Glittering, colored lights lined the black shiny runway and music pulsed low through the air. The exceptional talent and star-studded audience were assembled for a fantastic show. Fashion designer Declan Ambrose’s safari-themed fall and winter line was making its debut in New York and Marissa Walker was first on the runway.
Marissa checked her hair and makeup in the backstage lit mirror. She enjoyed the drama of the event and the clothing she’d be modeling. The anticipation around her was palpable. She had been modeling for fifteen years and this was the capstone to her runway career. Though she hadn’t told anyone outside her agent, this was her last live show. She was one of the oldest models here and while many in the industry respected her professionalism and fashion sense, she wanted to retire at the top and with dignity, not be forced out by younger, thinner models. Her plans for the future were simple: travel and enjoy the sights, paint and relax, visit with family.
After working nearly every day for the last decade, she had earned a break.
Marissa recognized most of the people gathered backstage and in the audience and felt a pang of sentimentality. She’d miss this harried, busy world. Women and men she’d modeled with in the past, the cast and crew from popular television series and movies, Broadway actors and actresses, and investors and businessmen and women in couture outfits talking, networking and enjoying themselves.
Marissa caught a glimpse of her ex-boyfriend Rob in the mirror. She looked away, avoiding eye contact. After their drama-filled six-month-long relationship, she didn’t want to see or talk to him. He could be sweet and attentive one day, dismissive and cold the next and who knew what she would get today. Sticking out the relationship with Rob even six months had been her attempt to prove she could make a long-term relationship work. The tabloids had been vicious about her recent dating history: a handful of dates with a series of men which hadn’t turned into anything. Being seen out with a new man every few weeks had gotten embarrassing.
Rob was likely looking for Avery who was also modeling today. Let Rob and Avery have each other. Marissa couldn’t revisit those emotions, especially not when Ambrose was counting on her to be fresh-faced and energetic for his show. Thinking of Rob and Avery exhausted her.
“Looking great, Marissa,” Clarice said, slapping her high five with her right hand as she passed by, her left arm clutching a clipboard. Her straight blond hair fell down her back. The head-to-toe black she wore worked on her athletic figure.
Clarice was the backstage assistant for the show. She and Marissa had worked together before and Marissa admired her attention to detail. With Clarice working the show, every model would be wearing the right outfits and shoes, hair done to Ambrose’s specifications, makeup perfect, and walking out at the right time.
Ambrose would be the talk of the city for the next few days. Marissa had looked at some of his designs and they were good. Great even. Ambrose deserved this. He had started in New York City selling tourists handmade hats on street corners and worked his way to fashion fame. Scoring a showroom this week was a huge boon. Ambrose already had several offers for his clothing line to be sold in high-end department stores. This was Ambrose’s night. Marissa had consulted with him on some of the early designs and fabrics, but Ambrose had stepped up his game this season. They would celebrate after the show with champagne toasts at a private party he had organized at a nearby hotel.
Marissa strode past the gold tables of makeup and mirrors and the silver racks of clothing. Ambrose was probably in his office, reviewing the order of the designs to be presented. His obsession with perfection had launched him as one of the most sought-after designers.
Marissa stopped short when she heard Avery’s voice. She was speaking quickly the way she did when she was upset. Though Marissa was excited about today’s event, the pressure could put other models, designers and staff on edge.
Avery was standing thirty yards away, hand on her hip, gesturing with her other hand at someone as if making an important point. She was wearing five inch heels; Marissa recognized them at this distance because hers were similar. Avery’s long blond hair was in waves down her back and her lithe frame alluded to how much time she spent in the gym. A pang of sadness struck. If they were still friends, they would be hanging out today, enjoying the show and attending the after-party together. They would have critiqued the clothes and discussed which were their favorites. Avoiding Rob was easy; Marissa had washed her hands of him. But Marissa couldn’t dismiss Avery. To rebuild the relationship, she needed to speak with her, but her sense of betrayal ran deep.
Marissa turned around, avoiding Avery. She wasn’t ready to talk with her, much less interrupt her heated conversation to initiate an awkward one.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Marissa’s adrenaline was still pumping from her walk down the runway. The design was fabulous and her shoes were spectacular. The printed dress was a blend of greens, orange, yellow and tan, the fabric giving a bubble shape to the hemline of the dress; and her shoe design inspired by hiking boots without the chunkiness. Marissa could sense the excitement from the crowd over Ambrose’s designs.
She was changing into her next outfit, giddy at the idea of taking another stroll down the runway. On her next dress, the print was leopard on the sides, the front and back were black, giving the dress a svelte and sleek appearance. Though retirement and travel could provide a different set of excitements, it would be hard to top this.
“Avery!” Clarice was looking at her clipboard, tapping her pen against the metal top and speaking into her headset. Marissa glanced around and didn’t see her. Avery was hard to miss. Even among other models, she was tall with naturally white-blond hair.
“Find her! She needs to be on deck!” Clarice said.
The staff was looking for her and some of the models appeared disdainful. No one wanted a mistake at the show and timing was important.
Ambrose was watching the show from the catwalk on the other side of the stage. Though Marissa couldn’t see him over the bright lights, he’d be wearing a slim pressed gray suit, crisp white shirt and carrying his cane with the tiny bronze alligator head mounted at the top. On his feet, the alligator boots he swore were his good luck charms. He would freak if the event skipped a model or a design. Marissa pictured his slender, clean-shaven face morphing into disgust and his brown eyes narrowing in frustration.
Marissa heard a scream and whirled around, teetering in her heels.
Another model was backing away from a rack of clothes, hand over her mouth, pointing at the fabric. A collective gasp rolled through the air. Marissa walked toward the gathered group, straining to see what the commotion was about.
The pulse of the music seemed to disappear.
