Chapter 5
My phone no more than slid into my purse on the vanity in front of me than Jeremy rushed up with a gown bag and a look of exasperation. His partly balding head and wispy brown hair told a story of the wind outside, but his reason for being out of breath was a mystery.
"Her put this on!" He shoved the dress into my arms as I spun the chair away from the lighted mirror and my makeup lady scoffed as he elbowed his way closer to me.
"What's this?" I asked, trying to see through the translucent plastic the gown was zipped up in. All I could see was a cream color and beads, but it piqued my interest. I unzipped as I looked up at his excited expression. He held his hands over his mouth and his eyebrows high as the zipper lowered.
"It's the dress, hun. They sent it all the way from Paris. They want new shots in this to make sure you'll fit the spread they have in mind." He never took his eyes off the gown as the makeup lady helped me slide the dress out. I had to have cost a pretty penny, probably couture.
"Wow," I muttered, rising to hold the dress up to me. The bodice was strapless, zipper in front hidden by an extravagant arrangement of gems and beads. No doubt some of them were real pearls and diamonds. And the sheer tulle fabric had been embroidered with dark green thread creating vines that snaked across the creamy surface and boasted bright pink cherry blossoms in strategic locations.
"Yes, wow." He huffed, "Now put it on!" His hands shooed me, swatting at me like a dog he was chasing away.
I rose and glanced at the makeup lady who looked just as impressed as I was by the lavish garment. I slipped into my dressing booth and shrugged out of my jeans and t-shirt and realized very quickly that my bra was not going to work with this thing. Luckily I had a stash of pasties I kept in a wooden box on the shelf in the room, along with safety pins, hair ties, and an assortment of other things for "just in case" moments.
The dress went on easily, though zipping up was a challenge. I had to navigate the front-zipper between my tits and then tuck them into the cups of the dress correctly. If I had slightly smaller tits it wouldn't be such a problem but I figured once I was in the dress no one would ever know. It wasn't like other people dressed me.
I turned to look in the mirror before heading back out and I thought it was exquisite. I almost squealed with delight. My makeup wasn't quite done; I'd need a drape cloth to avoid getting foundation for my warm skin on the cream fabric, but I thought it looked incredible.
Unfortunately, the instant Jeremy saw me he clicked his tongue and sighed. "Girl, it's just a little too tight, isn't it?"
His one comment took the wind out of my sails and I felt defensive. He was always brutally honest, and in this profession it was almost always about my appearance or posture. Thus was the nature of the industry. Women were judged by their body shape or size and nothing more. It didn't matter that my degree--which I was still paying for--could earn me far more than Jeremy would ever make, if I applied myself. To agents, clients, and cameramen, I was just the. Hunk of meat on the judging table.
"What?" I asked, turning around in a circle. "I think it looks incredible." I caught another glimpse of myself in a mirror and didn't see what he was talking about. Sure it was challenging to zip, but only because of the size of my chest. The makeup artist looked confused too, though she'd only been with me for a few weeks now. I didn't even remember her name yet, so she had a lot to learn about Jeremy in particular, and this industry as a whole.
"Look, it's just this..." He took me by the shoulders and forced me to turn and face the mirror across the room. He wouldn't dare actually touch my body other than my hand or arm, to maybe to adjust my hair during a shoot. But he did point at my shoulders down to my navel and grimace. "Way too much going on here."
I scoffed and then chuckled nervously. "What are you talking about?" I asked, shaking my head.
The small room felt cluttered suddenly, like the walls were closing in on me. Jeremy was my first agent, though some models had been through eight or ten before finding the one they liked. I didn't mind his edge, but at times I felt like his advice was out of touch with reality or bordering on abusive. Still, he was all I had.
"This," he said, again waving his hand at my body, except this time it was directly over my chest. "Is too much. Have you gained weight? I hear the first place you lose is in your chest. Maybe you should constrict calories for a while, a week or something. This dress might fit better then." He walked off, running a hand across his head and smoothing down the wild fly aways. "I told them we'd have new shots by week's end, but I supposed since we have a few month until the big spread in the spring, we have time to get them the shots. I think three pounds might do it."
My temper flared, but I bit back my remark and kept my face calm. I watched the makeup lady walk over to her station and start organizing her brushes and compacts through the reflection in the mirror. Jeremy walked to the door and huffed again and then wiggled his fingers.
"Take care of that gown. It's worth more than your car. We'll need it next week." The way he breezed out in a sour mood was polar opposite to the way he came in all bubbly, and I still had to go out there in my get up for today's shoot and deal with it. Which meant he was likely going to nitpick everything about the shoot.
I rolled my eyes and headed back into the dressing room, this time to don a more casual outfit. I did everything I could to stay fit and trim for my career but sometimes I felt like my agent pushed me too far. Losing two to three pounds in a week would be impossible unless I worked out nonstop and ate nothing, which just wasn't healthy. He knew that, but all he cared about was the photo shoot and the money.
After a very stressful day, I headed home only to find Beck standing at my apartment door. One of my neighbors let him come up and he'd slumped to the floor along the wall with a twelve-pack of beer halfway empty already. He looked tired and upset, and I knew it would be a challenge trying to cheer him up. But as a friend, and a friend of his sister, I knew I had to do something.
"Hey," I muttered as I unlocked the door and he stood. "Rough day?"
"You can say that," he slurred, and I could tell he probably hadn't eaten. It frustrated me that I'd offered to have dinner at my place too, because now that I was clearly not eating, and he was so drunk he obviously needed food, it meant I had to order in and watch him eat. Or worse--cook for him.
"Talk to me," I said, dropping my keys and purse on the stand by the door.
Beck followed me in, shutting the door behind himself as he crated the cardboard box his beer was in. He left a few cans in the hallway I'd have to pick up later, and plopped himself at my dining room table, opening another beer before responding to me.
"I went to his office. He's just being a dick. It's like he got what he wants and now he's poisoned her against me." Beck had such a bad attitude about things when he knew it wasn't Drew's doing. He'd brought this on himself. I knew when he was sober he accepted the blame and wanted to make things right, so I carefully danced around that topic.
"I'm sorry it went that way. Let me get you something to eat." I started for the fridge, but he snapped at me.
"Not hungry. Come sit down and let's talk about how we're going to make Cici pay attention to me." He slurped his beer and my heart broke. I wanted nothing more than to fix it for him because in doing so I'd also help Cici feel better. In reality, though, seeing this human side of Beck--him wrestling and struggling with the mess he'd made of his life--made him all the more desirable to me.
I walked over to him and gripped his shoulders, listening to how he complained about the entire interaction with Drew at the office. My hands worked the taut muscles in his neck and shoulders, and he finished one beer after another. I didn't have a compulsion to fix people. Most of the time if someone was in a funk like this I preferred to walk away, let them deal with it themselves. But Beck had never been one to open up to anyone, not even his sister. I had to let him vent.
And I didn't mind that his opening up was to me either. I was starting to realize that my interest in him wasn't just a superficial crush I'd had since high school. Yes, he was hot, but he was human, and he had a heart and a soul, and for some reason I cared.
"Look, we have to give them a bit of space. But we can do this. I'll keep wearing her down." And I'd keep pouring on the affection, patience, and compassion all over Beck's weary soul. I knew he'd told Cici years ago that he wasn't interested in me. But that was back when he was a college boy and I was just a teenager. We were both single adults now and there was no reason why I couldn't attempt to get him to take interest in me.
"I just don't think it's going to work..." He sounded so defeated it broke my heart. I kept rubbing his shoulders, trying to think of a way to help him and the only thing that came to mind was the idea we were already trying--me dating him. Cici would be forced to think of Beck and me together, and she knew I didn't put up with crap from anyone. It meant she'd have to humanize Beck in her thoughts and think of him as someone with feelings and emotions.
"Maybe we just have to convince them even more that we're really dating. We could be seen together in public, by them even. We can plan a date where we know they'll be--I just have to get Cici's itinerary from her secretary Julie." My mind started to whirl with possibilities. It would, of course, only work if Beck was on his best behavior. My hands continued to massage his stress away as I thought about how to make it even more real.
