3. Chapter Three - Reed
Reed
“Y ou better tell Jeremy he fucking owes me,” I grumble into my phone as I finally stumble into my hotel room, pulling my suitcase so forcefully it hits my heels. “Ouch. Fuck.”
“Come on, Reed. It can’t have been that bad.” Adam, my oldest brother, chuckles at the other end of the line, and I am so wired, the sound awakens the urge in me to kick my suitcase out the window.
“Oh, can’t it?” I roll my eyes and toe off my shoes, forcing myself to put them beside the entrance carefully. “Let me give you a little recap of everything that happened after your call yesterday.”
I let myself fall onto the bed, which seems surprisingly sturdy for a hotel bed, and let out a sigh so deep it might as well start that ceiling fan over the bed.
“After I had to rush and throw together my suitcase within twenty minutes so I’d make the flight you booked me on time, I arrived at the airport only to be told that it would be delayed. Three hours later, we finally got to board, only to sit on the tarmac for another hour. There was a screaming child in the seat next to me, whose mother couldn’t give less of a fuck about comforting her, the woman behind me misquoted every single line of the movie she was watching, and the flight was so turbulent I could neither keep food down nor catch a minute of sleep.” I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m not sure this is worth the week of vacation in Paris that Adam promised me if I saw this show through.
“Come on, you’ve had worse.” Oh, the joys of being a model working for his workaholic older brother, who thinks he’s the only one in our family working hard.
“Oh, Adam, I’m not done. Then, right as we reached France and I started counting down the minutes to my sweet, sweet freedom, we got told that apparently Charles de Gaulle had a power outage, or something like that, and we’d be diverted to London. Where I then had to find the quickest way into Paris, which was a goddamn train, Adam, because the outage was still ongoing. So, first I had to somehow get to St. Pancras, go through yet another security and passport check and then sit on my ass for another two hours. Two hours where a steady stream of fans kept walking by my seat, sneaking pictures of me. So guess what? No sleep either.”
There’s no smartass retort from his side so I keep on talking.
“Did I have time to get something to eat? Also no. And when I arrived here, I almost had my wallet stolen, almost had my suitcase stolen, and there were issues with my room and you might want to send the front desk staff some kind of apology for me if you ever want to book someone into this hotel again. I’m trying to keep my eyes open, but it’s a losing battle and all I want to do is sleep for the next three days but I can’t, because you decided I had to jump in and save the day for Jeremy who apparently can’t manage to board a plane without breaking a freaking toe.”
Adam laughs. Like what I said was supposed to be funny. Well, it very much wasn’t, and I’m afraid he doesn’t quite get the misery I am in. Every sound grates my nerves, the sun rays burn into my eyes like arrows on fire, my skin prickles like ants run over it and I’m just so ready to call it a day and hope tomorrow will be better.
“Don’t fucking chuckle at that, Adam. God, I feel like shit.”
“Well, you have two hours to catch a nap,” Adam says with a chuckle that makes my blood boil.
“Michel is going to hate you,” I whisper. I’m glad that I at least know someone who works the fashion show I’m supposed to walk in later today.
“Oh, please,” Adam says in a tone that tells me he’s rolling his eyes. “He fixed up Jackson after that bachelor party incident. You couldn’t see any indication of that black eye, even in 8k resolution. Some bags under your eyes are nothing to him.”
“Well, I’ll tell him you said that.” I exhale deeply, hiding a yawn behind my hand and forcing my eyes to blink open when my eyelids start to feel heavy as steel. “Now, if you don’t mind, I really need that two-hour nap. I’ll call you after the show. Maybe.”
“I know, I know, no news is good news. Sweet dreams, don’t oversleep.” He chuckles again and hangs up.
I lower the phone onto the bed, blindly reaching for a pillow, and I barely manage to wrench it under my head and set an alarm before I finally let my eyes fall closed and doze off.
When I arrive at the venue, I’m surprised to see that it looks like a fancy courtyard, completely surrounded by old stone buildings that are probably older than my country. Ornate statues stand in every corner, watching over the buzz like gargoyles over cities. The calm beauty of the place is interrupted by the busy chaos of people getting ready for the fashion show.
Crew members rush past me, carrying folding chairs and rolling clothing racks. Someone’s on a ladder, adjusting bright stage lights while another person tests a microphone, sending loud echoes of ‘Test… test,’ bouncing off the walls. Cords snake across the ground, and everywhere I look, there’s movement—stylists shouting instructions, models practicing their walks, and photographers snapping test shots.
A lot of the models are already dressed, and only now do I realize that I never even bothered to ask Adam about the designer. But what I see so far? Cute. I’ve definitely worn weirder clothes on runways, like that one time I had to wear a top that was made out of balloons.
The dresses most women wear remind me of Greek goddesses. They’re made of simple, yet expensive looking fabric with golden accessories tying the outfits together, their hair styled in a way that makes them look like angels with a halo.
Finally, I find a familiar face in the chaos.
“Michel,” I greet my old friend with a smile, immediately making my way to him. He glances up from the model he’s putting his signature finishing touches on and motions for me to wait until he’s finished.
“I see you’ve brought me a lot of work,” Michel says, giving me a pointed glance before leaning in for the obligatory kiss to each cheek.
“You can send your regards to Adam for that.” I chuckle and take a seat in his makeup chair. “He sent me here last minute, in economy class, on a flight that got diverted to London. But you don’t want to hear me whining.” I wave my hand in the air and take a deep breath. “Point being, my day was rough. I’m sorry. I tried to fix some of it, but I knew I couldn’t do it the way you do.”
“You’re damn right about that,” Michel mutters, already throwing eye patches over the dark bags under my eyes and starting on skin prep with quick, practiced moves.
The designer’s assistant scrambles closer when she sees me. She’s a short woman who doesn’t look like she’s older than early twenties, wearing a neat suit, without a doubt paired with a striped top that must’ve been pressed just this morning because it looks crease-less.
But she looks frazzled. Her hair’s basically sticking in all directions, mascara and lipstick smudged the tiniest bit.
“Reed! Thank God you’re here. I’m sorry, do you mind if I call you Reed? I’m Dana.”
I shake her hand and try to muster up a reassuring smile.
“Thank you so much for stepping in at the last minute. With Jeremy unable to walk, this could have become a disaster, and I would have lost my job and…” She stops herself and takes a deep breath, fanning herself with the clipboard in her hand. Then she breathes out, a little more relaxed. “I don’t know what we would’ve done. Thank you.”
“Happy to help,” I assure her with the best smile I can bring myself to, catching Michel biting his lip in the mirror from the corner of my eye.
“‘Happy to be here,’” he scoffs after Dana runs off again, checking something off her clipboard. She quickly filled me in on the theme and my role in the show. It's a simple catwalk, nothing I haven’t done before. Then again, I haven’t been here for rehearsals or dress fittings though, so we’ll see how that goes.
“It’s been a while since I got to see your ugly mug.” I wink at him and sink a little deeper into the chair, not even bothering to hide a yawn since he’s currently starting to dab primer onto my face.
“Damn you Walker brothers,” he curses under his breath. “Off set, you lot behave like a group of frat boys, but you really have that professionalism down.”
“Damn right, we do,” I say with a grin, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from yawning as he reaches for his airbrush. “Fair warning, Michel: if I close my eyes, I might just fall asleep.”
“Does that mean you’ll finally shut up?” Michel grins and I narrow my eyes to glare at his reflection. “Go ahead,” he finally continues and I let out a relieved sigh. “I don’t need you to be conscious to make you look good.”
“That’s what I love to hear.” I grin and relax further into the chair, closing my eyes and letting the hum of backstage hustling lull me in until I doze off.
As soon as I step off the runway and a wall of velvet curtains hides me from the audience, a wave of exhaustion crashes over me. My body feels heavy, each step dragging like I’m walking through syrup and my mind jumps all over the place, barely able to grasp a thought. I can't stop the wide yawn that stretches across my face, my eyelids drooping as my energy drains away.
“You were fantastic!” Dana bustles around me like an excited hummingbird, a bright smile on her face that tells me she’s got a weight off her shoulders.
The designer, whose name I forgot, steps onto the runway to get his applause while I make a beeline for Michel. The suit they put me in is pretty, a crème color with rather loose draping, and golden seams that really drive the ethereal theme home.
But I can’t say I feel very ethereal. No. I feel tired. Heavy. Like I’m about to fall asleep standing up. Logically, though, I know I should force myself to stick to a nap or stay awake longer, since it’s only late afternoon yet and I don’t want jetlag to mess with the rest of my time here too badly.
Michel plucks the little pins and needles out of the fabric that tailored the suit to me last-minute, and while I kept my poker-face when I faced the audience, one particular needle has been poking me in the left butt cheek for the past half hour.
“Oh, thank God,” I sigh when Michel finally takes the jacket off me. While it certainly looks nice, I’ve been sweating buckets in it, especially when ten spotlights were on me as I walked. “God, I love you, man.”
“I’m sorry to say I am taken,” Michel jokes, putting the jacket on a hanger carefully.
“Oh, is it official now?” I wonder. The last time we saw each other was a year and a half ago when we got drunk together after a Berlin fashion week show and he confessed that he had a crush on his best friend and worried if he felt the same.
Michel lifts his hand, showing me a very sparkly ring on his finger. “Doesn’t get any more official than that.”
“Congrats, man. Good for you,” I say excitedly and break into a smile. “I’d hug you, but there’s this one needle that keeps poking me in my left ass cheek and I’d really rather not move until that’s out.”
“Yes, yes, I got it.” He rolls his eyes, then helps me out of the cursed pants.
“Seriously, man. I’m happy for you.” I hide another yawn behind my hand as I walk over to where I draped my jeans and shirt over a chair. “When’s the wedding? Or did you get married already?”
“We’re eloping next month,” he explains, plucking more needles out of the pants. “Less hassle.”
“Wise decision,” I tell him, stepping into my jeans.
“Damn you models,” he sighs as he watches me get dressed. “You show up, walk maybe 200 steps, and get paid a fortune. And I have to stay here and clean all of this up for a fraction of that.”
He gestures toward the clothes, finding an empty hanger and draping the now needle-less pants over them.
“Well,” I pull my shirt over my head, “in exchange, you can eat whatever you want,” I point out, trying to locate my shoes. That’s what I get for just toeing them off. “You can do whatever sports you want. You can get tattoos, piercings—” Ah, there they are.
“Yes, yes, I got it,” he interrupts, but I can tell he just thinks I’m whiny.
“But I’m not finished. You don’t have to count every calorie, every macro, to keep your body healthy, yet slim enough for suits like these.” I gesture toward the one I was just wearing. “And you don’t need to jet halfway across the world for every other job on a twenty minute notice. Trust me,” I add with a yawn as I finally find my shoes and slip them on, “it’s not glamorous. You’ve worked the scene for a while, I thought you knew that.”
“Yeah, I do,” he admits with a sigh and hands me my own jacket. “You know me. I just love complaining. You’re just taking it too seriously because you’re basically a zombie at this point and too tired to joke around. Come on. The other models can wait a minute while I get you a taxi.”
“You are heaven-sent,” I tell him between two yawns. “Seriously, your guy can count himself lucky.”
“Let’s get you to your hotel,” he says gently like he’s talking to a dog, leading me through the labyrinth that is a fashion show backstage and to the exit where, thankfully, a bunch of taxis are already waiting.
“See you when I see you,” I say sluggishly and make a weak salute his way.
“Sleep well, Reed.” He laughs and closes the door behind me. I tell the driver my hotel's address and lean my head back, determined to stay awake until we arrive.
Can’t believe it’s finally done. Now, my bed is calling and I have every intention of answering.