Grey Clouds On The Horizon

Just Out Of Reach

If there was one thing in the world that Emilia Stewart could not stand, it was tardiness. She set her alarm a half hour earlier than necessary for that gloomy Seattle morning and took her time getting put together for the day ahead. First, she found herself some breakfast. It was just a nonfat yogurt and ate she it with a metal spoon while walking on the hotel gym's treadmill. After she calculated that she'd burned off the yogurt she was consuming, Emilia prioritized toning by lifting hand weights, doing lunges, feeling the burn through squats and going through her standard daily core routine. Maintaining peak physical condition was essential to staying the best at what she did.

How had she become the best? Many reporters and fans had asked over the years and her response was always a sly smile that brought her back to a memory. They never got their answer. But in her mind, she knew that the reason was clear. 

It wasn't because she wanted it.

It was because she wanted it more than anyone else. Because she needed it to survive.

She took time to wash her hair with at least a hundred rotations of each hand, only to find the strand she chose to check after rinsing did not squeak exactly to her liking. Again, she lathered at least a hundred rounds of each wrist and rinsed to discover that achieving the perfect level of cleanliness required extra attention. Emilia sighed to herself, wondering if it was the product put in by the stylist the day before, but chose not to select someone to blame. Prioritizing grace over absolution was a decision she'd made many years before.

When she felt both her hair and body were sufficiently cleaned by the scalding water, she dried off with a towel and took her customary 10 minutes to be free of clothes while she answered work emails, went over her daily schedule and attempted not to disturb the loudly snoring figure on the sprawling across the bed.

Soon, her designated time was up and she stopped by the kitchenette to wash, dry and put away her spoon. Then she dried out the sink, tossed the paper towel away in the same trash can she'd put her plastic yogurt tub and stepped back to survey her work. Em wasn't going to be too happy if she came back from her visit to a mess. She didn't dislike messes more than tardiness, but it was a close second.

Her clothes were already in a black zip up garment bag, hung in her closet and labeled with the day and time. Another outfit was selected for her evening activities but, as it was morning, Emilia put on the high lace collared button up shirt, the white floral stockings, her pink suede flats and, over it all, a tan corduroy jumper embroidered with roses along each hemline. A sweep of pink lip gloss, a light brush of white eyeshadow and a small dab of mascara to each eye completed her routine. 

To Emmy, her skin was flawless. She admired the way it was without blemish or blush, except where an old friend had left their mark long ago. Every once in a while her fingers would trace that outline and she'd marvel the masterful way it brought her back to reality when the rest of her life was scripts, costumes and characters. That scar was proof that she, Emilia Stewart, was a real person. That she had been born, she lived, and someday would die. That inevitable end became closer or further away depending on the company she kept.

Not to let her mind get too far away from her, she kissed the loudly snoring lump that left her only a small corner of the bed and promised to return soon to prepare a meal. Early in her career, when she'd been trained into the incredible creation she'd become, Em had been forced to spend many nights in hotels devoid of human contact. So, though the sleeping arrangements were not as she preferred, Emilia was grateful she didn't have to travel alone anymore. Too much of her life had been spent feeling completely and utterly alone.

On her way to the elevator, she caught her reflection in several mirrors and added to her mental checklist of what could use improvement. Em noted that her hair was approximately one forth inch too long towards the back and she could stand to lose five pounds to achieve the ideal measurements Marcus Bowman had laid out for her. That first meeting felt like a lifetime ago.