Butterfly (34 page)

“So Toya can come?” I asked.

“If that's what you want,” Ms. Erin said.

“Can she be my assistant?”

“If you're the one paying her, she can be whatever you want her to be.”

“Thank you, Ms. Erin.”

“So we're all good here?” Ms. Erin asked.

“Yes,” Ms. Alicia answered.

Ms. Alicia walked Ms. Erin to the door and they said good-bye. Ms. Alicia came back into the den to give me some advice.

“Butterfly?”

“Yes ma'am?”

“Sit!” Ms. Alicia waited for me to sit down and gave me some advice. “In this business, you are the commodity, not your agent,
nor your agency. You! You are not an up-and-coming model anymore. There's a demand for you. Erin knows this. And so does everyone else.”

“Okay.”

“Now, in Erin's defense, she was right.”

“How was she right?”

“I commend you for being loyal to your friend. But you can't bring yourself down trying to bring someone else up. It won't benefit either one of you. And, no matter where Toya is, until she decides to get her life together, she's going to always have problems. And I don't want her problems to become your problems.”

“I won't let that happen.”

“I'm sure you won't.”

“Thanks for having my back, Mom.”

“That's what a mother is for.”

W
e flew back the same day as Janae's funeral. The first time Toya saw my apartment was the first time I saw my apartment. It was huge and spacious. It had three bedrooms downstairs and four-and-a-half baths. It had an upstairs with a one-bedroom suite and a gigantic bathroom. We were like children running around that apartment. I stopped running and almost cried when I found out how much it was going to cost me.

Ms. Erin wasted no time getting back to work. I had two important photo shoots the very next morning. Over the next couple of days, I was in two more commercials, but I had no dialogue in either one of them.

As soon as I finished the second commercial, Ms. Erin, Tara and I flew to San Francisco for a show where there were going to be big-time international designers. Two other girls from the agency flew ahead of us for fitting. Since I was new, Ms. Erin wanted to coach me through every step of the process. The three of us were in first-class. I paid for Toya's ticket, so she had to fly in coach. That's my girl, but first-class?

I was still nervous about flying but not as much as I was on my first two flights. Maybe it had something to do with flying first-class, or maybe it had something to do with Tara running her mouth so much I did not have time to think about being in the air. At one point she was getting on my nerves so bad, I almost asked
the pilot to fly the damn plane into a mountain just to shut her ass up!

“You are going to be a star in this business, Butterfly.”

“Thank you, Tara.”

“Like, how old are you again?”

“Eighteen.”

“That's close to my age, I'm twenty-one.”

“Really?”

“People tell me I look younger than that, but it's true. I'm only twenty-one.”

“Oh, okay.”

“And where are you from again?”

“Georgia.”

“Is that near Atlanta?”

I wanted to scream,
Yeah you ignorant heffa, now shut the hell up!
But instead, I smiled and said sarcastically, “Yes, Georgia is near Atlanta.”

“I've never been to the South before. I want to go someday.”

“Okay.”

“I've been to New York, though.”

It pissed me off when people from New York and Los Angeles talked like they were the only two cities in the entire United States. I was born in Raleigh, North Carolina, and I was raised in Atlanta, Georgia, and I did not give a damn where anybody else came from.

“I'd never left Georgia until I came here.”

“Wow! This is like a true American rags-to-riches story.”

“Not exactly. I'm not coming from rags.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you.”

“I'm sorry, but you did. Every black girl in this business is not modeling because we're looking for a meal ticket. Some of us do it because we know that we're beautiful.”

“That's beautiful.”

Tara stared at me and then turned around and talked to Ms. Erin. After that, I was able to get a power nap before we landed.

Once we arrived at the arena, Ms. Erin asked Toya to come with her, while Tara took me backstage. Ms. Erin made sure I did not eat any bread or pastries from the time we arrived in Los Angeles until after the show. She wanted me to look thin and shapely without any bulges. In my mind I was already paper thin. Why in the hell did I need to be thinner than that?

I found out as soon as I stepped backstage. I was four hours early just for the rehearsals and there were already five models preparing for the show. They were as tall as me, or taller, and thin as hell. Even their feet and hands were thin. Two of them were the girls from Philpot's Modeling Agency. I knew I was going to have to step my game up when I found out they flew all the way in from Paris. They had arrived a full day before me and I was only flying in from Los Angeles. Tara introduced me to them and they welcomed me to the team. Their French accent was very apparent.

“Hi, Sophia, this is Butterfly. She is now a part of our Philpot family.”

“Hi, Butterfly.” Sophia hugged me and then kissed me on the cheek. “What an unusual name.”

“Hi, Butterfly.” Bridgette kissed me on both cheeks. “I am Bridgette.”

“Nice to meet both of you.”

I had grown another inch my senior year, bringing my height to a statuesque six feet one. Sophia was about an inch or two taller than me, perhaps six feet two, or three inches tall. She wore short, jet-black hair that was cut evenly at one ear, and then longer all the way to the back of the neck, and then all around to her other ear. She had broad shoulders which led to a V-shaped, slender
waistline. Her hips were almost even with her waistline and they barely spread as they met with her thighs. The woman had no hips. But she was wearing the hell out of that tight mini-dress.

Bridgette was about the same height, with red hair. It was pinned up. She was thin, but she had slightly more hips than Sophia. She was wearing an elegant, long dress that went all the way to her ankles. Her four-inch heels were skimpy, but cute.

“Nice shoes,” I said. “I hope a designer fits me in a pair of shoes like that.”

“Oh no.” Bridgette chuckled. “These are not the designers' clothes. These are mine.”

“What?” I felt like a fool. “You dress like that every day?”

“But of course.” Bridgette pulled me close to her and whispered in my ear. “Do you know whose clothes are in this show?”

“No.”

“Jean-Claude Francois.”

“Who?”

“You are such a baby into this business.”

“Okay, but who is this Jean-Claude Francois again?”

“He is only the most fantastic designer in all of the world. That is why we arrived so early. We want to convince him that we are best for his work.”

“You do not know who Jean-Claude Francois is?” Sophia asked.

“No! I just found out who Jean-Claude Van Damme is.”

“Jean-Claude Van Damme? Yum-Yum!”

“Maybe back in the day, he was yum-yum, but now he is more like, oh-noooo!” Neither Sophia nor Bridgette understood my joke. “My bad, it was a bad joke; forgot he was one of your native Frenchmen.”

“No, he is not from France at all. He is Belgian.”

“Belgian?”

“Enough of this talk!” Bridgette interrupted. “Have you been fitted for your designer?”

“Not yet, I just got here.”

“You better get that fanny moving.”

“Moving where?”

“To be fitted, of course.”

“Come!” Sophia snapped her fingers at me. “Follow me.”

I was like,
wait a minute, chick. Do not snap your fingers at me like I am a dog
. I was going to say something out loud, but she walked away so fast, I had to shut up to try to keep up. We went to a room where there were naked bodies all over the place. Women were scurrying from one person to another.

“Hi, Chanel,” Sophia said. “This is Butterfly. Is she with your designer?”

“No, I don't know anything about a Butterfly.”

We trotted over to another area and she asked the same question. “Hi, Patty, this is Butterfly. Is she with your designer?”

“Not that I know of, no.”

“Come on.” Sophia quickly trotted off.

She took me to two other designers' stations and both said I was not wearing their clothing. Sophia continued to simultaneously walk and talk extremely fast.

“There is only one designer remaining and there is no way—” Sophia stopped abruptly in mid-sentence and stomped away until we stopped in front of a very feminine-looking man. “Rene, we seem to have a problem. I am trying to have this model fitted for her wardrobe, but we can't seem to find her designers. Can you help me?”

“What is her name?” Rene asked without even looking at us and slinging pieces of clothing from one place to the next.

“Butterfly.”

“Butterfly?” Rene stopped what he was doing and looked at me. “This is Butterfly?”

“Yes.”

“She is mine! Come with me!” Rene rushed off with Sophia and me following in his footsteps.

Sophia whispered in my ear while we were speed walking behind Rene. “This is impossible!”

“What's impossible?”

“That you are wearing Jean-Claude's line.”

“Is that a big deal?”

“That is the biggest of deals! Everybody wants to model Jean-Claude's line! Everybody!”

“Then why did he pick me?”

“Because you were on television! Everybody in this business watched that television show and you won.”

“So it's not about me being a real model then? It's about that damn television show.”

“Of course you're a real model, sweetheart. But models are not born; they are made.”

“And here we are.” Rene stopped in front of two large doors. “The dressing room.”

We walked in and there were people working like they were on an assembly line. They were coordinating each designer's line to a certain area. Sort of like a controlled chaotic situation. If it was that frenzied before rehearsal, I did not want to imagine what it was going to be like in real time.

“Listen up! This is Sophia.” Rene pointed at Sophia. “She will be modeling some of Jean-Claude's pieces today. And this is Butterfly! She will be modeling Jean-Claude's masterpieces today!”

Jean-Claude had five handpicked dressers for his line. Dressers are the people who assist the models in putting on the designer's wardrobe before they hit the runway. All five dressers came toward
me for fitting. Rene cut them off at the path and stood between them and me. He held both of his hands in front of them. “Wait a minute, you piranhas! You will not devour her. Back up! I said, back up!”

The group backed up a few feet and waited for instructions. Sophia put her hands on her hips in frustration.

“I do not believe what I am seeing here.” Sophia pouted.

“Listen up! All of you! I refuse to let you people send me to a mental institution today! Jean-Claude wants two of you to work with Ms. Butterfly and he wants her to be immaculate! And what Jean-Claude wants, Jean-Claude gets!” Rene put his finger on his lips and then contemplated which of the five he would select. “Okay, you and you! Get to work!”

One man and one woman took my hands and led me to a full-body mirror. They took my measurements and then handed me piece after piece of clothing. They somehow made each piece fit my body perfectly.

I was rushed onstage for the rehearsal. It lasted over three hours. I thought we were going to have time to leave and come back before the show, but that was a no-go. I was fitted for the designers in segments one and five, Ria Ramone of Italy, and of course, Jean-Claude Francois of France. Some models were in each segment. They would be dashing in and out all night long.

Rene met with me after rehearsal and prepped me for the show. He had to leave briefly to make sure everything was going accordingly and I relaxed. When he returned, it was on and poppin'!

“Is there going to be anyone else modeling Jean-Claude's new line?”

“You are a star, my dear, but you are not the only star. We have three of the top models in the world introducing his fantastic pieces.”

“Oh.” I was embarrassed. “I didn't mean it like I wanted to be
the only model. I was saying it because I
didn't
want to be the only model.”

“That's neither here nor there.”

“We still have an hour or so before the show. Is there anything I need to do?”

“Yes. Sit down.”

“Okay.” I sat down and Rene sat next to me.