Smile for the Camera by Kelle James

Author:Kelle James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing
Published: 2010-08-27T04:00:00+00:00

My first go-see is for a Kiss jacket ad. I wonder if Gene Simmons will be there. I hope so. I want to see his tongue.

I look down at my watch. I could use some perfume. Bloomingdale’s is close. I have just enough time to stop and get some.

Black-white-and-gold Bloomingdale’s reminds me of a great big layer cake. Behind its thick plate-glass windows vacant-eyed mannequins show off the latest fashions. I pretend I’m Marlo Thomas in That Girl and one of them is winking at me. I want to be That Girl. Except I don’t want to do temp work and I don’t want such a goofy boyfriend.

A long row of flags hang limp over the main-entrance awning. A group of tourists stand in the doorway taking pictures and pointing up at stuff.

“Excuse me, can I get by, please?” I say.

One of the tourists reaches out and touches my shoulder. “Oh, for goodness’ sakes, of course, darlin’.” She fans her hand at one of her friends. “Betty, move on over so this nice little girl can get herself in the store.”

Betty moves over. I squeeze through.

As the door closes, I hear her say, “Where is that child’s mother?”

The fragrance counter woman is tall, with sleek brown hair and wire-thin lips. She looks over her glasses at me. “May I help you?” she says.

“No thank you. I’m just looking.”

She pinches up her mouth. If she saw what she looks like when she does that, she wouldn’t do it anymore.

I look at the big tray of tester bottles. I pick up the red Opium bottle, hold it in front of my nose, and take a little sniff. It smells spicy. I think it’s very womanly. The fragrance woman looks up from her sorting. She gives me a dirty look. She doesn’t approve. I put the bottle back down on the tray and pick up the Anaïs Anaïs.

She waves a little sliver of paper at me. “Use this for testing, please,” she says.

“Okay.”

I spray it, swish it, and put it in my pocket. I can rub it on my wrists later. It’ll make a nice little pick-me-up. The fragrance woman holds out her hand for the bottle. I pretend that I don’t see her.

I pull my pant legs up as high as they’ll go and spray my knee pits and ankles. After that I do my wrists, my throat, the crooks of my arms, and behind my ears. I don’t want to miss any of my pulse points. Anaïs Anaïs doesn’t last that long.

I put the bottle back down on the tray.

“Thank you,” I say.

The fragrance woman pulls her nose up in a lopsided sneer.

I walk back outside smelling baby-powder sweet, wondering why anyone would ever actually buy perfume when there’s such a thing as tester bottles.

I get to my go-see five minutes early. It’s at a small brownstone advertising agency on the Upper East Side. As I’m walking in, a young girl with bouncy red hair walks out. She’s got big green eyes and freckly cheeks.

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