Chapter 22
Model Gwen:
Slim grey jeans
Tight cropped grey vest top
Black leather bomber jacket
Black pointed ankle boots
‘OK, my darlings, thank you all hugely for turning up on a boring old Tuesday evening all the way out West for rehearsals. We want to make this the best time for you, so we have some nibbles and soft drinks over there,’ Annie swept her hand in the general direction of the hasty buffet she and Paula had set out twenty minutes ago, curtesy of the Tesco Metro beside the Tube station.
The rehearsal was two full weeks ahead of the show, because this is how difficult it had proved to fit it into the ballet girls packed schedule.
Quite frankly, the ballet girls were about ten times busier during the day and evening than the two professional models who were also here tonight to show the ballet girls the ropes.
And the amazing thing that was going to happen, on the actual day of the show, was that Anoush, the French model that Annie had ‘discovered’ in Paris, way back when she was helping to launch Perfect Dress with an imperfect, cobbled-together fashion show in some random church, Anoush – who now had bookings with Chloe and Stella and Acne and all those mega-names, not to mention 1.
2 million followers on Instagram, she was coming over to London for free (!) to be the star attraction on the night.
However, tonight was about Paula and Annie finding the right outfits for each of the girls, working out the running order and practising the catwalk strut.
The two professional models, both friends of Paula’s, were Gwen – five foot ten, intricate black and tan braids twisted up into a high ponytail before they fell down to the middle of her back.
She was a gorgeous mahogany tan and lean, muscled like an athlete.
The second model was Phyllis, a golden limbed, honey-haired beach girl, who looked like she’d just swerved in on a surfboard.
These two girls knew each other well, so they were in a huddle of two, chatting animatedly and sipping water from monster metal Stanley cups.
Meanwhile the three ballet girls – Bria, Shivani and Chloe – were in a huddle of their own a safe four or five metres away from the models.
No sippy cups, instead, they had little juice bottles with straws.
Maybe that was a dance school thing. Shivani was the petite, gymnast bodied of the three, her black-brown hair tied up in a strict dance-school bun.
Bria, who had that Celtic look of pale, freckled skin and dark, wavy hair, was the kind of athletic size 10 who would probably be ideal for about eighty per cent of the clothes.
Then came Chloe, the tall, spindly, crinkled-haired blonde who Annie already knew was going to make a fabulous bride for the show ending.
But why have just one bride? They had racks of wedding dresses.
Let’s have six brides… maybe they could even rustle up a seventh. Seven brides had a ring to it.
‘Girls, it is so lovely to see you all,’ Annie began.
‘Thank you so much for coming! Paula and I have set out rails and rails of all the very best clothes, so we want you to look through the racks and tell us what you like the look of. I think it’s always better when the models can get a feel for things, see what catches their eye, what they might like to try on.
We don’t want to put you into anything that’s going to make you feel uncomfortable.
So, go, look through things. Then we’ve set up a little changing area over there, so you can get experimenting.
Paula and I are here with safety pins, needles and threads and seaming tape to make sure that we can make everything fit and look as gorgeous on you as possible,’ she added with her friendliest smile.
This earned her a few little whoops from the seasoned models, while the dance girls gave her an anxious look.
She realised she would have to look after them a little more tenderly.
They were seventeen and eighteen, still a vulnerable and body-conscious age.
‘You follow me, my darlings,’ she instructed.
‘Let’s go look at the racks and see what we can come up with for you. ’
So off they went to sift through the wonders carefully curated by Annie and Paula, after hours of sifting through cardboard boxes.
While the grown-up models seemed to get stuck in pretty quickly, pulling out candy-pink, slithery gowns and bright velvet trouser suits and oooohing over ballgowns and tea dresses, the dance girls were shy and unsure.
They flicked past one or two things and giggled a little.
They blushed and seemed to make each other increasingly nervous and embarrassed.
Annie and Paula found themselves exchanging slightly worried looks.
The girls weren’t happy. They were looking at these ‘mum clothes’ and beginning to worry that they would look stupid up there on stage.
They were beginning to wonder what they had let themselves in for…
and maybe how they could get out of it. Annie knew she had to nip this in the bud.
‘You girls must be so used to dressing up and glamming up to go on stage,’ she began.
‘Tell me about your favourite TV shows. I bet you like Gossip Girl? Emily in Paris?’ There were some nods and smiles in response to this.
‘We are definitely going to find some Emily looks here…’ she flicked deftly through the rails.
‘This white dress with the big roses, pure Emily. Let’s put that one out for us…
now this one, all greens and blues, that’s going to be amazing for our two dark-haired girls…
what else? What other inspo do we want to call on?
The Summer I Turned Pretty?’ She suggested, pulling out a floaty floral dress.
This got a burst of enthusiasm too. ‘And we have wedding dresses to try on too,’ she pointed to the bridal rail. She’d thought this would be for later, but why not get the big guns out and really bowl them over. The dance girls looked at one another, eyebrows raised.
Bria was the first to break with a little shriek. ‘Wedding dresses!!’ she cried. ‘C’mon, we have to try those! Shivani, Chloe, I have to see you in wedding dresses. Let’s all get into wedding dresses and take photos. Scream!’
‘Here’s the rail,’ Annie pointed. ‘Knock yourselves out. Just go gently on the zips and seams. These are delicate fabrics with lots of silk and tulle.’
‘OK,’ they assured her. Almost an hour of dressing room buzz followed. As the seasoned models got louder and more excited about things, changing in and out of garments at speed, the dance girls followed their lead.
‘Look at this, I love it,’ Chloe said, admiring herself in a sea of bluebell-themed ballgown in the mirror.
‘Then you will wear it,’ Paula said, pinning a label to the back of the dress with:
Chloe/evening
Gwen and Phyllis were having a slight tussle over a slinky fuchsia-pink halterneck evening dress.
‘I so need that!’ Phyllis was insisting.
‘Maybe you do, but I look one hundred per cent dope in this,’ Gwen insisted as she scrutinised her lithe physique under the rippling pink silk in the mirror.
‘Brown skin and fuchsia is the match made in heaven. I look like Grace Jones in her nightclub era. So, bad luck, white girl,’ she teased her friend. ‘Go and find something pastel!’
Meanwhile, Annie could sense that Bria, although she’d been in and out of a few nice things, hadn’t yet found the wow item.
‘Bria… we have this idea for a whole eighties section. We have a bit of an explosion of eighties clothes, especially skirt suits. We have TV and film wardrobe people coming, because they buy a lot of vintage, so we need to show all this power dressing off to its best advantage… and I’m thinking you, lovely shapely legs, great for skirts, nice broad shoulders perfect for the power jackets.
You could lead the eighties for us. We’ll curl your hair, give you some bold lipstick…
any favourite eighties songs we could blast down the catwalk while you strut? ’
She knew from her own children’s taste in music that many a ‘vintage’ eighties song was popular again.
‘Oh…’ there was some life to Bria’s face now. ‘Well… I like Madonna.’
‘Perfect!’ was Annie’s verdict. ‘We all love Madonna. In fact, Paula, why have we got no music on while we’re doing this?’
‘Good question!’ Paula took out her phone, found a glass to put it into and instructed: ‘Siri, play Madonna’s greatest hits, please.
’ And within moments, Madonna’s ‘Vogue’ was livening everything up and Annie was guiding Bria into a silky blouse, a bright checked skirt suit, then bouffing up her hair a little.
‘Wait, wait,’ Annie was searching the shoe rack, ‘what size are you?’
‘Six,’ Bria replied.
‘Oooooh, these,’ Annie suggested, holding a pair of kitten-heeled pumps. ‘Oh, and leave your ankle socks on. That is perfect!’ And for the first time that evening, Bria saw herself in the mirror and gave a huge grin of approval.
‘Oh yes!’ she declared. ‘And I bet there’s eighties jewellery in your boxes somewhere. Clip on earrings, chunky necklaces.’
‘Of course!’ Annie assured her. ‘Paula and I are going to get all that together once you’ve picked your outfits. We will be styling you from head to toe.’
‘This is so exciting!’ Bria said and turned to admire her friends again, one in a wedding dress and one in the Emily in Paris cream with big roses tea dress.
This was starting to give Annie a feeling of…
excitement, nostalgia, and even purpose.
She had so missed the makeovers she used to do at The Store.
The real life, down and dirty makeovers, where women came in looking sad and uncertain and overwhelmed, and left renewed, reignited, remembering just who they were supposed to be. She caught Paula’s eye.
‘I miss The Store,’ she whispered.