fashion industry {italy andrade} (covergoddess) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-03-09 18:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | fashion industry |
WHO : Fashion Industry & her step-daughter
WHEN : Late Morning
WHERE : Fashion's Office Apartment
WHAT : A Mother-Daughter Talk
STATUS : Complete Narrative
"Not there! Over there! Oh for the love of me, are you both blind. Obviously it wouldn't go next to the VanGogh. Don't be completely hopeless."
Fashion, known as Italy Andrade to most mortals, stood in the east end apartment that she used as her outside office. Of course there was the gorgeous little room that she had in the magazine's HQ, but she also enjoyed having her own extra little space. And why not? Since she had more than enough to afford it. It had been a late Valentines Day to herself--and she loved herself very much.
At that moment, she was standing against the far wall of the sitting room, watching a pair of very large men in dark blue, and disturbingly tacky, jumpsuits move a new art piece into the room. It was a tall stand, carved like a Roman pillar, that displayed a half crumbled sphere that resembled a rubix cube made out of colored glass and lace beneath a protective glass covering that was painted with various mathematical equations. She didn't have any idea what the hell it meant, but it was pretty and so she ABSOLUTELY HAD TO HAVE IT! Or so she'd exclaimed upon finding it at the art dearlership.
She'd been pickily having them move and remove the piece all around the apartment. At first it had been because she was't sure exactly where it should go, but half way through she'd kept it up just because she was having an absolutely brilliant time telling them what to do. She was still enjoying herself when the front door slammed open and closed and a nineteen year old mortal girl strode in. The teen was tall and her hair was ash brown and had a natural curl that was very sweet. Her eyes were intense chalk blue, just like her father's had been. At the moment, the chalk blue eyes were angry and offended and trained into a glare fixed on the goddess.
"Sweetie!" Fashion said grandly when the girl appeared and swept imperiously across the carpet to embrace her step-daughter. "You came to vist mummy. Oh, this is absolutely lovely. Oh," she turned and made an insulting shooing gesture at the movers. "Leave that there and go, won't you darlings? There's a pair of loves." She smiled as they filed out bristiling with irritation. There was no reason to play with them anymore when she had her step daughter there. She had to be serious now. After all, she was the mortal girl's guardian and role model. Although Michelle Andrade looked awfully upset, which wouldn't do at all, Fashion decided. "Now what's this? Why is your face all pinched up at me?"
"You know why, mother." Michelle responded, her voice hot with offense and annoyance. "You called the school and told them I'd be out for a month because I'd be getting surgery. Plastic surgery mother!? I've already canceled it and told the school that I wouldn't be missing anything, so I hope you didn't make any real appointments. I'm sorry if you think I'm so absolutely ugly that I can't function without it, but I won't be going."
"Sweetie. Oooh, sweetie." Fashion crooned to her step daughter, taking the girls shoulders in her hands and blowing air kisses over both her cheeks. "Come on now. Don't be mad at mummy. She only wants the best for you. You know I know you're absolutely gorgeous darling. You have your father's brilliant cheekbones. I've seen mountains lower than those cheekbones. They're fabulous, sweetie. Now smile, hmm? There we go." She declared finally when the girl finally broke into a grudging little smile of long suffering affection. Fashion punched her daughter's chin between her fingers fondly then squinted at her face critically. "A bit of work around your nose though couldn't--"
"MOTHER!" Michelle snatched her face away with the exclamation, throwing her hands in the air in exhasperation.
"Well I'm only saying, darling! Such a pretty facial structure and you won't improve it, you won't inhance it. I buy you all kinds of pretty little things and nothing, darling. Nothing!"
"I've told you, it isn't as if I can wear Dior or Gucci when I'm going to class. I already get looked at enough because of my last name and I have to constantly prove that I really want and can be a doctor, because everyone assumes I'm a spoiled brat because of my name."
Fashion pouted prettily as took a cigarette out of a gold embossed case and lit it. "I'd have loved a spoiled brat for a daughter. Instead, what do I have? I have Mother Teresa, is what. Just not fair. Why me? Normal girls would kill to go shopping in Paris or go to celebrity parties, but not you darling, oh no."
Michelle looked exhasperated. She would have been hurt, but she was use to her step-mother's little remarks by now. "I have class."
"Well you could have fooled me. Sometimes I wonder if you have any class at all." She exhaled sullenly, sinking into the lush cushions of a green velvet chaise.
"College classes, mother."
"Oh, that's your excuse for everything." The goddess dismissed with a flippant toss of one hand. "The last time I asked you for a little favor and you threw that class excuse in my face."
"You told me to go travelling across Europe buying things and doing drugs!"
"And you said no!" She stamped her foot, the thin heel on the baby blue sling blade making a muffled thump as it connected with the carpet. Fashion signed and patted the cushion next to her in an insistent gestrue for her step daughter to come sit next to her. Michelle reluctantly did so, sinking into the chaise next to her father's second wife and Fashion took the girl's hands. "Now talk to me, darling. Because I just don't understand what's wrong with you. Now tell me the truth, sweetie. Are you pregnant?"
"What!?" Michelle gave her a look of incredulity and the goddess shrugged.
"Well, it's your frumpy clothes and you won't drink at all and you're so secretive, sweetie. Come on. You can tell me. Tell meee." Fashion bounced in her seat with curiosity, shaking their joined hands imploringly. She leaned forward like a high school cheerleader waiting to hear a piece of gossip; all eagar interest.
"Yes, mother, I'm pregnant."
"Oh, brilliant!" Fashion shouted excitedly, flinging her arms around the mortal girl. "Oh, that's wonderful, dearest. Oh!" She pulled back, and her fingers fiddled with Michelle's brown curls. "Who's the father darling? Oh that doesn't matter! Well done, darling. Well done. We'll make sure the photos are fabulous. Something maternal--something trendy single mother. Single mothers are what's popular, sweetie. It'll be charming."
"I'm not pregnant! Honestly." Michelle retorted, her patience having ebbed. She shook of her step mother's hands a bit bitterly. "What photos?"
"You're not? We'll that was a mean joke to play, wasn't it darling. I was so excited and now you've broken my heart, I swear." She complained dramatically, pressing a hand to her heart and leaning back against the arm of the chaise in a pose of absolute misery.
Michelle was not impressed and she asked again, in a firmer voice, enunciating each word; "What photos?"
"For FEROCIOUS. The magazine is going to do a make-over segment and I thought it would be lovely if you volunteered for it. It would be lov--"
"No!" Her step-daughter refused before she could even finish. She pushed to her feet, shaking her head. "No. Absolutely not. I'm not going to be pasted across your magazine."
"Well that's just fine, isn't it. I'll have to explain to all my friends why I have a trashy little daughter who won't even try to look nice. All those editors and writers with their lovely little spawn perading about and what do I have? Nothing! And don't think they don't ask about you, darling. I get questioned about you all the time! They think I've packed you away like some little Cinderella and say all kinds of spiteful things about me when you're the one scrubbing the kitchen and wearing rags all on your own and it's not my fault at all!"
"I'm not doing it." The girl retorted with wavering firmness.
Fashion put the nail in her daughter's coffin by bursting into tears and pressing her face into the back of the chaise. But not so firmly so that she couldn't be heard loud and clear. "You hate me! I always knew you resented me because I was your step-mother and not your real mother. You're all the family I've got and you think I'm awful! You probably want them to say all those horrid things about me. I bet you think it's just what I deserve. You don't love me at all. No matter how I try. "
Michelle knew that the tears were fake and she knew perfectly well that her step-mother was aware that she was loved. That didn't, however, make the tactic any less potent. The girl sighed in long suffering resignation. "Alright, I'll do it."
"There's a good girl." Fashion decalared at once, instantly regaining her good humor. She stood immediately and took her step-daughters face between her hands. "It'll be fabulous, sweetie. You'll see. Now lets go to the spa, hmm? We'll have them peel your face like an orange and then we'll go buy something that didn't come from a dumpster, yes? Just like a family should."