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“Walking in five, four, three... aaaand go.” The stage manager directs the first couple walking in Beatrice’s designs. As they disappear, we move forward one step at a time like we’re waiting in the grocery queue.
As the face of House Corbin, I’m walking with each designer’s finale piece and Beatrice’s collection is capped off with a red satin gown that honestly reminds me of a grossly overexaggerated choir robe. But it’s dramatic, well executed, and seems to be received well, given the applause that sounds out as I complete my walk with the model wearing the Lady Gaga-meets-choir director outfit.
There’s a small break while Yori’s models line up, and I take my place at the back of that lineup too. The response to Yori’s finale model is quieter, more of a polite clap. I find her work to be more cerebral and niche, but still marketable, and I’m pleased with how far she’s come since her application and her first runway show a month ago.
“Well done,” I tell Yori backstage, and she dips her chin in appreciation.
Katarina and Molly’s collections show equally well, and it’s time for Autumn’s.
I move into place with the last model, but the stage director grabs my arm and pulls me up to the first position. “I’m walking with the finale pieces for each collection,” I argue.
The director pushes a button on his headset, shaking his head at me while simultaneously talking to someone on the other end of his microphone. He holds his tablet up, showing me the roster that lists me walking in the first position and the last for Autumn’s collection.
“What the hell is going on?”
No one answers me. Instead, Chloe slips into line beside me. She’s wearing a black lace blindfold, but that’s about the only thing in her outfit that seems to be in place. Everything else is way off and weird. The shift dress has frayed cuts at the hem and shoulders, a diamond-shaped cutout at the waist, and vertical slits along the sides of the thighs. It could be a bit 80s or 90s ‘trash fashion’ inspired, except the holes aren’t even stitched but rather slashed into the fabric.
This is Autumn’s design? Was she drunk when she made it? Or did the stress get to her? It doesn’t look like her work at all. It kinda looks like an unsupervised toddler got a hold of scissors and used the dress for cutting practice.
Chloe takes my elbow and we work the runway. But something’s wrong with her. She’s done this hundreds of times before, but she’s walking as though she’s lost control of her body—gawky, her free hand moving with her leg instead in opposition to it, and her hips not working in time with mine.
I do my best to stay in the zone, looking like the bad boy I’m supposed to be, cocky and confident. It’s hard when Chloe seems intent on throwing everything off, including me. At the end of the runway, she lets go of my elbow and grabs the back of my neck, using me for stability as she leans herself back sharply and lifts her knee up to my hip. My instincts kick in and I catch her around her lower back and grab her knee, hoping it looks like I’m dipping her in some version of a ballroom dance move and not saving her from throwing herself to the runway.
Back upright, we do our return trip down the runway. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chloe doing a kick-step, and at first, I think she’s still dancing or lost control again. Keeping my head still, I look down and see that she’s kicked out of her right stiletto, leaving only the strap around her ankle. Her steps become high on the left and then low on the right... up, down, up, down she goes, like a peg-legged pirate, as she desperately hangs onto my arm the whole way.
As soon as we’re behind the curtains, I can hear the absolute chaos.
“What the fuck was that?” Autumn shouts. I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or Chloe, and I don’t have a chance to find out because the director pulls me one way and Autumn pulls Chloe the other way to get into her final design.
The makeup artist is re-oiling my chest, muttering something about Chloe wiping it all off and the photos looking like a piss-poor wax job of a surfboard. I guess that’s all I’m good for—a shiny, hard surface.
I try to catch Autumn’s eye, but she’s on her knees, cutting the shoes off Chloe’s ankles with angry snips from a pair of orange scissors, and I wonder if she’s going to cut Chloe’s Achilles tendons with the way she’s waving the scissors around. It’d serve Chloe right after whatever the hell that walk was. Chloe seems wholly unaffected, though, actually examining her nails with a smug lilt to her lips while Autumn freaks out.
When Autumn stands and pulls the dress off Chloe, she finally looks around and catches my gaze. I’m stuck, wanting to go over and encourage her but knowing she wants to earn this on her own. Autumn’s eyes are full of fire, and I try to send her a mental message...
Good girl. Keep fighting. The competition’s not over yet.
I risk a small smile, but she turns away to start getting Chloe into her final piece.
* * *
Autumn
“Atrocious.”
“Terrible.”
“Quite unfortunate.”
“What in the absolute fuck of tom-fuckery is going on here?”
I hear all this and more as I wait for Chloe to come off stage. And okay, that last one was me and it wasn’t quiet given the looks everyone else backstage is shooting my way. It was an exhibition of pure, unadulterated shock and fury. This is my one big, last chance to make a good impression on the fashionistas in the audience, and it’s going completely off-the-rails wrong.
First, Chloe’s been hanging onto Simon’s arm since they stepped out on the runway, and the way they posed together at the end has me fuming. I don’t mind a bit of dramatics on the runway, but they need to be planned and approved by the damn designer. And I’m not ashamed to say that I’m jealous and want to snatch Chloe’s blonde extensions right from her scalp for touching my man that way.
Second, what happened to my Love is Blind dress? It was perfect moments ago. I double- and triple-checked it myself, but now it looks like it’s been through a blender that was on pulse mode, with slashes here and gashes there. Hell, the oopsie with Jeanette’s peek-a-boo nipple wasn’t this bad, though I guess it’s some small blessing that Chloe doesn’t have her tits out. The way she was strutting around near-nude earlier tells me she probably wouldn’t have a single issue with doing a topless fashion show.
Third, that walk was appalling. I don’t know Chloe’s modeling experience, but judging by what she just did, I don’t think she could smoothly walk down the sidewalk, much less a runway.
