Vogue

San Francisco had been scorching today, Arabella’s exposed arms, legs and face had already bronzed up her olive skin, so unlike the angry blush that covered the noses of many of her friends. The breeze off of the bay was cooling as she, Eric, Justin, Moose, John and Garrett stood on the end of Pier 30/32 at dusk. Beside her, Eric was making an iPhone video of the view whilst her brother, a lobster-coloured Moose and Garrett were dicking around further along the boardwalk.

Arabella heard the telltale soft clicks of a camera shutter behind her and turned to find John snapping a picture.

‘That better not have been of me, Cornelius’ she laughed before turning back to admire the Bay Bridge. Arabella had never spent that much time in San Fran before – one or two days here and there – but watching the sun set over the bay was a sight she knew she wanted to see again. As much as the dark depths scared her, the artist in her revelled in the orange, pink and purple hues that bled into each other across the skyline.

Behind Arabella’s back, John blushed. His favourite hobby had to be his photography; and whilst he normally spammed his blog with snaps of nature and witty bumper stickers, Arabella’s impressive profile as she appraised the Bay’s sunset was too irresistible not to capture. He looked down at his Canon SLR and hit the display button to see his last shot. Arabella was stunning, even in cut-off shorts, her brother’s tee shirt and messy hair blowing in the breeze – she was drop dead, fucking gorgeous. He had to admit it, he was a little disappointed The Maine and Rocket weren’t sharing a bus this tour. Buses where small, bunks even smaller and the bathroom door never properly locked...John stopped his thoughts short – imaging Arabella first thing in the morning let alone in a shower situation was dangerous territory to be entering in public.

The calm serenity at the end of the pier was broken by a ringtone. Looking up from his camera, John saw Arabella pull the offending device out of her back pocket before accepting the call.

‘Don’t hate me...’ Marie started with. Arabella smiled and shook her head as she walked to the bench nearby, taking a seat whilst listening to the babbling forty-year-old. Marie was her second mom (technically third, but the first was a bitch who abandoned her so who’s counting?) and whilst the eccentric agent tended to overdramatise and overbook, she was Arabella’s saving grace in the modelling industry. She’d heard horror stories from other models about their manager’s only condoning dinners of cotton balls and orange juice let alone some agents personal mandatory waxing sessions; compared to them Marie was harmless.

‘...I know you’re on vacation and you didn’t want to work BUT, in a week you have a free Saturday for transit from Houston to Dallas and I just got a call from Paolo and Bulgari’s doing a shoot at South Padre Island – sandy, wet goddess style – and, c’mon Bells, the timings perfect, you’ll be laying in cool water on a 100 degree day, covered in precious gems whilst Bensimon photographs. You can’t say no to this!’ the tempo of her words gradually increased until grammar didn’t apply and the last of her sentences became run-ons. She knew Arabella too well, flattery didn’t get you anywhere; fast-talking did.

Arabella sighed, it was blatantly obvious to her that Marie had planned this shoot well in advance – there were no ‘chance happenings’ in the fashion industry. Complaining about her agent’s deviance would undoubtedly fall on deaf ears so Arabella directed her efforts towards an escape route instead.

‘You know I don’t do the beach’.

‘You’re not going to be in water, just wet; Gilles wants close-ups on the sand. I promise – no swimming.’

‘Are you forgetting that I don’t have the freedom of a car Marie? I’m on a bus, it’s not just my decision – what about the boys? And isn’t South Padre like nine hours away from Houston?’ Her last ditch efforts were pathetic and she knew it - Marie’s plans were always water tight – she expected nothing less. After four years together, Marie knew how casually Arabella approached her modelling – ’Getting you to agree to an interview or a shoot is like drawing blood out of a fucking rock. You’re impossible!’ she constantly ranted. But it didn’t change the fact that this was her holiday; and a deeper part of Arabella didn’t like the idea of mixing her work with pleasure. She liked separating her ‘model’ personality from the ‘touring’ persona all her friends knew her as.

‘It’s seven - an easy night’s drive down there and you’ll be done early afternoon. I promise you’ll be back in Dallas before Sunday morning. And don’t you think the boys would like a little beach getaway? Just ask, I’ll stay on the line’

‘Justin...’ Arabella called out to her brother who was now taking photos with Eric on the end of the pier. It looked like her holiday had ended before it even started.

***

‘It’s one day Bella, what’s the beef?’ Her brother asked as the group walked back from the pier to the gates of the bus lot. Arabella looked at him before rolling her eyes.

‘I’m on holidays’.

‘You’re on holidays more than the average person’ Justin exclaimed. ‘Stop complaining, you know you don’t have a problem with doing the shoot. It’s just that your having fun lazing about, eating Wafsicles and now your going to have to get concreted in makeup and suck in that gut for a whole day’ He laughed as he playfully slapped Arabella’s (flat) abdomen. She laughed and shooed his hands away.

‘Whatever. It’s just going to be annoying though...’ she started before being interrupted by a shout behind her. Turning her head she saw Eric smiling as he squeezed in between herself and Justin.

‘Hell no. We’re going to the beach, it’ll be heaps of fun – cool water, hot models, minimal clothing...’ he ranted, eyes glazing over. Secretly, Arabella grimaced – letting the boys come with her to a shoot would be the first time that her two worlds would collide on such a large scale, and she wasn’t quite sure she wanted that to happen. But then again, it’s not like she had a choice, she was making Rocket leave Houston early so she could get to South Padre on time – she might as well show them what all the fuss was about.

‘Just don’t get a boner in front of the models Halvo; you’ll scare ‘em off’. The group laughed as John flicked Eric on the back of the head.

‘Come with me then dude, you can “keep me in check”.’ he patronised before turning to look at the singer behind them. John started shaking his head before Arabella interrupted him.

‘Oh god, yes John! I need you to be there; Lord knows what’ll happen if I let Halvo run free on set – please come?’ She laughed as she slowed her pace to fall into step with the singer and wrapped an arm around his lanky frame. Arabella thought that if John was there, then damage would probably be minimized – he wasn’t immature and was sensible. John was the sweet guy who wouldn’t be cracking jokes or making an ass of himself – she knew it.

‘Only if you want me there, Bella’ God, he hoped she said no. John could hardly control himself around Arabella when she was in rags but in wet, sheer, designer clothing? He was fucked.

‘I do. Ok good, that’s settled. Now, I want a party tonight – I’m still pissed I missed the epic ‘Gay Bar Dance’ on AP, your going to have to make it up to me.’