Braless in Wonderland by Debbie Reed Fischer Page B

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    What really, truly scared me was the fear that, twenty years from now, I’d still be in Cape Comet at some dead-end job, sitting in a cubicle staring at a computer screen all day, a nobody, a coulda-woulda-shoulda-been-a-great-somebody. What if I never got to Yale, never accomplished anything really great with my life, and this is my peak? I broke into a cold sweat whenever I thought about that possibility, the possibility of forever being…ordinary.
    â€œGood job, Allee. Now give me sweet.”
    It took me a sec to shake off the willies of doom. “What do you mean, sweet?”
    â€œYou know, sweet. Like Glinda the Good Witch.”
    I batted my eyes and tried a sugary smile, then stopped. “I don’t know if I have Glinda in me. I always liked the bad witch better, the green one.”
    She chuckled. “Why?”
    â€œShe got to drive a broom, hang out with flying monkeys, and live in a castle. Way more interesting.”
    â€œBut she was evil.”
    â€œMisunderstood,” I said. “Like the Hulk.”
    â€œSounds like you saw this Broadway show Wicked ,” she said.
    â€œI wish. I’ve never been to a real play. I mean, I’ve been to plays at the community theater back home, but not one with professional actors.”
    â€œIs that right?” she asked.
    â€œYeah. To be honest, I’ve never even been to New York. I read Wicked , though. Did you know the play was based on the book?”
    â€œNo,” she said. “I didn’t even know there was a book.” She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms. Maybe she thought I was lying about reading the book. I doubted models read a lot. “You like books?”
    I nodded. “I read all the time.”
    â€œBut what do you do for a good time? Are you hitting all the clubs like a good little model?”
    â€œNo. I can’t go to clubs. I’m not twenty-one.”
    â€œThen what do you do at night?”
    I shrugged. “Study for my online classes, e-mail, read.”
    â€œYou mean to tell me you don’t drink?”
    â€œNot really. I think beer tastes like hot dog water.”
    She threw back her head with a big, hearty laugh. “Hot dog water, ya , that’s exactly what it tastes like. I’m probably the only German who doesn’t like beer. Do you smoke?”
    I wrinkled up my nose. “No.”
    â€œAnd you’re not much of a drinker. Let me guess. You belong to this, uh, Models for Christ, right?”
    â€œNever heard of it.”
    â€œYou must be from a little village, then.”
    â€œBingo.”
    She asked me a lot of questions about myself and Cape Comet, and I was so pathetically grateful she wasn’t in a hurry to get rid of me, like clients usually were after they saw my book. It was actually nice to talk to an adult about stuff besides modeling. She almost seemed like a teacher, the kind that liked to hang out with students after class. This didn’t even feel like a casting.
    The door swung open and Summer walked in, stopping short when she saw us. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t think y’all would still be here.”
    â€œWhat did you forget?” I asked.
    â€œUm, this.” She took her agenda book off the table, then tiptoed backward, whispering, “Sorry to interrupt, y’all. Love ya,” and she was gone. Uta took another look at my book, slower this time. She told me about the shoot that she and the art director for Dietra were planning, and that was when I knew, knew I had to book this job.
    It was an Alice in Wonderland fashion story. Alice in Wonderland! That had to mean something, didn’t it? The very book I was reading to Robby when I left home. My all-time fave. This had to be fate. I told her all about how much I loved that story.
    But she must have thought I was full of it and just telling her all that to get the job, because she answered by saying, “I’ll be in touch with