The High Moments by Sara-Ella Ozbek

Author:Sara-Ella Ozbek
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
Published: 2020-05-27T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

Two weeks on the booking table and I made my first model booking. It came relatively easily. Drew was off sick, so I took a phone call from his online luxury retail client. They needed a model to shoot an editorial, one day only, in London for a fee of two thousand pounds, plus the twenty per cent agency fee. Personally, I would’ve loved to make two grand in a day, but apparently, that was a measly fee for a modelling job.

Still, it was money, and Madeleine always drummed it into us that any fee was better than no fee. I put together a digital package of model portfolios, including all the girls who were in town, even if they didn’t necessarily fit the brief. The client requested to option three models from the pack. I checked that they were free on the date and gave her a first option on all the girls. Two hours later, she confirmed Breje.

And that’s all that it was.

I felt a sense of pride when I called Breje, as if I was really doing something to help her, not least because she’d been trawling into the agency, day after day, complaining that she hadn’t worked for weeks and was running out of money. Weren’t we all! It was only once the agents started congratulating me that I suddenly thought, What do I have to be proud of? I didn’t draw her face. I didn’t pull any major strings to make the booking happen. I just responded to a client’s request for a package and entered some details into the chart. Yet Madeleine was happy, so shouldn’t I have been happy too? Sometimes I wondered whether it would ever be possible to feel satisfaction as deeply as I felt the lack of it.

Despite having taken what was, technically, the first step towards the shit-hot agent career that I so wanted, all I could think about that week was Zack. And not just about having sex with him. The day after I’d inadvertently become the star of a secret sex video was a Sunday, the day that I usually found the hardest to fill. Most Sundays, I’d wake up late, usually hungover, and watch something on Netflix. Then around lunch time I’d take a long walk to Finsbury Park, treat myself to an overpriced cappuccino from a hipster coffee joint called Fink’s and smoke my first cigarette of the day, after which I’d always lose count. I’d walk around for as long as I could, getting exercise, letting the buzz of London set into my bones and basically just killing time. Eventually I’d go home and do some much-needed laundry, tidy my room, choose my clothes for the week ahead and, finally, open a bottle of wine. The ceramicist, as far as I could tell, didn’t drink, but she said nothing about my drinking two to three glasses of Merlot as we watched Strictly Come Dancing, followed by the Antiques Road Show, like a pair of strangers.

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