Paint Me Beautiful

packed bumper to bumper. I circle around the nearby blocks and can't find a damn place to park.
    “ This is why I hate downtown,” I tell my music as Amy disappears and Lily Allen switches on. The cheerful notes of Fuck You play out of my speakers as I curse silently to myself and start to feel the first real waves of anxiety. I cannot be late to this. If I walk in that door even one minute after I'm supposed to be there, Lianna's crew is going to tell me to hit the road and never come back. I get so desperate that I end up weighing the risk to reward ratio of parking somewhere I'm not supposed to. If my car gets towed, I'm going to miss my other appointments, but if I don't find somewhere to leave my damn Fiesta, I'm going to miss out on a golden opportunity.
    I end up cutting off a couple in a red Taurus and parking in a fifteen minute zone. This fitting might take ten minutes or it could take an hour. It all depends on how many girls they've invited in, how many people are working, how much they like me. I decide that this is worth the risk and slip out of my coat, grab my purse, and start down the sidewalk, shoulders back, chin up, the corners of my mouth turned up in a gentle smile.
    The building is made of brick, painted white and topped with a very simple sign with elegant black text that spells out the name of the agency. All along the front wall are ten foot tall windows that show off an impressive display of clothing. There are silver racks everywhere, stuffed full of colorful fabric and arranged into U shapes that hide desks and silver laptops. The light hardwood floors are covered in fun, shaggy rugs that I'm afraid to step on, certain that each one costs a small fortune. When I grab the gold handle on the front door, I take a massive breath, steel myself for rejection and pull it open.
    A bell chimes somewhere and echoes around as I pause next to a small black table, like a hostess stand. On it lays a tablet and a stylus, but there's nobody around to use it. I wait patiently, letting my purse hang heavy by my side. My heart is thumping painfully against my ribcage, but I ignore it, trying to instill my features with confidence. Pick me, I try to say with my gray eyes and my thin lips, pick me even though I'm too fat. Give me a chance, please. I'd trade the rest of my life for just a few years doing what I love.
    I start to hyperventilate and have to close my eyes to get control of my emotions.
    When I open them, there's a tiny woman coming towards me with dark hair and dark eyes. She's smiling, but it isn't a sweet expression. There's a sharp bite hiding behind those round lips.
    “ Claire Simone?” she asks, and I nod. Honestly, I'm surprised that she knows my name. That and I'm the only girl here. That's never happened to me before. The woman looks up at the wall where a clock is projected on the broad, white space. I follow the source of the light and see that there's a small, black projector on a shelf across from it. Interesting. The woman nods, and I'm glad I got here on time. “Wonderful,” she says and without introducing herself, moves over to a rack and selects a dress. “If you could walk for me, please.”
    I nod and step forward, not surprised that she isn't introducing herself. Her name is Lianna Cheung, and she's the owner and founder. She needs no introduction.
    “ Thank you for the opportunity, Miss Cheung,” I say, proving to her that I know who she is. Apparently, I've done something right because her eyes flicker brightly for a moment. She picks up her tablet and leaves the stylus, using her finger to navigate through applications. I don't wait for her to ask for my portfolio and retrieve a comp card along with my phone. I pass the glossy page to her first and wait till she holds out her device. I bump mine against it and know that my pictures are being transferred over to her.
    “ Smart girl,” Lianna says and I can't hold back a genuine smile. I put my phone away and set my purse down, unbuttoning my pants without hesitation. This is the life of a model. Lianna has not offered me a fitting room, so I'm going to change right here in front of the windows. I praise my choice of panties. They're nude, cotton, plain and tight and seamless. Nothing that could interfere with most garments, but in no way sexual or inappropriate. I've got the routine down.
    I slip off my cami, glad that I decided not to wear a bra and slip the orange dress over my head.
    It falls to my knees in a