[warning: stereotypes abound. See a/n at the end for more info.]
Casting calls, I decided, were the most irritating thing ever. Not only must one be at the casting building about an hour ahead of schedule, but one must also wait about forty minutes. Very hurry up and wait. I was dropped off at 3:20. At 3:40, I found that I had finished the book I had brought with me. I suppose I shouldn't have brought a book with three chapters remaining until I finished.
The directors of the shoot expect us all to bond during a casting call – not going to happen, just so you know. There is a stereotype of models being dumb and snobbish. It's not true, most of the time. When I was in LA for a magazine spread, the others were very kind, and I even managed to have an in-depth conversation on The Outsiders [I had to read it for class. the girls were quite helpful]. However, here, in San Francisco [NOT the fashion capital of the world, in case you didn't know] those stereotypes were the absolute truth.
The only person that I saw regularly at these shoots that I liked was Shane, but she had stopped coming a few months ago after her agency told her to lose a few pounds or leave. I have a different modeling agency, and offered to help her start here, but she declined.
At 3:50, I found myself dozing, and cursed myself for not bringing my iPod with me. Rule number one: falling asleep in front of people that could make you a lot of money – not a good idea.
Finally I was called in. Here's what usually happens; walk in, smile brightly, give Jordan an air-kiss for getting you in, shake hands with the producers and kiss the photographer's feet. Metaphorically.
I walked in, smiled brightly, gave Jordan an air-kiss for getting me in, shook hands with the producers and… I went slack jawed.
The photographer was young. My age. Black hair, dark eyes. Red t shirt, dark jeans. He grinned at me, and I melted a little.
It was Seth Rogers. It was the mysterious boy who was rumored to have been kicked out of his last school for sleeping with the principal's daughter. Holy crap.
"Hello luv," Seth said, mimicking my tone from that morning. "Surprised?"
***
I don't think my mind was working. Actually, I was pretty sure it wasn't. My mouth worked but all that came out was a feeble "uh-you-well… geez."
He smirked, "That's what I thought." He motioned toward a set with a wall of CD albums on it. "If you would?"
Dumbly, I nodded and walked.
"The concept of the test shoot is different from the shoot itself," he explained. "This is 'work with what you've got.' That's why no hair stylist, no make up artist, no color coordinated clothes. Use the clothes on your back."
I looked down. I was going to shoot in a white tank top and denim shorts? … ok, I guess.
Fifteen minutes later I walked out of the studio, a bit confused and more than a bit scared. Simply put, photographer doesn't take me, money doesn't come. And I was trying to save up to move to LA when I turned 18.
I sat down on the curb, waiting to be picked up. If only I could drive. I would be able to get to anywhere my agency needed me to be, I'd be able to get Shane, Em and Liv if need be, I'd be…
My train of thought was derailed as I felt a presence settle beside me.
"So. What d'ya think about my mad photography skills?"
I hesitated, inwardly arguing, make fun of cocky boy in math class… suck up to photographer… make fun of cocky boy in math class… suck up to photographer… I obviously wanted to go with the former, but the implications attached to the latter were just so… large.
While I was hesitating, Seth decided to bait me.
"And where would that darling pin of yours have gone? Could you have… lost it?"
Although I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not, I was a paranoid little freak. Scrounging through the mess that was my backpack, I found two packs of gum, three pairs of earrings, nine pencils that I'd thought I'd lost, a CD and [for some reason] one of Em's screenplays… no pin. Oh. Hael. No.
No one takes stuff from me and lives.
"You stole my one of a kind pin custom made somewhere in Europe."
"Don't be silly. I stole that godforsaken knife that you threatened me with."
I glared at him, inwardly debating, money, pride, money, pride… money. Fine. Dammit. I just lost an argument with myself. Grrrrr… "ok fine, may I please have my hair pin back?"
"Maybe. For a price."
What?! A price?! "What would that price be?"
He winked at me, stood, and walked back to the studio.
A/N: Hi! Well, I'm not a model, or an actress, so I may put misleading information in here. Also, because I'm not a model, I put in a stereotype that may or may not be true. It probably isn't true. I try to be as accurate as possible, but sometimes being there is the best you can do… and I can't be there. Well, as long as I tried, right? If you are a model, please, email me [see profile] or review, [I love reviews] and correct me! I'll ease off the modeling bit in the future, no worries. alsooooo, hmmm what shall the price be?