Beautiful People - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Everyone in the salon was staring at her, but Vera really didn't give a shit. Carmen's message might have been a reprimand but it felt like a challenge. She responded immediately, and stupidly: Yes. I could do better.
She regretted it as soon as she hit send, a wave of anxiety pinching her stomach because she sounded like such a cocky bitch and maybe that was a bad strategy-- but it was too late. Carmen had replied with a crying-laughing emoji.
Cute, Carmen said. You really believe that?
Vera twisted her hair between her fingers. This couldn't be real. It was impossible that she was really DMing with Carmen Juarez, her idol since she had watched that movie about the sad family when she was seven and later her bisexual awakening when she realized most girls didn't crush quite so hard on their favourite celebrities. This had to be a dream. Mona had slapped her for calling that girl fat and knocked her out and this was a really strange, really amazing dream.
Recklessly, Vera said, Of course I do. I mean, you look amazing in anything. You wear the shit out of those boring clothes. You could cut a hole in a garbage bag and wear it like a dress and make it fashion.
I don't know if you're insulting me or complimenting me, Carmen said.
Vera bit her lip. She was overdoing it, being a total embarrassing fangirl, but she had spent years thinking about this and she wasn't about to pass up her chance to say it. Besides, this probably wasn't Carmen at all. Surely an intern handled most of her social. Other than the live stories Carmen posted every time she did something offensive and needed to apologize, of course. Somehow thinking that made it easier to say, I'm just saying, can you imagine if you had a proper style, an image, rather than just, Beautiful Girl And Oh Yeah, There Are Clothes?
Don't call me girl, Carmen replied. I'm not a child.
Something popped in Vera's stomach and all the heart-racing excitement drained as fast as it had come. Carmen fucking Juarez was in her DMs and Vera had pissed her off. She had hoped it might take a little longer than that. Thumbs hovering over the keyboard, she agonized over what to say in response. Should she apologize, or act like it was nothing? What if Carmen was just joking?
"Vera?"
Vera's head shot up. She had almost forgotten she was in the salon. The whole world must have shifted slightly when Carmen fucking Juarez slid into her DMs, because everything looked several shades greyer. There were still customers eyeing her sideways. The blue-haired teenager had shifted two seats away as though embarrassed to be seen near her after the shrieking.
Her hairstylist Saoirse was standing by the counter, one hand on her hip, a bemused smile on her lips. "What the hell did you do to your hair?"
Huffing, Vera pressed to her feet and tucked her headphones into the purse over her shoulder. "It's a long story."
"Is any story ever short with you?" Saoirse laughed and tossed her red curls back over her shoulder. "Alright, who fucked you over this time? Alex again?"
"When is it ever not Alex?" As Vera followed Saoirse over to the sinks, she realized she had actually completely forgotten about Alex and his vindictive tiger photo, too. A smile tugged at her lips. "But I am so fucking ready to stop thinking about him."
Laughing again, Saoirse gave her a sympathetic look. "Girl, I know. At least you didn't shave off your eyebrows like my roommate did. This I can fix."
Vera clutched her phone tightly while Saoirse washed her hair, while she touched up the colour, while she carefully trimmed the hacked edges of Vera's hair. She still hadn't figured out what to say to Carmen, but every ping of a notification sent her scrambling to her DMs. To her disappointment, Carmen--or her social media intern--remained silent. Maybe the novelty had worn off. At least she hadn't been blocked yet.
"That better not be a message from Alex you're waiting for," Saoirse sighed, finger-combing product into her hair.
"Fuck no. It's..." Vera considered. "It's a work thing. A fashion thing."
"Ooh, a sponsorship?"
"Well, no, but--"
Vera bounced her heels nervously against the rail of the chair. This was so far out of her league. She had worked with a few brands, small ones, but that wasn't anything like working with top-tier designers to dress someone with a profile like Carmen's. That was a whole different world. One she would love to get involved in.
She could see it now: Carmen in even halfway risky street style would make heads explode; if she walked a red carpet in a Bhatia look she would make Best Dressed and, even better, Worst Dressed lists everywhere. The increased exposure could only help Carmen's stuttering career; Vera had watched irrelevant celebrities make themselves relevant again by reinventing themselves as style icons.
If Vera could make that happen for Carmen, and if she could take credit for the whole thing, she would be gold. A boost to her followers would only be a start. Sponsorships, job opportunities, collaborations with designers--she didn't even know what she could do with that kind of profile. Anything she wanted, probably.
She just had to sell it to Carmen first.
"It might be a once in a lifetime opportunity," she said finally.
"It's a good thing you've got a once in a lifetime look, then. Voila." With a flourish, Saoirse spun the chair around so Vera could admire her cut in the mirror. "You no longer look like a feral child raised by tigers. You're welcome."
"Damn." Vera tilted her chin. Saoirse had taken the blonde a shade lighter, and fine pale strands brushed her forehead and the tops of her ears. The style somehow managed to look edgy, somehow gave her round face edges. She looked like a whole new person. "I love it."
"Right?" Saoirse dropped her scissors into the disinfectant. "I should've suggested you go short years ago. A lot of girls can't pull off a pixie but it looks great on you."
Alex had liked her long hair. He could go fuck himself. Vera hated curls.
"Go out there and knock them off their feet," Saoirse said, crossing her arms in satisfaction.
After tipping more generously than she could afford, Vera clutched her umbrella close and hurried home, splashing through icy puddles uncaring that her feet were getting wet. The excitement was a buzz somewhere beneath her collarbone, half rolling anxiety and half a singing thrill. Carmen hadn't actually indicated that she would be interested in working with Vera, but it didn't matter. She was going to sell the shit out of this. Carmen would have no choice but to say yes.
At the bakery, Mr. Wu's cute daughter smiled at her. She said, "I love your haircut." She let her fingers linger warm against Vera's as she handed over the box of buns. Last week Vera would have been ecstatic. Last week she would have flirted back. Today Vera just thanked her briefly and shook her umbrella open again. Mr. Wu's daughter was cute, but Vera had a flighty celebrity to impress.
Her tiny studio apartment was cold. Vera unzipped her boots, tossed her coat over the couch and her keys onto the counter, and found a bottle of white in the fridge. Fresh steamed buns and a glass of wine that was more like half a bottle beside her, Vera settled at her desk and got to work reviewing years of photos and posts and every bit of information she had about Carmen Juarez and what she liked to wear and what she didn't--and more importantly, what she actually looked good in.
Rain sheeted against the window. Grey light faded to indigo. At some point Vera realized it was dark, and she clicked on her desk lamp. Her fingers cramped. She started shivering and had to take a break to find the fuzzy blanket, damp from having her wet wool coat draped across it.
For nearly an hour, she went off on a tangent looking at photos from the set of Never Enough Smiles, the teen rom-com that had been Carmen's last project. The movie was awful, and not the so-bad-it's-good kind of awful; the kind of awful that even Vera, a lifelong fan of Carmen's, could barely get through. At least Troy Dicks, the actor who played Carmen's love interest, was hot, and their chemistry was undeniable. They had been playing that chemistry up for months, posting photos from on-set and off of the two being adorable together. It was an obvious attempt to start dating speculation, since both were officially single at the moment, and the teenage fans of the movie had eaten it up. Vera thought it was a pretty lame publicity move, but it was the best move Carmen had made in years.
By midnight Vera had a whole portfolio put together, and a pitch, and the bottle of wine was gone. To give her the confidence she needed, she found her ring light and posted a selfie of her new haircut.
Opening her DMs again, she tried to shake off the nagging anxiety that she was making a mistake. This whole thing was probably some kind of weird prank. Celebrities Dunk On Influencers. A terrible show that would inexplicably get seven fucking seasons.
"Bitch, she messaged you," she reminded herself. "Would you rather go beg Mona for that shitty job back?"
Her pitch went like this: Your problem is you dress like the goal is pretty. I meant what I said. You can sell anything you wear. You should use that. Be polarizing. Wear things that some people will hate. They won't be able to stop talking about you. And let's face it, you could use the boost. Your last few movies haven't exactly been blockbusters. How long do you think fake relationships will keep people interested in you?
She half-expected Carmen wouldn't reply. She certainly didn't expect her to reply within minutes to say, Wow. You're a fucking bitch.
Vera winced. Oops. She had misjudged that line.
Before she could figure out how to apologize, Carmen said, I like that. I hate people who think lying to my face will make me like them.
Clutching her phone between numb hands, Vera tried to keep breathing normally.
I've seen some of your videos. You do some cool things. Kind of different.
Now Vera was really sure she was dreaming. What the hell was Carmen doing watching her shitty amateur videos? Intern, she reminded herself. PR. At midnight. Nope. Definitely not actually Carmen.
I know what I'm talking about. Trust me. I could make you a style icon, Vera said, lying harder than she had ever lied before. She had no idea what the fuck she was doing, except that she really, really wanted this.
So, what are you saying? You want a chance to prove you can help me?
I would love to prove it, Vera typed as fast as her fingers could move.
The pause was longer than she expected. Vera tapped her foot incessantly against the floor. Should she make specific suggestions? Offer to send the portfolio she had put together? It wouldn't be this easy. Carmen would want more.
But apparently, it was this easy.
Fuck it. I'm bored. Why not, Carmen fucking Juarez said. Come to LA. Make me not hate all the clothes in my closet.
It took everything Vera had not to start screaming again.
Fuck, she couldn't wait to see the look on Ivy's face.