Do It Like You Mean It

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Annabelle adjusted the pillow behind her head and repositioned herself on her back. Her roommate, Bella, was in the habit of taking showers with the bathroom door slightly ajar, and if Annabelle remained on her side, she was afraid Bella would know she was watching her. But she did always watch her bathing when she could away with it.

She knew she and her roommate were a study in opposites. When she compared herself to someone like Bella, who was Norwegian or whatever from some town Annabelle couldn’t remember, much less pronounce, the differences were strikingly obvious. She always pictured Bella skiing down a slope, doing one of those ski-blades-in-the-snow stops, holding up a brand of yogurt and smiling for the camera. Her cheeks were rosy, her blue eyes were always clear and trusting, her blonde hair obediently fell into place, her weight never varied, and she was so damned f*****g nice it was downright irritating. But what rankled her even more was watching Bella become far more successful in her modeling career. It was almost as if she didn’t even have to try, for god’s sake. She had such a look of purity and goodness about her, and people in the industry seemed to just eat it up. Annabelle figured her own look was yesterday’s news: Olive-skin, a bit sultry-looking, breasts a bit too big, a curvier bottom; dark hair and eyes. Nope, this season’s new “thing” was the pale, monochromatic appearance someone with Bella’s coloring could more easily achieve in black-and-white print. Why were companies going for that nuclear-winter look in their magazine ads?

She stole another glance at Bella, who was humming quietly as she wrapped her wet hair in a towel. The steam wafted around her naked body, making her skin appear even more flawless than it already was. And her body was virtually hairless— just naturally so, it seemed.

Bella’s cell phone rang, sounding like the national anthem of some foreign country.

“You will get that, please?” she called out from the bathroom.

“Sure,” Annabelle said, already rising and walking toward the kitchen table where the phone lay.

“Bella’s phone,” she said, flatly.

There was a slight hesitation, then a gravelly male voice asked, “You always answer a phone as a phone?”

Annabelle sighed. “Maybe.”

“You might remember me from the party the other night, hon. Said I’d call you about the shoot today. I know you said you weren’t interested, but thought I’d try again. Just one more time. I can’t seem to locate a model on such short notice.”

Annabelle peeked around the corner to see if Bella was still in the bathroom. She pressed the phone closer to her ear and stepped into the small pantry off the kitchen.

“Um, hold on one second, okay?”

She waited about forty-five seconds, then shuffled the phone around to make it sound as if it were changing hands. She took on Bella’s accent, an accent she could by now do in her sleep.

“You need model, yes?”

“Bella?”

“Yah, dis Bella. I model for you?”

“Damn straight! I’m damned desperate. You interested? God but that would be great, honey.”

Annabelle knew Bella was to be on location for a few days for New York Style, a pretty plum shoot if there ever was one. Bella had mentioned it weeks ago, and again while she made tea that morning.

“Tell where and when, yes?”

“Aw, honey. Thanks for helping me out.”

Annabelle darted out of the pantry and grabbed a pen and a torn junk-mail envelope from the counter. She scribbled the time of the shoot, a few details and the directions so quickly she feared they might end up illegible when she referred back to them. She thanked the man and hung up abruptly. She shoved the envelope into the pocket of her robe and peered around the corner to check the bathroom door. Bella opened it and walked naked into the living room. Annabelle quickly averted her eyes and pretended to be watching something out the window.

“Who was on phone?”

“Wrong number. I mean, just someone trying to sell you something. I’ll just put your phone back here on the table,” she said, smiling. “Oh, by the way, I talked to a friend of mine while you were in the shower. I’m going to meet her at her condo for, you know, lunch and stuff. I have to leave soon if I’m going to get there in time.”

Bella’s face registered some confusion. “Yes. Oh.”

“Well, off I go!”

She strode to her room and grabbed the huge bag she used for modeling jobs. The man hadn’t said much about what to bring, just that all clothing was to be provided at the shoot. But how did they know what would fit? Crap, but this might get messy.

She’d have to think fast on her feet. Oh, Bella got ill at the last minute? What, like right after the phone call? How lame was that? But he was desperate, and he said he needed a model within the hour. Well, he was getting one, and she was going to make damned sure she did a phenomenal job for him. It might even lead to more photo shoots. Rent was coming due, and people weren’t exactly beating down her door lately to offer work. Well, at least she’d already showered, so she could probably make it in time. She threw on a bra, her favorite white blouse and a pair of tight jeans. She slipped into her shoes, threw a few different styles of bras and underwear into her bag and was ready to leave. She could hear Bella moving around in her own bedroom, humming something and then turning on her stereo. Annabelle threw the bag over her shoulder, sneaked out of the apartment and shut the front door quietly behind her.