by Penny Wylder
“Yeah,” I say, blushing. Looking back now, I can’t believe that felt so natural. I’m embarrassed just thinking about it. “I honestly don’t even know how I did it.”
Fleece rolls her eyes. “You know that I’ve known you for ten years and I know instantly when you’re lying, right?”
“Ugh. Fine,” I say. “But give me a drink first.” She passes me another one of her concoctions—I’ve learned not to ask what’s in them anymore. “It was him.”
“What do you mean?”
I sigh. “I mean, it was him. Andrew Xellum. Have you seen him?”
Fleece rolls her eyes. “Of course I’ve seen him. He’s so gorgeous it’s just unfair. But I’m still not sure what he has to do with your performance other than hiring you?”
“I mean, I thought I was going to vomit, but then I saw him watching me and the whole performance suddenly made sense. Like thinking of him as the audience was what I needed to make myself cut loose. It’s hard to explain.” I take a deep sip of my drink. “But the best part is that he wants to give me more work. So I really owe you one for making me go.”
Fully expecting her to be overjoyed, I’m surprised when her face is wary. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I didn’t say anything because you really needed the work, but I’ve heard things about him. I’ve heard that he’s a bit cold and demanding and he can be hard to work for. There are rumors about why his last favorite quit. I don’t know, maybe he did something that was over the line.”
“You could have said something last night if you didn’t think it was a good idea.”
She sighs. “Why would I do that? You’re broke and about to be living in my apartment. You needed the money. I’m just saying to be careful. Things can be too good to be true.”
“I will admit that he’s really intense,” I say, remembering our conversation in the little closet, “but I’m going to give it a shot. I’m not signing a contract with him or anything so it’s not like I can’t walk away if I need to. Plus, so far he hasn’t done anything I wouldn’t expect from a highly driven man who works in fashion.”
Fleece chokes on a laugh and I follow suit. “Well,” she says, “I’m happy you have work. Free drinks all night in celebration.”
“Barbara is going to kill you,” I say, raising my eyebrows.
She nods to someone trying to get her attention down the bar. “Barbara better worship the fucking ground I walk on after all I’ve done for her this week. I think I’ll risk giving my best friend a few celebratory drinks.”
She hurries away, and I turn in my chair and lean back against the wall. During the exhibition I felt like I had nothing but energy. Now I feel like I could crawl into bed and sleep for a week. But at least I’ll be able to do that with money in my bank account. That’s a new feeling.
I’m zoning out, almost ready to bail and go home to sleep, when Fleece makes her way back over to me. “By the way, you know you’re basically going to be a celebrity now, right?”
Laughing, I roll my eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”
She shakes her head, “I know you’re new to this, but in the fashion world, Xellum Studios is it. Even though his stuff is really out there when he does shows, his designs are gorgeous and everyone loves them. He’s a huge deal.”
“I’m guessing you also didn’t tell me this so I wouldn’t freak out.”
“Maybe,” she grins. “I’m guessing you haven’t checked your social media pages today, have you?”
“No.” I grab my phone up the bar and open Twitter. I’ve always been a lurker on Twitter; following my favorite celebrities and friends. The only followers I had were my handful of friends. Tonight, I have over four thousand followers. The sight nearly makes me spit out my drink. “What the fuck? How did they even find me?”
“Welcome to the age of the internet. That transformation video is already going viral. You’ll have way more followers in the morning. Check your Instagram.”
I do, and there’s an even bigger jump. 6000 followers. “This is insane.”
“Absolutely, but use it. The more popular you are, the more money they’ll have to pay you,” she says with a wink.
There are no words for this, so I just take a sip of my drink.
“Oh,” she continues, “you may want to update those profiles to say who you are. Not just ‘retail associate,’ since you’re clearly not that anymore.”
“Right.”
I feel a little dizzy. If I had known this would change my life completely, would I have done it? Am I going to regret it later? Right now I don’t, but who knows in the future.
“I know that look,” says Fleece. “You’re starting to second guess yourself.”
“What if you’re right?” I ask her. “What if it is a bad idea?”
She shakes her head. “It was stupid of me to even bring that up. It’s not a bad idea. You’re going to make more money than you’ve ever made in your life and work with one of the most talented designers on the planet. Don’t worry, I’m going to be right here while you do it. Now drink your damn drink while I make you another one.”
I raise my glass. “Yes, ma’am.”
5
Walking in to this art gallery was the closest thing I’ve ever really felt to being a celebrity, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Sure, my social media accounts have blown up in the past couple of weeks, but people still don’t recognize me on the street. But the crowd waiting to get into the gallery where Andrew and his friend Heather are putting on a collaborative show? Those people know me. They’re asking for autographs and taking pictures and I feel anxiety rising up in my chest when May and a giant security guard fish me from the crowd and drag me inside.
“Do you ever get used to that sort of thing?”
She grins. “Never.”
“Perfect.” I supposed I’ll have to get used to it if I want to keep doing this though, and for now, I want to. So I have to suck it up and deal, even though the thought of any of those people just coming to see me makes me kind of want to pass out.
She starts walking towards the back of the gallery. “This way to hair and make-up.”
I look around as we cross the gallery. There’s definitely an aquatic theme going on with the art and the lights, everything drenched in teal and blue. Unlike the last exhibition, which was for an already existing Xellum line, both the art and Andrew’s new line of bathing suits are debuting tonight. I’m not the only model this time—which is a relief—but I still think he has something special planned.
Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been down to his studio so they could take measurements of my entire body. Now that I’m working with him, they’ll make the designs to fit me. Even though I don’t get to keep them, it feels amazing putting on clothes I know are going to fit perfectly. I’ve only seen Andrew in passing, but the spark between us is there. I can feel it.
Walking into the back room, he’s there. He smiles when he sees me, but it’s a professional smile, not at all like the sultry little ones I catch him sending my way. “I’m glad you’re here. Your make-up is the most complicated, and we need to get started, plus I want to see the final look. Trish,” he calls over his shoulder as he guides me to a chair.
The same make-up artist from last time comes over smiling. Andrew points to my cheekbones. “Masque make-up, heavy blues and greens, think mermaid. Lips need to match. Hair loose and as smooth as you can possibly get it.”
I look up at him. “A ‘hello’ would be nice.”
He stops for a second, “Hello. Find me as soon as you’re finished. We have a lot to do.”
“Wow,” I say quietly as he hurries away.
Trish laughs softly, “Don’t take it personally. That’s just how he is, especially on show days. He’s got a lot on his mind and he knows what he wants.”
We fall into conversation while she does my make-up, and I find myself relaxing. Trish has a very musical voice and
it’s nice to hear her speak. It’s also nice to get a little more insight into the mysterious Mr. Xellum. I like hearing stories about him, like the time he got drunk and thought that lime green disco pants were a good idea, or how he made sure that a sick seamstress got all the rest she needed even though it was fashion week. Sure, she tells me, he’s a hard ass, and he errs on the cold side, but he’s a good guy.
When she’s finished and I look in the mirror, I don’t even recognize myself. I’m a sea creature come to life, my face patterned with gentle ripples and a blend of colors so seamless you would never know it’s not my skin. My hair is shiny, and seems darker than normal as it catches the light. “I think you’re a miracle worker.”
Trish laughs, “If I were a miracle worker I’d be able to make everyone’s wrinkles and grays go away.”
“Okay, temporary miracle worker then.”
“That, I’ll take. But you may not think I’m such a miracle worker when you have to wash it off later.”
I give her a wink. “I’ll be sure to curse your name plenty.”
Hopping out of the chair, I go to find Andrew. I find him at another model’s station, directing what he wants her look to be. I wait until he’s finished and sees me. He gives me a once-over and nods, gesturing for me to follow. I do, and he pulls a swimsuit off the rack. It looks complicated and gorgeous even on the hanger. With it is a sheer robe in colors that match my make-up. “This is yours for tonight. Let me see it, I want to make sure it’s perfect.” Then he leans in suddenly, and I’m overwhelmed by his sudden closeness. “You’re the centerpiece.”
And then he’s backed away like nothing’s happened. My heart is thundering, and I scold it. I can’t get worked up every time he pays me any kind of attention. But he is paying attention. Even though he’s professional, I can see the way he’s looking at me. My body reacts to it in a way it never has with anyone else.
“Hurry,” he says, “I still need to show you your choreography.”
“Choreography?”
He smirks. “Something like that.”
I duck behind the screen and pull on the bathing suit. It’s a one-piece, but it’s so scandalous that it might as well be two. The fabric is woven in tight knots that form patterns over my skin. Some places are webbed with lace and sheer gauze, others are open to my skin. One strap is intentionally off the shoulder, and the colors are the same deep blue and teal that seem to be the theme. I put the robe on over the bathing suit, and I have to admit, it really works. I look like some sort of wanton mermaid or siren, ready to call to sailors and wreck their ships. With my make-up and hair, I look like someone who would do it with delight.
Coming out from behind the screen, I see that Andrew has walked a little ways away and is consulting with someone dressed in black who has a headset in his ear. They’re looking at a clipboard, and the headset guy seems really animated. Again, I wait. Trish was right, Andrew has about a million things to deal with at the moment.
But then he turns and looks at me, and he freezes. The air between us goes tight, and I can feel the magnetic pull between us like it’s a physical thing. I do feel like a siren, and I will him to come to me. He does.
“You look absolutely perfect,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say softly, grateful that my face is covered in paint and he can’t see the fiery blush now gracing my cheeks. I have to look away from him. “That’s nice of you.”
He shakes his head. “I know we don’t know each other well, but I never say anything I don’t mean. And I don’t think I’ve ever said that to someone before.” I lock eyes with him again and it feels like an electric eternity. He turns away quickly, breaking the moment. “Come with me.”
I follow him into the main gallery, and I practically blend into it between the lights and the artwork. In the center of the room there’s a low, oval platform. The lights play across the platform with a texture that makes it look like it’s underwater. “You will be here,” he says. “Lay down.”
I raise an eyebrow, but I do. Then he’s kneeling next to me, positioning me. “Start like this.” He pulls my arms above my head, and the way his skin feels on mine is electric. Fingers brush my knee. “One up.” If I’m not mistaken, his breath is a little short. Then his hand slides under my back and brushes my skin. “Arch as high as you can.”
The position stretches the suit, and I can feel that I’m inches away from being indecent, but I also feel sexy. Andrew is leaning over me, looking down, and I see him glance at my lips. Oh god, I want him to kiss me even though I shouldn’t. I want to pull him down on top of me right here in the middle of the gallery. Focus, Delia. “You mentioned choreography?”
“I did,” he leans closer, and I can smell the subtle, spicy cologne on his skin. I let my back sink back to the floor as he stares at me. “The choreography is simply this: ecstasy.”
“Like the drug?”
He laughs, and it echoes through the room. “No. Like sex. All of the models will be moving in slow motion, like they’re underwater. You just happen to be having the best orgasm of your life while you’re down there.”
I laugh softly. “So I am a siren. I wondered.”
“You certainly are.” I can tell he’s not joking.
Meeting his eyes, I arch my back again. “If I am, is it working? Because I can think of a few things that would get me in the mood to pretend I’m having the best sex of my life.”
Andrew’s eyes go dark, and his hand drifts down my waist grazing skin and fabric. Just as he reaches my hip, he pulls away suddenly, like he remembered where he was. He meets my gaze again. “Nothing is too far,” he says. “As long as it’s slow. If you want to touch yourself do it, if you want to moan, make whoever’s watching you feel your pleasure.”
I take a long, slow breath, making sure he takes note of the way my chest rises towards him. “Will you be watching?”
He’s silent for a long moment, and then. “I don’t think I could ever look away.”
6
It’s another thirty minutes before the gallery opens, and I spend that time trying not to ruin my make-up, and trying to go through in my head just how I’m going to pretend to have sex and orgasms for as long as this gallery is open. I keep seeing Andrew rush around, seeing to last minute details, and every time I do, I feel his hand run down my skin. I love the fact that he forgot himself, that I could make him do that. I want to see him forget himself a little more.
Five minutes before the doors open, I’m lying on the little platform. All around me are other models. Some are standing in the middle of the gallery, others are slouched against the wall by some of the gorgeous paintings. But Andrew didn’t lie—I’m clearly in the center of it.
Andrew and a woman who I assume must be Heather walk toward the front doors, and May snaps all of us to attention. I put myself in the position Andrew chose, arching my back to the point of pain as I hear the outside doors open and the waiting crowd starts to enter. It’s a launch, so the people invited are all from the fashion world. There won’t be just anybody walking in who thinks they can touch the models. That’s a relief.
I hear the gasps from the crowd as they walk into the room. It is a beautiful sight. And as the music starts to flow, I start to move. It’s awkward, trying to move my body in slow motion, and how on earth am I supposed to pretend that I’m having sex?
A person pauses beside me, and I feel myself blush. This is ridiculous. Someone is watching me writhe on the floor. I don’t know why I thought that this wouldn’t me humiliating. I know my movements are awkward and jerky. Not what Andrew wants. Not what he described, and I feel the heat in my cheeks grow. Thank god I’m painted blue and no one will notice what a red mess I am at the moment.
Slowly turning my head, I look toward the door. Andrew is there greeting people, but as if I called his name, he looks right at me. That pull between us snaps into place, and I feel it. I feel how to move. I imagine that the arch in my body is arching up into him. That the way I sprea
d my legs and close my eyes is so that he can taste me. Slowly, slowly, I let my mind linger on images of his tongue inside me, fingers gripping my thighs until they shake and I’m moaning his name. A real moan comes from my throat and I bite my lip. He said nothing was too far, but that moan is just for him. I don’t want to share it with the rest of the audience.
And audience there is. They mill around, watching the performances and commenting on the clothing and art. I hear Andrew’s voice weaving through the crowd, talking and selling and making small talk. I focus on the sound when I can’t see him, let that voice weave through my head so I can feel that hand on my skin again. Imagine that he’s sliding inside me. That his head has dropped close enough to mine to kiss me while he plunges deep inside, taking me slowly until I’m screaming. I shiver, the images too real.
God, I’m aroused right now. The temptation to reach down and touch myself is so strong, but I don’t. Because it’s all for him. I’ll give this audience what they want. I’ll give them a siren’s ecstasy, but my pleasure, that’s all mine.
I feel it when he comes and stands next to the platform. I’m blinded by the lights above me but I know that it’s him. I put every ounce of passion that I’ve been imagining into my face, into the way my body strains in the slow motion. The way I subtly reach for him.
It’s a long time before he moves on, and I wish I could have seen his expression. Or maybe I don’t. If it’s not what I hope, then maybe I don’t want to know.
When the last person has left the gallery, I collapse in a heap on the platform. Every muscle in my body hurts and the pent up sexual energy I have has me craving sex or chocolate. Okay, really only sex, but since I don’t think it’s an option, I’ll settle for chocolate.
I grab some water and change into the clothes I brought with me. No chance I’m getting this make-up off until I get in the shower, so I don’t even try. But I need to see Andrew. I need to at least ask him what he thought, and see if I can tell if he can feel what I’m feeling. It’s impossible that he didn’t, right?
