The concierge checks my ID, and then buzzes me through the turnstile. Then I take the elevator to the twentieth floor and as soon as the doors open, an older woman with a sleek brown bob greets me. She’s very professional in a severe black sheath dress and mid-height heels. Yet, she’s attractive. I wonder if she was a model here once upon a time.
“Hello,” she greets, holding out her hand for a shake. “I’m Margaux.”
I smile tentatively.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Angie Richardson. I’m here for the model tryouts? From your job posting on-line?”
Margaux smiles and nods her head. “Yes, of course.” She opens a folder and rifles through some papers, then pulls out a small slip of paper and hands it to me.
I look at the paper in my hand and my eyes grow wide. It’s a cashier’s check for five hundred dollars!
“Oh!” I exclaim, momentarily dumbstruck. “Does this mean I’ve passed the tryouts already? But I just got here!”
Margaux lets out a throaty laugh and smiles as I hold the check like it’s a foreign object. “It’s for your trouble today, sweetie. For coming out to the tryouts because your time is precious. However, rest assured that if you are ultimately selected, the five hundred is nothing. You’ll make far more than that working an actual job.”
I blink. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to get paid just for showing up, and now, knowing I’ll get more money if I get chosen increases my determination to land this job. I stand up straight and give Margaux my best smile and nod my head as confidently as I can. This isn’t just a “go see” anymore. I have to make them like me, and deliver an amazing product because with the extra cash, the possibilities are endless. Heck, I make four hundred plus tips per week at the diner. This blows my measly salary out of the water.
Margaux begins walking through a maze of cubes, and motions for me to follow her. We make our way down a gray hallway, and then take a right, and then a left, before proceeding down another hallway. It’s very corporate-feeling, which again surprises me. I thought a modeling agency would be flashy and glamorous, but I guess not.
Then, we pause in front of a large door as Margaux shoots me a smile.
“Ready, Angela?”
“Ready,” I say with a deep breath. I have to be ready, because this opportunity is priceless. We step into a large room and my eyes squint. This is a changing room, with a low ceiling, vanities with bulbs running up and down the mirrors, and multiple girls chattering, doing their hair, and putting on make-up. My heart sinks in my chest as I look around. Obviously, these are going to be group try-outs, and I have some serious competition. The other women are so beautiful, even if there are all types. Still, most of them are tall and thin, like the models you see in fashion magazines. Their hair is bouncy and shiny, with glowing skin, and plush lips. Most of the women even have perfectly manicured fingernails, while mine are short and square. I’m a chef, so I can’t put on fake claws otherwise there’s no way I’d be able to wield a spatula.
But I have to act confident. Even if I’m a short, curvy brunette, there must be a photographer looking for someone like me, right? And with the body-positivity movement these days, there must be demand for women with big breasts and a generous ass.
Margaux turns to face me with a thoughtful smile. She has her finger resting under her chin like she’s thinking hard about something, and then looks me up and down carefully. “I think I know just the thing.”
I raise my eyebrow in question, but the woman merely walks away and disappears through a side door. She returns a moment later holding a purple dress up with one hand and a pair of heels in the other. “Here,” she holds the dress out to me, “I think this will be perfect for you. They’ll complement your lovely autumnal coloring, and really bring out the chestnut highlights in your hair.”
Autumnal? Chestnut? More like plain, mousy brown in my opinion, but I smile weakly.
“Thanks.”
But when I hold the dress up on its hanger, the air whooshes from my chest because this is no regular dress. This is something a hostess at an exclusive gentlemen’s club would wear. The deep violet color is beautiful, but the dress is lacking in other areas. Specifically, lacking material, to be precise. In fact, if I had to describe it in one word it would be “scandalous.” There are cut-outs where the dress should rest against my hips, and the front dips so low there’s no way I’ll be able to wear a bra, which is a problem as I have a generous bosom. But that’s not it. There’s a slit that runs high up the thigh, and I am glad I shaved twice when I showered this morning because honestly, who knows what people will be able to see? Then, I turn the dress around and gasp. I thought the front was low, but the back is so low that it really doesn’t have one. Honestly, there’s barely enough material to cover my butt.