Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Jeanette nods agreeably, knowing that today is planned and choreographed down to the second. Getting back to my station, I busy myself studying the caftan dress for any lint, even though I’ve steamed, lint rolled, and studied every square inch of it.
I hear noise out front, and I sneak over to the curtain, taking a peek. I spot several of the VIPs—celebrities, fashion designers, and journalists—and it sends my heart into overdrive, my fingers tingling so hard I can’t imagine being more freaked out without needing an ambulance.
“Breathe,” Yori says, looking over my shoulder and seeing the same thing I do. She seems completely fine, though, no panic attack in sight. “You panic, you make mistake. You must have mushin.”
“Mushin?” I ask, dimly remembering the term from somewhere. “That’s like Japanese chill out, right?”
“A little. Means ‘no mind’. You do the work, you know you are good. Now let go of the rest.”
I snort. “That’s easier said than done.” But I try, telling myself that everything is fine, but it just feels like more static.
Yori takes my hands, tugging me out of my thoughts. “Breathe. In through nose, out through mouth, very slow. Isshoni. Together.”
I follow her, taking deep breaths, and I feel myself start to calm, but that calm evaporates a minute later when I see another big name come through the door. “Oh my God . . . fucking Wonder Woman’s here!” I gasp. “This is going to be so bad.”
Katarina comes over, slipping a flask into my hand. “Here. Yori is sweet, but you need Russian stress relief. A flask of this, nerves go dasvidaniya.”
Blindly, I spin the cap on the flask and drink, trying not to choke as harsh vodka goes rolling down my throat, burning the whole way. “Holy fuck!” I cough, covering my mouth so I don’t start a fire with only my breath. “That’s not alcohol, that’s gasoline!”
“But now, less stress,” Katarina says with a little laugh. She claps me on the back, right between my shoulder blades, before going back to her station. I follow, hoping to help a fully made-up Jeanette at my own station.
My models are there, stripped down to their underwear and waiting on me. I’m helping the first girl into her outfit when Tobias comes into the back with his phone. Normally, that’s a huge no-no. There are no phones backstage, but he’s obviously talking to someone, and honestly, I don’t think any of us have the balls to tell him to get off the phone. Still, I watch carefully and eavesdrop a bit.
“Da, I really must go,” he says, a pained expression on his face. “I’m in the middle of a show.”
Faintly, as Tobias gets closer, I can hear a man’s voice on the other end of the line. Tobias must have his phone on speaker to try and get past the music out front. “Shush! You can spare a few minutes for your da! Bloody hell, Toby, turn on the camera, show me all of it! So many knockers and beautiful arses! Mmmhmm, makes me feel like a young ballsy bloke again! Just a blue pill and I could take all of them.”
“Da, be quiet!” Tobias says, clearly embarrassed. “Mum would kill you if she knew you were saying that about these women, and you’ll kill my job too!”
“That’s why she doesn’t know! Go on, boy, you need to take one of them home with you tonight, shag her right in the boot if you ask me!”
“I have to go,” Tobias says, hanging up before his father can get him in more trouble. Tobias catches my eye and shrugs helplessly. “Old dirty fool’s a wanker. Sorry.”
I actually feel a bit sorry for Tobias. It sounds like his father is a real piece of work, and Tobias seems so proper and respectable. Guess his apple fell far from the tree and then rolled a few more feet just to get away.
“Shake what yo’ momma gave ya!” Molly yells from her stall, and I look to see her and her highlight model actually dancing. I guess she’s not as nervous as I am, or if she is, she’s handling it very differently.
They bump hips before Molly drops into a little twerk in time with the barely muffled music that’s pumping around the room. “Check my fine ass, I’m gonna break TikTok!”
It’s just what I need, and I laugh, shaking my head. Of course Molly would get up to something, especially when one of the models does whip out a phone and film Molly’s antics, breaking rules, but it seems nobody cares. Of course not. It’s all in fun.
And everyone’s dressed now.
Soon enough, it’s showtime, and I walk with the models to the side of the stage. “Remember . . . you’re gorgeous, young, and full of attitude. No gentle politeness. Be your raw, real, powerful self. That’s what’ll make the outfits look best.” I speak slowly, with lots of hand gestures to be sure they’re getting it. “And smile! Happy, happy, happy!”