Tail

by Julian Duenker

CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Susan slotted her phone back into her pocket as she ran along the footpaths. The chafing of her hurried boots played the repetitive soundtrack to her gallop. Having shaken her body to a wake she found herself rushing to the agency to salvage whatever was left of the shoot. Not much she thought realistically.

  She was an entire hour late, leaving the various people that waited on her to fiddle with their own clothes and spit complaints around. She was dreading going to the agency. Second day on the job and already an amateur mess. Regardless of how she felt, her boots slid her across the ground as if she were skating on ice. No grip, no solid ground is how she felt for the past month. She was too distracted by her own worried abuse to wait for a taxi.

  Mathew had called her several times in an attempt to get his reputation to work on time. Having had a brief and rushed conversation along a heavy breathed phone, Mathew asked everyone to stay a few more minutes. Susan was making her way, trying to keep her hair as dignified as possible. No use. Her hair was loose and silly trying to escape from her scalp with the fast pace that she created. Naturally with such an abrupt awakening she had no time and thought to change her clothes. Her jeans were half up and half down confused as to whether they should be on her or not. She still wore the tar dripped gloves from the previous night which made her phone call all the more difficult. To make matters worse, the fabrics of her clothes were skinny dipped in pools of foggy fun. Ready to sting the nostrils of anyone that gave her any attention.

  Ten to fifteen minute walk if she hurried and ignored all the people that walked past. With the afternoon jog under way, sweat started to build up around her nose giving her that late night drinking look. The city was used to that type of person, with a few simple eyes throwing sympathetic eyebrows Susan’s way.

  She opened the glass doors of the agency expecting something horrific to scratch her back. Words maybe, an angry mob of forks and spoons, or perhaps that gang of dogs she worried about. But none of things were true. Among the river of worried sweat that ran down her face, she felt a baked sense of laughter explode in her stomach. It was more to do with the fact that she was laughing at all of the ridiculous possibilities that she had played with over the night.

  Bursting into the entrance of the agency, she paused hovering for a moment trying to remember where Mathew had told her to go over the phone. But no luck, she was in such a rush she didn’t remember a single word he had said. Over to her left at the secretary desk was the cardboard cut-out woman herself leaning on her desk with her hips poking out towards the wall. A red haired model six foot built with unrelenting curves demanded the secretary’s attention.

  Red woman turned her stretched neck to Susan to discard her within the space of a second. An eventful second none the less. The secretary stared at Susan with an apathetic lip as she fondled the sleeve of the other woman’s faint blouse. No words were said. Every syllable that needed to be spit out was murmured through the leafy flutters of all three women’s eyelashes. With Susan dripped in sweat, the red woman burnt judgement into Susan. The secretary pointed in the direction of Mathew’s office.

  Trying to unfreeze her boots from the frozen tiles, she left the two to entertain their flashing moments of extensions. Susan went forward through the agency. She suddenly began to feel a heavy weight latch onto her back. It cut into her shoulders making her twitch with shock. She turned on her heels to see what was causing the pain but when she looked behind she saw nothing. Every time she would turn her head away from the stabbing pan in her shoulders the feeling would become more prominent. Twas the only thing she thought about as she went up to Mathew’s office. Eventually she would imagine the slight pain as a bag that dug its hold into her soft shoulders. The weight of the bag was fully determined by judgements that were thrown towards Susan. She would drag that bag behind her for the rest of the day, slowly filling it with every little hurtful stare or moist word aimed at herself. It wasn’t the most fun bag to carry around all day. But seeing as she couldn’t see it, it was rather difficult to remove it.

  The straps were stabbed and hooked into each of her shoulders. All in all it was good because it meant she had her hands free to open the bag and rummage around at all the shoved stares and spicy words. As she neared the stairs to rise up to Mathew, she saw a silhouette leaning on a table through a crack in the atrium doors. Holding her seconds close to her heart she looked in and saw Steff talking to Josey. Within the quick turning motion of his neck she quickly left the spot and ran up the stairs. Holding his gaze would have been another sloppy harsh judgement to add her to her cotton bagged back, which she was not willing to fill up any further.

  She saw the warped outline of Mathew’s office along the wall in the distance. The door was open with a lack of sound roaming the area. The hall was lit up highlighting the sweat that rolled down Susan’s nose to her bottom lip. Her heavy hoodie and warm attire didn’t exactly help the situation either.

  Pausing for a moment she breathed in slowly trying to compose herself. Pulling her gloves from the tips of her fingers she entered. Mathew was standing in front of his desk smearing his attention with some folder. A faint blue shirt restricted his shoulders creating a dip and gathering of excess cloth right above his hips. His hair was rougher than usual joining up with an untamed desert of stubble that sharpened and shadowed his face. Susan cleared her throat while holding her gloves above her crotch as if imitating an angelic puppy. Make sure to widen the eyes.

  “Ugh... Good you’re here. Alright let’s get this shoot underway.” He said turning himself around and throwing the folder into the lap of the couch. Touching her elbow with a delicate finger he directed her outside.

  “The makeup lab is just right around the corner. Michelle will direct you and control you. Do what she says, wear what she says, blink and brace whenever she spits... damn your sweaty.” Looking at her with a surprised face and shifted his touch to the lower half of her back.

  “I had to run here... well jog, I didn’t want to get too sweaty. Didn’t want to get a taxi… afraid that it would take longer… with traffic.” Susan said expecting him to be somewhat sympathetic.

  “At least we still have enough time to recover the shoot. I’ll be waiting in the studio for you... alright so meet me when you are all dolled up.”

  He detached himself from her completely and left in the opposite direction. Susan was disoriented from his fickle touches leaving her to expect a goodbye or perhaps a good luck. Considering that her performance would reflect him, she realised that she might have let him down in some respects. Oddly enough she found it difficult to give a shit.

  Turning the corner Susan was hit head on with an assault of hurried murmurs and thankful shouts. The makeup area was littered with women buzzing about the place attending to their variety of bluntly feathered models. She stood there holding her sweaty bag of bitten lips on her back staring into the room expecting someone to grab her hand and fling her into the job. A handful of models relaxed on chairs biting their own appeal as they kept to their own. Mild chatter fluttered between them all varying from their shoots to just general news and bitter gossip. It was a band of casual peeps rubbing up against the obscene and the nude.

  A woman dressed by her own confident age came up to Susan holding a wipe in one hand and polite hello in the other.

  “Michelle. Clean you up, wipe away the sweat and black gothic depression and all will be good. Don’t worry I won’t bite. I have already had my fix of meat today... the ladies are fuckers for trying to keep me to their diet. As if I give a shit. Three kids at my age and my looks are the last thing I care about.” Michelle said with tinted words of laughter hanging from her pierced nose. Her brunette hair was short and abrupt creating its own partied image behind her head. She was comfortable and smooth in her movements as she drove Susan over to her chair and workstation.

  “You look like someone that likes to eat a fuck tonne of meat. Which do you like best? You more of a poultry ki
nd of girl or maybe the cow is what gets ya off. My favourite is pork. I’d feed it to my children every day if I could, don’t give a shit if they get fat. Good meat is worth more than any of that shite.”

  “Ugh umm well, you know. I tend to just get whatever is the cheapest in the shop. I like Stuffed chicken, but mainly for the breaded stuffing.” Susan was rather surprised to hear a makeup artist say she didn’t really care about how she looked. It was a contradiction that almost scared Susan into thinking the job was all an elaborate hoax orchestrated by perfume brands.

  Susan realised that they hadn’t spoken a single word of the shoot. She hadn’t had a good look at Michelle yet apart from before when she whisked her over to the chair. She didn’t have much to go on apart from the constant stream of information that slipped from underneath the woman’s wrinkled nose.

  Susan didn’t mind the rush, but her boots were in turmoil, wringing in their spot desperately trying to wrap their laces around the the new environment they found themselves in. The usual step by step desire that drove Susan was halted by a lack of sight of Michelle and the fact that Susan was too stressed with accompanying sounds to concentrate on her. In the end, it left her boots disappointed in their own separate pool of sweat.

  “So I heard this is your second shoot ya? Well don’t be frightened. Those nerves your feelin right now are there to help ya. Took me a while before I figured that out, but when I did ooooh, I’ll tell ya I’ve never been frightened of nerves ever again.” Michelle said leaning her mouth straight to Susan’s left ear. She placed a drop of laughter behind and raised her head to work on the animal of hair that convulsed on top of Susan’s head. It gave Susan a moment to dig through the translucent imaginary bag on her back. Empty enough, but that was exactly what frightened her. Enough space to fill up with more stabby sore remarks.

  Michelle ran her fingers through the bulk of Susan’s hair. She felt nails scratch against her scalp as she concentrated on herself in the mirror that sprawled the entire wall. Her workstation was occupied by a plethora of coloured bottles and bizarre torture devices. The brands ranged from the generically American to the pretentiously Belgian. Trying to distract herself from the scars that were building up on her scalp she attempted to pronounce one of the brands.

  Curled fingers with sharpened nails tore over the left hand side of Susan’s toxic red chair. Fishy eyes opened and closed with wet pupils staring directly into Susan’s shoulder bag. She was one of the other models, playful one turned on by the destruction of toys. Her nails were particularly good for that. Her hair was slicked back as if stroked by water itself. Her lips protruded from her face, dangling with purple lipstick. Michelle chatted on morphing her conversation into a silent monologue.

  “Susan yes? I saw you the first time you were here with Mathew a few weeks or so ago. I see he gave you an opportunity. He is so kind that way you know, I’m sure you know, why wouldn’t you? You are the brunt of his kindness and... Other stuff.” The model pointed her flat up turned nose straight to Susan with a slither of approval lining the way she talked. Susan was confused by her. She didn’t remember meeting this girl but was sure that she just forgot.

  “Ya... it’s my first real shoot. Kinda nervous.”

  Susan continued her staring contest with herself in the mirror as Michelle moved onto powder. The model was sitting on her knees wearing a long ripped dress that looked as if it was stolen from the set of an apocalyptic film where everybody sniffed cocaine. No under garments were visible leaving her carefully groomed skin to advertise the soft bumps and all.

  “O shit almost forgot... my name is Abbey.” She raised her finger in replacement for her hand to shake. Susan didn’t notice and instead just gave a smile.

  “I guess you already know who I am.”

  “I guess we all do.”

  “How do ya mean?”

  “Gothy girl like you... who wouldn’t know you. Small agency… small place... big people stand out more you know.” Raising her chin to Susan’s chest abbey changed her composition on the side of the chair. With one slow release of her fingernails she raised to the level of all the heads in the room. A few models were held in place by the perfecting hands of the makeup artists while Abbey remained in her spot with one clawed hand sleeping on the rest of Michelle’s workstation. She threw her look around the room as if she didn’t know what she was supposed to do ending on a quick gaze to Michelle.

  “Did you talk to her about meat yet?” Abbey asked her.

  “O ya I gave her the entire selection of meats. She was quiet about it though... didn’t give too much away.”

  “Aw that’s not right. Why? Are you afraid we’ll judge your taste in meat? What are you a cannibal or something?” Abbey said while leaning her elbow on the table once more bending onto the ground. Her height was all over the place, with her knees unable to decide what size they would like to be at.

  “Sshhh… she might actually be a cannibal.” Michelle jokingly whispered as she wiped her hands in a green cloth.

  “Tell me now if you are a cannibal, because we need to know ya know. We don’t want a meat heavy eaten girl like you chewing on all the legs, o god! There are so many legs.” The words collapsed out of Abbey’s mouth as if she didn’t believe what she was saying herself. The weight of Susan’s bag was digging red lines into her shoulders. Her quiet lips were silent for too long. She felt the need to say something, defend herself, and build a barrier between Abbey and the opening of Susan’s brown cotton bag.

  “No actually I don’t eat that much meat...” cutting her off, Abbey said; “shit now I wouldn’t believe that. What’s wrong with meat? It’s nutritious and lets everybody know you are a hungry, devouring... ravenous person, and who exactly doesn’t want to be that?” her strung out fingers were flying across Susan’s view. Everyone behind her shuffled about, prepping their legs. The constant noise from sprays sizzled through the air creating a dense fog that required squinted eyelashes to see through.

  Michelle raced around the room collecting a specially laid out corpse of clothing in one of the corners. The fore front of the pile was headed by a simple pink hued white t-shirt. Susan caught the pile moving along from the corner of her mirror.

  “Alright here is all the stuff that you need to wear for the shoot.” Michelle said dropping all of the clothes on Susan’s lap. Abbey hung around resting her eyes on different heads as they left the room. She leaned her ass against the workstation with her nude back facing the mirror. Susan looked at the pile of clothing on her lap. She was impressed by the clean sheen from the jeans underneath the top.

  “Hair and makeup is done... go on get up of my chair... it wasn’t made for your arse.” Michelle said as she fumbled around on her desk rearranging her various dripping bottles and creams. The idea of undressing in front of a crowd of people tickled Susan’s boots. Not in a good way, the kind of tickle that had sharp nailed pokes mixed in with the routine, rooting away at newly bought wounds. Susan’s boots naturally weren’t pleased with the idea, afraid that their ideals and cosy blanketed views would be assaulted.

  “Don’t worry your clothes will be fine here. You can leave them over there.” Abbey said with a crispy genuineness, pointing over to a corner in the room. Susan got up from the chair while trying to maintain the state of her hair that Michelle left it in. Lengths of her hair were combed into a wave on one side, while tied to the skin on the other side sliding down behind her shoulder like tar.

  Abbey grabbed the bottom edge of Susan’s hoodie with subtle movements forcing her to take it off. She had closed in on her from behind, which made her space tremble from uncomfortable and nervous shivers. Susan wasn’t a fan of the narrow gap between the two, but she took it for granted that that was just the nature of the models and the language they spoke.

  As Susan wrapped the simply sharp t-shirt around her chest Abbey snapped her fingers into the space between the cloth and her skin. She used two fingers dragging them from the right side hi
ll of her spine to the other. The touch, was just that kind of touch, derived from only the tips of her nails. It halted Susan in her place grabbing tighter onto the edges of her top. The room was emptying slowly with a few people roaming between the chairs.

  She turned around to face Abbey who presented her with a playful smile that had one of those grins constructed from a condescending angle. Susan shifted her hips away forcing Abbey to let go of her back. The situation was new and ripe leaving her to run through all her prior softened experiences in life to find something to say, to book end the conversation. But she ended up just smiling back to her with a more intended innocent look.

  “So what’s your favourite meat...? I suppose if I had to choose what mine would be, it would probably chicken... I don’t know... it would have to be crusted though.” Susan said gripping tightly on to her jeans. She thought to herself that the best way to direct the conversation was to revert to a more ignorant and child-like state.

  “That’s wonderful.” It was all abbey said tightening her wrapped arms around her chest. The more she moved her arms the more skin was shown through the cleanly torn tears in her dress. Her eyes dropped angling their hooks onto each and every one of Susan’s curves making sure that they were noticed. She didn’t allow any expressions to wiggle from her pores, if she had any. Susan was left cold shifting her feet inwards trying to leave the situation. The other side of the room seemed a lot more enticing seeing as Abbey wasn’t standing over there.

  “I know what Mathew’s favourite meat is.” Abbey said releasing one last smile. With everything she wanted to say resting within the room, Abbey left scrapping her fingers across Susan’s cotton bag filling it to the top.

  Susan stood there reeling her boots in from the tide of what had just happened. It sunk in with a large thundery sound. Her relationship with Mathew was undermining how the models saw her. She never expected them to open their arms to her with bowls of sweets. It was the fear of what lay before her that was the heaviest. In that one moment she finally realised what she had let herself into. Blaming her hungry stomach she continued to awkwardly undress in the room. Quick brief and roughly rapid movements were used to try to get her suffocating new jeans up to her waist.

  The next few steps were a collage of passive paintings drawn by the fearful nails of her fingers. As Susan was brought to her shoot, Mathew gave her a brief description of what she was supposed to do, followed by a beautiful speech about how unique the location would be. But regardless of what anyone said to her she was left almost hollow within the legs of her navy jeans.