Читать книгу Geek Girl books 1-3: Geek Girl, Model Misfit and Picture Perfect - Holly Smale, Холли Смейл - Страница 49

ow I could be wrong, but Yuka Ito appears to be wearing exactly the same outfit, except with bright orange lipstick instead of purple. For somebody so high up in the fashion industry, she seems to have even fewer wardrobe options than I do.

Yuka stops two metres away from where we’re all standing, totally mesmerised. She doesn’t look happy. Although obviously I’m not sure what happiness looks like for Yuka Ito. Let’s just say the snow on her shoulders doesn’t appear to be melting in the slightest.

“Wilbur,” she says in a voice so appropriately icy it’s like it’s coming from the sky. “What, precisely, do you think your job is?”

“Other than being generally fabulous?”

“Debatable,” Yuka snaps. “Would you say that your job entails getting my models to me at the time I’ve asked you to get them to me?”

Wilbur thinks about this for a few seconds. “I would say it’s definitely on the list, yes.”

“Then could you explain why they’re both forty-five minutes late?”

“Darling,” Wilbur sighs, rolling his eyes. “Turning up on time is so keen. Not cool. Plus –” and he makes a little gesture and lowers his voice, as if telling us a secret –“it’s snowing.”

“Yes, I was vaguely aware of that. Although everybody else managed to get here on time because in Russia snow is not, shall we say, unexpected.” Yuka’s lips press together in a straight line and then she looks at me. “Could you also explain why the female face of my new collection is sporting some kind of head accessory?”

Head accessory? What is she… Oh. My whole being goes bright red. She’s talking about the spot. If there was a light above my head, I suspect it would be turned off about now.

“If you cast a teenager,” Wilbur says patiently, “that’s a risk that comes with the territory. They’re skinny, yes, but just full of hormones and pus. It’s like employing a tiger and then complaining because it has whiskers.”

Yuka looks at me impassively. I’ve definitely felt prettier. She makes a clicking noise with her tongue. “Fine,” she says in a snipped voice. “We’ll digitally enhance her beyond recognition anyway. Take her to the hotel to get ready while we set up and do Nick’s solo shots. You’ve got an hour and a half.” And then she clicks her fingers at a handful of people standing directly to her right. “There’s a list. Follow it exactly. Let me make this clear: this is not your time to shine creatively.” She scowls at the crowd in general. “Now,” she adds. “Why are you all still standing there? I’m finished.”

And then she walks back through the black sea, which closes neatly around her.

I look at Wilbur in bewilderment.

“List?” I say finally. “What list?”

“I believe, Munchkin-face, that’ll be the list of what we’re going to do about this.” And then he waves his hand in my direction.

Apparently by this he means me.

“But,” I finally manage to blurt, “I thought you said I was perfect just the way I was?” At which point Wilbur throws his head back and roars with laughter.

And that, apparently, is my answer.