Sweet | h.s.

one

Beverly

It was complete chaos.

Models were running everywhere frantically trying to find hairspray, fake lashes, eyeliner, you name it; and they're looking for it.

Backstage at a fashion show was never a quiet, calm place. It was always like this; hectic, with girls panicking last minute. The air was always filled with too much hairspray and perfume. It was always a lot of work to clean up afterwards as well; to clean broken and spilled make-up off the white vanities, pick up lost clothing items, and throw away any unnecessary trash.

It was never quiet. Everyone would be talking at once, talking over each other. Hair dryers would be on maximum power, and you were always able to hear the clicks of heels on the hard floor. Managers shouting orders, the designer himself rushing around, making sure his designs looked perfect on the models. Not to mention the chattering of eager photographers, paparazzi, and people waiting to see new clothing.

The overall process is a lot more tiring as it may seem, but it's one of the things I love most about working in this industry. The fashion industry. There was never a dull moment, always energetic and there was always lots to do. Never any standing around, you were always on your feet.

And anyways, even after all of the hard, painful work that comes with it, the end process trumps it all. Every fashion show I've helped run has ended with a success, and it was always a good feeling; knowing you've played a part in helping with the success and brilliance of a show. You feel proud of yourself for accomplishing such a hard task and believe me when I say; it is a hard task.

"Beverly!" My head snaps over to my manager and boss, Penelope. "Get the models in order, the show's about to start!" She orders, just as she presses a button on her headset.

"Okay girls! Line up!" I announce loudly and help models sneak between people. I scan the list of models clipped on the clipboard in my hands, making sure every face matches the names in order. "Marnie, has anyone seen Marnie?" I call out.

"Here!" The brunette model hurries over, careful not to trip over her long dress. I help her squeeze between two other girls, and take a peek out to the audience for myself.

The turn-out is great. Many people are here to see and celebrate the launching of Elie Saab's new winter/spring line of dresses. Everyone looks sophisticated, dressed in brand names and I spot a few very important people, whose names are crucial to the fashion industry in the first couple of rows along with some celebrities. Even I am nervous about this show and I'm not even seen once throughout the whole thing. I just run the preparations.

Before I know it, the upbeat music begins to play.

"Okay, go!" I cue the first girl and she struts out onto the catwalk, showing off the beautiful designs Elie has created.

I pray to myself and cross my fingers that nothing goes wrong, not a technical difficulty with the music or electronic background playing behind the models as they walk, or a trip from one of the girls, although they've had plenty of practice and experience.

"It looks great." Penelope whispers and I nod. "You did good today."

"Thanks," I smile and let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, and continue to watch the girls as they walk out one by one.

"You should be up there." She nudges me and my eyes widen.

"Me?" I point to myself, confused and unsure of whether she actually means me, and she nods nonchalantly, like it was the most normal suggestion. "Wha - why?" I stutter.

"Are you kidding me? You're model material, if you haven't noticed." She says, and I laugh. A genuine laugh.

"Model material? What does that even mean? That's hilarious." I scoff.