Aim to Please (wlw)

ch. 4 • a perfect fit

The model who canceled happened to be in my size range. So, for the past 2 and a half weeks I had been forced to stand still in several awkward positions while pins and needles pricked me. There was a total of 4 outfits that ranged from obnoxious to murderous, none of them I felt comfortable in.

Like every morning, I woke up and just stared at the ceiling. Swirling inside of my head were the words of bullies, of people I cared for turned sour. If Ms. Montague was not my boss, I would have told her to go-

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Without moving my head, I grabbed my phone and answered it.

"Yeah?" I mumbled through a yawn.

"Good morning, doll," Ms. Montague's soft voice tickled my eardrum. "Thought I would make sure you're good with doing the final fittings today."

"Yeah," I sighed heavily, sitting up. "Yeah, that's fine."

"I've put in an order for your coffee and breakfast," she sang back, attempting to pull a smile onto my lips. "We can sit in the office and talk for a bit before the fittings."

Annoyed that it worked, I smiled genuinely. "Yes ma'am. I'll be there."

Ms. Montague took every chance she had to apologize and give me breaks when I became too uncomfortable. Even to this day, 3 days before the show, she would offer to find another woman the second I became withdrawn. In the end, however, I always declined.

Maybe it was stubbornness. Or maybe it was the need to prove myself.

One of the best things about being a dress up doll was the ability to go to work wearing comfortable clothing. Today's ensemble was a pair of black leggings, a UCAL Berkeley t-shirt, and simple tennis shoes. I ran a brush through my hair, wincing at the strength it took to break loose the knots. Styling didn't matter- the crew would be styling it for me. All day. Multiple styles.

Ms. Montague was very particular about how her models looked. Their makeup, hair, hell- even their nails- needed to be her version of perfection. She worked her hair and makeup team hard, her designers harder, and herself the hardest.

I climbed into my uber and directed him towards the office. The aggressiveness of city driving faded into the background as I rested my head against the window. The thoughts of finally being done with fittings made me happy more than nervous.

But there was one problem.

Montague was in the room for every single fitting of each outfit but the last. La pièce de résistance. It was a ball gown of sorts- lengthy. It took a few tries for me to not tangle my feet in the fabric. The burgundy popped against my skin. A dual slit in the dress from right below my hip all the way down showcased my thighs to the world.

That took some getting used to.

The bodice was beaded lace, the bosom heart-shaped. On the shoulders were dozens of individual fabric feathers that fanned around the outer curve of the shoulder line. In short, it was a gorgeous piece.

Part of me wondered why she never wanted to see such a beautiful dress on me. Part of me wondered if she had seen the other women in the same gown, but different sizes. Part of me wondered why the hell I even cared-

"We're here," the uber driver stated plainly.

I thanked him and exited the car. My familiar journey through the revolving doors was met with a surprise: Ms. Montague was waiting anxiously in the lobby. Her eyes brightened and a toothy, wide smile appeared. The jump that happened inside of me when she smiled at me like that reminded me of...

Nope.

"Good morning," I chirped, smiling back at her. "I get escorted to the office today?"

"Of course," she purred. "How else am I going to protect my most important model?"