Iris Blaire - Dark Frame

“What are they doing?” I point to the cameramen. “I take the photos. That’s how it goes.”

Dwain holds out his hands. “Calm down, calm down. A.J. thought it would be better if you were able to relax for once and soak in the whole experience of the audition. If you’re not so focused on taking photos, you’ll be able to see more clearly how the models themselves respond to the audition.” When I arch my eyebrow high, he adds, “You know, like on America’s Next Top Model , all of the judges are usually hanging around a monitor and not actually taking the photos.”

“This isn’t a television show,” I snap. Technically, this asshat is my boss, but I don’t give a shit. Obviously, he knows nothing about this industry.

“A.J.’s orders,” Dwain says, which ends the conversation. I growl in frustration. “Don’t worry, we’ll give you the reigns back before you know it.”

Just the fact that he has to say that makes my insides knot. “Sure, whatever.”

All auditions will take place in the typical bedroom scenario. I try my hardest to push for the pool, but that’s another thing Dwain puts his foot down on. A.J. says the bedroom is generic enough to get a good read on everyone . Whatever. That’s why we won’t be able to get a good read—because no one is going to be willing to take risks.

Actually, every time I make a suggestion, Dwain tells me to stuff it. I’m also not allowed to be involved in the sign-up process or help out the set. So I end up sitting and fuming on a barstool in the studio kitchen, watching A.J.’s cronies take charge as the models slowly begin to trickle in.

And now I get why they won’t let me be a part of the sign-in process—they’re actually turning people away at the door. At first it’s for the obvious reasons—too pudgy, too gangly—but then the assistants from Amora start turning away more and more—people who are hot, people who could potentially be great models. And it finally gets me out of my seat. Infuriated, I push through the sample models and tap Dwain on the shoulder. “What the hell is going on?”

His lip pulls up into a sneer. “You, Miss McCulley, are out of line.”

I’ve been pushed around enough today. “Listen, Dwain . This is my fucking magazine, and I can break the contract whenever the hell I want.” Technically, this is the truth, although Amora will keep the rights for another two years. “Why are all of these people being turned away?”

“They don’t fit the East Park brand .”

I am seriously going to deck this guy.

I look at the models who have gotten through the gatekeepers. All tall and white, with that signature Abercrombie look. Actually, they look almost identical. I swear, even the guys and the girls look they could be from one creepy Mormon family.

“Hi, I’m here to audition.”

The voice strikes me as familiar, and when I turn to look, I watch Jaime hand his headshot to the assistant by the door. The assistant lets him walk through, and he spots me. I stare him down, and he immediately goes on the defense.

“Give me a chance, Brit.”

I grind my teeth. Dwain asks me if I know the guy, but I don’t respond. I study Jaime up and down before saying, “Well, at least you aren’t white.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Uhh… thanks?”

“Fine, I’ll let you have your twenty minutes.” I step toward him, keeping my chin in the air. “But, too be honest, I don’t think you’re even serious about the gig.”

He rolls his eyes. “Please, Britain. You think I’m just here to torture you?”

“No, I think you’re here to torture me and have a chance to pose with some gorgeous naked women.”

“I take my job pretty seriously, thank you.”

“Then prove it,” I state boldly, and march away.

One of the Amora assistants calls all EPE staff into the back room, but before I can head that way, a pretty brunette girl catches my eye. “Excuse me, Ma’am.”

I shudder involuntarily. “I’m not a Ma’am, but what do you want?”

She snaps her gum. “Are we gonna have to, like, fuck on camera right now, or what?”

“Oh my god,” I mutter, spinning on my heel without answering. Jaime’s laughter trickles across the room like liquid fire.

Brunette gum-snapper asked if she’d have to fuck on camera, and now this room is set up like a porno.

The sheets are red and satiny, and there’s a huge fuzzy heart pillow in the middle of the bed. Gag me. On top of it, the room is way darker than it needs to be, giving the whole space this gross seventies feel. I’m surprised they haven’t ripped out the flooring and put in shag carpet.

“What is going on with this lighting?” I say out loud to no one in particular. Not a soul responds to me, although there are a couple of women in dress suits glaring at me as they clench iPads in their hands. I walk over to a guy adjusting a light and say, “Hey, you, the lighting is way too dark in here. You’re going to make even the skinniest girl look lumpy, and all of the shadows really awkward.”

He waves his hand at me in dismissal. “Don’t talk to me, I just take orders.”

I groan, looking around for anyone that will listen. It takes a whole fifteen minutes for the word to finally get around to Dwain that Britain is unhappy, and I really think he hates me now.

I win on the lighting and get the Amora workers to amp it a bit, but unfortunately, Dwain won’t budge on the fuzzy red pillow that I find pedophilic and not sexy at all.

The chairs that we will watch the auditions from are lined up on the side of the wall like a jury. I sit in the very back corner, Delilah right next to me, and Adam next to her. The rest of the models fill up the back row. They all have their arms crossed and look either pissed, uncomfortable, or scared.

“This isn’t fun,” Delilah whispers to me. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m in trouble.”

“I know what you mean,” I answer.

“When you said we were going national, I didn’t think they’d be taking over like this.”

I didn’t either, did I? Maybe I didn’t care to even think about it. The money was so good that I subconsciously knew if they took over, it wouldn’t matter. Now, looking at my models and how petrified they all seem, not thinking about it was a mistake.

How can I fix this?

I lower my head and close my eyes, thinking quickly. Pulling a small notebook from my pocket and the pen from behind my ear, I write each sample model’s name on a separate sheet of paper. Then, starting with Delilah, I give them each a theme, and write, no matter what the photographer tells you, stick to this . I hand Delilah the stack and mutter, “Pass them down.”

She finds hers and passes the stack. She reads the paper, arches her eyebrow, and looks at me. “For real?” she says. “What’s the point?”

“I know what’s good for EPE,” I whisper, nodding to the associate ushering the first female model into the room. “They don’t.”

“I got you,” says Adam. He must have overheard me. I should probably whisper softer considering A.J’s cronies are sitting right in front of me.

“Miss McCulley, would you be so kind as to select a sample model for this young lady?”

Wow, first time I’ve been asked to do anything. It’s actually a bit shocking.

The girl is very slight in frame with no ass or boobs. She almost looks like she’s twelve. Knowing Amora Acquisitions, they’ll probably want to hire her. My mind is twisting perversely. Adam is our tallest, broadest guy. I’m thinking the juxtaposition will make for a great photo. Plus, I gave him hunter with his prey for the theme.

“All right, big guy. Go get ‘em.”