I'm Normally Perfect (re-upload)

Chapter Fifty-Three

[This chapter has a brief mention of self harm, if you are in a delicate place emotionally, please take this into consideration before reading.]

Alex accompanied me to London for my photo shoot for the magazine. I think I loathed being photographed even more than interviewed because if I was uncomfortable there was no hiding it in a picture, as my face betrayed my emotion. Whereas in an interview I at least had some chance of hiding how I truly felt (though I never seemed to do so, much to Raymond's dismay). Alex assured me that they wanted to sell as many magazines as possible and therefore most likely wouldn't print anything that would frighten small children or the elderly, as I feared they would.

I asked, 'What do you think this is going to be like?'

She said, 'Oh, I imagine a team of people will make you beautiful in a completely artificial way and the photographer will say things like, "You're beautiful! You're glamorous! Make love to the camera!"' She said it in a ridiculous, falsely enthusiastic way.

I laughed, 'Great.' I did feel better, though.

They'd decided to put me in a Spartan loft flat overlooking the Thames. Alex and I took an enormous elevator up; the building must have been converted from a warehouse. The floor was a dark, highly polished wood and almost an entire wall of the loft was windows, the view was...interesting. It overlooked a disused industrial plant, which was beautiful in a lonely, abandoned way.

After the make up artists (there were three) and the hair people (another three) and the wardrobe people (two) were through with me we'd already spent two and a half hours getting ready. Alex sat on a sofa and watched them fuss over me. After every change of outfit I'd do a twirl and Alex would issue her opinion. The assistants fussing over me didn't care for that, they wanted to do whatever they wanted to do to me and keep Alex out of it. Which, of course, only prompted her to issue more opinions. That cracked me up and definitely helped ease my tension.

After they got me into a ruffled blouse and skin tight leather trousers I would never wear in a million years the photographer, a man with a ponytail and a Swedish accent, pointed at a chaise lounge and said, 'Sit there, please', and raised his camera to his eye. I did as he asked and he lowered the camera, 'You're so uptight', in his accent. I wondered if he really talked that way or if he was only putting it on. 'Drape over the chaise, please.'

I cocked an eyebrow. I had never "draped" in my life and I wasn't about to start now.

'What? Relax. You look like you're getting rectal examination.'

Everyone laughed. I said, 'Just trying to show the real me.'

'You're so rigid. Relax. Don't you slump ever?'

I shook my head, 'No, I took ballet, you see.'

'Good for you. Lie down on the chaise.'

All righty. I lie down on my back and folded my hands on my stomach. I felt like I was in a psychiatrist's office. Everyone laughed again.

Sven, or whatever his name was, sighed in an exasperated way, 'Not like that. Sexy.'

I laughed and sat up, 'There's your problem, you want me to be something I'm not.'

'Lie on your side and face me, would you?' He sighed again as if to say, "authors!" and raised the camera. I did as he asked, feeling entirely uncomfortable. He commanded, 'Now smile!'

I honestly thought I was smiling. I tried again, which couldn't have felt less attractive or natural if I'd been naked in a pool of jelly.

Alex said, 'You're beautiful, you're glamorous, you're the centre of the universe!' in that incredibly enthusiastic way that made me laugh. Sven looked at her like she was a total nutter and then started snapping away at me.