lizzie and the wannabe model boy
there are maybe two people still reading who will get this fic. for the rest of you, an intro. :D lizzie weld is an old, old character of mine (well, old by lj standards) who makes clothes. she got her degree in costume design, and her dream job is to design and make costumes for the metropolitan opera or a major ballet company. in the meantime, she has her own (very small) clothing business, which is some off-the-rack and some custom work. she has a cube in a place called the house of pain, which belongs to cicirossi and which i always imagined as a kind of warehouse space with stores and booths in it, like an indoor marketplace. it's an incubator for small businesses, and in addition to lizzie's clothes, there's a gay and lesbian bookstore, a tattoo parlor, a piercing place, a mehndi booth, a corset girl, a mask shop, a day care, and probably some other things i don't remember. (the day care is run by a nineteen-year-old tall skinny goth boy named ru, who belongs to me. he's an art student and he needed the money and he likes little kids, so he said hey, what about a day care so folks can shop and get tattooed and whatever without having to worry about their spawn?)
so lizzie sells and designs and makes clothes in a space in pain. she uses her friends as models because they work for free and she has some good-looking friends. but she's always on the lookout for new faces, and val from the threesome needs a job, and he used to model in college....
i hope that was enough coherent intro. anyway, i had this idea for my nanonovel while i was in the toy store across the street from my office, and then i had to write it so i wouldn't forget it. it's from lizzie's pov, so if it makes it into the nanonovel, it will be from val's pov and thus different and i'll pretty much have to rewrite the whole thing.
Some days Lizzie wondered how the hell she let herself get talked into these things. Seriously, a wedding dress? She had time to make someone a wedding dress? She had clothes to design and a manufacturer to talk to and orders to fill and a web site to update - she should just give that to Sandler - and soon she'd have to start thinking about the holiday catalogue and Emma was making noises about mounting a fashion show, which seemed more useful than a catalogue but was also more work, although she could always convince Leila to do the hair, although she also missed doing it herself, and why was she making a wedding dress again?
As if thinking about her had conjured her, Lizzie heard Leila calling her name.
"Lizzie? Lizzieeee...."
"What?" Lizzie called back. Her cube was open, anyone could walk in. And that included Leila. She didn't have to yell first.
"Do you still need models?" Leila appeared around the wall, dragging a boy behind her. A relatively tall, cute boy. Lizzie stopped her sewing machine.
"I always need models. You wanna model?" she asked the boy.
"Augusta thought I might want him. Because of the hair. But he didn't want me to touch it." She looked a little sad about that. Leila was the hair girl at House of Pain. She'd started with extensions but had since branched out to pretty much any hairdressing and styling that didn't involve a sink, simply because her booth wasn't connected to one.
Lizzie looked the boy up and down. Newish-looking cowboy boots, worn jeans, a green t-shirt advertising some folk festival, slightly layered honey brown hair past his shoulders, a bit of a cleft in his chin, a sweet face. He was cute. He also looked vaguely uncomfortable, but Lizzie couldn't tell if it was the prospect of letting Leila near his hair, or the prospect of modeling, or the fact he'd probably been dragged all over House of Pain trying to get to her. It could be an intimidating place to the uninitiated and unfreakish.
"You wanna model?" she asked him. He shrugged. "Is that a yes?"
"Yes?" he said. Lizzie sighed.
"What did you tell him?" she asked Leila. "What did Augusta tell him?"
"She said she could put him in a corset," Leila told her. "You should've seen his face." She grinned. "He won't let me touch his hair."
"She said she'd do stuff to it," said the boy in question. "I don't want to be a hair model." Leila giggled. Lizzie thought.
"Well, I can always use a new face, and you're cute. Thanks," she said to Leila. "You know anything about wedding dresses?"
"Just wedding hair," Leila told her. "Don't scare him too bad." She grinned and left. The boy moved about a foot into Lizzie's cube. She stood up and went over to him.
"What's your name?" she asked, tilting her head to peer in his face. He blinked.
"Val," he said.
"Val. I'm Lizzie. How tall are you?"
"Six-one. I think."
"You think. You could be six even. How old are you?" Not that it was important, since she was sure he was over eighteen, but she was curious.
"I just turned twenty-seven."
"You ever do any modeling before?"
"Some in college."
"So, like, six years ago?"
"Or seven or eight."
"Hm." She stepped back and critically looked him up and down. Now he really looked uncomfortable. If he didn't like people looking intently at him, he'd never work as a model. "How much do you weigh?"
"I have no idea."
"Turn around." She spun her finger to emphasize her request. Val turned in an awkward circle. "Ok, first? If you don't move like you're comfortable with yourself, I'm not gonna use you."
"I'm kind of nervous," he admitted.
"Yeah, I got that. Ok, pull up your t-shirt, just over your waist." He did. She made a frustrated face. Those jeans did him no favors. What was it with cute boys who couldn't dress to show themselves off? "Are you wearing underwear?"
"Uh... yeah." He looked at her like he thought that was the sketchiest thing anyone had said to him all day.
"Take your jeans off." She waggled her finger in the general vicinity of his waistband.
"What?"
"I can't see your ass in those jeans."
"Here?"
"Yeah, here."
"But... there are people." He let go of his t-shirt and waved vaguely at the entrance to her cube.
"I know. Oh, fine, go in the dressing room, take off your pants, and I'll just stick my head in."
"Um."
Lizzie sighed. A shy one. Why was he looking for modeling work? "Val? Do you really wanna be a model?"
"I need the money, and I've done it before, so I know I can. My, uh, my girlfriend talked me into it."
She sighed again. "I don't pay a lot."
"But you don't need models with experience or an agency. I'm not from an agency, and I haven't done this in seven years."
"What else do you do?"
"Temp work. And I'm getting my certification to teach swimming."
"You're gonna be a swim instructor?"
"Yeah. I was on the swim team in college. I swim at the Y now."
Well, that certainly explained the shoulders.
"Huh. What do you want to do?"
"I don't know," Val honestly. "I used to want to be a lawyer, and I worked in a law office for a bunch of years, but now... I don't know. I'm not that mercenary. I don't think I can do it. I quit my job and now I'm kind of unemployed. Sort-of employed. My mom's freaking out." He looked a little embarrassed.
"My god, you're cute," she said before she could stop herself. She thought he blushed. She got a pad of paper off her desk, pulled a pencil from behind her ear, and dragged the tape measure off her neck. She always wore it around her neck because she could always find it, just like she always stuck a pencil behind her ear or in her hair in case she suddenly needed one. "Stand still."
She measured and scribbled - shoulders, chest, waist, hips, waist to floor, waist to hips, inseam. Val stood very still while she wrapped her tape measure around him and thought about what to do with him. He was dressed so normally, and seemed kind of body-shy, she wasn't quite sure he'd have the confidence to pull off vinyl or pleather or fully half the clothes in her catalogue. She could already tell he'd never wear a kilt. She'd bet he had nice legs, tho. Maybe she could convince him, or maybe his girlfriend could help her.
"Well," she said, when she was finally finished with her measurements, "my clothes will fit you and make you look good. But I wasn't lying when I said I don't pay a lot. I don't have a lot of money. Sometimes I pay in clothes. When I started out, I used my friends for free. You've got a good body, what I can see of it, you've got great hair, you're pretty hot, and I know I could use you. But you gotta be comfortable with people staring at you and making you take off your clothes." He looked slightly horrified. "I'm not gonna take naked pictures of you, don't worry. The most you'll be is shirtless."
"I can do that."
"I hope so. Maybe barefoot. I got work to do and lots of it, but let me take some pictures and get your information and if I need you, I'll call you. Ok?"
"Ok."
"Now take your pants off." She grinned. Val hesitated a minute, but then stepped as far into the corner of her cube as he could, probably under the theory that no one could see him there, pulled off his boots, and pushed down his jeans. "Now your shirt. I have to see all of you, Val. I need to know what you look like under your clothes."
"You sure no one can see me?"
"I never said that. Two days ago I had a girl standing in the middle of my cube in her bra and panties so I could pin a dress around her. She was not an exhibitionist." In fact the girl had been incredibly nervous and it was only when her girlfriend stood in the entrance to the cube that she could take her shirt off. "No one cares, believe me."
He pulled off his t-shirt and just stood there holding it, looking both nervous and resolute in his mismatched socks and red boxer briefs. It was actually kind of adorable.
"Just stay there," Lizzie said, gesturing at his chest to make her point and then turning to rummage through the stuff on her work table. "I'm gonna take some pictures so I can remember you and what shape you are, so when I find your measurements I don't go 'Now what the hell did he look like?' God, this place is a mess."
She found her camera and accidentally took a picture of Val's boots and wadded-up jeans on the floor before she managed to focus on his face. She made him turn around a couple of steps at a time so she could get him at all angles, she made him get dressed so she could shoot him clothed, she took a couple close-ups of his face and one of his back, for his hair. To his credit, he moved where and when she told him and didn't twitch too much. Maybe he'd work out after all.
She wrote down his name and phone number on the piece of paper with all his measurements, gave him her card, and told him to call her in a week to remind her of his existence.
"What kind of modeling did you do in college?" she asked. "Print? Catwalk?"
"Mostly print," he said. "And I did a holiday show at the mall. That was, um, it was interesting."
"I put out a catalogue and I have a web site. I might get a show, I'm not sure. But chances are, if I need you, it'll be for print."
"That's fine."
"I got your info, I took pictures, you have my card.... I think that's it. Call me in a week or so. Oh, look at my site, see what kinds of clothes I do. I won't put you in a corset but I can't guarantee I won't want to put you in a skirt." He looked a little dubious. Lizzie shrugged. "I make women's clothes for men, what can I say."
"Thanks for considering me," he said. "It was nice to meet you." He held out his hand and Lizzie shook it.
"Nice to meet you too. I'll talk to you soon." She turned back to her wedding dress and Val walked out of her cube.
Lizzie downloaded the pictures off her camera and onto her laptop, pinned the piece of paper with his name and measurements to the corkboard on her wall, and went back to work. She hoped that if he did call, she could find a use for him. His body-consciousness made her want to dress him to be more confident, and it was a shame to waste such a pretty face and such a nice body.
And she really did want to put him in a kilt.
so lizzie sells and designs and makes clothes in a space in pain. she uses her friends as models because they work for free and she has some good-looking friends. but she's always on the lookout for new faces, and val from the threesome needs a job, and he used to model in college....
i hope that was enough coherent intro. anyway, i had this idea for my nanonovel while i was in the toy store across the street from my office, and then i had to write it so i wouldn't forget it. it's from lizzie's pov, so if it makes it into the nanonovel, it will be from val's pov and thus different and i'll pretty much have to rewrite the whole thing.
Some days Lizzie wondered how the hell she let herself get talked into these things. Seriously, a wedding dress? She had time to make someone a wedding dress? She had clothes to design and a manufacturer to talk to and orders to fill and a web site to update - she should just give that to Sandler - and soon she'd have to start thinking about the holiday catalogue and Emma was making noises about mounting a fashion show, which seemed more useful than a catalogue but was also more work, although she could always convince Leila to do the hair, although she also missed doing it herself, and why was she making a wedding dress again?
As if thinking about her had conjured her, Lizzie heard Leila calling her name.
"Lizzie? Lizzieeee...."
"What?" Lizzie called back. Her cube was open, anyone could walk in. And that included Leila. She didn't have to yell first.
"Do you still need models?" Leila appeared around the wall, dragging a boy behind her. A relatively tall, cute boy. Lizzie stopped her sewing machine.
"I always need models. You wanna model?" she asked the boy.
"Augusta thought I might want him. Because of the hair. But he didn't want me to touch it." She looked a little sad about that. Leila was the hair girl at House of Pain. She'd started with extensions but had since branched out to pretty much any hairdressing and styling that didn't involve a sink, simply because her booth wasn't connected to one.
Lizzie looked the boy up and down. Newish-looking cowboy boots, worn jeans, a green t-shirt advertising some folk festival, slightly layered honey brown hair past his shoulders, a bit of a cleft in his chin, a sweet face. He was cute. He also looked vaguely uncomfortable, but Lizzie couldn't tell if it was the prospect of letting Leila near his hair, or the prospect of modeling, or the fact he'd probably been dragged all over House of Pain trying to get to her. It could be an intimidating place to the uninitiated and unfreakish.
"You wanna model?" she asked him. He shrugged. "Is that a yes?"
"Yes?" he said. Lizzie sighed.
"What did you tell him?" she asked Leila. "What did Augusta tell him?"
"She said she could put him in a corset," Leila told her. "You should've seen his face." She grinned. "He won't let me touch his hair."
"She said she'd do stuff to it," said the boy in question. "I don't want to be a hair model." Leila giggled. Lizzie thought.
"Well, I can always use a new face, and you're cute. Thanks," she said to Leila. "You know anything about wedding dresses?"
"Just wedding hair," Leila told her. "Don't scare him too bad." She grinned and left. The boy moved about a foot into Lizzie's cube. She stood up and went over to him.
"What's your name?" she asked, tilting her head to peer in his face. He blinked.
"Val," he said.
"Val. I'm Lizzie. How tall are you?"
"Six-one. I think."
"You think. You could be six even. How old are you?" Not that it was important, since she was sure he was over eighteen, but she was curious.
"I just turned twenty-seven."
"You ever do any modeling before?"
"Some in college."
"So, like, six years ago?"
"Or seven or eight."
"Hm." She stepped back and critically looked him up and down. Now he really looked uncomfortable. If he didn't like people looking intently at him, he'd never work as a model. "How much do you weigh?"
"I have no idea."
"Turn around." She spun her finger to emphasize her request. Val turned in an awkward circle. "Ok, first? If you don't move like you're comfortable with yourself, I'm not gonna use you."
"I'm kind of nervous," he admitted.
"Yeah, I got that. Ok, pull up your t-shirt, just over your waist." He did. She made a frustrated face. Those jeans did him no favors. What was it with cute boys who couldn't dress to show themselves off? "Are you wearing underwear?"
"Uh... yeah." He looked at her like he thought that was the sketchiest thing anyone had said to him all day.
"Take your jeans off." She waggled her finger in the general vicinity of his waistband.
"What?"
"I can't see your ass in those jeans."
"Here?"
"Yeah, here."
"But... there are people." He let go of his t-shirt and waved vaguely at the entrance to her cube.
"I know. Oh, fine, go in the dressing room, take off your pants, and I'll just stick my head in."
"Um."
Lizzie sighed. A shy one. Why was he looking for modeling work? "Val? Do you really wanna be a model?"
"I need the money, and I've done it before, so I know I can. My, uh, my girlfriend talked me into it."
She sighed again. "I don't pay a lot."
"But you don't need models with experience or an agency. I'm not from an agency, and I haven't done this in seven years."
"What else do you do?"
"Temp work. And I'm getting my certification to teach swimming."
"You're gonna be a swim instructor?"
"Yeah. I was on the swim team in college. I swim at the Y now."
Well, that certainly explained the shoulders.
"Huh. What do you want to do?"
"I don't know," Val honestly. "I used to want to be a lawyer, and I worked in a law office for a bunch of years, but now... I don't know. I'm not that mercenary. I don't think I can do it. I quit my job and now I'm kind of unemployed. Sort-of employed. My mom's freaking out." He looked a little embarrassed.
"My god, you're cute," she said before she could stop herself. She thought he blushed. She got a pad of paper off her desk, pulled a pencil from behind her ear, and dragged the tape measure off her neck. She always wore it around her neck because she could always find it, just like she always stuck a pencil behind her ear or in her hair in case she suddenly needed one. "Stand still."
She measured and scribbled - shoulders, chest, waist, hips, waist to floor, waist to hips, inseam. Val stood very still while she wrapped her tape measure around him and thought about what to do with him. He was dressed so normally, and seemed kind of body-shy, she wasn't quite sure he'd have the confidence to pull off vinyl or pleather or fully half the clothes in her catalogue. She could already tell he'd never wear a kilt. She'd bet he had nice legs, tho. Maybe she could convince him, or maybe his girlfriend could help her.
"Well," she said, when she was finally finished with her measurements, "my clothes will fit you and make you look good. But I wasn't lying when I said I don't pay a lot. I don't have a lot of money. Sometimes I pay in clothes. When I started out, I used my friends for free. You've got a good body, what I can see of it, you've got great hair, you're pretty hot, and I know I could use you. But you gotta be comfortable with people staring at you and making you take off your clothes." He looked slightly horrified. "I'm not gonna take naked pictures of you, don't worry. The most you'll be is shirtless."
"I can do that."
"I hope so. Maybe barefoot. I got work to do and lots of it, but let me take some pictures and get your information and if I need you, I'll call you. Ok?"
"Ok."
"Now take your pants off." She grinned. Val hesitated a minute, but then stepped as far into the corner of her cube as he could, probably under the theory that no one could see him there, pulled off his boots, and pushed down his jeans. "Now your shirt. I have to see all of you, Val. I need to know what you look like under your clothes."
"You sure no one can see me?"
"I never said that. Two days ago I had a girl standing in the middle of my cube in her bra and panties so I could pin a dress around her. She was not an exhibitionist." In fact the girl had been incredibly nervous and it was only when her girlfriend stood in the entrance to the cube that she could take her shirt off. "No one cares, believe me."
He pulled off his t-shirt and just stood there holding it, looking both nervous and resolute in his mismatched socks and red boxer briefs. It was actually kind of adorable.
"Just stay there," Lizzie said, gesturing at his chest to make her point and then turning to rummage through the stuff on her work table. "I'm gonna take some pictures so I can remember you and what shape you are, so when I find your measurements I don't go 'Now what the hell did he look like?' God, this place is a mess."
She found her camera and accidentally took a picture of Val's boots and wadded-up jeans on the floor before she managed to focus on his face. She made him turn around a couple of steps at a time so she could get him at all angles, she made him get dressed so she could shoot him clothed, she took a couple close-ups of his face and one of his back, for his hair. To his credit, he moved where and when she told him and didn't twitch too much. Maybe he'd work out after all.
She wrote down his name and phone number on the piece of paper with all his measurements, gave him her card, and told him to call her in a week to remind her of his existence.
"What kind of modeling did you do in college?" she asked. "Print? Catwalk?"
"Mostly print," he said. "And I did a holiday show at the mall. That was, um, it was interesting."
"I put out a catalogue and I have a web site. I might get a show, I'm not sure. But chances are, if I need you, it'll be for print."
"That's fine."
"I got your info, I took pictures, you have my card.... I think that's it. Call me in a week or so. Oh, look at my site, see what kinds of clothes I do. I won't put you in a corset but I can't guarantee I won't want to put you in a skirt." He looked a little dubious. Lizzie shrugged. "I make women's clothes for men, what can I say."
"Thanks for considering me," he said. "It was nice to meet you." He held out his hand and Lizzie shook it.
"Nice to meet you too. I'll talk to you soon." She turned back to her wedding dress and Val walked out of her cube.
Lizzie downloaded the pictures off her camera and onto her laptop, pinned the piece of paper with his name and measurements to the corkboard on her wall, and went back to work. She hoped that if he did call, she could find a use for him. His body-consciousness made her want to dress him to be more confident, and it was a shame to waste such a pretty face and such a nice body.
And she really did want to put him in a kilt.