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Clementine
- Spoiler:
I woke up to somebody shaking my shoulder this morning. My mother. Her flaxen hair was clipped up with a jeweled pin and she was clad in a pair of skinny jeans and my striped sweater. Always taking my clothes. She had already been up for a few hours, gone to a yoga class and a jog, had breakfast and read the newspaper. Always an early riser. And it was only 10:00 a.m.
"Get up!" She said, sitting on the edge of my bed, bouncing it up and down. "It's already ten, sleepy head!"
I opened my eyes, before quickly shutting them again. It was too bright. The light reflected off of my light pink walls. My room was big- all light pink walls, except one was exposed brick. The large windows that shone in tons of light looked over the city. New York City. My home. It was Sunday morning, and the first day of school was tomorrow. My ex model mom, the famous Nicolette Carmichael (she got famous after she married my dad at the age of 19) was obnoxiously poking my side. I sighed, rolling over and pulling the sheets over me.
"Seriously, hon, get up! You're wasting the day away! When I was a model when I was 19 in Paris, we had go-sees at 7 am. We'd then fly over to Germany or Milan or London. We knew we had to make the most of our days. We didn't waste our days away. We would go to the cafes in Paris and have croissants and baguettes and look at vintage stores in side alleys of London. We didn't lie in our beds all day! Seriously, school starts tomorrow. You should get a new outfit. We should go shopping. I can hold a party for all of your classmates!"
I groaned. Typical of my mom. While most people would love to have this happen to them, to have their moms want to buy them expensive clothing and bring them to the spa for $750 seaweed diamond wraps and hold them large parties in exclusive places such as the Soho house, I didn't. My mom wanted me to be popular. She wanted me to go to the biggest parties and be on the best dressed list and have pictures at the fashion shows. She wanted me to experience it all. She wanted me to go to vacation in Europe and travel the world. And I didn't. I was happy here, in New York, with my friends. I was happy just doing what I loved to do, rather than going to parties and acting polite to people I didn't know. But I knew I had to go to the parties and such. My mom was handing me all of this stuff that she worked so hard for, every since she was young, ever since she grew up poor and didn't have the things she wanted. She worked hard, got a modeling job for her looks, met my father, who was wealthy, and worked hard to become a top model. She got the life she wanted and she hoped that I could have it too. And I appreciated that. That was the reason I had a huge birthday party last year, with elephants and fireworks, the reason that I went to go skiing in the Alps with royalty. I knew how lucky I was, and how a million girls would love to take my place. But I didn't want money. I didn't want fame. I just wanted to enjoy my life, and I understood that was hard for my mother to get, for others to get.
My mom got up, poking me one last time and giving me a glance that told me I had to get up. She closed the door to my room. I groaned, took a deep breath, and then I got up, and quickly changed into a Peter Pan collared shirt, a pair of jeans and my grandmother's old bracelet. I brushed my blonde hair and twisted it up into a knot and headed downstairs where breakfast was waiting. After eating quickly, I headed out with my mom to buy some clothes.
I loved my mom. I loved how she gave me what I wanted, and how she wanted to be best friends. But it was tough, when she wanted to control your friends, your boyfriends. How she didn't want me to date a boy last year because he didn't come from a good family, or how she didn't want me to be friends with someone because that girl wasn't pretty enough to be friends with me. My mom was nice, and she had only good intentions. But she tried to micromanage my life.
And sometimes, it felt like I was suffocating. I knew my mom wanted me to live a great life, but she was living the life she wanted to live when she was younger. She wasn't letting me live mine.
Sleigh
- Spoiler:
- Oh. My. Gosh.
Disgusting.
I actually felt something squishy against my leg.
I'm sitting on the floor of a thrift store. And from across the room, I saw it. A gorgeous leopard print fur jacket. Vintage YSL. It was authentic, that was for sure. I could tell by looking at anything whether it was fake or real. I had a knack for it, a sixth sense. And I had to get it. Of course it was jammed beneath a few other things, and that was why I was on the floor, digging it out from piles of sweaters (all hideous with the exception of a thick baby blue Acne one).
Now, vintage clothes are amazing. Vintage Chanel rings and Dior pumps and Gucci sunglasses I had picked up from visits. They were gorgeous, one of a kind and hard to find. Nobody else would have them, and they added a touch of history to each outfit. But I do wish I could go out and buy a Christopher Kane dress on a whim or a new pair of YSL pumps (the bright blue one I'd had my eye on). But I couldn't afford it. I wanted to be in the world of fashion so badly. I spent every Sunday in the thrift store, digging up things. I worked at the clothing door downtown part time (along with school), sewed embellishments onto cheap sweatshirts I would find at the dollar store and had my own fashion blog. I loved fashion, wanted to live and breathe it. I was going to do anything I could to do it.
I finally yanked the jacket out from beneath and then headed over to some of the costume jewelry to see if there was anything good. I then heard the bell of the door ring as a gorgeous tall lady, THE Nicolette Carmichael walk in. Her blonde hair was tied up in a knot, and she had on the most adorable sweater. She was gorgeous, even in person. She looked so effortless! And to know that she, and probably other chic models like her, went to thrift stores too. Wow. I grabbed a pearl necklace (fake pearls, but still gorgeous and only $5) off the rack and ran over.
"Nicolette! Hi! Oh my gosh, I'm Sleigh, and I'm such a big fan. I'm such of big fan of you and fashion and wow, to meet a real model, a huge model, a supermodel is such an honor!" I said, in one breath. I smiled, as she stared at me. Oh my gosh. Maybe she didn't want girls to be talking to her. Was she going to get mad? Were my chances of being in the fashion industry down, now? Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. I never said my last name, though. That's good, right? A million thoughts flooded my head as butterflies filled my stomach. I was about to open my mouth to apologize, when a gorgeous million dollar smile came on her face.
"I am so honored! What a sweet girl you are!" She said, smiling. "Isn't she sweet, Clem? So enthusiastic about life, you could take a cue from her. And is that coat YSL?" She said, pointing to the leopard coat in my hand.
"Yeah! I dug it up under a pile of sweaters. I flipped when I saw it, I knew I needed it!" I said, smiling.
"I remember working with Yves. Such a gentleman. Such a shame the world lost such a genius," she said, shaking her head slowly. "But, anyway, great choice. The coat is gorgeous!!!"
"Thank you! By any chance, do you think we could meet over coffee or something? I mean I'd love to talk to you about the industry, and I'm interested in getting an internship..." I began. She smiled, taking out her date book. This was it. My break. My chance.
Last edited by chloelovesyou on Fri Dec 31, 2010 4:13 pm; edited 1 time in total
