Smoke And Mirrors ***completed***

Chapter 9.

A good schedule always suited Honey's sense of order. It was her nature or maybe it was just because she was simply a woman, loving things in their right places and in impeccable order. But funny enough no matter how much she tried to beat her schedule it never conformed to her sense of order.
At any rate, the modelling industry was hectic in the least and Honey wondered what had appealed to her to the glamorous life of modelling. The thrill of strutting down the runway was waning, the intrigue of all the lavish parties, expensive limo rides, different cities and countries was also appearing dull to her not to say anything about the mystique of photoshoots which was wearing thin.

The air had a mean, threatening weight that promised more muscle as the day progressed. Few clouds scudded the clear blue azure sky urged along by the cool breeze rolling in from the ocean which did nothing to alleviate the baking heat. No wonder the calm serene ocean  with the waves lapping the shores was so inviting.
She winced as a sulky hairdresser tagged and pulled at her hair into an intricate hair style. Another girl who honey doubted was even past her eighteenth birthday fussed with her makeup. She could not start to comprehend why she put up with all this with someone always  breathing down on her because of her weight and what not. With the oppressive heat and the humidity which made her feel like she was walking through wet towels she hated her choice of career.
Sweat trickled down the small of her back as she posed for the pictures for the upcoming issue of vogue. The dress was too big for the her so they had to use pins to make it tight. She could already feel them poking  her back. The shoes were also a size  smaller and with the heat she could feel the makeup melting on her face.

"Smile with those dreamy bedroom exotic eyes of yours darling and would you add a little flair to your pose. Yes perfect. You are a natural."

Zack Quincy gushed in his raspy voice of a chain smoker clicking away.
Honey pasted a smile on her face as if someone had told her to say cheese.
It felt more like acting and at times Honey suspected that's why she chose this and she was damn good at it. But she had to suppress her emotions or she would have gone insane. She hated being photographed and more so being treated like a doll on display. Just like acting it felt like  an assumed role with herself detached from it all.
The feeling held firm. That feeling of  being held captive. Everything closing in on her, creeping up on her  With so much to take in and being pulled in different directions.
The feeling of suffocation clogging her throat.
She felt like she was in a limbo. A form of detox with her body rejecting  everything like a bad organ transplant.
She went on through  the motions,  everything coming naturally to her like breathing as she repressed her emotions and natural tendencies like her innate shyness that was like second nature to her.

A model should be at all times - and come to think about this Also applied to all women in general - classy and fabulous but at times like this honey felt the opposite. She was dead beat, cranky and edgy.
She had a four PM fitting session with Mui Mui and Vuitton, then a hair and makeup appointment, later on an audition for the upcoming intimissimi lingerie designs for Playboy magazine and sports illustrated swimsuit issue of Vanity Fair.
Then countless other magazines photoshoots before she called it a day. Then the icing of the cake she had a flight to catch during the night so she would meet her agent and promoter in Miami for their early meeting before she had to fly to Milan. Long story short she had the whole week booked down to the last minute with not even a second to herself. She was spreading herself all around and she was feeling she was leaving nothing for herself. That feeling everything would overwhelm her growing, threatening to sweep her away.
Smiling, she tried to tune out the reality that was in Such a mess it was painful to dwell in it. Was it just lack of sleep or was the photographer giving her that look like he wanted to eat her? As if her life wasn't messed up as it was she had to fend off men led by their libido who thought because they wore trousers they were entitled to peek up any skirt. She didn't like the signals he was sending her way maybe she should give a call to Anne Robinson of the watchdog or do an interview with  exposé or  in the extreme begin a campaign fighting for models rights or something, anything to take her mind off everything.
No matter how larger than life her willpower was she knew deep down it was only a matter of time before everything eroded her old fashioned sentimentality and ideals. With everyday feeling like she was constantly in battle with new cultures and trends. Which at times felt like  her against the world.
She was existing on  borrowed time  and sooner rather than later she knew without a shadow of doubt she would be sucked into the eye of the storm that was the ever changing perverse modeling world.
She was already loosing touch with reality. A kind of slow burn. Loosing her essence. Her inner self in the face of all the forces that had a hold on her.
The clock was ticking. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Her willpower battered and compromised. Her ideals crumbling. She knew what stood between her and everything was only time. And even that wouldn't hold. At least not for long.