Angela pushed her upper body forward and shook her head. A thin Chopard silver chain necklace and the peace sign it carried bounced lightly up and down against her perfectly toned skin.
Joanne smiled and kissed her on the lips.
Angela giggled. She crossed and uncrossed her legs. Her face relaxed and she pressed her hands together, Buddhist-style, in front of her face.
“Ooooooohh, I hope so Joey,” she replied with warmth in her voice.
Jenna flounced across the room again, still screeching, still topless. For the first time, Angela noticed a small black skull-and-crossbones tattoo just below Jenna’s left nipple.
All eyes in the room turned to watch as an older Australian model, Ellen, rose purposefully from her ergonomically designed chair to confront Jenna.
“What the fuck is this? Amateur hour?” Ellen yelled and strode straight towards Jenna.
Dressed in a full black Zandra Rhodes couture dress, chunky silver Hip Hop King dollar necklace, red L’Oreal lipstick and red Cole Haan Chelsea pumps, her long blonde hair held back by a red Tasha head wrap, Ellen was well-regarded by Joanne for her no-nonsense personality.
“Shut it Jenna, enough of your bimbo noise, some of us are actually trying to work,” Ellen growled and waved her arms about impatiently in front of the princess.
Jenna sneered, picked up a glass of Perrier water from a silver tray on the station beside her and threw the fluid over the front of Ellen’s dress.
There was instant uproar in the increasingly crowded room.
All eyes were on the antagonists. They didn’t have to wait long. After surveying her thoroughly soaked dress, Ellen picked up a jug of Perrier and emptied its contents over Jenna’s head, then pushed her firmly backwards. Jenna crashed into a vacant makeup station, knocked over a vase of orchids and ended up lying on top of the station with her head down, mouth wide open and her hair a sodden mess.
Joanne laughed. Angela shook her head. The rest of the models in the change room giggled at the decisive conclusion to the melodrama before turning back to their primary focus, the mirror.
Humiliated, Jenna got up and started to walk back to her station. Angela pointed at her. “Your behaviour is not very professional, yes?”
Joanne snorted derisively. “You’re so-oh not happening, Jenna. Face it, you’re just too old for the modelling game.”
Jenna frowned as Ellen added “she’s a fucking dinosaur.”
Joanne warmed to the theme. “You’re so-oh last-year girl, why else do you think that loser Adam would hire you?”
Ellen laughed so hard she started to cough.
“You’re way too kind Joey,” she shouted and pointed at her now cowering opponent. “She’s so last decade! It’s all over for her.”
Jenna, faced with humiliation, Chinese-whispers and smirks as the only outcome of her tantrum, burst into tears and ran out of the room. The head of security immediately followed her.
Ellen stood in front of Joanne dripping. “Look at what that dumb bitch has done to me,” she complained. “How long before show time?”
Joanne shrugged as four stylists descended upon Ellen. She waved and blew kisses towards Angela and Joanne as the team of stylists walked her off toward a vanity station at the far end of the expansive dressing room. Another larger team of stylists arrived to prepare the two girls from the Model Citizens modelling agency.
But Joanne had a more urgent agenda in mind. She held her right hand up and stopped the stylists, the dressers, and the make-up people in their tracks. She stood, grating her chair on the polished redwood floor. She cleared her throat authoritatively as she surveyed the room.
“Yo girls! It’s time to get serious here. It’s show time. Let’s roll.”
The rowdy room immediately quietened to a steady murmur of gossip. Angela patted Joanne’s derrière admiringly and grinned.
Joanne opened a four-panelled black and white Japanese Tatami screen around her make-up station and waved at the attendants to leave. Nearby, a hair dryer spluttered into action.
“Give us a few minutes please ladies. Go! Now! Right now! Go!” Joanne clapped her hands three times.
The heavily laden stylists and their entourage retreated to consult with the network’s Talent Manager.
Angela and Joanne were now hidden from the rest of the room by the flower-printed tatami screen and given some audio cover by a whirring symphony of hair dryers.
Joanne leant forward to Angela, held up the index finger of her left hand and placed it upon her lips. Joanne pressed her mouth real close and breathed ever so softly into her ear: “This will be the making of us, my beautiful friend,” she panted sensually.
Joanne stroked Angela’s thigh affectionately as she spoke. Angela blushed and flashed Joanne a little girl smile. Another hair dryer roared into action nearby.
Angela raised her voice above the din. “I wish I was as confident as you …”
Joanne slowly seductively brought her right index finger back to Angela’s lips, her eyes narrowing to a squint. She leant forward again, pressed her lips against Angela’s right ear and whispered for a minute without drawing breath.
“Ooooooohh, Joey, I don’t know.” Angela replied nervously. The smile had run away from her face. Her brow was furrowed.
Joanne glared at her younger friend, leaned back in her chair and paused before continuing.
“Where was I? Oh yeah, Adam. Adam, Adam, good old Adam fucking Verucce. Look, don’t forget what he did to us in Milan girlfriend.”
Angela listened and nodded self-consciously. She tilted her head forward; crossing and uncrossing her perfectly toned legs.
Again, Joanne leant in close. A precocious smirk passed her face. She straightened her posture, pulled her Bordelle lingerie down a little before tugging at her left ear lobe.
“Don’t forget, that was only 18 months ago,” Joanne exclaimed with feeling.
Angela nodded in agreement.
“Then there were his ‘clients’ in Paris during that storm.”
Joanne exaggerated a shudder and thumped her vanity station with a clenched left fist.
Angela scowled and slowly shook her head. “Imbeciles. Cretins. Dismal leetle men.” She wiggled her left little finger as she spoke. Joanne grinned and nodded. “So true, Ang,” she added and slapped her thighs with both hands, thoroughly amused.
“He thought that was oh-so funny at the time, the scheming little faggot. Didn’t he?” she continued.
Angela nodded in agreement. Joanne softly mimicked an effeminate male voice. “Do you wanna keep your contracts, girls?”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Cochon, er, such a pig, Joey.”
Joanne laughed. “We both know how pathetic these smug-married-Alpha-males are when their dream-worlds are suddenly threatened. You do remember that creep Senator Richie, don’t you Ang?”
Angela nodded and then gently shook her head with contempt. “Remember how quickly he turned from tough guy to tears and cash payments after the DVD arrived?” Joanne asked her friend.
Angela nodded again and a mischievous grin spread across her flawless face. She gently