AUDREY
‘ A RE YOU SICK ?’
I start, glancing up – Marika is standing in front of me, hand on hip, face stony. I’m perched on the edge of a sink, phone in hand. I didn’t even notice her come in.
‘Sorry?’ I reply, startled. It’s a pretty blunt opener to a conversation, even for her.
‘I just can’t imagine why else you’d be holed up in the toilets,’ she says flatly. ‘Especially seeing as I personally know a dozen girls who would have killed to be invited here tonight.’
‘Well – I don’t feel great ,’ I offer weakly. Marika scoffs, turning towards the mirrors and popping open the clasp on her bag.
‘I haven’t eaten refined sugar in a week, I’m averaging four hours of sleep a night and I’m pretty sure there’s blood in my shoes,’ she retorts. ‘Join the club.’
I open my mouth, but before I can even attempt a rebuttal a glamorous-looking attendee in a gold dress crashes through the door and stumbles into a stall, gagging. Marika and I both wince at the unmistakable sound of vomit hitting tile.
‘Are you okay?’ I call out tentatively. The reply, a muffled ‘ Fuck off ,’ is punctuated by more gagging.
I guess this kind of thing is inevitable at any event with multiple free bars. They cleared out an entire hotel for tonight, this incredible old building in the heart of the city, which we’re free to drift around as we please. It’s overwhelmingly beautiful, which is maybe why I’m a little overwhelmed.
‘Whatever,’ Marika mutters, leaning in to her reflection to touch up her lipstick. ‘I’m not here to give you a pep talk. I just think it’s really weird that you’re deliberately wasting this opportunity.’
‘I mean – I have tried ,’ I point out. ‘We’ve been here for hours. I’ve talked to so many people – people I don’t even know—’
‘That’s the point, yeah.’
‘But it’s embarrassing! They’re all famous or important or way older than us.’
‘You’re a pretty girl, Audrey. People are inclined to like you before you even open your mouth.’
I pull a face, embarrassed. Marika shuts her bag with a snap.
‘Forget it, ’ she says. ‘Have you had a drink? Like, a drink drink?’
‘I’m eighteen. Don’t you have to be twenty-one to drink over here?’
‘Allegedly. Do you want a drink?’
‘Uh – sure.’
‘Right. Let’s go, then.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I blurt out. ‘You’re always looking out for me and you totally don’t have to—’
‘I know,’ Marika says curtly. ‘But I’m not sure why I bother, because you clearly don’t care about any of this.’
‘I care,’ I reply, startled. ‘I totally care.’
‘Not enough to guarantee that you’re on time. To wear the right things. Talk to the right people—’
‘I’ve only been modelling for a few months!’
‘And yet you’re here in New York already,’ she says dryly. ‘Congratulations.’
That shuts me up. I drop my gaze, chastened, and Marika sighs and puts her bag down.
‘Listen – I’ve been doing this for almost two years, and this is my first Fashion Week outside of London – I have a lot to prove.’
‘I know,’ I say quietly. ‘I’m trying to prove things too. I deferred university for this. I don’t – it’s all I have, right now.’
‘I can understand that,’ she says after a beat. ‘I used to dance, before this. Ballet.’
‘Wow,’ I say, surprised. ‘You gave it up to model?’
‘When I was sixteen my bike got clipped by a car,’ she replies smoothly. ‘I got thrown and broke three bones. Important ones.’
I wince at the mental image. Marika attempts a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes.
‘Yeah, well – I was wearing a helmet, at least, which is why I’m stood here having this conversation with you. And people always told me that I should model, so I went down to bunch of agency offices as soon as I got the casts off. Seeing as I sacrificed everything for dance, I figured the only way through it was to throw myself into something else with the same level of commitment.’
‘And … are you happy?’ I venture. ‘Now, I mean? Modelling?’
‘Yeah,’ she says, after pausing for a moment. ‘There are a lot of similar aspects, actually. Good ones. Not just the racism and the body-shaming.’
She turns to look at me then, gaze intent.
‘You can see why I’m a little touchy about you treating this like some huge obligation, right?’
‘I can,’ I tell her seriously. ‘You’re right. It’s immature, and – and I’m sorry. For me and for – for all of it.’
‘Forget it,’ she says briskly, smoothing her hair. ‘Let’s go. Drinks.’
And as if on cue, the girl in the stall retches again.
‘ A drink, then,’ Marika deadpans. ‘Singular.’
The ballroom seems a little darker when we return, bodies tangling together under the low light of the chandeliers. I notice eyes swivel to track our path – specifically Marika’s. She’s literally glowing in a white silk gown that dips low in the back, its long skirt fluttering behind her. My own dress is more restrictive, a shimmering column of midnight-blue sequins with a high neck and a slit up the leg. An especially lovely sales assistant found it for me in the clearance section after I breathlessly explained my situation, along with shoes and a bag and someone in the beauty department to do my make-up. And – it’s weird, but even though Mum and I have never bonded over dresses and make-up, there was something about the warmth of attention that made me miss her so badly that I got all choked up about it in the fitting room.
Anyway.
‘Could I get two glasses of Prosecco?’ Marika says, leaning against the glossy surface of the bar. The bartender nods, giving her this huge, goofy smile before turning away to fetch our drinks.
‘He’s cute,’ I offer. I think that Marika and I might be friends now, and this is what friends do. But she glances back at him as if she hadn’t even noticed, her expression perfectly blank. I guess it tracks that romance wouldn’t so much as resemble a priority in her eyes.
‘Hey – Marika!’
We both turn to see a girl in a floaty black dress with a shaved head and huge eyes approaching us. I’ve seen her at castings and shows but never met her – her name is Lola, I think. Or Lily?
‘Lila.’ Marika smiles. ‘Hi. I didn’t know you were here tonight.’
‘Same!’ she enthuses, her voice a soft Scottish burr. ‘How are you?’
‘Good, yeah. This is my roommate, Audrey. Audrey, Lila. We know each other from London.’
‘It’s nice to meet you.’ I smile.
‘Oh, you’re the other girl they chose! Congratulations, both of you!’
‘For what?’ I ask without thinking, wondering if she’s confused me for someone else. Her smile falters.
‘The campaign?’ she says hesitantly.
‘Oh, the campaign,’ Marika echoes. ‘Of course.’
‘So you do know!’ She laughs. ‘ Phew! For a second I thought I’d totally put my foot in it!’
‘No, of course not. But nothing’s official yet, so …’ Marika raises a finger to her lips and Lila laughs, mirrors the gesture. I just stand there, utterly lost.
‘How did you find out?’ Marika continues, lowering her voice conspiratorially. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, that is?’
‘Oh, a friend of mine interns at Miranda Browning. She’s seen the concepts and it sounds amazing. I’d be too jealous to function if I hadn’t just booked an editorial that shoots in Bali.’
‘ Bali , wow. Can’t wait to see it.’
‘Thank you! I’ll be seeing you guys around, then?’
‘Definitely,’ I manage. ‘Have a great night!’
‘You too!’ she says, winking at Marika before bouncing away. I turn to her, incredulous.
‘What just happened?’
‘What happened is I’m excellent at bluffing,’ she says quietly. ‘Holy shit.’
‘She said campaign. Like an advertising campaign?’
‘Yep,’ Marika says, handing me my glass – they apparently materialised while we were distracted. ‘She also said Miranda Browning.’
I take it from her with both hands, feeling dizzy. Even Marika looks a little stunned, eyes wide and glassy.
Deep down, a part of me was really scared that I might fizzle out after Fashion Week. That I wouldn’t book any jobs, and everyone would slowly realise what a waste of time and money it was to take me on. But an advertising campaign with Miranda Browning – God, I could literally throw my arms out and twirl across this ballroom like Julie Andrews. I’m that sincerely, stupidly thrilled. But all I can think to say is:
‘We’re going to be in magazines.’
‘Yep,’ Marika says. Then she takes a sip of her drink – or at least I think she does. Maybe she’s just trying to hide the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, threatening to betray that she’s just as wildly, painfully ecstatic as me.