Chapter 5

Limply, I followed Heather as she crossed to a Mini Cooper in a vivid blue. "Fashion week?"

Heather grinned, a gap between her teeth winking at me. "Yeah! How intense is that?"

"It's certainly something." I collapsed into the passenger seat of little car. Heather started the engine and pulled up out onto Spencer Street, concentrating on the busy city roads and giving me time to mull over my destination.

Melbourne Spring Fashion Week was the premier event of the city. The previous year, we'd sent Taylor down to cover the final day, and she'd gloated for weeks about all the freebies she'd been given. I couldn't think of anything more tedious than spending time around stick-insects and the people who dressed them.

But, I'm meant to be opening my mind, I told myself. I shouldn't judge an entire industry based on a few episodes of America's Next Top Model. Maybe this will be fun...?

As Heather inched the car closer to the city square where Fashion Week set up shop, I asked, "So, what am I doing today?'

"Robbo has teed you up to work with Jordy Green today."

"Wow." Nerves began to ricochet through my chest, my heartbeat elevating. Jordy was a world famous Aussie designer, who'd clothed everyone from Kate Middleton to Cate Blanchett. Her designs were elegant and timeless – and only came in sizes 4-10. The only JG piece I'd ever owned was a floaty scarf, bought online because I was too intimidated to walk in the store just in case they kicked me to the curb, Pretty Woman style.

Heather nodded excitedly. "You'll be her personal assistant today, then help out other designers for the rest of the week. Only short days, from ten till three, then I'll pick you up and we can do something fun and grab dinner."

"Uh, we don't have to hang out after I'm done," I deflected. "I'm sure you have a life."

"No way! I'd love to chat with you." She pulled the car over to a taxi bay on Collins Street and handed me a lanyard with a press pass dangling from it, plus a tiny cooler bag. "That'll get you in backstage, and that's your lunch. Have fun!"

"Wait, you're not coming?" My stomach twisted in on itself. I'd known Heather for all of ten minutes, but the redhead was warm and open; the thought of leaving her and having to face a potentially hostile crowd of wraiths and calorie-counters seemed horrific.

She shook her head, the short spiky locks flipping back and forth. "Nah, I'll be around for filming on Thursday and for the live cross on Friday, but Robbo was insistent that you work the first three days alone. Don't worry; you'll rock it big!"

Feeling more like a big rock, I hefted myself out of the Mini. "See you at three, then."

"Bye!" She zoomed off into traffic, leaving me vulnerable by the side of the road.

Sighing, I flipped up the wide collar of my coat against the cool spring air, and plodded towards the clear tent on the square. All around me, city folk flowed, but as usual, I didn't get recognised; when I was on screen I was iconic, but on the street without makeup and Matt, I was just another ordinary tubby girl.

I slipped in the main entrance, briefly marvelling at the simplicity of the black runway surrounded by chairs. Although the show wasn't until 2pm, people already clustered around nattering quietly. At the top of the runway, black panelling separated the front of house from the back. I threaded my way through the seating, showed the mammoth security guard my pass and entered a different world.

The backstage area was like the inside of a hive; everywhere, people swarmed, buzzing around frantically, a solid wall of moving bodies.

And what bodies they were; the models caught my attention first, standing out from the common folk with their towering height and sinewy limbs. They were in every state of dress and undress as assistants frenetically adjusted hems or sewed them into garments. Breasts winked at me, all of them svelte and perfectly proportioned to the slim bodies they were attached to.

Already feeling like a round balloon among long ones, I touched the arm of the nearest guy with a clipboard. "Hey, I'm Ms Moore, I'm meant to be working with Jordy Green today. Can you point me in her direction, please?"

His eyes widened. "Just follow the noise," he said, pointing to the far end of backstage. "Good luck."

His tone was one of absolute warning, and I found my knees quailing as I moved forward into the crowd. I kept myself tucked in as much as possible, as if by reducing my protrusions, I could reduce my bulkiness. It didn't work; people bumped into me with alarming regularity, sending irritated glances my way, and I felt waves of disapproval splash me, the fat flounder in a sea of skinny minnows.

As I neared the far corner, a screechy voice reached me. "As if you'd dare put on weight on the day of my show! Do you think I work with plus sized? Do you?"

A towering angular woman railed at a quivering model. The poor girl looked about sixteen, a sylph of a thing, with pale hair and almost violently white skin. She pulled helplessly at the zip of the leather pants she was shoe-horned into, but it refused to move over the bone of her hip, poking out with the skin stretched tightly. "I'm so sorry, Jordy! I don't know what happened, I swear, I've followed the routine to the letter!"

Jordy stalked around the younger woman, a terrifying predator. "Green tea, diet coke, cigarettes. I'm only asking for 72 hours of dedication so the garments I've hired you to wear still! Freakin'! Fit!" With her last three words, Jordy performed three movements; yanking down the zip, and ripping each leg of the pants to the girl's feet.

She stood there trembling in only the barest of G-strings, a bony teen, openly sobbing. "Jordy... Please..."

"You're fired. Get the hell out of my sight," dismissed Jordy, turning to another assistant. "Put the pants on that Asian girl, take her shorts and put them on look seven, and ditch the floral skirt."

"Yes, Ms Green."

Both the assistant and the model fled, and Jordy lit a ciggie. "Jesus Christ. Imbeciles." She caught sight of me. "What do you want, chubby?"

I may have been away from the source of my empowerment, my desk, but something riled up inside of me, a desperate desire to choke the skinny bitch in front of me until her gaunt head popped right off her scrawny shoulders. Instead, I forced myself to take the professional road. "I'm Evi Moore, I've been sent here from Jump Start to assist you as part of our new occupational diversity series-"

"From where?" she sneered.

"Jump Start." I enunciated the words, as if talking to child. "The morning show on channel..."

My words faded away to nothing as I watched the other woman turn to a small table behind her, lower her head to a silver tray, pick up a tiny tube and snort a line of white powder. Gobsmacked, my mouth fell open. "Um... What's that?"

"Breakfast," she said, rubbing at her nose with the hint of a thin smile. "Lydia!" Another hungry-looking assistant appeared. "Deal with this. Put it somewhere it won't be seen or block the way or tempt the clothes hangers with food."

"Yes, Jordy."

Lydia beckoned, and I followed, trying to process all the madness of this brutal world. "Clothes hangers?" I asked.

"Models," said Lydia. She was a pretty girl, with Japanese features and haunted dark eyes. She led me to the sound deck at the side of the catwalk entrance. "Stay here, please. We'll have more for you to do as the show gets closer. For now, just try to keep out of Jordy's way."

I turned to look back at Jordy, where she stood tearing another 'hanger' apart. "She is literally the worst human being I've ever met."

Lydia's bottom lip pushed up. "And today is one of her good days."

"Why on earth do you work for her?"

She shrugged, whispering, "She pays well. I wanted to model, but I'm too short. This way, I still get to be around fashion."

Jordy screamed again and Lydia scurried off. Looking around the bedlam of the backstage area, I muttered to myself. "Why would anyone want to be around starving teenagers draped in overpriced rags?"

"I know, right?"

A voice by my feet made me shriek. From under the sound desk emerged a grinning black man with wicked cornrows. "Hey, I'm Elliot!"

"Evi," I said, admiring his toned arms and bright smile.

"I know who you are, girl!" He shook my hand, rubbing the tops of my fingers with his thumb, making me shiver. "You get me out of bed every morning! You make me smile, even when I have a mad hangover."

"Happy to help." It was nice to meet a fan, especially a good-looking one who didn't seem to think that my presence at a fashion show would automatically increase the waistline of everyone present.

"I heard you're here all week, yeah?" Elliot kept playing with sound desk, and I admired his thick fingers as they danced over the knobs.

"If I last through today."

"You know, most of them are better than her," he said, tipping his head at Jordy stalking around the room like a rabid animal. "Tomorrow is the Amazing Shapes label, those chicks are great. And Thursday's show is all emerging designers. Hang in there. Don't judge everyone in fashion by Jordy's insanity, yeah?"

But I really want to! I wanted to scream to the world about how messed up the whole industry was, the ridiculousness and pomposity. But as I opened my mouth, a tiny round girl appeared, about my age and dressed in brilliant colours.

"Hey, baby!" She leapt on Elliot, planting a massive kiss on his cheek.

He lifted her up, his fingers cuddling the swell of her hips. "Imogen!"

I felt the tiny flicker of hope inside me gutter and hiss out. Of course he has a girlfriend. Not that I'd really been looking at Elliot as marriage material, but he was sweet, good looking and didn't treat me like a pariah.

But if he had to have a girlfriend, at least she didn't look like all the other emaciated women around us. Her rosy cheeks blushed as he kissed her nose and said, "Look who I found!"

Her sweet green eyes lit up as she saw me. "Oh my god! You're Evi Moore! It's so great to meet you!"

"I was just telling Evi about your show on Thursday, babe." He gestured to his girlfriend. "Imogen is one of the emerging designers at fashion week."

"Congratulations," I said, genuinely impressed. "Can I ask you a question? What's it like being around tooth-picks all day?"

She laughed. "I'll admit; sometimes it sucks. But I made peace with who I am years ago, and I make sure I fit up to a size twenty, so as many women as possible have access to what I do. My clothes are all about colour and comfort." She eyed me carefully. "Would you consider wearing something of mine on air one day?"

"Sure. We're filming your show on Thursday; why don't you drop something off the day before and I'll wear it then?"

She squealed. "Yay! That's awesome! You're awesome!"

I shook my head. "I'm just happy to find someone worth wearing - whose clothes actually fit me."

Over the next few hours, I leaned against the wall, chatting with Elliot as the show geared up around us. I couldn't believe some of the sights I was confronted with; girls being taped into outfits, one model collapsed from dehydration, another threw up in a bin, nothing but bile coming out, then she had to stand back in line and wait for her turn to walk.

My job for the show was to hand the models their clutches and handbags the second before they hit the runway, and collect them as they returned. I whispered, "Good luck!" at each of them, until the other assistant hissed at me for being distracting.

Mostly, my heart bled a little for each of the slender creatures before me. When I'd seen models on TV or in print, they always looked slightly inhuman, presenting an image of superiority and strange beauty; it was hard to have any kind of affinity with them.

But up close, I saw that they were just girls, just like me, working as hard as they could to stay pretty, to book the next job. Most of them were under twenty, just kids bowing under the pressure of an industry which demanded perfection.

I watched one girl squeeze into stilettos two sizes two small, then walk the runway holding back tears of agony. I overheard two girls talk about their brutal workout routines and stringent diets. I observed another girl, holding the arms of the makeup chair with white knuckles as a stylist back-combed her hair with hot wax. Everywhere I looked, I saw sacrifice and dedication, rather than blasé attitudes and entitlement. I realised models deserved far more credit than the general public gave them.

As the show ended and the loathsome Jordy walked out behind the last model, basking in the rave applause of the audience, I found myself clapping too; not for her, but for everyone else who'd slaved behind the scenes to bring her clothes to life.

Elliot changed the music tracks over and nudged me with his shoulder. "So... We gonna see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you will."

I slipped out of the big tent, and headed for the same place Heather had dropped me off. She awaited me eagerly. "How was it?"

"Two parts fascinating, one part horrendous." I clipped in my seatbelt, and let my stomach relax for the first time in five hours. "Ugh. I'm exhausted and I didn't really do anything!"

Heather grinned. "I figured you would be. I've found this neat Vietnamese place right near the hotel, so we can eat early, then you can crash out. I'll drop you back at your room so you can shower, and then we'll go, if you like."

Happy to be ordered around, I let myself flop into the seat. "Sounds like a plan."

Back in the hotel suite, I raced for the shower, under strict instructions from Heather to not take more than an hour. As I stripped, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror, bizarrely shocked at the bulky reflection I saw. Somehow, after spending all day staring at rail-thin half-nude model bodies, I'd conditioned myself to erroneously believe I looked like them too. It didn't make any sense; it was like I'd reset my expectations of body image again.

But I knew that the models put in the hard yards for their bodies. Yeah, probably some of them were just gifted with great genes, but the rest exercised and watched their eating with a militant discipline. Could I ever do the same? Would I even want to?

I'd always told myself that the extra kilos I carried were because of bad luck or a slow metabolism. But deep down, I knew that I ate too much and designed elaborate justifications to get out of any form of exercise. I may not have a natural size six figure, but my newest adventure was forcing me towards a cross-roads; one where I'd have to decide whether I was going to keep making excuses, or stand up and take some responsibility for my health and weight.

But I wasn't going to face that demon yet. Looking away from the mirror, I dressed hurriedly, unsure if my time in the fashion world was doing anything besides destroying my peace of mind. All I wanted to do was crawl under my doona, order room service, go to sleep and dream of being skinny. I was about to text Heather and tell her that I couldn't be bothered going out for dinner, when I noticed my email icon flashing with a new message from Matt.

Hey Evianna,

Thought you might like to hear about how things are going without you here. I hope you're enjoying sleeping in! Taylor did well this morning, but she did forget the name of the prime minister on air, which was a bit awkward.

It's not the same without you. I know it's only been a day, but I've never had to do a broadcast without you before and it's weird. I miss you.

Evianna, I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm really apologising for, (something to do with treating you like a pony?) but my mum always says "Say sorry first, work the details out later." She's normally giving out relationship advice to my brothers, but even though we aren't a couple, I feel like we are work partners, and the same rules probably apply.

You can call me anytime. I miss your voice. And the rest of you.

Matt

Thanks for reading on!  I'm really excited about the industries Evi will be visiting over the next few weeks - I'm obsessed with Project Runway, even if I don't have a clue about fashion, and I always find it fascinating how we assume models are very important and well paid, when really, they are just staff members like the rest of us.

Please remember to vote!  Click the little star!  And leave me a comment if you'd like to chat about the fasion industry :)