Envy

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It’s him. Jamie Westcote of Top Models. The man I came here to meet. This is it. My big opportunity. The woman who introduced me disappears.

‘I’m a model,’ I say, ‘with the Serendipity Agency. Let me give you my card.’

Hands trembling, I fumble in my handbag, pull it out and hand it to him. But he does not accept it. Instead, he leads me to the side of the room, away from the group.

‘I need to explain why I can’t accept your card.’ There is a pause. ‘I don’t put people on my books unsolicited,’ he announces. His eyes meander slowly up and down my body. ‘And I think it is only fair to tell you that your looks are too regular. Even if you approached me through the correct channels I wouldn’t be interested.’ He pauses. ‘We’re looking for something – a bit different.’ I feel hot, and know I am blushing. ‘You could try for catalogues, I suppose. But you need to be a standard size for that.’ Another glance. ‘And I guess your chest is too big.’ There is another pause. ‘In actual fact breasts are out of fashion, as are over-contrived looks.’ He smiles a half-smile, head on one side. ‘Sorry. I’m only being honest. At least you’ve had a free appraisal.’

Before I have time to pretend to thank him, he shrugs his shoulders, turns and walks away. Back to his group who lean towards him, sharing a joke, laughing. He puts his head back and joins in, leaving me standing at the edge of a room of noisy people with no one to talk to and no glass in my hand.

Feeling empty and low, I move past shoulders, across the drawing room into the hallway. I step into the cloakroom for privacy, and sit on the toilet seat, head in hands, trying to compose myself. Over-contrived looks. How stupid I have been. How naive. The thought of meeting this man has been keeping me buoyed up for weeks. I press speed dial on my mobile phone to try to get through to Phillip. He doesn’t pick up. Pity. Just hearing his voice would make me feel better, or would have made me feel better in the past. The words we spoke to each other a few nights ago reverberate in my head.

‘A client said I was too old for the job.’

‘You’re still beautiful, Faye, but that day was bound to arrive.’

I pull myself up from the toilet seat and splash cold water on my face. I freshen my make-up and step out of the cloakroom into the hallway. Time to get myself a stiff drink.

A man is walking towards me. Jonah. Phillip’s oldest friend from school and university. Not only Phillip’s close friend, but our architect as well. The man I suggested should supervise our loft conversion.

‘Faye, how lovely to see you.’ He pulls me towards him, irradiating me with an overdose of aftershave and kissing me on both cheeks. ‘A vision of beauty to liven up a boring party.’ He holds my eyes in his. ‘Is Phillip here? I haven’t seen him for ages. I’d love to have a chat with him.’

‘He’s away at a conference; you’ll have to chat to me instead.’