IN THE DRIVING SEAT
London, England
Jamie had her own dressing room for the day. She was always amused to see the ‘STAR’ sign on the door. It rarely happened in fashion unless you were one of the ‘Supers,’ but the commercial world of modelling was actually far kinder to its talent. They’d even sent a car for her at the crack of dawn, so she didn’t have to worry about getting to Elstree Studios that early. Perhaps she’d been wrong to turn her nose up at this side of the industry for all those years.
Beth, her designated assistant, was ready to tend to her every need. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, an intern for sure, hoping to work her way up the industry ladder. Beth was tiny in every way possible. Even her face was so petite that her black-rimmed glasses dwarfed her features except for her eyes, now magnified to resemble a street artist’s caricature of herself.
“Would you like a coffee?” Beth lingered by the door. Jamie noticed she was wearing white Converse sneakers and smiled, reminded of Madison.
“I’m okay for now, thanks.” Jamie looked no older than Beth at that moment, standing bare-faced, her damp hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, all bony shoulders and collarbones poking out beneath her white cotton vest top, worn over blue jeans.
“Just let me know. I’ll be right outside. There’s food too, if you want to eat. I heard the catering company they’re using today is excellent.” Beth's enthusiasm was wasted on Jamie. She obviously didn’t realise that Jamie didn’t eat. There was a joke in the industry that these huge spreads would be put on, but they may as well come with a sign saying, ‘Don’t feed the models.’
Jamie took a seat on the slightly shabby green fabric sofa, the only real colour in a very grey room. Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen clearly hadn’t been let loose here. Nevertheless, she had the room all to herself and grabbed a copy of the latest Condé Nast Traveller from the pile of glossies on the table, settling into what would inevitably be a very long day. Kicking off her chunky black biker boots and curling her legs up on the sofa, Jamie began flicking through the pages. She found herself drawn to a particular article on Italy’s free wine fountain and smiled to herself. Italy had always been one of her favourite places, not least because it was her mother’s home country, and of course Milan often called for work. But whether it was the Amalfi Coast, Tuscany, Lake Como or Venice, it was all magical and easily would have been her second choice if they hadn’t moved to Spain.
Having spent the entire winter vegetating in Mallorca, Jamie was considerably larger than usual. A full UK size eight now. These days, girls were coming in at size zero—US sizing perhaps—but even so, only a UK size four. Madison was bigger than that! Yes, some of them were also dying, but still, ‘it’s fashun, dah-link.’ Tabitha had measured her with disdain at the agency as soon as she’d landed in London. Jamie hated those days. The days when the tape measure came out, and on occasion, the scales too, determining her worth. Whilst Jamie recognised that she was far from fat in the real world, she didn’t work there. Her world was filled with models whose statistics made up just one percent of the population. Half an inch in the wrong direction, and she’d be destined for the reject pile.
Finishing the magazine, Jamie felt bored and turned to her phone; it might as well have been an extension of her body; when she wasn’t working, or with some tasty specimen, she was usually glued to it. Shit. Kate! It had been nearly a week since their wonderful sunset meeting in Portals and she suddenly felt bad that she hadn’t been in contact since. Kate had been overjoyed to have finally found someone living permanently on the island, which was now making Jamie uneasy. There was no way around it. She'd have to come clean and tell Kate she was leaving. She just couldn’t afford to live there without work any longer. She also needed to respond to Kate's enquiry about plastic surgeons; Malcolm Barnes was the best by far. Frantically typing away on her phone, Jamie composed the apologetic email and prayed Kate wouldn’t be too upset that she was buggering off.
Just as she pressed send, she noticed Beth had entered sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to let you know Hair and Makeup will be here in thirty mins. You still have time for a quick snack before they come. Want me to grab you something?” Bless her, she really didn’t get it.
“Don’t worry Beth. I’ll grab something later,” Jamie lied as she smiled back. She could almost feel the disappointment that was now on its way through cyberspace to Kate. She wondered if Kate would understand or just add her to the pile of other almost-friends who'd also left the island. She hoped not.
Popping her head out the door, Jamie called out to Beth, “Actually, I might grab something, but I don’t mind getting it myself. Need to stretch my legs. Where did you say catering was set up?”
“Just follow the corridor along until you see an exit door to the right. Shall I take you?” Beth spurred into action, only too happy to be of use.
“No no, it’s fine. I’ve been here before; I can find it. Thanks Beth.” Jamie was happy to wander unsupervised, especially as she had no intention of actually eating.
Walking around the huge building through long, cold, echoing corridors, Jamie noticed there were teams of crew milling around, albeit very quietly. Noise had to be at an absolute minimum during filming. She scanned the crowd in seconds, just in case there happened to be a cutie in her midst.
Suddenly, out of a puff of smoke. “Jamie!”
Jamie turned around. Shit . Was she due back already? But she’d only just left and Beth did say thirty minutes.
“Oh my god, hey gorgeous,” Jamie whispered back more quietly, aware of any noise being amplified tenfold. It was India; one of Jamie's closest model friends, appearing in a haze of Marlboro Gold. India liked to do things old-school, inspired by Hollywood starlets of times gone by, albeit in her own grungier, wilder version. India was probably the closest thing Jamie had to a 'best' friend in London, although their friendship rarely extended beyond the party scene. Unless it involved India crashing at Jamie’s after a night out, which happened rather frequently.
“Oh gosh sorry, babe, I didn’t see you. What are you doing here? Ooh, love the new hair.” Jamie air-kissed India on each cheek, whilst trying to keep her voice as low as possible.
“Yeah, just had it done. Luke did it for me,” enthused India, pushing her short blonde hair behind her right ear for the third time already. Her new 'edgy' crop—which was supposed to look like she'd cut it herself and the epitome of cool—was actually courtesy of Luke Hersheson, one of London's hottest celebrity Hair Stylists, and cost a whopping three hundred and ninety-five pounds. Clearly it was more irritating than edgy as the overly long fringe designed to be swept to one side kept tumbling over her feline eyes, weighed down today by lashings of thick black mascara.
“Shooting an ad for Vivienne Westwood,” India drawled as she sucked the last traces of tobacco from her cigarette. Dark shadows had taken up residence under her equally grey eyes. Her late night escapades were showing. Judging by her 'cold,’ she'd probably been on the coke too. But neither seemed to affect her adversely. India worked non-stop. In fact, clients couldn't get enough of her revived heroin chic-come-Lolita looks. But she was still just twenty-six, and in real years.
“What are you shooting?” India was dressed in the sexiest bustier top, over a lace-up corset mini skirt, showing off pencil thin legs.
“An ad for Volvo haha!” Jamie rolled her eyes as she pulled India further down the hall. She didn’t want to risk upsetting the people paying her bills by making too much noise.
“Lovely,” India said with more than a touch of sarcasm. “Any idea what time you wrap tonight? We could meet later for a little drinky poo? Been ages, we’re long overdue.” India's eyes suddenly lit up at the prospect, as she seemed to find a million more reasons why it was the best idea ever. India was infectious. Her lust for partying was almost as high as her lust for men. This was the common denominator between them. Man magnets the pair of them. One was dangerous, but two, dynamite. It was just what Jamie needed.
“Fabulous idea. We’re shooting over a few days, so it shouldn't be too late. I’ll text you when I’m done.” Jamie was already figuring out which sensational outfit to wear.
“Great. Laters dolly.” India had visibly given up on her fringe, which was now totally obscuring her fine features. She had more exciting things to worry about.
“Purrfect.” Jamie smiled.
Rushing back to her dressing room, Jamie was relieved to have company that evening. Tabitha had offered to let her stay at one of the model apartments, but she felt a little too old for that and had checked into a hotel instead. Model apartments were usually reserved for younger, newer faces, often ‘in town’ from abroad. She’d been there and done that a million times, and besides, London was her city, even if she had left it for a Mediterranean island.
Entering the room, Jamie was greeted by a frenzy of preparation. The hair and makeup team were already setting up their products on the long counter, which was going to be her dressing table for the day. Matty, the hair stylist, announced himself with a wave in a magical puff of hairspray. He had short hair with a Cruella streak, but instead of white, it was purple. Very tall, very thin, his face perfectly made up with killer cheekbones highlighted to perfection, he could easily be a model.
“And I’m Poppy. I’ll be doing your makeup today, darling.” Poppy was laying out a battalion of products along the counter. It always amazed Jamie just how many products needed to be used, even to look natural. That ‘barely there’ look was anything but. Studio lights have a habit of washing you out. Jamie found it curious how so many makeup artists barely wore makeup themselves, and Poppy was no exception, although her naturally ruddy cheeks didn’t need any added colour.
* * *
“Ahhh, divine.” Matty was practically dancing as he admired his handiwork. Jamie examined her reflection in the mirror lit up by a hundred dazzling bulbs. Her hair looked, well, it kind of looked how it always looked, except without the frizz. A frizz-free twist on Mother Nature. Poppy was still pushing her way in as she swept what felt like five different brushes over Jamie’s face. Three hours had passed and she’d only stepped onto set once to check the lighting. Still, it was only nine in the morning. Jamie heard her phone beep. Reaching into her deep leather bag, she fished out her phone. It was Kate. Jamie was excited to have a reply so soon. Please don’t be mad, please don’t be mad.
To: fallen - angel @scoopmail.com
From: [email protected]
Subject: Buggering off Oh Jamie, what can I say? Yes, of course I’m totally gutted. But I understand. I know you’ve been feeling stressed about the lack of work in Mallorca and this is great news that you’ve got work lined up for you in London. We will make it work. We have to. You’ve been like a little light in my otherwise boring life. Now for being practical … let me come and help you pack up. I’ll bring supplies, rubber gloves and marker pens. Haha. I am the queen of packing. How about next Thursday? Let me know. And Jamie, I know you're going to miss the island and meeeeeeee but this is the right thing for you.
Huge hugs. Kate.
P.S. Thanks for the plastic surgeon’s contact. I am going to look into it, but between you and me, I’m not sure I can go through with it. Surgery? Ufff I don’t know. I’m processing it!
Jamie let out a big sigh. Maybe it was all going to work out after all.
* * *
Today’s look was a posh take on plaid. Jamie amassed all the enthusiasm she could to pretend it was just fabulous as she tried on outfit after outfit. There was no changing room in today’s designated ‘wardrobe,’ sometimes there was barely a towel. It was customary to strip down to your G-string in front of total strangers. No room for modesty, or cellulite in this business. Kendall and Jenna, the stylists, worked in tandem to achieve the look of their brief. Jamie couldn’t figure out if they were sisters or just looked alike—bottle blondes, and not a day over thirty-five, both in those god awful low-crotch nappy-style pants that seemed to be so popular amongst the hardcore yoga crowd. Whilst Jamie loved to exercise, she was not the namaste-type. Kendall and Jenna barely spoke to Jamie, just mumbling between themselves as best as possible with pins in their mouths—the risk of being pricked was dangerously high today.
“We need her now.” Beth rushed in frantically, swinging her arms about wildly. Kendall and Jenna— ‘Kendall Jenner’ —Jamie thought jokingly to herself as the penny dropped—were putting on their finishing touches. “Quick quick!” Beth was on a mission to get Jamie out and ushered her out through the cold corridors and into Stage 6. Shoots never made any sense; she’d been waiting around for hours. Hair and Makeup took forever to make her look, well, not that much different than when she came in, but suddenly they were on the clock. She reminded herself that she was getting paid and just smiled.
The huge studio was a frenzy of preparation, and icy cold; goosebumps immediately sprung up all over her body. The sky-high ceiling was equipped with rigs and lights and pulleys. Jamie tried to remember what else had been filmed there just as Richard, the director, wandered across.
“Hi Jamie, okay so what we need you to do first is …” Richard was straight to it. There was no time for chit-chat. The star of the show was already lit up and ready for her close up. The new golden Volvo was positioned in the middle of the studio, flooded by lights from every angle. It was Jamie’s job to demonstrate just how wonderful this new model was and why everyone should want to buy it—commercial modelling in a nutshell—selling a fake shiny happy lifestyle no one really has. Once she’d shown off the generous boot space and elegant lines, her next scene was to sit inside and pretend to drive off. Quite why she needed to pretend, she wasn’t sure, but this was the land of make-believe where nothing was really real. Oh, and don’t forget to smile, smile, smile. Her cheeks would be aching by the end of it. At least twenty takes of each shot, undeniably broken up by another two hours of waiting whilst they set up the next scene. Jamie flashed them one of her mega-watt smiles as she longed for those three little words: ‘It’s a wrap.’ But she still had hours to go.