Chapter 3 - The Unpolished Diamond
The world of high fashion was a shark tank. When Lily arrived at the Hale Global studios, she was met with cold stares. She was the "sidewalk girl," the "candy peddler."
The lead photographer, a man named Julian who wore scarves in the middle of summer, looked at her with disdain. "Victor, are you serious? She has no posture. She doesn't know how to walk."
"She knows how to endure," Victor said from the sidelines, sipping his coffee. "That’s more important."
The first shoot was a disaster. Lily tripped over her own feet, her eyes were unfocused, and she couldn't find the light. She felt the tears bubbling up again. She was back on Michigan Avenue, she was the girl in the faded denim jacket, and everyone was laughing.
"Stop," Victor said. He walked onto the set. "Julian, leave us."
When the room cleared, Victor stood in front of her. "Forget the camera. Forget the clothes. Imagine the Whitaker kitchen. Imagine the smell of the caramel. Imagine the moment you realized you were the only one who believed in you."
Lily closed her eyes. She breathed in the scent of the studio—hairspray and expensive fabric—and pushed it away. She brought back the smell of brown sugar and vanilla. She brought back the feeling of cold bus seats and the sting of the wind on her face.
She opened her eyes. They were different. They weren't haunted anymore; they were fierce.
May you like
Victor stepped back. "Now. Walk."
She moved. She didn't walk like a model; she walked like a woman who had walked across an entire city to escape her past. The camera shutter began to click, a rapid-fire rhythm of approval.
