. With a big smile plastered to her face, she handed her portfolio and pictures to the people at the long table.

  The art director took a few without saying a word to her and handed back her iPad with a tight smile. The intern mumbled to her to stand against the wall so that she could snap some polaroids.

  "Thank you," Elodie tittered cheerily as she gracefully left the room afterwards.

  Roughly forty or so pairs of judgmental eyes watched her as she walked out of the room, and she tried her best to shrug them off. Models were always checking each other out, sizing up the competition. She suddenly felt exhausted, dreading the two other castings that she had lined up for the day.

  "Sixty-five!" the intern grumbled behind her.

  After pressing the button repeatedly, the elevator doors opened and she slumped into the corner as it made its way down to the lobby. She caught the envious glances of two girls who probably worked at one of the magazines that had offices in the same building. She always wondered why normal women looked at her like that. Didn't they know how lucky they were? As the elevator beeped and the doors slid open, the women began to chat about where they should go for lunch.

  Though she had never told a soul, Elodie often wondered what it would be like if she had a normal job. A job where she was judged for her intelligence and efforts as opposed to how her skin or hair looked that day. A job where she had a desk and assignments and a set lunch break. As she walked out of the building's heavy glass doors, she sighed wistfully and shook the thought out of her head.

  That would never happen. She had barely received her baccalauréat and could only dream of going to college. She had always wanted to attend, but didn't even know where to begin. She had been so busy with her attempts at social climbing and trying to convince people to book her that she had never really thought about it in detail. The familiar feelings of dread and uneasiness washed over her. What was she going to do later on when her looks wouldn't be enough to save her?

  Many of her model friends were looking for rich husbands, or at least sugar daddies. The majority of the girls from Europe had come from poverty and had no reason to go back, except for their families. But Elodie didn't even have family to go back to.

  Deep inside, she knew that she didn't want to continue living like this. She didn't want to be some empty-headed doll, standing languidly in front of a camera, using her body to get ahead anymore. And she definitely had no interest in becoming a kept woman for some overweight, perverted, tacky man who talked with his mouth full and boasted constantly about his money.

  She wanted romance. She wanted an education and a real career. She wanted purpose and direction. In essence, she wanted so many things that she could never have.

  Why was she even thinking about all of this? Stop being silly, she told herself. There was no point in daydreaming about the impossible.

  Wanting to get these depressing thoughts out of her head, she decided to skip her next casting, choosing instead to walk around the corner to the Museum of Arts and Design. Whenever she wanted to escape reality, Elodie would make an effort to go to either this particular one or the Museum of Modern Art and walk around in the huge, open spaces to remind herself of how tiny and insignificant her problems were. She loved to stare at the fashion and jewelry collections that passed through and hide from the crazy world outside of the museum walls.

  As she slowly perused the exhibits, she felt her phone vibrate and debated whether she should check it. She eventually pulled it out of her bag and felt her cheeks redden when she saw the screen.

  how are my hostages

  She had completely forgotten about Tyler's sunglasses and shirt from two days before. Hell, she had forgotten about Tyler in general after she had seen James again. She vowed not to mess things up this time. This was the first normal person that she had ever felt even a smidgen of genuine attraction to in as long as she could remember. She turned her screen off and stuck the phone back in her bag.

  She would give Tyler's things to Tatiana to give to Soren, she decided.

  Her head hurt again.

  Eleven

  The sun shone brightly on Saturday morning and woke Elodie up to the tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee and, much to her surprise, bacon in their apartment. She followed her nose out to the living room and was shocked to see a shirtless redheaded accountant making breakfast in the kitchen. Tatiana was perched on the couch, staring at him in wonderment.

  What the hell?

  "Oh, Lo, you awake. You want American hotcake and coffee?" she asked with a bright smile. Elodie gave her roommate a questioning look, which Tatiana waved away dismissively.

  The redheaded accountant looked up from the skillet. They owned a skillet? "Good morning! I don't think that I ever had the chance to introduce myself. I'm Daniel. It's nice to meet you."

  She smiled at his genuine sincerity. "Nice to meet you too. I am Elodie."

  "Yea, I know. My buddy James couldn't shut up about you," he joked.

  Her heart stopped for a millisecond as she tried to hide her goofy smile. He had talked about her to his friends? What had he said? She wondered what he had referred to her as. That girl he had spilled a drink on inside of a rowdy club? The future mother of his children?

  "So, how did this happen? I mean, how come you are here making breakfast at noon?" Elodie asked after clearing her throat.

  Tatiana looked over at him with dreamy eyes. "Daniel not banker, he is accountant, so he have weekend off to spend with me," she explained. "We run into each other at SP and he cannot leave me alone. Chase me all night." She grinned like a third grader who had just won a spelling bee.

  He looked at her adoringly. "She's not modest, this one."

  A million questions crossed her mind as Elodie gave them a small smile. Why were they here in the shoddy apartment? Why weren't they at his place? Pancakes and bacon? Really? Didn't he know that Tatiana would just march over to the toilet and throw it all up afterwards?

  More importantly, they had gone to SP yesterday? Dammit, Elodie grumbled to herself. The one day that I wanted to stay in! Why couldn't I have just joined? Had James been there?

  As if reading her mind, Daniel gave Elodie a teasing look. "Just so you know, James wasn't with us. He was working until past midnight so far as I know," he said with a knowing grin.

  "Oh no, I wasn't..." she trailed off as she mumbled nonsense. The Russian and the Redhead ignored her as
they yapped about his Michelin star-worthy cooking skills.

  At the mere mention of James' name, her heart had begun to rattle in her chest again. What was it about him that made her so unnerved? Speaking of which, she only had eight and a half hours to get ready for her date. How would she ever get ready in time?

  Elodie left the two lovebirds to their carbs as she went back to her room to ready herself for a hectic day. She didn't bother to shower, choosing instead to gather her rumpled hair into a messy ponytail while leaving her face bare. Her all-black blasé outfit du jour consisted of a Free People slip dress and Isabel Marant ankle boots, accompanied by a giant pair of Prada sunglasses.

  Running late, she scrambled to a last-minute casting in Midtown around two, where she was sure that she made a terrible impression due to her careless appearance and distracted brain. Even the haughty attitude of the rude boutique owner couldn't get her down, however, as the only thing on her mind was her magical date that was to take place that evening.

  The rest of the day was spent running from manicure to blowout to bikini wax appointments, and Elodie was now standing in front of her closet, decked out in lingerie that left nothing to the imagination. With thirty minutes on the clock until James was to arrive, she simply could not decide on what to wear. Should she go casual? Seductive? Model chic? Her mind whirled.

  With ten minutes to go, she decided on a simple white sleeveless shift dress that showed off her pin thin arms and legs. Surely he wouldn't be able to resist himself, or at least she hoped so. Pleased with her reflection in the mirror, she artfully applied her baby pink lipstick as she pulled on her booties and rushed downstairs.

  "You look great," James grinned as he kissed her on the cheek. Close contact! Elodie could have died then and there.

  "You too," she replied in as steady of a voice as she could manage. And he did, in his navy sweater, dark jeans and dark brown derbies. His hair was, once again, perfectly styled without a single hair out of place. Standing together, they looked like a limited edition Manhattan Ken and Barbie doll set.

  “I hope you're hungry,” he said as he opened the door of a waiting cab for her.

  “Where are we going?”

  “My favorite Italian place. I hope you'll like it. The pasta is mind-blowing,” he told her with a big smile as he climbed in after her.

  “I love Italian!” she chirped as she screamed inwardly to herself. Italian? Was he crazy? Who the hell takes a model to eat pasta? Shit, she thought as she attempted to conjure up a mental list of possible alternatives that she could order. What the hell would she eat?

  “Yea, they have the best olive oil cake. You'll love it,” he beamed, obviously proud of his choice of locale.

  “I love olive oil,” she blatantly lied with a huge grin. Fuck, she thought to herself as she racked her brain for the nutrition facts that had been hardwired into her memory. One tablespoon of olive oil had almost 200 calories!

  The cab whisked them off to the trendy Italian restaurant in the West Village, where they were shown to a candlelit corner table. After ordering a nice bottle of Syrah, cod for her and steak for himself, James leaned forward and smiled at his date. "Kind of risky for me to order red wine when you're wearing a white dress, don't you think?"

  The corners of her lips raised into a flirtatious smile as she turned on the charm. "Perhaps I should keep my distance then?"

  His leg brushed ever so gently against hers. "Oh no, that's the last thing that I want."

  So this is how I'm going to die, Elodie thought to herself as she giggled as charmingly as she could. By exploding from excitement all over the white tablecloths of a cute little restaurant off of Bleecker Street.

  The server brought out their wine and bread, and James raised his glass to hers. "To new friendships," he proposed.

  Clinking her glass against his, she gave him a shy smile. "To new friendships."

  "So, tell me all about your crazy modelling life. I'm sure you get all of the good jobs," James said, looking eagerly at her as he dipped a piece of bread into the olive oil that had accompanied the plate. Elodie watched him eat and felt sad. She missed bread. She missed carbohydrates. She missed most food groups in general.

  Shaking her head slightly, she furrowed her brow as she thought about her relatively unimpressive portfolio. "It is hardly like that. Modelling is not very glamorous or exciting. I have done a few fashion weeks in Milan, Paris and New York, but they are very tiring. I only have a few small campaigns that I did in the past, but usually as a background model," she admitted.

  James shot her a look of disbelief. "No way! You're stunning. I'm sure you'll book something huge in the near future."

  Did he just call her stunning? Please don't explode, she begged of her body. "I hope so!" she said with a nervous laugh.

  He smiled genuinely at her. "You're still young. How old are you, like twenty-one? You still have a lot of time to accomplish whatever you want."

  She winced. Should she tell him that she was only nineteen? Was he really that unfamiliar with the nightlife scene that he didn't know that the majority of the models partying at the clubs and bars were barely legal?

  "Well, modelling is not really what I want to do," she blurted out as she changed the subject, shocking herself as the words effortlessly came out of her mouth. She had never said it out loud to anybody. "I mean, it is a nice job for the time being. But I still would like to go to college and maybe even work in an office one day."

  He shot her an incredulous look. "No way. Corporate life is terrible. Why would you want to be stuck in an office when you're doing something so much more glamorous? I'm lucky if I make it out by midnight on most days."

  "But did you always want to go into finance?" she asked curiously as she picked at her brussel sprouts. Why did they have to be literally covered in cheese? She pushed them around on the plate so that it looked like she had eaten some, placing the occasional morsel in her mouth and chewing it into oblivion.

  "Well, I was raised in Manhattan. My grandfather was in finance, and so were my dad and all of my uncles and cousins. I went to UPenn for college and just kind of fell into it, I guess. I mean, it was pretty much expected of me. So I've just been at it for about two years, trying to get through it one day at a time. It's really frustrating not being able to have a set schedule. My time pretty much belongs to the company. I could go on and on about how much I hate my job, but I'll stop there. Anyway, enough about my boring life," he laughed as he looked at her over the flickering candle. "Tell me more about you. Everything about you."

  Her cheeks reddened and he laughed at her again. "You're adorable," he said, as if he couldn't resist letting her know.

  After downing her glass of wine, she found the courage to look at him again. "Well, as you know, I am from France. My agent in London scouted me when I was fourteen. And I have been modelling ever since I turned fifteen. I only came to New York about two years ago, but I worked all over Europe and Asia before that. Travelling is great, but sometimes I think that modelling is so... fake. I do not really see the purpose of it all, I suppose. I am actually not really sure if I even want to continue on with it."

  "So what would you rather be doing?" he asked with genuine interest as he refilled her glass.

  The alcohol was getting to her head and she blurted out her answer without her typical routine of analyzing and picking apart her response beforehand. "I want to create beautiful things, like jewelry or couture gowns, instead of imitating them."

  "I don't think you're imitating," he said with a soft smile.

  Redness overtook her cheeks and the tips of her ears, and he grinned at her flustered expression. Thankfully, the server soon came and set their main courses down. It looked delicious, but Elodie felt an uneasiness in the pit of her grumbling stomach. Since she didn't want to reveal her neurotic eating habits to James this early on, she gave in and took a bite.

  The sauce was so frighteningly amazing that she feared her mouth would have an orgasm ri
ght then and there. She hadn't eaten real food in so long that she had forgotten how incredible it could taste.

  "Good, huh?" James asked with a bemused look.

  “You were right,” she said with a sheepish look. “It is amazing.”

  “You should have really tried the pasta,” he told her as he scrunched his nose adorably. “Maybe next time?”

  “Definitely,” Elodie replied, her heart thumping at the prospect of returning to this decadent place on another date with James. Maybe it would become their “spot”. Maybe they would become regulars. Maybe they would hold their engagement party upstairs...

  “Elodie?”

  Shit, she thought as she mentally scolded herself. She had been daydreaming again mid-conversation and had missed what he had been talking about. “Sorry,” she replied with what she hoped was a charming smile. “My mind is all over the place today.”