Eyes Of The Beholder
one

Taylor was a rather young girl. She was at the bitter age of nineteen and had been on her own for over four years now. She had no family. Four years ago she got a job, and that job became her home. The manager, Barry, became the father she never had. She was thankful to have a roof over her head, and was perfectly content living the way she was. Taylor was independent and she made her own money. She had a strong spirit, and she was a survivor. But her world was about to change immensely. Everything she had come to know was going to be challenged -- and she had no idea it was going to happen.

Taylor was working until close that day. She hadn't made hardly any tips and was starting to wonder why. Defeatedly slinking over to her newest table, she took the customer's drink order. She noticed the man was staring at her, but she couldn't figure out why. Had she spilled something on herself again? Anxiously she hurried into the bathroom. As she gazed at herself in the mirror, she noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Her long brown hair was pulled into a low ponytail, her precise makeup wasn't overly smudged, and there was nothing spilled on her uniform. So why was this guy staring at her? Did she know him? She honestly didn't recognize him, but she had such a bad memory that she couldn't be certain.

She brought him the coffee he ordered, shaking uncontrollably as she set it on the table. It unnerved her the way he kept staring at her. She wasn't used to this kind of attention, whatever it was.
"May I take your order?" Taylor questioned, eyes flitting over the customer, whose blonde hair was askew. After a moment he closed the menu and looked up at her. She could feel her face reddening in embarrassment.

"Have you ever considered becoming a model?" The man asked suddenly, taking a drink of his coffee as he did so. Taylor thought maybe he was crazy.

"What?" She was stunned. Truthfully, she hadn't ever thought of being a model. She'd always considered herself to be weird looking. She was incredibly self-concious about her large lips, as well as her body type. She thought she was tall and gangly, and found her own body to be repulsive. Not to mention the seemingly giant mole that was present on her face. She wished it wasn't there, she hated it, and wanted the stupid thing to disappear.

This guy had to be joking. Taylor looked terrible in her messy ponytail, pants too short for her long legs, and an apron splattered with various sauces. What did he see in her? Because obviously, she didn't see it.

When she heard the man laugh, she felt her stomach churn. He had been joking! He was making fun of her! She crossed her arms, feeling foolish.

"I'm a scout for a local modeling agency and I believe," He paused, eyes sparkling vicariously. "That you are just what the fashion world needs. Drop by the agency sometime and we'll check you out." He dropped a card onto the table and she grabbed it, shoving the piece of paper into her ratty apron. She hurried away, beginning to feel dizzy.

"Miss? Miss? I still need to get some dinner!" He called after her. But she was long gone. Somehow her legs had carried her into the parking lot, and she was getting into her car. She pulled the business card out of her apron, staring at it in complete disbelief.

---

Taylor wasn't sure of what to do. She had to work today, yet had the overwhelming urge to visit the agency. Part of her was terrified - what if they laughed in her face? She still couldn't believe any of this was actually happening. Picking up the phone, she shakily dialed the number listed on the card.

"Um...hello. I was approached yesterday by one of your -- talent scouts? He told me to drop by sometime. I just wanted to make an appointment or whatever." She explained, tripping over her words.

"Name?" The woman on the other end of the phone requested, sounding bored.
"My name?" She asked, completely flustered.
"Yes." The woman replied, annoyed.

She couldn't believe she was doing this. It was a stupid, rash thing to do. She had never been the spontaneous type but now here she was, completely blowing off work for some childish fantasy.

"Taylor. Taylor Kelsy."
"Alright. Got you scheduled for four o'clock, honey. Hope to see you soon. Bye."

Taylor hung up the phone, surprised. It was becoming real...it was actually happening! Crap. She had to be at work in half an hour. She picked up the phone again, calling her manager.
"Yeah, Barry? I can't make it in today. I'm sorry. I've got the stomach flu. Yeah, I heard that it's going around. Right. I'll see you monday. Thanks. Bye."

There. It was all taken care of. She felt like a child, lying through her teeth. She had always been a bad liar, so why had this been so easy for her? She started to feel a thousand times more nervous when she realized that she'd be meeting someone today, someone who had the impression that she was beautiful. And she wasn't.

Taylor took the longest shower in the history of the universe, washing and conditioning her hair twice for good measure. She dried herself off and found her way to her closet, slipping on her best outfit. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, washing her face as thoroughly as she could. She brushed her teeth, gargled some fluoride mouthwash, and began applying her makeup. First the eyeshadow - a light gray, then the black mascara and eyeliner. A bit of blush and lip gloss. She glanced at her watch, quarter to four! Taylor hurried out the door, jumping into her car . She furiously made her way through the traffic to the address listed on the modeling agency's card. She shut off her car, practically leaping inside this building that seemed to be looming over her. She started to feel sick and a lump formed in her throat as she approached the front desk.

"Yes?" The woman looked away from the computer screen.
"Hi. Taylor Kelsy. I had an appointment?"

"Right. Follow me." The lady led her down a long hallway, and Taylor anxiously followed. She took in her surroundings. The building was well furnished, with many solid pieces of furniture set it up in the perfect way. She knew about how to set up a room correctly because she was into feng shui. She could see her reflection in the polished wooden floors. Various framed photos were on the wall, all of ridiculously beautiful women. "I'm not like them. I can't do this," Taylor said to herself as she was led into the office, where a well dressed man was sitting.

"Is this her?" He asked, and the receptionist nodded.

"Wow," he exclaimed gleefully, not stopping short of slapping his hands together in joy. "Michael sure was right. He's got an eye for these kind of things. You are absolutely gorgeous." He rose from his seat, running his hands over Taylor's face, a look of amazement in his eyes. "Henna will love you." He announced, then turned to the receptionist. Taylor wondered who Henna was, and why she would love her. "Get Henna in here immediately, she absolutely has to see this girl."

The man told her to sit and she obeyed, sinking into the unbelieveably comfortable chair but feeling vulnerable in front of the giant desk. The man took a seat at the desk, not taking his eyes off of Taylor.
"I'm Doug. This is my modeling agency, and I have never in my life seen someone who looks like you. Henna is my lovely photographer and she is going to adore you. You're just what she's been searching for."

An olive-skinned woman with short hair entered the room at this moment. Her lips, painted a cherry red, were pursed, and her green eyes were dancing. Taylor couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking. The woman tilted Taylor's head slightly, pushing her chin upward.

"Not bad. Not bad at all." Taylor felt a bit like she was a part of a cattle show. The woman's face relaxed into a tight smile and she took a seat beside of the trembling brunette.

"My name is Henna. I am photographer," She introduced, voice heavy with what sounded like a Russian accent. To her surprise, she stuck out her hand for Taylor to shake. "And you are?"
"Taylor. And I'm a model...I guess." She studied Taylor closely, clicking her tongue.

"That will do."

"Taylor, have you ever modeled before?" The girl couldn't get over Henna's accent. It was so deliciously smooth, reminding her of coffee and she wanted to drink it in forever. Henna didn't speak english normally, and that's what was so fascinating. After a moment, Taylor realized she hadn't yet answered the woman's question.
"No, I haven't." She admitted softly.

"Alright. That is fine. Hey," The photographer narrowed her green eyes. "You do not have to be nervous. I will not hurt you. I promise." Taylor smiled. "You have an exquisite smile. How old are you?" Henna asked her then, leading her into the next room.

"Nineteen."
"Nineteen?" Henna repeated, sizing the girl up. Her eyes lingered over Taylor's full breasts. A grin found its' way onto her lips. "Let us get started, yes?"

Taylor took her place and Henna started snapping pictures. The young model began to feel more relaxed and started to do some poses. Henna was obviously loving it. She took about a hundred frames before speaking again.
"Your shirt. Would you remove it? Only if you are comfortable, of course." Taylor felt her own face heat up but she nodded, pulling her shirt over her head. It lay forgotten on the floor while Henna's gaze became more apparent. A few more rounds of pictures were taken.

"Pants?" She encouraged. Taylor unbuttoned her pants, slowly bringing them down to her ankles. She knew Henna was watching her, and didn't mind. Her heart was pounding as she looked up at the photographer, smiling unsurely. She wasn't sure what to do next.

"Good." Henna took several more pictures before making her way over to Taylor. "Your body," She said slowly, biting her lip in concentration. "Intoxicating." The way she said it made Taylor get butterflies in her stomach. Her heart was practically bouncing out of her chest. "Can I touch?" Henna questioned softly, eyebrows raising.

"Yes." Taylor answered breathlessly, shivering at the older woman's touch. The photographer scooted closer, hands traveling to Taylor's breasts in one swift motion. Her breath got caught in her throat when she felt Henna unclasping her bra. She closed her eyes, savouring the feeling of the woman's hands over her breasts. A moan unwillingly escaped Taylor's mouth and Henna leaned forward, kissing her greedy lips. Henna then stopped suddenly, stepping away from the younger girl.

"No. This cannot happen."
"What? Why?"
"Must maintain professional relationship." Henna reasoned hesitantly, disappointment evident in her emeraldine eyes. Taylor shrugged, struggling not to cry out in frustration.
"I'm sorry." She apologized, though she wasn't sorry at all. She didn't regret anything that just happened, and it upset her that Henna did.

"You did nothing. It is not your fault. But I. I am going to go. Meet me here. Tomorrow at two thirty."

Taylor tried to wrap her mind around everything that happened that day, but she couldn't possibly. So many things that she couldn't explain had occured. She called off work, went to a modeling agency, and almost made out with teh photographer. It was almost too much to handle. As if that wasn't enough, when she arrived back home, there was a new message on her answering machine.

"This is Barry. I hate to do this on the phone -- or at all in fact, because you know how much I like you and all. But Shannon saw you in town today and you weren't the least bit sick. I'm sorry, but you know there's a zero tolerance policy for invalid excuses. You lied and unfortunately, I have to fire you for this. Taylor, we'll really miss you here but...I won't be seeing you at work Monday. Or ever again. Sorry. Um..Bye."

Taylor sunk to the floor, breaking into tears. She had been working at Olive Garden since she was sixteen, and now, just like that, she was unemployed. She felt terrible. That place had been like her home and Barry had been almost a father to her. But in an instant all of it was gone, just because some idiot happened to like the way she looked. Because she was stupid and went to that modeling agency instead of work where she belonged. She wasn't a model, she was a waitress. That much was obvious. If anything, she could've gone the next day when she didn't have to work. So why hadn't she done that?

This was fate. She was meant to become a model. The eyes of the beholder were changing her, in a way she didn't understand. For once in her life, she felt beautiful.