Moore To Love (22 page)

“WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP ME?
You’re fired!” Raven’s fired me at least nine times this morning since waking with the hangover from hell. She pops four Advil tablets in her mouth and chases them down with a swig from her second cup of coffee.

I pull a bunch of bangle bracelets over my wrist as I move about the room, getting ready. “Hey, listen, it could’ve been worse. You had no intention of retiring the martini glass until I cut you off. Fire me if you must, but I think I deserve a raise for dealing with your shenanigans. You do know you tore off your bottoms, stripper style, as soon as you got up here and then proceeded to flash me with that tiny tush of yours.”

Raven clicks her tongue and grabs her boobs, one in each hand. “James calls it pancake ass. And let’s not even talk about the girls.” She points to her boobs, shaking her head. “Minion number three wouldn’t wean off the breast milk until he was a year old. I want a lift but James doesn’t see the need for it. I guess he likes that they sag down to my knees and clap when I walk.”

I break into a fit of giggles just thinking about it, but truth is, I’d give . . . well, my left tit, to have a body like hers. “Listen to James. He’s a good man.”

That seems to close out the tits and ass seminar for the day because Raven dashes around the room, filling her rolling studio with more brushes and products.

I sit at the edge of the bed to lace up my gladiator sandals, allowing the excitement of our meeting with the photographer to catch up with me. I’ve always dreamed of doing a fashion shoot, but a fashion shoot
and
a runway show—this is beyond amazing. “You do know I’m freaking out a little inside, right?”

“Why?” Raven doesn’t look up from organizing her bags. She’s in the zone—regardless of the hangover—and that frays my nerves even more.

“Because you know what you’re doing and I don’t. I’ve never really stepped outside that make-up artist box and thought about the infinite possibilities of the cosmetology world. What if I fuck up? What if the photographer thinks I’m a flake?”

“He won’t think that, Leni, and you do know what you’re doing. Why do you think I picked you?”

“Because I’m your friend?”

Raven stops what she’s doing and glares at me. The stone cold look on her face kind of scares me. “When have I ever showed favoritism because of our friendship, number one? And number two, I’m friends with
all
my artists. Carol’s my cousin, for God’s sake. I chose you because of your talent. Because you have an eye for detail that no one else does. You’re fresh and funky, yet classic and timeless all rolled into one. I also think you hide behind your insecurities and settle for what’s in front of you when your gift would be so much better put to use out in the field, on projects like these.

“I picked you because you’re the best candidate for this job and I think this is a great opportunity for you. I don’t muddle my personal relationships with my career. So, even though you are a dear friend and you’ve seen me half naked, I will not let you sit here and doubt the reasons you’re here with me on this trip. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” I nod. It’s always been hard for me to accept a compliment—flaw number one hundred and ninety seven—but hearing someone I see as a role model say these things about me puts me in my place. “Thank you,” I offer, needing her to know that being under her wing has been a godsend.

“Good. Now, finish getting ready and then help me pack the rest of this stuff so we can grab another coffee before our briefing with David.

“Yes, ma’am.” I hop to it and thank my lucky stars that there are so many people who believe in me when I haven’t been able to believe in myself.

David’s portfolio is beyond incredible. It’s so posh and glamorous my fingers itch to trace every outline of his work. This particular room in his studio is packed with racks of intricate clothing, both from the shoot I’ll be working on and others. My eye is immediately drawn to a silk kimono that is simply exquisite. The mix of colors on the delicate fabric pops, making it something that I’d love to add to my wardrobe, if only I could afford it. I vaguely remember that ventures of this magnitude usually come with perks. I’m all set on the makeup goodies from our vendors, but a designer freebie would be really freaking sweet.

I try to stay up to speed with David and his assistant’s photographer lingo, but my ears perk to attention as soon as he asks for Raven’s input on a color palette for the shoot. He stands to roll one of the clothing racks over to us; the hangers clink against the metal rod, bringing the bold pieces to life.

“Here’s the line. This season the designer is working with lots of bright neons. If we don’t complement them the right way, taking into account all the different skin tones and hair colors of the models, the prints will wind up . . . unappetizing to the eye.” I can tell from his tone that the color scheme is not his favorite. I tend to agree—neon reminds me of the 80’s, but the trend is back and we’ll have to make the best of it.

My fingers rove the patterns, the textures, the intricate weave work of one of the swimsuits. I immediately have an idea I would love to pitch. “Rave, I think . . .” I stand from my seat and head for the rolling studio. “Is it okay if I mess around a minute?”

Raven nods, a huge smile painting her fashionably made-up face. “Go for it.”

Her obvious belief in me and her compliment from earlier give me a confidence I never knew I had the ability to embrace. Especially in a position like this. I have to admit it feels amazing, and for once I don’t doubt myself or the creative vision begging to be seen outside the realm of my brain.

Raven and David sit at the table ironing out more details as I mess around with my tools. I play with and mix the colors on the back of my hand, but I soon run out of surface that’s yet to be coated with vibrant shades. I flip open the vanity mirror attached to the case and wipe my own make-up off one of my eyes only to replace it with the shadows and liners I have in mind for the shoot.

My hands do their thing as if someone else is controlling them. A swipe of this here, a dab of that there—it’s so much better on my face than it was on my hand. I take a step back, closing one eye to focus on the other. It pops, just like the designer’s work, but I have to do the other eye for the full effect. I check over my shoulder to make sure no one’s waiting on me and my perfectionism, and when I notice that David and Raven are still engrossed in their own conversation, I make quick work of duplicating what I’ve already done on the other side of my face.

“Done!” I shout a few minutes later, jumping out of my seat like I’m the winner of a race. I clutch my chest, take a breath, and do another once over, inspecting every angle of every feature. When I’m totally happy with the result, I spin around to show them my suggestion and my eyes land on a new face. She must have snuck in while I was in the zone.

“Who are you?” She starts to make her way toward me as if she’s in a trance, mesmerized by me for some odd reason.

“I’m . . . uh . . . Leni Moore. I’m Raven’s . . .” Her scrutiny is unnerving. I can’t tell if she likes the makeup or hates it, and who is she, anyway?

Raven bounds to my rescue, forming the words that have escaped me. “Leni, this is Siobhan, the designer of the gorgeous line we’re working with this week. Siobhan, this is Leni. She’s one of the best girls on my team. I had her sit in because I knew this was exactly the kind of reaction her work would produce. It’s stunning, isn’t it?”

Siobhan Colbert. THE Siobhan Colbert. I cannot believe I’m in the same room, sharing the same air as one of the most influential designers of my time. I can’t believe Raven didn’t tell me this was the designer we were working for. I can’t believe I’m—oh my God, I’m gonna pass out.

Siobhan examines my face, her head tilting for a better view, her fingers at my chin to angle me to her liking. “
She’s
stunning. David, darling, how have you not sunk your claws into her yet? This face is a work of art and I’m not just talking about the makeup, doll.” Siobhan smiles, tapping me on the cheek.

I bring my own hand up to touch the skin she’s just blessed with her own, in awe of what’s transpired around me.
Someone pinch me. This is a dream, right?
I cannot believe Siobhan Colbert is talking about me and using those words. I’m fucking speechless, immobile, in shock.

Raven nudges me and I take an inhalation of air that feels like the first since I realized Siobhan is
Siobhan
. “Say something,” she mumbles through clenched teeth.

Saying something would mean I’d have to form a coherent thought and string together words that don’t make me sound like a complete fool. Panic strikes and I bite my lip, looking to Raven for guidance. Her eyes widen, a warning for me to be a big girl, the woman she trusted to do this job. I delve deep within, and finally say, “Thank you, Ms. Colbert. It’s an honor to meet you. I absolutely love your work.” Not too gushy, but right to the point. Kudos to me for not stuttering through that.

Siobhan darts over to David and wraps an arm around his neck. She lifts her hands up to her face and forms them into an open-palmed square, framing her line of vision—
me
. “Davey, she’s walking and I want her dressed and prepped in an hour.” With that, Siobhan whirls out of the room as if she was never actually there. Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe it was all an illusion because I’m so confused I don’t know what’s reality and what my brain has fooled me to believe.

Raven grabs my arms and shakes me. “Did you hear that? Do you know what this means?”

I don’t. I honestly have no clue what the hell just happened. “No. What does she mean
I’m walking
?”

“She wants you in the show, Leni. Have you ever modeled? Please tell me you’re not a runway virgin.” David’s scribbling something into a large notepad and then passing it off to his sidekick who jets out of the room faster than I can say, “What the hell is going on? Can someone please fill me in?”

Raven’s smile is so big I fear her deep, jovial laugh lines will stay that way permanently. She rubs my arms up and down and kisses me smack on the lips.
Hello!
“You, my gorgeous girl, just wowed Siobhan with everything that is you. I don’t know how we’ll pull this off in such a short amount of time, but you just booked your first gig as a model and I couldn’t be prouder.”

Me?
A model? Is this chick on crack? Has the world gone completely mad? All eyes are on me, everything at a standstill. I have no idea how or why this has happened and I haven’t a clue how to process it. So, I don’t. I ignore the ogling of David, the bumbling of Raven, and the measuring tapes snaking my body in the hands of what must be the seamstresses on Siobhan’s team.
Where’d these grabby hands come from?

I haven’t even agreed to this madness, but something tells me that an offer like this doesn’t come along more than once. How does one deny her fashion icon hero something as simple as modeling her clothing? Yeah, simple, my left testicle. Right, I don’t have a left testicle. Shit, the room’s spinning. Please excuse me while I go crap myself.