Model Student by Robin Hazelwood

Author:Robin Hazelwood
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307347107
Publisher: Crown
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Kate and I go for tea at a little café that reminds her of a place she frequents in Paris. We order: Earl Grey for her, coffee for me. I’m still in a crappy mood so Kate starts things off. She’s British, nineteen, with honey-hued eyes and an aquiline nose and I know her. I know her face. She’s known—not famous, but almost. She’s dressed eccentrically in a flowy floral blouse, striped cotton scarf, and really dark jeans, and sitting there, under the low-beamed ceiling, surrounded by geraniums, lace curtains, and chalkboard menus, listening as Edith Piaf croons and Kate speaks liltingly of her boyfriend and his band, and her flat and five dogs, I start to feel not so bad then better.

“When did you move to London?” I ask.

“Three years ago, when I was sixteen. I had come down from Manchester for a school trip and Siggy walked up to me on the tube.”

My coffee splashes over the rim. “Siggy,” I mutter.

Kate flakes apart her scone, smearing the largest chunk with jam and cream. “Look, she’ll come around to you, I know she will. She was very sweet to me when I first moved here, like a second mother. That’s worth waiting for, mind you; she’s very good at her job.”

Great. Siggy’s very good, meaning good enough to separate the Entr’actes from the headliners. Given this, what chance do I have of doing well here? Why even bother?

“I don’t want to be here,” I blurt. I didn’t know this was going to pop out, but I don’t take it back. It’s true.

“Don’t be silly,” Kate says. “You’ll do well here. I know you will.”

I push back my chair. “Allow me to recap recent events,” I begin. “I gained twelve pounds in one semester of school. My New York agent essentially tells me to lose it or use it—the latter with the assistance of silicone and collagen. When I decline, he sends me to Siggy, a total nut job who kicks things off by telling me she doesn’t want me, then proceeds to march me off to a closet inhabited by a brand-new braced-faced agent, and then measures me. So at this point I’d say, no, it’s not looking like I’ll work well here, or in New York or anywhere. I’m a disaster of a model and I want to quit the business and go home!”

When I finish my diatribe, my heart is skittering in my chest. From excitement. Everything I said is true. I could just quit. Right this second.

“Emily, you’re being silly,” Kate insists. “You’re the spitting image of Yasmin Le Bon and everyone in England worships her.”

Yasmin Le Bon is one of the world’s top models—and that was before she married the lead singer of Duran Duran. She’s practically English royalty. I toss my locks. “No…really? You serious?”

“I am,” Kate says. She pats my forearm. “Look, just lose a pound or two and you’ll be fine, I promise.”

Right on cue, my stomach growls. I still don’t have any cigarettes.

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