Chapter 5
Not Glamorous
Angelique Delavigne
Angelique Delavigne sat down with a sigh. She slid off the heels she had stood in all day, trying to get the perfect angles and postures. Her feet hurt, her back hurt, and her eyes were beginning to burn from the harsh lighting in the studio. She was doing a cover feature for Ixora magazine’s fall edition, an independent start-up fashion magazine. They were not nearly as high-end as Vogue or Elle, but she had heard its owner was the daughter of some big shot fashion critic who wanted to break out and gain relevance in the fashion industry on her own terms. Angelique did not particularly care for the history of the magazine as much as she did what new doors it could open for her. Plus, the pay was way better than anything she had gotten so far, despite them working her to the bone.
“Angelique? Can we have you back in the Dolce jacket? But this time with those Prada leather boots. We’re going to take a few more photos and wrap this up.”
Angelique got up to change as instructed, grateful the shoot was almost over. She went into the changing hall, flanked by ceiling-to-floor-length mirrors and rows of designer outfits. She was working along with three other models for the shoot, all of them at least four years younger than she was. She went to the opposite side of the room, away from where they had clustered together, getting ready for the last shoot. She wasn’t very conversational, so she didn’t try to get friendly with their group, struggling to drag a tight tank top-down; it was stuck on her head. She was a bit startled when one of the models headed over and spoke to her. She couldn’t see the other models turn to watch with mischievous interest.
“I’ve been telling the other girls you look familiar. Weren’t you featured in Teen Vogue eons ago? I collect magazines, you see. I cut out pieces sometimes for my scrapbook, only I’m not sure anymore. Maybe you just look a lot like her. I doubt a Teen Vogue cover girl would be working a gig like this.” Angelique heard the other girls snicker in the background. When she finally freed her face, she saw it was the beautiful blonde who had approached her; the bitch queen of the pack.
“Your scrapbook? Tsk, tsk. Children,” Angelique said with a superior shake of her head, enjoying the way the blonde girl’s wicked smile was beginning to falter. “You see there are two kinds of people, the kind who cuts out pictures and pieces from a magazine, and the kind who actually gets cover features in a magazine. And my, look at lil ole me getting the privilege to work with you scrapbook princesses. It’s like they say, the craft is indeed ageless.” She heard the other girls gasp from across the room and turned to give them an exultant smile.
“We need you on the set right now, Angelique.” Marco stuck his head in to see what was holding them up. “We don’t pay you all to chitchat.”
“I never chitchat, Marco. Mummy was just giving her little girls some professional pointers. I’ll be there in a minute.”
The blonde girl turned in a huff and strode back to her friends, her face reddened in anger. They didn’t speak to each other, feeling defeated by how her attempt at ridicule was expertly turned around to slap them all in the face. Angelique checked her phone before leaving the room and saw her mom had messaged to confirm their dinner plans. She would have preferred to go straight home for some rest and relaxation, but she didn’t want to start a fight with her.
Finished for the day, she got in her car and drove over to the restaurant. She was thirty minutes late and knew her impatient mother would already be on her second glass of wine, fingers rapping on the table and staring at her watch per minute. Angelique wondered why she did that. The sound was so annoying, and it wasn’t like she had any other place she had to be. Her mother just hated being made to wait for anyone. Angelique pulled into the entrance of the restaurant, not surprised by how fancy it was. Her mother was annoyingly skilled at finding the newest, most lavish spots and leaving a trail of bills for her to sort out. She gave her keys to the valet and went inside. She had changed into a tight, black, thinly strapped satin dress with a side slit that ran up to her thigh. The only thing her mom hated more than tardiness was shabbiness.
She saw her mom wave and turned in her direction. She maneuvered through the tables, each elegant step revealing the silk-smooth paleness of her thighs. She had the sort of looks that made people gawk at her entrance into any room. Extremely tall and slender, with a tapered waist and long shapely legs, her midnight-black hair tumbled down her back in loose waves.
“Hi, Mom.” She leaned down to kiss her on each cheek and took a seat across from her.
“Angie. I told you to address me as Sophia when we are out,” her mother hissed. “How was the shoot?” She changed the topic quickly while waving a waiter over. “What shall we start with? I hear their lobster is exquisite; they have really good wine too. I’ve just been sampling their list.”
“It went well enough. I’m also really exhausted, Mom, thanks for asking.”
Angelique responded to the waiter’s greeting with a haughty nod and picked up the menu. Her mother’s head was bent over hers. She ran a red fingernail over each line, making remarks neither Angelique nor the waiter paid attention to. When they had sent the waiter off with their orders, she settled back to look her daughter over in that scrutinizing way that always ticked Angelique off. Like she was inspecting her appearance, seeking out an errant strand of hair or a crinkle in her dress.
