Page 5 of Like a Hurricane

“After the shoot this afternoon,” She chirps, aiming her sunshine smile in my direction, “You’re free. You should be out by three!”

For a Saturday that wasn’t bad and the tub of ice cream in my freezer was calling my name.

I could see it now, feel it. I’d change into my shorts and tee set, settle under the thick knitted blanket thrown over the back of my couch and dig into the tub of cookie dough ice cream while the TV runs old episodes ofFriends.

Such simplicity was the dream.

“Miss Lauder,” The current marketing head for the perfume brand I was shooting for today pops his face around the door. I hadn’t memorized his name, they usually quit in the first month, and I only knew that because I’ve been the face of this brand for the last five years. “They’re waiting for you down in hair and make-up.”

“Thanks Kevin,” I try anyway.

“It’s Kurt.”

I wince and give him an apologetic smile while mentally patting myself on the back for at least getting the first letter of his name right.

My face is powdered and blotted, hair plucked and primed before they maneuver me down to the dressing room, hands grabbing at the clothes on my body.

“I am quite capable of dressing myself.” I shrug out of their grabby fingers, stripping the rest of the way down and grab the – “What the fuck is this?”

The thin gold ropes of material dangle from my fingers.

“Your wardrobe,” Harriet, the wardrobe coordinator, stammers nervously.

“I wasn’t told I’d be semi-nude for the shoot.”

No, I didn’t have a problem taking my clothes off for the camera, fuck there were likely sex tapes all over the internet of me, and I didn’t really care but warn a girl first!

“The perfume is literally called ‘Stripped’.” Suzy says breezily, “Should’ve expected this, Ryn.” Suzy was the only one who called me Ryn. Come to think of it, Suzy was probably the only friend I could rely on, but that was only because I paid her.

Well, isn’t that a sad crock of shit.

Grumbling, I take the material and duck behind the screens to take my underwear off and replace it with this gold…thing.

It goes in places it definitely does not belong but with some adjustments, ensuring the lady bits and nipples are completely covered – a feat in its own right – I step out and head down to the room for the shoot.

I’m there for three hours, my body contorted into unnatural angles, oils applied to my skin, wind blown in my face while the gold body suit chafes, and my muscles scream in protest at all the poses I have to hold for long periods of time.

I blow out a breath the moment the shoot is called to a close and let myself flop unceremoniously to the floor, staring up at the white tiles and lights above me.

“You good?” Suzy bends over until her face hovers over mine.

“Remind me why I do this?” I groan, rolling my ankles.

“Because you love your job,” She lists, “You’re a bad bitch who looksgreatbehind the camera, and you’re fulfilling your childhood dream of being a model.”

I huff out a breath.

“Where’s the next shoot?” I ask.

“Twenty minutes downtown,” She supplies, “We have to leave in ten minutes.”

In other words, get your ass in gear, we have to go.

Drowning out the noise, I get up and head back to the dressing room, slipping behind the screens to take off the body suit I hope to never see again. God it was awful, looked great but was awful…

I suppose we could say that about a lot of things in life.

I reach for the underwear I left folded with my clothes and pause.

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