by Olivia Besse
The girl could barely hide her excitement as she tried her best to coolly reply. “Samantha. These are my friends, Jillian and Jacqueline.” She gestured to a petite blonde and a stunning brunette who towered over her two friends. Elodie could tell right away that they were New Yorkers, what with their tiny waists, shiny hair and Chanel handbags.
“Cool,” Tyler replied with a bored smile as he placed his empty plastic beer cup onto one of the metal tables outside. He lit a cigarette and rested it in the corner of his mouth. “Nice to see you again.”
Samantha and Jillian tittered nervously as the brunette named Jacqueline looked Elodie up and down with a vacant expression on her face. Despite the fair amount of alcohol that had loosened her nerves temporarily, Elodie suddenly felt very self-conscious. Tyler noticed her discomfort and grabbed her around the shoulders again, much to the dismay of the giggly Samantha.
“Do you know my girlfriend?” he asked nonchalantly as he flicked the ash off the end of his Marlboro Light. “She was in a ton of shows too. Maybe one of you guys styled her.”
God, he's such an asshole, Elodie thought, trying not to laugh. However, her mood grew somber when she remembered that she had not, in reality, been in a ton of shows. In fact, she had only been casted for a smattering of grueling, back-to-back shows for obscure designers that were located across town from each other. If she were to tabulate all of the taxi fares and measly paychecks involved, she would likely find that she had lost money to stomp down those shitty runways.
She had, thankfully, been cast for a handful of presentations for some of the bigger designers, during which she had been paid, in either money or trade, to stand as a still-life mannequin. She grimaced as she thought back on how her legs had trembled after standing in too-small shoes for hours on end as rich customers nibbled on hors d'oeuvres and commented on the 'look' in which she had been clothed.
“I don't think so,” Samantha muttered in disappointment as Jillian stared at Elodie curiously. Jacqueline continue to peer off into the distance, obviously disinterested in her friend's drunken antics. “Well, it was good seeing you,” the blonde girl blurted out dejectedly as she dragged her friends away.
Tyler laughed in amusement after they were out of earshot, beaming at Elodie. “God, girls are fucking crazy,” he said with a grin as he beckoned for her glass of champagne and finished it. “That one chick looked like she wanted to murder you.”
Despite her gratefulness, she shot him an annoyed look. “Stop telling people that I am your girlfriend,” she grumbled as she fretted with her ruffled hair.
“Why would I lie?” he asked with big eyes as he pulled her closely against him, placing his hand dangerously low on her back. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek, causing her to hold her own as a tingle ran up her spine. Self-control, she urged herself as she swatted his hand away, just in time for Lauren to come stumbling over.
“Oh my God, where have you guys been,” she slurred drunkenly as she linked arms with Elodie. “We were, like, totally looking for you both this whole time. All these, like, really gross old guys kept buying us drinks, but we don't even understand what they're saying,” the girl guffawed as Klara and Mira came sauntering up to them. All three of the girls looked worse for wear, and Elodie couldn't help but feel protective of them.
“We should get all of you home,” she suggested happily as she shot Tyler a victorious smile. He merely looked back at her with a frown on his face, as there was no arguing that the night was clearly over. Taking the hint, he obediently made his way over onto the street to hail taxis for them.
“Where is Lana?” Elodie asked after noticing that the perky Russian was nowhere to be seen.
“She left with Kris,” Lauren replied distractedly as she burrowed her head into Elodie's bony shoulder.
“And who is Kris?”
Klara made her best attempt at straightening her drunken stance. “He is very hot,” she offered as Mira groaned next to her.
“He's another model we hang out with. He shot a Dazed & Confused editorial, you know,” Lauren explained as she took in deep breaths of fresh air.
Elodie pursed her lips as she smoothed Mira's messy hair. “Well, you girls said you wanted tips from an old lady like me,” she began. “Here is one: find yourself a good boy and avoid male models if you can,” she said quietly as the image of James' face came up in her thoughts. She watched Tyler's back as he secured the girls a taxi.
“They are never good news.”
Twenty
“Shit, I'm so late!” a tiny voice called out from the whirlwind of blonde hair that came hurtling into the room, her Isabel Marant sneaker wedges squeaking violently against the heavily polished floor. A bored intern continued to smoke on the balcony without even bothering to greet the Rick Owens-clad enfant terrible who had just tumbled in.
Elodie looked up from the stiff corner wingback chair in which she had been sitting for the past hour, nursing a cup of black coffee that had long since cooled. It seemed as if she had been one of the few people who had actually arrived in a timely manner for the 8 AM call time, as it was now half past 9 and the atelier was still mostly empty.
“Fuck me!” Mia called out as she threw her giant battered Goyard tote onto one of the drafting tables, knocking off a bunch of sketchbooks and a half-finished pattern. The angry sound of heaving beading hitting the wooden floor echoed throughout the empty, cave-like room as two bottles of prescription pills rolled out of the bag and rattled to a stop on the floor. A pair of aloof design assistants who had been hunched over an adjacent drafting table shook their heads in disapproval at the sudden cacophony that disturbed the once hauntingly peaceful environment.
“Oh shit!”
As Mia scrambled to pick up the likely priceless couture piece before anyone important could scold her, Elodie glanced at her phone for the hundredth time. As expected, its blank screen taunted her with its ever-present blackness.
Where the hell was Tyler?
It wasn't like they had stayed out late—she had ended up in bed before midnight. And that was after she had assisted Lauren in throwing up the entire contents of her stomach into the toilet after her wild night out. “Oh my God, I'm never drinking again,” the young girl had wailed as Elodie helped to tie up her thick brown hair.
Had he gone out again afterwards? If so, with whom? Elodie tapped her foot impatiently against the glossy wooden floor, annoyed with herself for even caring. So what if he had? Why did it even matter to her?
A feeling of loneliness filled her as she thought of James. She wondered what he was doing right at that very moment. According to her calculations, it was roughly 3:30 AM on Saturday morning in New York. Was he out? Was he sleeping? Was he thinking of her too? Didn't he know that he could still text her in Paris? she questioned grumpily. She slumped low in her seat, frustrated with the world and everything in it.
“Good, no one's here yet!” Mia cried out cheerfully as she shuffled towards Elodie, breaking the sullen girl's thoughts. “Did anyone come by? No, right? Good. I totally tried to make it on time, but everything was against me today! My bangs just would not behave, and then the stupid coffee-making person made me a skim latte instead of a half-caf soy latte! Why does no one speak English around here? God! Anyway, you look so good! Love your shoes! Wang? Those are so hot! Where's Ty?”
“I have no idea,” Elodie muttered as she nodded and gave Mia a smile. “I have just been waiting here.”
“Hm. He probably had a crazy night out! That boy,” Mia said with a laugh, unaware of the scowl that flashed across Elodie's face at the proposition.
“We can do you first, then! I'm thinking Game-of-Thrones-meets-chic-goth-zombie-at-Art-Basel. And not Miami Art Basel, I'm talking Switzerland Art Basel. Ooh, so hot,” Mia babbled as she grabbed the coffee cup out of Elodie's hands and pulled the young model out of the chair. “INTERN!” she bellowed out in the direction of the balcony.
The young girl named Hélène sulked over at a snail's pace, her ombre
hair swishing lightly as she made her way across the room. Mia handed the morose girl the coffee cup and patted her on the head. “Thank you, intern!” she chirped as Hélène grumbled and slumped away.
“So, we have five looks for you for the campaign images, and a bunch of other outfits that we need to shoot for the lookbook. It's going to be a long day! Where's the makeup girl? Is the photographer here?”
Elodie shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. A pensive look clouded Mia's scrunched face as her eyes darted rapidly around the room. Her face lit up in recognition as she noticed the cluttered rack of dresses that had been set up in the corner. “Okay, let's get you fitted! Did you see Margot yet?”
Once again, Elodie had no idea. Mia let out a huff as she loudly whined, “Do I have to do everything around here?”
She motioned for Elodie to disrobe, holding up a beautiful cream jacket with an exaggerated cut, thick embossed paneling and intricate beading all around. “This is major,” Mia breathed out as Elodie nodded in agreement. The two paused to silently pay their respects to the work of art before the flitty stylist handed Elodie the matching pair of shorts. After some lengthy consideration, she also passed the model a flimsy black lace triangle bra, a pale blue silk tank and black platform booties.
Elodie stripped down to her underwear and changed into the garments, as the gay male design assistants paid her bare body no attention. Once she was in the completed look, Mia backed away and admired her handiwork. “So perfect,” Mia cooed as she fanned Elodie's hair behind her back. “Fits you like a glove! We won't even have to make adjustments!”
Just then, Tyler came sauntering into the room wearing Illesteva sunglasses and a cocky smile on his face, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was two hours late. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed and pulled on his wrinkled black tee shirt, skinny jeans and Lanvin sneakers, though he had somehow found the time to pick up Starbucks on the way.
“Nice,” he said as he circled Elodie, not bothering to take off his sunglasses indoors.
“Very nice,” a voice called out as the owner's footsteps echoed throughout the room. Mia's body stiffened visibly as Clément, Ero's creative director, and Margot, his subordinate, walked towards them. “Olivier will be very pleased,” he continued in a thick French accent, referring to the fashion house's notoriously persnickety CEO.
“Told you so,” Tyler chimed in like a proud little boy as he threw his sunglasses onto the nearby chair. A smile magically appeared on Margot's frosty face and Clément laughed appreciatively.
“Me too,” Mia squeaked out as they ignored her.
Elodie stood still as Margot circled her like a shark, straightening out the sleeves of the jacket and pulling the shorts down about half a centimeter. “Perfect,” the stern-faced woman commented with a nod.
The next five hours flew by as Elodie modelled the matching dresses, sweaters and various pieces in the collection for the two stone-faced designers. Tyler was dressed in the slim suits and separates that made up the simplistic Ero Homme collection for that same season. Mia and Baptiste, the other stylist, worked nonstop to create hundreds of possible looks for Clément and Margot to choose from, bending over backwards to gain their approval. In all of the frenzy, Elodie and Tyler had zero opportunities to interact, let alone watch what the other was even doing.
Once the photographer arrived, they shot the looks separately in the corner of the atelier against the ornately paneled walls, with both of the models' cheekbones contoured to sunken perfection with thick layers of bronzer and highlighter. Once the last blinding flash was reflected off of the umbrellas that were crowded around the stifling corner in which Elodie had been posing, she let out a sigh of relief. As she carefully climbed out of that final look and into her own black Vanessa Bruno dress, her stomach grumbled mercilessly as her feet seared with pain.
Clément and Margot didn't acknowledge her as she walked past them, searching the room for the makeup artist, who was nowhere to be found. Great, she thought wearily as she picked up her Céline bag and waved goodbye to Mia and Hélène. Now she had to go home with all of that makeup caked on her face. Taking one last look around the studio, she noticed that there was no sight of Tyler, who must have finished before she had.
Once she stepped out of the doors, she realized just how weak she felt after the long and arduous day. The sun was setting as evening drew near, and she was exhausted. With heavy lids, she walked out onto the sidewalk and pulled out her phone to summon her driver.
“Could you have taken any longer?” Tyler asked as he approached her from behind, his hands playfully grabbing at her waist. Elodie squealed in surprise as she jumped away nervously. “I waited for like an hour out here. You owe me a pack of cigarettes,” he whined as he grabbed her hand.
Elodie tried to pull her hand away, but he wrapped his fingers tightly around her own. “I am not in the mood, Tyler,” she pleaded as she gave him a pout. “I just want to go back to my bed and lay down.”
“You have to eat dinner anyway,” Tyler said, swinging her hand as he led her in the direction of the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. “Or drink it, at least.”
Though Elodie wanted to protest, she kept her mouth shut as she knew he was right. Even she knew when calories were necessary. As if he had been expecting her to reject his proposal yet again, he looked over at her with a bemused expression before turning back ahead with a big grin on his face.
Once they made it onto the busy street, Tyler continued to pull her past the crowds as he complained about how tight the suits had been and how one of the male design assistants had continuously made moves on him throughout the day. “Do I look gay to you?” he asked bitterly as he led her across the giant crosswalk and past a lively cafe. What they passed next made Elodie feel sick to her stomach.
The theatrically gilded pistachio green facade of the infamous Ladurée on the Champs Élysées leered at her, as if it were disapproving of whose hand she was holding as she made her way down the most romantic street in world. Just glancing at the storefront brought back memories of how James had taken her there when she had told him of how she was homesick for France, and how he had bought her the very first macarons that she had ever tried. Thinking of James suddenly made her miss him again, and she felt extremely guilty for traipsing around Paris with Tyler like this behind his back. Not that she was enjoying it, of course.
Tyler noticed her looking into the brightly lit windows with the sad look on her face and scoffed. “Don't even think about it,” he blurted out warily. “Do you know how many carbs are in one of those things? Margot would kill you.”
Elodie couldn't help but laugh at how she had once silently screamed the exact same thing at herself. Tyler shook his head as he finally let go of her hand to hail a taxi from that corner. A gaggle of British teenagers who had been standing nearby gawked at him, whispering excitedly as they surreptitiously snapped photos on their phones, all the while glaring daggers at Elodie.
“Where are we going?” she asked him curiously, trying her best to ignore their wrath.
Tyler gave her a sneaky smile as he opened the door to the taxi that had pulled up next to them. “You ask too many questions,” he complained as he gestured for her to climb in. “But Charlie took the train in from London, and he has a surprise for you.”
Twenty-one
“What's going on with you two?” Heddi asked, smoothing out a wrinkle in her silky white Helmut Lang top as Elodie fixed her hair in the bathroom mirror.
The surprise that Charlie had brought with him from London was none other than the statuesque Heddi, Elodie's Danish roommate. The two had apparently been shipped over with a bunch of other models for a last-minute spread in i-D Magazine, and had made the trek to Paris to end their short trip to Europe with a bang.
When Charlie and Heddi had arrived to meet them at the sleek Italian-Japanese fusion lounge that Tyler had taken Elodie to in the 2nd arrondissement, the squealing and fussing that ensued belied the fact
that the two girls had seen each other just two days prior. It was obvious that they, too, had also come straight from their shoot, as Charlie's dusty blonde hair was theatrically teased and Heddi's chocolate brown locks had seemingly been straightened on an ironing board.
The four shared a skimpy dinner of wedges of cheese and bits of meat with large undressed salads, choosing instead to splurge on calories via bottles of wine and artisanal cocktails. As Elodie's thoughts became clouded by the sheer amount of alcohol that she had imbibed in, she barely noticed as Tyler drew her closer to himself on the velvet bench on which they were seated, his hand resting lightly against her hip as he leaned back and spoke loudly with Charlie.
Heddi, of course, had noticed. And, once the two were safely in the bathroom of the stylish nightclub down the street, she made it a point to ask her friend about all of the details. They were, after all, 19-year old girls, and we all know what 19-year old girls do best during lengthy bathroom breaks.
Elodie paused as she turned away from the lighted mirrors, trying her best to keep a straight face as she looked Heddi in the eyes. “Nothing,” she answered firmly as a drunken girl pushed her way behind her to get to the chrome sink.
