At first, I thought it was quiet because of the construction of the building. A lot of them I noticed had soundproofing, no doubt to help silence the everyday cacophony of car alarms – (mostly because of the car alarms), horns, screeches, and random clickity – clack. I looked over at Olivia’s two male assistants, who were both smoking cigarettes. The first one was sitting on a bar stool chair, holding a bronze reflector in one hand with the cigarette in the other, and chatting in the direction of the make-up artist. The make-up artist was more feminine, holding his cigarette close to his face in a cupping position, and looking ruefully towards the windows. Suddenly a powder brush materialized from beneath one of his folded arms, and he casually sauntered over to the model for closer inspection.
They took several breaks, smoking breaks, as the three of them spoke quietly amongst themselves. I think this must have helped to enhance my overall sense of distraction. For some reason, I could not recall even one word of what they had been saying. It was a strange and distant, almost foreign type of unfathomable conversation.
It was autumn now, and the shows had been over for a couple weeks. While I sitting on one of the couches next to my gear, I began thinking about some of the stuff I got from my jobs. I actually could have used another oversized bag, but the leather coat I got was pretty nice. I also scored a few pairs of sunglasses and a wonderful, romantic-looking, silk-style blouse – those pieces and a couple of gift bags.
Everything in the room seemed subtlety dimmed and tinted in a dark office gray. I must have spaced out because the next thing I knew, the girls were fully dressed in their own clothing, walking out of the door and saying their goodbyes. I was still sitting there in my kimono, with TURN PAGE