-
-
An amused business man hits the wall of paparazzi ahead of her. He keeps glancing back at her, obviously wondering what the fuss is about. IGirl follows the path he has carved through the lenses. Camera’s flash. Someone from the Airline is saying that they need to move aside, they still have three hundred people to get off the plane.
Questions fire along with the flashes.
‘You’re back’.
‘What is it with you and Japanese Fashion Week?’
‘Will you see Mark Snashell while you’re here?’
‘Yes, I’m back’, IGirl forces her lips into a half smile. She would answer their questions on her way to the exit where a car is apparently waiting. The airline would deliver her luggage to the hotel.
She kept her gait slow enough to signal encouragement. This was a business trip after all.
‘I love this event. It’s never afraid to take risks and it does it so courteously.’
‘And Mark? Will you see Mark Snashell while you’re here?’
That question again. It wasn’t so much difficult as it was dull. To IGirl anyway, obviously to other people it was fascinating.
She reinstates her smile. A photo of her irritated frown would probably be twisted into a moment of emotional turmoil at the mention of Mark’s name.
‘If Mark’s here, I’m sure I will see him.’
‘Is it true you’ve broken up with Rowan Bark?’ Another question she expected but still hurts. And it’s served up within the auspice of truth.
‘I don’t know what the truth is but I don’t think it’s that.’
Not a single question or comment about the collection. She had to use every ounce of mental energy she had left to swallow her contempt. It wasn’t their job after all. And Roly was right, this hype sold more frocks than a dozen good reviews.
She would be interviewed by ‘real’ fashion journalists later in the week. A prospect which always terrified her. If the paparazzi were vultures the fashion media were tigers, flashing you their beautiful coat one minute, tearing you apart the next.
The dozen or so photographers and ‘reporters’ that had met her at her gate were still tailing her but the camera’s had eased off and no one was bothering to question her anymore.
She was envisioning that long hot bath and congratulating herself on the way she had handled the paparazzi when she saw him. Through the exit doors, casually leaning against the waiting SUV. He smiled and raised his hand in a wave.
The clicks and flashes whirred into a new found frenzy. She was almost knocked off her platform heels by a photographer eager to get a close up of the moment.
F#$%ing Mark. It was just like him to pull a stunt like this.
-
-
-
No comments:
Post a Comment