Chapter 12
Kjell
"Number thirty-eight for the fitting."
Frantic jingling. Clouds of hairspray.
"Where are the shoes?"
Silk fabric flutters in front of my face. Stiletto heels clacks on the linoleum.
I never thought there could be a place more hectic than a newspaper office just before the deadline. But this is on a whole different level. Half-naked models rush through the room, with tables lined along the walls containing makeup mirrors. Hairstylists and makeup artists work tirelessly. The sound of hair dryers is everywhere, as is the buzz of voices, from which individual word fragments occasionally break free.
"Show me the Run of Show." That was Sky.
A skinny model bumps into me as she passes, and due to my tiredness from a sleepless night, I almost stumble into the clothing rack next to me. I manage to catch myself on the bar just in time before I crash to the ground along with the clothes.
I glance at Sky, who looks stern today with her hair tied up. After our conversation yesterday, I was left confused. The way she looked at me made me feel connected to her. For a moment,I wasn't myself. She was too close to me. And she seemed too real. I was on the verge of trusting her. Retreating before things got out of control was the only right thing I could do.
I quickly shake the unsettling memory of last night from my head and focus on Sky, as I still have no clear idea of what role she plays in this show. And I have a job to do; I shouldn't forget that.
"The shorts are great. The model should have an umbrella to go with it," she says to the thin man with the Prince Valiant haircut next to her.
He snorts in exasperation. "The show starts in an hour."
"But an umbrella would complete the outfit, don't you think?" Sky taps on one of the photos pinned to the wall next to her, which I can barely make out from a distance. They're definitely models. Presumably, they're wearing the clothes they will showcase in the show today.
For a breath, Sky's conversation partner closes his eyes. "Listen," he stresses, "we've all worked hard on this collection. Gustav approved every detail."
"And I have no say here at all, do you think?" Sky's expression hardens. "Is that what you believe?"
This could get interesting. I cautiously step closer. Although it's unlikely that they will notice me during their heated discussion, I maintain a safe distance.
Sky's counterpart taps his chest with his index finger. "I'm the designer here. And you are..."
"Yes?" Sky takes a step toward him with subdued shoulders. "What am I?"
Yes, Sky. That's the question. What are you?
"We both know that, don't we?" he asks, slamming the fabric in his hand onto the floor. "You have no place here."
Yesterday, for a moment, I thought Sky might be the most empathetic woman I had ever met. But as she stares at thedesigner with such cold determination, she reminds me once again of the Sky from before.
She pulls her shoulders back. "I'm the boss now."
So that's it. Interesting.
"Accept it," she adds with a stoic calm, as if she has been the no-nonsense CEO her whole life. I study her body language.
Held breath. Tense posture. Tightened jaw.
Is she scared? Or is this an expression of fierceness?
The designer turns beet red. "You'll regret this," he growls, then storms away so quickly that his thick woolen scarf unravels from his neck.
I should photograph that, but I can't help but watch Sky's reaction instead.
Her shoulders slump forward. The hard features on her face soften. She smooths out her oversized trousers, again and again. Seeing her standing there in front of the chaotically adorned wall makes me feel sad.
