Butterfly by Rochelle Alers

Author:Rochelle Alers
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Contemporary, Fiction, Romance, streetlit3a, General, UFS2
ISBN: 9780373831999
Publisher: Kimani
Published: 2010-08-01T19:19:19+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

“No! No! Stop, Butterfly, before I hurl my lunch.”

Seneca halted midstride. “Is something wrong?” she asked the runway coach, who when meeting her had seemingly sniffed her like a dog familiarizing itself with his new surroundings.

Keane Thomas waved his arms. “Wrong, Butterfly? What’s wrong is that you have a beautiful face, the perfect body, yet you walk like hundreds of other models.”

Staring at the tall, slender man with a shaved pate who favored large red horn-rims, she rested her hands at her hips. His black-and-white striped T-shirt and black slacks reminded her of a mime. “What’s wrong with walking like a model?”

Keane moved closer to the raised stage doubling as a runway. He squinted, mounting the stairs and bringing him face-to-face with the most naturally beautiful woman he’d encountered in years, and in the past decade since he’d become involved in fashion he’d seen more women than he could remember.

He’d grown up believing modeling was about a pretty face and a tall, thin body. But once he got into the business, Keane realized it was more than that. And for a runway model she had to have the goods: face, body and a signature walk. Seneca “Butterfly” Houston had everything but a signature walk.

“You don’t look like any other model, Butterfly. So why do you want to walk like everyone else?”

Seneca blinked. She’d practiced ad nauseam, perfecting her walk until she could execute it in her sleep. “What can I do to change it and still feel natural?”

“Have you seen Tyra or Naomi on the catwalk?” Keane asked. She nodded. “They have signature walks, Butterfly,” he continued. “Even if you didn’t or couldn’t see their faces, you would still know it was them. That’s what I want for you. From the moment your stiletto hits that runway for the first time I want every eye on you. It’s not going to be enough for photographers to snap pictures of you, but for them to wait for you to come down that runway again. You’ve got a dancer’s body, Butterfly. I want you to use it.”

Seneca thought of Miss J, runway coach on America’s Next Top Model. He didn’t walk down a runway, he literally glided. And that’s what Keane wanted. He wanted her to glide instead of walk.

She pointed to a stereo unit on a table. “Can you put on some music?”

Keane’s inky-black eyes lifted in his sun-browned face, a tan further enhanced by spending time in a tanning bed. “What kind of music?”

“I need something with a heavy baseline beat.”

“Hip-hop or heavy rock?”

Seneca smiled. “Hip-hop.”

Keane nimbly hopped off the stage and turned on the unit. The distinctive voice of 50 Cent flowed through speakers. Turning around, he stared at Seneca. She’d closed her eyes, one hand tapping against her thigh. Crossing his arms over his chest, he watched in awe as she morphed into Butterfly, floating down the runway, her arms swinging gently, her hips swaying sensuously and her feet in a pair of strappy stilettos crossing in front of one another, taking her to the edge of the platform.

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