Chapter Text
Her placement is late.
Shelby looks over at the clock on the wall again, watches as the hand ticks past 9:07 onto 9:08. She was raised to be punctual at any cost, and whilst she had abandoned a lot of the values of her upbringing, that one stuck. She hated late people, because late people made mistakes. Shelby had worked too hard to make mistakes now.
New York Fashion Week was arguably the biggest job anyone could book and Shelby had fought tooth and nail to get this far. Her father’s bible spin class - her father in general, really - was not compatible with the future she wanted, so after her senior year, she booked a one-way ticket to JFK and hadn’t returned to Fort Travis since. New York wasn’t her friend at first (on her first morning, someone on the subway vomited all over her white high-tops) but Shelby quickly found a job, doing stage makeup at a tiny black box theatre.
Years of restrictive dieting, harsh stares and performing on the pageant circuit had made the idea of being on stage vomit-inducing, but Shelby realised over time that doing makeup wasn’t just a job to her, it was a calling - she’d spent so many years trying to hide the parts of herself that she thought were ugly, and now she got to prove to other people just how beautiful they were. She knew it was cheesy, but Shelby thought to herself that maybe this was the path God had set her on for a reason.
The clock ticks onto 9:13 as someone collapses into the chair in front of her in a cloud of cigarette smoke and vanilla. Shelby’s eyes shoot from the wall to her chair, the girl now sprawling in it has wild, curly brown hair falling around a tan face covered in freckles, built lean like an athlete instead of a model. She sits with one leg tucked underneath her and a huge jacket hanging off her shoulders. Shelby briefly notes that the girl kind of looks like her ex but she banishes the thought as soon as it comes to her.
Working in fashion meant Shelby had worked with her fair share of gorgeous women and she makes a point not to crush on clients - it’s unprofessional, it risks the job and it takes her out of control - but god, she’s considering making an exception just this once. The girl in her chair is the kind of beautiful that drives poets to paper and leaders to war. Part of Shelby is crying out to reach forward and brush one of the curls from her forehead, to see if it would spring back or stay put.
A sharp cough snaps her into reality. The girl in the chair is raising an eyebrow, clearly expecting an answer to a question Shelby wasn’t paying attention to.
“I’m sorry,” Shelby breathes out, “I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Yeah no shit. Don’t you have work to do?”
Shelby’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline in shock at the rudeness of her late arrival. Apparently being beautiful meant you didn't need manners.
“Weren’t you supposed to be here on time?” She snaps.
The girl’s mouth (perfect, by the way) curves into a smirk at Shelby’s apparent rage.
“Touché, Texas. I’ll let you work.”
Shelby bristles at the nickname but can’t help the pang that shoots through her at the sound of the girl’s voice. The girl repositions herself in the chair, turning to face the mirror. Shelby simply nods in response, going to stand behind her chair and glances down at the chart she’d been given earlier to avoid eye contact.
She attempts to push civility into her voice, but she can’t find much goodwill to dredge up.
“My name’s Shelby. I don’t suppose you have one as well?”
“Well, Texas, since you asked so nicely. I’m Toni.”
Shelby looks up to find the girl - Toni - is staring her up and down with that same smirk still on her face.
Oh.
This is going to be harder than she expected.
-
Working with Toni is like trying to get Fatin to shut up: fucking impossible. Shelby wishes that the difficulty was rooted in their personality clash but in reality, Toni is still looking at her in a way that makes her feel... unprepared to be mere inches away from her face for the next 30 minutes.
She can’t help herself from falling a little further as she notices pieces of Toni whilst working; the sharp edge of her jawline, the lit amber in her eyes, the long line of her neck.
The chart from the designer specified heavy foundation with huge blue eyeshadow winging out into the temples - nothing too difficult for Shelby’s skill set. Yet every brush she made on Toni’s face was painful and she felt like this was wrong somehow. Hiding Toni behind layers of beige and brown was sacrilegious and Shelby's heart was screaming at her to wipe it off, to march Toni down the runway as she was and demand that everyone look at her right now.
Regardless of the butterflies beating her stomach, Shelby pushes through for the majority of their time together, definitely thinking about her work and not at all fixating on Toni’s jawline, until her composure falls apart at the 25 minute mark.
“Is this how you break the ice with all your clients or am I special?”
Confused, Shelby withdraws from where she was buffing eyeshadow to watch as Toni comically looks down to her own crotch, where Shelby’s palm is currently pressing.
Shelby feels her cheeks heat as she yanks her hand away. She tries not to think of the implications of her hand between Toni’s thighs, but her mind betrays her and wanders.
“Oh my lord, I am so sorry. This is so - I’m so embarrassed, I’m sor-”
“Relax, Texas,” Toni cuts her off with that same smirk, “I was into it.”
She punctuates the sentence with a wink and Shelby thinks she might faint from all the blood leaving her brain to flush her cheeks red.
Shelby heaves a deep breath and tries to summon her inner camp counsellor to calm herself down.
“Well, if everything's A-okay with you, I’m gonna keep working now!”
Jesus. She somehow made it worse. Toni laughs, very obviously at her rather than with her, and Shelby tries to push her feelings aside so she can finish her job. Her very important job.
Toni clears her throat.
“So, is this your first time?” she asks, “Working Fashion Week, I mean. Not feeling someone up.”
Shelby has to actively force herself to speak and work through her apparent paralysation. When this is all over, they’ll have to stretcher her out of the venue. Girl Permanently Frozen After Flirting with Supermodel would be the headline.
“Yeah, it is. I’ve got four more shows booked here, then a couple in Paris when it’s over. Can you tell it’s my first time? I’ve been trying not to shake but my Daddy always used to say you could see right through me when I was nervous, like I was made of celloph-”
“Texas, trust me - you’re a natural.” Toni speaks with complete sincerity, her previous cocky attitude gone, “I can see why you’re so in demand this season. I’d want you around too.”
She continues on, watching through the mirror as Shelby’s face breaks into a smile whilst she cleans a brush off.
“My first show, I was a total mess. I fell over like three times - I told that bitch the shoes were too high - and when I finally got backstage, I freaked out. Punched a wall and shit. What you’re doing now? Basically a pro. Makes me embarrassed.”
Toni grabbed Shelby’s hand, pulling her to stand in front of her, their faces inches from each other yet again.
“You’re meant to be here, Shelby. I know it and you know it, and that’s all that matters.”
Shelby is taken aback by the sudden intimacy of the moment, Toni speaking so softly, as if a loud volume would shatter the blonde. She gives a small nod when Toni lightly squeezes her hand and grins at her.
An intern, all dressed in black, hoists a megaphone.
“Five minutes until we need models in wardrobe!”
Shelby imagines going over and stomping on the interns's foot. It seems deserved for interrupting whatever just passed between her and Toni. She reluctantly pulls her hand from Toni’s and returns to her work. Unfortunately, the only part of her job left to do is Toni’s lipstick, which proves to be incredibly challenging.
She tries to focus on the line she’s drawing but Toni's mouth has parted, exhaling hot air that makes sweat prick on Shelby’s hairline. Again, her mind plays traitor and she imagines surging forward and kissing Toni, ruining her work in order to leave careless smudges on her lips, cheeks, jaw.
Shelby leans back to wipe her face and sees that Toni is looking at her with slightly softened eyes.
“Shelby, is there any chance I can-”
“Miss Shalifoe, I need you getting dressed now.”
And then the moment disappears. The intern is grasping Toni’s forearm, eyeing Shelby with obvious disdain.
Toni pauses with her mouth open and slowly nods, beginning to stand up. By the time she turns back to face Shelby, any vulnerability they had previously shared is gone and replaced by the same self-righteous arrogance.
“I have a feeling I’ll see you again, Texas. Keep your hands to yourself while I’m gone.”
And with that, the intern whisks Toni away, out of Shelby’s grasp and through the dark curtain separating clothing from makeup.
I’d want you around too.
Shelby prays that Toni will be right about seeing her again.