You meant it for evil - 08 by Maeryn Lamonte The place seemed deserted and long abandoned, and I wondered if I had the address wrong. I checked the card. Nope; right road, right building. Perhaps this was some kind of a joke? Behind me there was movement on the street and I glanced over my shoulder to see a few emaciated figures emerging from dark alleys. One or two of them seemed to be taking an interest in me and I seriously did not want to hang around outside any longer. I walked up to the front door and pressed the bell, then rapped on the glass door just in case it was in a similar state of disrepair as the rest of the building.

-oOo-
The door moved slightly and further investigation revealed it to be unlocked. I stepped gingerly inside and immediately heard the sound of someone talking in a loud, flamboyant manner echoing down the empty corridor. The more or less continuous click-whirr of an expensive camera acted as counterpoint to the chatter and, with growing confidence that maybe I was in the right place after all, I followed the noise to its source.

The voice led me to a large open plan office, empty of furniture but with some low tables linked together to form a raised stage and screens of elegantly flowing material forming a backdrop for the photographer who proved to be as animated in his movements as he was in his speech.

Curious eyes looked up at me from the stage as I appeared in the doorway, followed by more scattered around the room until only the photographer seemed unaware of my presence. He finally noticed that his subject was no longer responding to his words and followed the collective gaze of everyone else in the room until he found me. A suitably indignant expression formed at the sight of me.

“I was erm, looking for Karen. I'm afraid I'm a bit early.”

My apologetic laugh died in my throat as no-one else seemed inclined to join in.

“She stepped out to make a phone call or two, the reception here is lousy. Never mind, we're already behind schedule, so if you don't mind starting early.”

“Oh, I'm not sure if you understand, I'm only here to...”

“Look, I'm not interested in excuses, time is money. Are you going to get up on the stage or not?”

“Er, yeah... sure.”

“Well get changed and let's get started then. Third screen over there.”

He pointed over to one side of the stage where a number of what looked a little like hospital screens stood next to row after row of portable racks on wheels with a riotous assembly of clothes, all wrapped in plastic.

Behind the indicated screen I found a chair and a mirror and a very efficient looking middle-aged woman. She gave me an appraising look as I entered then nodded her approval.

“No makeup, good. It never ceases to amaze me how many of you girls are too vain to come down to one of these things without putting a bit of slap on first.”

She stuck her head round the curtain and called to the photographer.

“Andrew! Autumn cloud to start with?”

He gave her an approving nod and before I knew it, I was being helped out of altogether too much of my clothing — yes underwear too, which was replaced with something so small and flimsy as to be almost non-existent — and then helped back into a dress made from layers of floating chiffon in all manner of Autumn colours; reds, browns, yellows, pale greens. Matching hosiery was added and a pair of bronze sandals, then I was pushed into the chair, a bib clipped into place and a very rapid and professional makeup job done on me. Last of all, my hair was teased into a subtly different style before the bib was pulled away.

“Right you're done, go and earn your money.”

The dress felt wonderful; like wearing a cloud (hence the name perhaps?); and I was still reeling from the speed with which everything had been done. Carried by the twin sensations of wonder and delight, I danced up the steps and pirouetted onto the stage for my first performance in front of the camera, bubbling joy pushing a laugh out of my mouth as I did so. The camera was click-whirring away and photographer Andrew's voice came not far behind.

“Ok, wonderful, but please no improvisations now. Ok, walk towards me, it is beautiful Spring day and you are filled with the joys of the season. Hold your arms out to your side. Good. Now look up at the sun and smile your beautiful smile. Perfection. Ok now dance a little, turn around slowly, no a little slower. Good, good, now let's try something a little different...”

The voice droned on and I followed its lead. It seemed I was up there just a few seconds before he told me that was enough. Somewhat disappointed I climbed down the stairs thinking that somehow I had failed the audition, so it came as a surprise when my wardrobe assistant come bully grabbed me by the arm, undressed me and then eased me into another dress. The constant monologue continued from the other side of the screen for the second model as I was pushed back into the chair for a slight change to my makeup and hair style. The bib was whipped away just as Andrew dismissed my counterpart and I was chivvied back towards the steps for my second performance.

This time the dress was more formal; a full length, sleeveless ball gown in shimmering emerald green. Feeling like a princess, I climbed the steps more regally and waited for instructions. They weren't long in coming, and I allowed myself to be led by the incessant stream. Again the time on the stage seemed to last a moment before I was dismissed. As I descended back to my earthly hideaway for my next change, I felt the cold rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins and my heart raced so fast I thought it would burst.

I hardly had time to register what I was wearing; to enjoy the feel of the fabric, the look of the outfit. I fell into a rhythm — strip, dress, makeup, hair, steps, follow the voice, dismissed — over an over again it continued. At one point Karen put her head into the room and smiled as she recognised me up on the stage. She turned away almost immediately, punching numbers into her mobile phone as she walked back out the door.

I lost track of time but, unceasing as the routine was, didn't find myself running low on energy. At one point a bottle of some posh, overpriced bubbly water appeared on the dressing table, covered in a dew of condensation and chilled to perfection. I did my quick change routine and sat in the chair looking at it longingly while my personal tormentor dabbed away at my eyes and cheeks.

“Go on, that's yours.”

I grabbed the bottle and gratefully chugged down a third of its contents while she teased my hair into some subtly new variation on the current theme, then the other girl was dismissed and I was on my feet and heading for the steps and the camera's eye once more.

Eventually Andrew called out for everyone to take five and I stepped behind the screen to have my most recent outfit replaced with a warm, plush dressing gown. As the adrenaline subsided to be replaced by the first wave of fatigue and I wrapped eager lips around a second bottle of water, Karen's voice drifted across from the other side of the screen.

“So Andrew, how did the audition go?”

“Karen! I'm sorry what?”

“The audition, the new girl. I saw her on the stage when I popped my head in about an hour ago. I presume she told you why she was here.”

“She said she was here to see you. I just assumed that you had hired her. You mean to say that she was only here for an audition?”

“Yes, where is she. I want to talk to her after you tell me how she got on.”

“Over there behind the third screen. But you mean to tell me that this was her first time?”

“Yes, what are you trying to say?”

“She has been working for me at full tilt for the last hour and a half. She and Lauren have worked through I think three racks between them.”

“What?”

Rapid footsteps approached and the screen was pulled aside. Karen's face appeared over my shoulder in the mirror.

“My dear I'm so sorry, I only meant for you to spend ten or fifteen minutes out there. I'm afraid it hasn't been a particularly good morning for me; someone let me down and I've been trying to find a replacement...”

“And I thought your were the replacement. If I had known this was your first time...”

They both seemed surprisingly contrite. I climbed shakily to my feet and smiled at them both.

“It's alright really. It was great fun.”

Karen looked at me then over at Andrew, still not quite getting what was going on, mind you neither was I. Andrew took Karen's arm and led her over to a different corner of the room where a number of computers were humming quietly to themselves.

“She is a natural, come see. I think she even has the cover photograph.”

Curiosity took the better of me and I followed behind them, padding softly in slippered feet. I peered over Karen's should — not easy since she is quite a bit taller than me — and there I was on the screen, twirling in that first dress, the layers of chiffon swirling elegantly around me and my face beaming out the sheer joy I had felt in that first moment.

Andrew scanned his way through the thumbnails, bringing up image after image of me in different clothes, different poses, all the while looking natural and genuine. Even uneducated as I was I could see they were great photos and, whilst the majority of the credit belonged quite rightly to Andrew as the master behind the apparatus, it was quite evident that a lot of what made them stand out was what I brought to the mix.

Karen turned to me with a thoughtful look on her face.

“Well my dear it seems we have a few things to discuss. Would you like to change back into your own clothes and we'll go and find a quiet office.”

I did as I was bid, taking time to thank the woman who'd been helping me all morning. She gave me an odd look; surprise and gratitude mixed.

“We all do our part dear, and you were as much of a pleasure to work with. Was that really your first time?”

I nodded my head and she shook hers. She was kind enough to help me into my own clothes and gave me a quick hug before I turned back to Karen.

...who led me back down the corridor towards the entrance, to a small office with two plastic chairs and a collapsible table. She reached into an old fashioned, satchel style briefcase for a thick sheaf of papers and a pen, then sat behind the table indicating that I should take the other chair.

I scooped what little there was of my skirts beneath me and sat down, knees together, back straight, a confident expression on my face. I knew I had done well this morning; all that remained was to know how well.

For the first time, I noticed she had the shrewd eyes of a business woman, but set in an honest and friendly face; probably the secret of her success. She scrutinised me carefully for several minutes, all the while tapping her pen against the stack of papers in front of her. I held her gaze calmly, the morning's hard work having drained me of all my nerves.

Eventually she unscrewed the lid from her pen, wrote something in a space left in the otherwise tightly worded top page and pushed the stack of papers across to me. I turned it round to read what she had written and felt the breath go out of me as though someone had punched me in the stomach, my calm seeming to hitch a ride on the departing air.

It was a number. A very big number. Several times bigger, in fact, than my annual salary as an accountancy clerk. I turned towards Karen with disbelieving eyes and a slack jaw. She smiled. A very genuine smile that extended deep into her eyes.

“Yes it is generous for a first-timer, but it's like Andrew says, you're a natural and the camera loves you. Not only that but you're a hard worker. I've paid as much as this to a ten year veteran and not been as satisfied with the results. Elle-gance is a high end fashion catalogue that both deserves and can afford the kind of publicity you would bring to it.

“You should read though the contract before you decide whether or not to sign though, because we will get our money's worth out of you. I'm sure you'll check it for yourself in any event, but to give you an idea on what's involved, in addition to four two week sessions spaced evenly throughout the year when you would be working on photo-shoots like the one we've been doing this morning, you will be signing away copyright and royalty privileges on the photographs we take, you will be expected to make appearances at a number of high profile celebrity functions throughout the year, wearing Elle-gance clothes of course, and you will be restricted from taking up similar work with any other clothing brand or endorsing their product for the duration of the contract. In fact Elle-gance retains the right to decide for you whether any job offer might be appropriate. Image is everything in this business and what you do while employed by the company reflects on them.”

I looked back down at the contract, still not quite able to make sense of the number. I shook my head slowly trying to take it all in.

“Oh yes, a couple of perks of the job. You get to choose and keep any outfits you wear for the publicity events, plus you get a sizeable discount on everything else — twenty five percent I think — which you can pass onto your friends.

“Of course I'm not expecting you to make a decision here and now. I suspect you don't have an agent, and you really ought to have someone looking out for your interests before you put pen to paper. If I'm right and you don't have representation, may I suggest this person.”

She retrieved a business card from her briefcase and handed it across to me.

“She is a friend of mine and we do try to help each other out as much as we can; she sends the best of her clients my way and I send any new talent I come across to her. That being the case I'll understand if you suspect my motives and look elsewhere for an agent, however I do urge you, whatever you do be careful; there are an awful lot of sharks in this particular pool. I like Ann because she tries to be honest in a profession as opposed to most who are greedy and unscrupulous and do not care for your well-being.”

She looked me straight in the eyes, her gaze steady and, to the fullest extent that I could tell, honest. I managed to close my mouth and give her my full attention.

“This is a good offer. I won't beat about the bush, I was very impressed by what I saw down there this morning and I want you in this next catalogue, which is why I'm prepared to pay you what I think you're worth rather than just give you a salary more appropriate to a newcomer. You shouldn't take my word for it though. Talk to Ann, talk to some other agents — you'll find adverts all over the place in fashion magazines — take the time to do some research and thinking and to read through that pile of paperwork with a lawyer, then when you're ready give me a call. If you can manage it before Monday then I'd like to get you into the next catalogue.”

She scribbled a number on the back of the agent's card she'd just given me.

“That's my private number. You can get me any time, even over the weekends. Oh yes and because you put in a full hour and a half's work instead of the fifteen minute audition I had intended, I'm going to make a good faith gesture and pay you for your time.”

She pulled out a purse and counted out three twenty pound notes.

“This doesn't tie you to anything, it doesn't even give us permission to use the photographs we took of you today. It's just a way of saying thank-you and showing you that we value your time and effort.”

I put my hands up.

“I, I can't accept that, I'm sorry. I came here for an audition and an interview. The fact that it took longer than you intended still doesn't mean I should expect to be paid for it. If you don't get anything of value out of this morning's work then neither should I.”

She gave me that penetrating look of hers then gathered up the notes and put the money back into her purse.

“Alright then, if you're sure? Any other questions? Fine. In that case I won't keep you any longer. You have some serious thinking to do as well as some advice to seek and I still have a very busy afternoon ahead of me. It's been a pleasure to meet you, er...”

“Liz. Elizabeth Raeburn”

“Liz. It's been a pleasure and I rarely get to say that with as much genuine feeling as I do right now. I look forward to hearing from you in a few days.”

She held out a hand which I accepted, then she led me to the front door, barely giving me time to put the contract — still unread except for the astonishingly large number written on the front page — and the agent's business card into my handbag. Before I realised it I was back on the street on my own again.

-oOo-
I walked back towards the bus stop lost in thought. The skies had cleared and a fresh, gusty wind was playing with my skirt. There were a few more would be zombies wandering the street or skulking in the shade, but they were all too locked into their own private hells to pose a threat. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I caught sight of an add looking pipe being passed around and a fifty yards further on there was what looked like a hypodermic syringe hidden in the rubbish. Feeling like a coward, I pretended not to notice and walked on.

That big number on the contract was prominent in my mind, but then a random thread of thought strayed to the buildings around me and started niggling away at the beginnings of a totally unrelated idea. I left it to do its own thing and concentrated instead on planning how I was going to inform my decision on whether I should sign the papers in my bag.

The bus was a while in coming so by the time I'd made my way back to Sharon's place of work it was getting on for quarter to one. I asked at reception for her giving my name, and a few minutes later she appeared pulling her coat on. She told the receptionist that she was taking a slightly early lunch then took my arm and dragged me back out into the busy street.

“So? How did it go?”

I pulled the contract out and showed it to her. She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the number just as I had done.

“No way!”

“Apparently yes way, but I have some work ahead of me to make sure there's nothing sneaky in the contract.”

I went on to describe the morning and how much fun I'd had , then to repeat all the things Karen had told me. Sharon pulled me into a nearby café, ordered sandwiches and coffee for both of us then started reading through the contract. The single-mindedness of her concentration shut me out, and I looked around awkwardly for something to pass the time. When the sandwiches and coffees arrived I started on my own leaving Sharon to her private world and not daring to interrupt. I'd finished eating and had more or less emptied my cup of coffee by the time she surfaced and put the papers down.

“It's a good contract; well written and fair. No hidden nasties, no loopholes and as far as I can see nothing left unaddressed. Just the sort of thing I'd expect from Karen.”

She looked at my slightly stunned expression and laughed.

“Look Liz, this is what I do. Do you think high paid lawyers read through every bit of paper that crosses their desk? No of course not, they get people like me who specialise to do the grunt work,and my job for the last umpteen years has been to read and to write contracts. There are some specifics I don't know because I'm not that familiar with the fashion industry or modelling in particular, but if you'll let me hang on to this for the afternoon, I'll make a few calls, do a bit of research, then give you a blow by blow of everything that's in here when we get home this evening.”

We looked at each other, then at the contract in her lap as she finally picked up her sandwich and took a bite. She raised her gaze to mine with a twinkle in her eye and swallowed.

“Tell you what though, if you do end up taking this job, you're flipping well buying the next lunch.”

We laughed and chatted for another fifteen minutes. I showed her the agent's card and she passed me her mobile so I could call her.

“Hello? Ann Phillips please, oh hello, sorry. My name is Elizabeth Raeburn. Karen...”

I looked at Sharon questioningly and she whispered Karen's surname back to me.

“...Blackheath gave me your name as a possible agent. I had an audition with her this morning for a modelling job. Oh she did, did she? No that's fine. Tomorrow at ten o'clock. The address on the card. No that'll be great. Yes I look forward to meeting you then. Ok thanks, bye.”

I handed the mobile back.

“I'm going to have to get me another one of those. My old one disappeared with my wallet during my first encounter with Mary.”

“Well tell you what, why don't you hang on to this one for the afternoon?”

I made to protest but she shushed me.

“No, you want to make a few phone calls this afternoon, try out a few random agents and stuff, so your need is greater than mine. My friends know not to call me when I'm at work so it's not as if I'm going to miss anything. If someone does phone with an emergency you'll be able to call me on the office number which is in the phone book under AB Solicitors, so no problem.”

I couldn't argue with logic like that so simply thanked her and slipped the phone into my bag. When she'd finished eating, I walked back to work with her, arranging to meet back there at five o'clock so we could do the planned food shop together on our way home. I then looked around for a nearby newsagent and, after a short period of browsing through the fashion magazines, I had a list of phone numbers to try.

The afternoon went quickly. First the two dozen or so phone calls which soaked up about an hour, then planning a route to get to all the ones who'd agreed to see me, then following the plan. As I'd been warned, there were quite a few crocodile teeth among the smiles and it didn't take long before I realised how fortunate I'd been in meeting Karen as a first contact in the business.

I told them that I was looking to become a model and had been offered the chance to work with Karen Blackheath but that I needed an agent to negotiate the contract. After that the fun started. Most agencies I talked to tried to convince me that I needed a portfolio and offered their bargain price, once in a lifetime deal for about a thousand pounds to put one together. When I reminded them that I already had the offer of a job and only needed the contact negotiated, they started to pitch figures at me. They were all significantly lower than Karen had offered me; not so surprising since they all considered me to be a fresh face, but it made me realise just how much faith Karen was putting in me. It also made it difficult trying to decide just how fair they were being; there were quite a few whose offer was disgracefully, suggesting they were looking to make a massive mark-up. By the time I'd made the rounds of the ones who had agreed to see me that day I felt grubby and used, but a fair amount wiser.

On the way back to meet up with Sharon a young man on the tube stood up to offer me his seat, which I gratefully accepted, thanking him with a smile not just for the seat but for the gesture which helped to rebuild some of my crumbling faith in human nature. The fact that his new vantage point gave him a better view of my breasts didn't occur to me until some time later, but I'm not sure if that was just the cynic in me speaking louder after the afternoon's waste of time.

I was five minutes late reaching the law firm, but then Sharon was fifteen minutes behind so it balanced out more or less. We were both tired after a long and busy day so decided to postpone 'lesson one: grocery shopping' to the following day and headed straight home. I did help peal the potatoes and chop the veg, but Sharon did all the clever stuff and we enjoyed our usual cordon bleu quality evening meal over the inevitable bottle of wine.

I went first with the conversation, describing my experiences with the different agencies and the overall sense of disappointment with the whole thing. It wasn't the most uplifting topic of conversation and it was just as well that we had the exquisite food to keep spirits from nose-diving. After we'd eaten and washed up, Sharon dug out my contract and several pages of notes she'd made in the course of the afternoon, then went into a detailed description of each paragraph in turn. As she'd said earlier, the document was fair and airtight, having addressed every issue that came to my mind as well as quite a few that would never have occurred to me. It certainly seemed that Karen was being straight as well as more than generous. Our discussion did raise quite a few questions for me to pose, first to Ann tomorrow then to Karen afterwards, so decision as yet deferred.

“Oh I almost forgot.”

Sharon jumped up in search of her handbag, coming back a few moments later with what looked like a credit card coloured red and pale blue.

“My NI number! Wow that was quick. Tell Clive a huge thanks from me.”

“Ok, will do. He says the rest of the paperwork will follow in about a week.”

I read the card then closed my eyes, repeating the letters and numbers over and over until I had committed them to memory. I juggled with several mnemonic tricks and eventually managed to settle it into what I hoped would become long term memory. The card went into my bedside cabinet and a piece of paper with the details on it into my handbag.

While I was running around organising myself, Sharon quietly picked up her night things and headwed for the bathroom.

“Well, I don't know about you, but I'm going to have soak.”

With that she closed the door leaving me alone and at a loss. I cast about for something to read, but Sharon isn't a great book person. Eventually, with nothing more interesting in evidence, I picked up her Bible. It was worn and well used and stuffed full of bits of paper so with some care I opened it near the beginning and flipped my way through to Genesis 50. From there I worked my way back to the beginning of the Joseph story, surprised to discover that I had to go back fourteen chapters and fifteen pages to find it.

I settled in for a read, but stopped almost immediately. Dreams. The whole thing was about dreams. It started off with Joseph dreaming about his future and annoying his family with his predictions. It went on to telling other people's futures from their dreams in prison and from there to interpreting Pharaoh's dreams and saving most of the known world from drought. Was it possible that my dream from Sunday might be more than my mind messing with me?

In the dream it had definitely been me back on the streets, but all that had done was make it clearer how dangerous, how hard, how lonely it was to be stuck out there. I thought about the pastor's words from Sunday as well, and the germs of thought that had sprouted this morning.

Those thoughts were disturbing and I pushed them to one side and focused on the story in front of me. It didn't take long to read but left me with more questions than answers. The dreams in the story had all been highly symbolic and not at all like my own, then there were so many other things in the story that didn't seem to fit or to make much sense. I closed the book with some frustration and padded through to the kitchen, my thoughts trailing after me and clamouring for my attention.

I made two mugs of hot chocolate and went to knock on the bathroom door.

“It's open.”

I stepped in and put one of the mugs on the edge of the bath within easy reach of its occupant. The part of me that still hadn't quite forgotten that I was no longer Ken started making a fuss about me sharing a bathroom with the naked girlfriend of my best friend, but Sharon's lack of concern, coupled with the total lack of arousal at the sight of her sitting up in the bath overruled and I told myself to shut up.

I put the lid down on the toilet and perched there staring into my drink. Sharon wanted to know what was up so I told her about my reading and my confusion. She looked over at me an gave the matter some thought before answering.

“First I think you're starting in the wrong place if your going to read that book. As a beginner you'll be better off looking at one of the gospels; possibly Mark because its short. That's kind of where the clues are to what God's all about. Secondly, and I can understand why you have an interest in the Joseph story after what's happened recently, you need to be a bit discerning about what you read out of it. Not all of what's in that story is going to be relevant right now, so be ready to leave bits to one side if they don't seem to fit. Also, just because it went that way for Joseph doesn't mean it's going to do the same for you. I mean for one thing Joseph wasn't turned into a girl was he? If you think that there really is a message in this for you, you need to go to the source about it. You know talk to God maybe, or if that makes you too uncomfortable talk to Pastor James about it. I'm sure he'd be happy to take you through it.”

It was probably good advice, but it wasn't what I wanted to hear. I mean after what I'd been through I would have to be in extreme denial to say I didn't believe in God or the devil or miracles, but I'd spent pretty much all of my life up until now without thinking along those lines, and it's hard to break a habit like that. There were bits of me that still automatically discounted the possibility of anything out of the ordinary affecting my every day life, even when I looked in the mirror and saw Liz looking back instead of Ken.

I muttered my thanks and walked out the room. Early as it was, I was tired and this wasn't something I could resolve quickly. I changed and settled into bed expecting to toss and turn with it through the night, but I was asleep before Sharon joined me.

-oOo-
The next morning I woke to the sound of Sharon's alarm, and made us both breakfast while she was getting ready to go. My one appointment for the day with Ann Phillips was a twenty minute bus ride away meaning I had an extra hour before I needed to leave the house. Mind you with my head as muzzy as it was there was a chance I might even miss that.

Conversation was stilted over breakfast, largely because Sharon had to do most of the work with me taking the silent role. It seemed that my ninety minutes on the catwalk had taken more out of me than I realised. Sharon dug out the sheets of paper with the questions we had come up with the previous night so that I actually had something to go from when I met with this prospective agent, then she left me to my own devices having made arrangements to meet at Jan's diner as we had originally planned the previous day.

I bumbled about the empty apartment for a few minutes more before using the shower to inject some humanity back into myself. I chose smart but comfortable, settling on a trouser suit with dark brown slacks and a long brown and cream flowery top. The softness of the material was far more comfortable than anything I had worn as a man — that is to say anything I had worn outside my room — and, with my comfortable boots, I was pleasantly warm compared to the skirts and dresses I'd been wearing lately.

The bus ride was uneventful, depositing me a mere fifty yards from Ann's office, which meant I arrived with ten minutes to spare. I rang the bell and was buzzed into a neat little waiting room with comfy seats and a coffee table piled high with current fashion magazines. A small, plump thirty-somethingish woman bustled into the room and came over to me with her hand outstretched.

“Hi. Liz isn't it? Make yourself comfortable and I'll be with you in a few minutes. Would you like a drink? Tea or coffee?”

Her greeting was so genuine and her smile so welcoming, I couldn't help but match it as I took the proffered hand.

“Yes, Liz. I think I could do with a coffee if you don't mind.”

“Of course not, take a load off and I'll be with you as soon as I've dealt with this.”

She ducked back into an adjoining office and I heard enough of a snippet of the resumed phone call to gather that the person on the other end of the line was having a bad day before the door closed.

I passed the time flipping through some of the fashion magazines. I'd been interested in women's magazines before, but rarely dared to pick one up. Now the contents were that much more relevant and there was no longer any shame should I be discovered. Needless to say I dived in with a passion. Like a starving man at a banquet, I sampled a bit of everything and found it impossible to decide what deserved my attention first. I was saved from my dilemma by an opening door.

“Sorry about that, some things just can't be put off.”

“It's alright, I think I'm a little early anyway.”

“Not any more dear. Come on through to my office, the kettle's boiled.”

I followed her into a small room with a big desk and two chairs. She poured water into two mugs and stirred them vigorously, then handed one to me. It may well have been the worst cup of coffee in living memory, but then on the plus side it did have much needed caffeine in it. I accepted it gratefully and somehow managed to drink it without making a face.

We talked for about an hour, or rather she did. I was rather taken with her effervescent charm and found myself liking her very much, very quickly. She gave my contract a swift and professional once over, her eyebrows shooting up at the proposed salary on the front page, then knitting together as she ploughed through all the legalese. After five minutes she summarised it with the exact same bullet points Sharon had used, then told me I would be an idiot to pass up an opportunity like this. She launched into the saga of how she and Karen had met, drifting off down side track after side track, sharing anecdotes that painted Karen in a very good light. She then spent some time going over what she could offer me as an agent, which was surprisingly much considering that I already had a good offer of work.

After an hour she seemed to be running out of steam just as I was running out of coffee.

“Good grief, have you actually finished that? I can't remember the last time a visitor drank more than half of what I gave them. Sorry I should have warned you, I am lousy at making drinks.”

After we'd shared a chuckle at that and I had declined the offer of a second cup, I took advantage of her temporary silence to ask some of the questions Sharon and I had come up with. The answers seemed good and I made up my mind at that point to both sign the contract and let Ann represent me. I said as much and in so doing prompted another enthusiastic monologue, the main theme being that I wouldn't regret it. She rummaged in her filing cabinet, all the time listing various options relating to her services. I answered as best I could, taking her advice when I was unsure. Eventually we came to the matter of her fee.

“Now ordinarily I'd charge a percentage of your income, which ends up working in the interests of most girls who are just starting out. In your case though, you'll be better off if I charge you a fixed rate.”

“What if I get made redundant?”

“Reading between the number, I'd say that there is almost no chance of that happening. Karen wouldn't offer you a salary like that if she didn't see something special. In fact I suspect that by the end of the year she'll be more worried about losing you than the other way round. In the unlikely event of your unemployment then I work to get you another job. In the equally unlikely event that I don't succeed, then you get to cancel your contract with me if you wish and I don't charge you for my lack of success. If I do get you a job and it pays significantly less than you've been offered here, I'll let you switch to the percentage deal. That sound fair to you?”

“It sounds a bit too fair. I'm wondering why you would do something like that. I mean you do run this as a business, don't you?”

“I do, but it's my business. No-one tells me what to do and I decided long ago that if I can't make money and keep my customers happy at the same time, then I don't want to do it. As it is I do well enough and all my clients are happy with my service. If it means I can't afford a secretary or a fancy coffee maker, then so be it.

“Liz, I enjoy my job, I enjoy seeing young girls like you reach their full potential, and more than anything, I enjoy being able to stick two fingers up at all the parasites in this business by treating some of their prospective clients like human beings and showing everyone that it's possible to be in this business without being a total bitch. Karen has a similar attitude, although she seems to be a bit better than me at making money from it. Are we good?”

I decided we were and signed my new name on a couple of documents.

“Great, let's call Karen and tell her the good news.”

She picked up the phone and hit one of the speed dials. It was a relief to have her attention diverted away from me for a while and I didn't really register what Ann was saying to my new employer. She put the phone back down and turned to me.

“Right, now that that's sorted, Karen has asked if you'd be willing to start straight away. It seems this is the second day in a row she's been let down by someone; fortunately for me, not one of my clients. Still how do you feel about it? If you're up for it I'll call for a taxi. Karen has agreed to pay for it at the other end.”

And so I ended up being driven across the river in a London black cab with the signed contract on my lap. Karen was as good as her word, waiting outside when we pulled up and paying the driver before dragging me into the building and the improvised studio. Within no time I was back to parading back and forth in an amazing collection of clothes, following Andrew's continuous chatter and having the time of my life.

We finished about five o'clock after three gruelling hour-and-a-half sessions. I was trying to figure out how I could get in touch with Sharon to tell her I would be late for our planned grocery shop when Karen came up to me.

“I really am grateful for your filling in this afternoon, and from the look on Andrew's face it's probably better for us that you were here instead of Lulu. How did you feel it went today?”

“Oh, just like yesterday; tiring but great fun. Look I'm sorry to be a pain but I'm supposed to meet Sharon at the shops near her flat in half an hour, is there anywhere I can make a phone call to let her know I'll be late?”

“Well you could use my phone, or better still I'm heading back that way now. Why don't I give you a lift then you won't be late? I still need a few employment details from you which you can fill out on the way.”

It sounded like a plan so we left a crew of workers packing up all the clothes and expensive gear for the weekend and headed out to her car. Once we were seated, she fished out a bunch of forms and a pen which she passed over.

“Oh yes. Usually salary is paid monthly at the end of the month, but I figure since you're just starting out you might be happy to have the last couple of days paid early. Give you some spending money for the weekend”

She handed over a plain brown envelope which I opened. There seemed to be a good number of twenties in there; at least ten of them.

“Thanks. That's really very kind.”

“You're welcome. Now where am I taking you?”

I told her and we pulled out onto the empty road while I started to tick, cross and scribble my way through the form. For a while we travelled in a silence invaded only by the quiet hum of the engine and the scratch of my pen. Despite the number of pages, it didn't take me long to fill them in, at least in part because I still didn't have all the answers.

“I don't have a bank account.”

“Not to worry, sort it out tomorrow and bring me the details on Monday. We still have another week 'til the end of the month so I won't need them till then.”

I twisted round and put the pen and papers on the seat behind me.

The silence deepened, or maybe it was just me and the mood I was sinking into. I mean things were really working out for me, I was a person again, with a name, an identity, even a job. But something niggled, like a stone in my shoe; not exactly painful, but uncomfortable and constantly distracting. I thought about my dream, the kids at church, the desperate, ruined lives of the people back on the street where we had been working. If Sharon hadn't offered me a lift that evening, had I not had the support and care of my friends, I would have ended up like that, or worse if death could be considered worse. I couldn't sit by and do nothing.

“Karen?”

“Mmm?”

“Why do you use that place for the photo-shoots? I mean it's hardly glamorous is it?”

“You'd be surprised. Fashion has a bit of a hard edge at the moment, likes a bit of urban grit. Did you see those photos in the papers the other day where the models were made up to look like they had graffiti spray-painted on them?”

“Yes but we haven't been doing that. We have backdrops to put a gentler background to the photographs. You wouldn't know we were in a run down office.”

She gave me an appraising look.

“I should know by now not to judge a book by its cover. I shouldn't assume a level of intelligence just because you have a pretty face.

“We use that building because it's cheap and easy to book at short notice and for short periods. If I wanted a professional studio already decked out it'd cost me about four times as much, and I'd either be leasing it for longer than I wanted or paying a premium for a short term lease.”

“Would you mind if I asked you how much it cost to rent?”

She glanced across at me.

“Why what do you have in mind?”

“Oh, just the beginnings of an idea, I don't even know if it's possible.”

“Sometimes it helps to talk things through with someone.”

I pointed over to one side where a group of young people were sitting on the pavement. One thing about living in London, if you want to find an example of homeless people, you don't usually have to go too far.

“I was wondering if there might be a way of arranging things so that they could use one of the empty buildings. I mean there's an office building next door to the one we were using that's seven stories of empty space with windows so covered in grime I doubt anyone's used it in three or four years. Can you imagine how many people you could shelter in there?”

She sighed.

“It's not as easy as that. For a start there are regulations governing what a building can be used for, then there's the owners of the building; I doubt they're going to be agreeable to letting a couple of hundred young vandals move into it, whatever you offer to pay them.”

“Yes but they're only obstacles, not impossibilities. Surely if you show the right people that you're solving a problem that affects everyone then a way can be found to get over or around the difficulties? And they're not vandals, they're human beings who are angry and frustrated, possibly even desperate because they're stuck in a situation they can't remedy and no-one is offering them the help they need to get out.

“I mean businesses get a tax break for charitable contributions don't they? Why can't they contribute the use of an otherwise useless building instead of capital? As for changing the status of the building, surely the homeless are a major government problem, surely there must be someone somewhere who has the authority to change the bureaucracy and the guts to do so for the benefit it will bring.”

“Who will man your shelter? I mean something that big will need quite a few staff to make sure it runs smoothly.”

“I was thinking the people we help could do that. I mean a major part of the challenge of getting off the streets is to get a paying job. Having three to six months helping to run a homeless shelter is going to look good on anyone's CV.”

“You've really given this some thought haven't you?”

“Not really. This is just the tip of the iceberg, and I know there are a million things I haven't thought of yet, but you have to start somewhere and I'm not going to let a few little problems get in the way, this is too important.”

We were approaching Jen's Diner. I checked my watch, three minutes to spare. Karen pulled over to the side of the road and sat silently staring out at the road, the cogs turning so fast you could almost hear them hum. She seemed to make up her mind.

“You know I think this isn't as far fetched as I first thought. You have the energy and the time, at least you will once we've finished photographing you next week. In a few months you will also have a growing public profile which will put you in contact with the sort of people who might be able to help if only you can persuade them to do so. What's more, for you to have a cause like this will help to promote Ellegance to the point where it may be worth their while supporting your efforts.

“Let me give this some thought. You carry on with your ideas and plans for now and in a few weeks we'll see what can be done about inviting you to the right parties. There's even a good chance that that I can find you a few philanthropic businessmen who might be prepared to contribute to work once it gets started. What do you say?”

The stone in my shoe seemed to shrink, sill there but not so insistent, and I managed a smile.

“Ok then, I'll see you bright and early on Monday morning, remember eight o'clock for a start at quarter past.”

I waved her away and was on the verge of going into the diner when a bus pulled up from the City. Sharon was amongst the passengers who stepped off and I waved her over.

“Coffee before we start? My treat this time.”

“Ooh, sounds like you have some news.”

Did I ever. The coffee stretched to a second then a third cup as I told her of my acceptance of the job, the unexpected afternoon's work and the discussion of my idea on the way here. The last part seemed to strike a spark in Sharon and she begged me for details. We then spent the next hour wandering around various shops, alternately discussing ideas on how we could push my project forward and talking about how to pick out the best fruit, veg and meat.

The discussion continued over the preparation and consumption of our evening meal, surprisingly all the more enjoyable for my having had an active part in the cooking, then we cleaned up and started getting ready to go out. Being Friday, we had a standing arrangement to meet up with Phil for a meal and a movie, so we both made an effort to look presentable.

We arrived at the prearranged meeting place to find Phil sitting with another guy. He had his back to us, but I thought I recognised Phil's friend from work, Pete Danson. I turned to Sharon.

“This had better not have been your idea.”

“Why? With a scorching hot bod like yours it wouldn't be right for you to play third wheel any more.”

“You could at least let me choose.”

“Look it's only one evening and you don't have to do much more than talk to him. I'm not expecting it to work out, but you should have some company instead of sitting there watching me and Phil all the time.”

I plastered a smile on my face and tried to act enthusiastic as introductions were made. Pete got off to a shaky start by addressing my cleavage, then totally losing the power of intelligent speech as the cave man in him took control for a while. I endured it for a few minutes then excused myself to go to the loo, giving Phil an exasperated look as I walked away.

Sharon came trotting along in my wake, all apologies and concern until I burst out laughing, at which point she joined in with me.

“I'm going to have to get used to this aren't I? I mean poor guy, I remember how I felt the few times Phil introduced me to one of your more attractive friends. I guess this is payback after a fashion.”

We stayed in the toilets for a few minutes, touching up makeup that didn't really need any attention and chatting about this and that. By the time we made it back to the table there was evidence that Phil had made good use of the time because Pete stood as we approached.

“I owe you an apology Liz, it's just that you are so stunningly beautiful. Can I at least offer you a drink?”

It was a little too smooth, but it was an olive branch. I took it.

“A glass of white wine would be nice thank-you. A small one please, the Pinot Grigiot.”

He headed off to place the order and I leaned across the table to hiss at Phil.

“Tell me he's not one of the dickheads who slipped something into your drink a couple of weeks ago.”

Phil ducked his head sheepishly.

“Phil, what the hell were you thinking?”

“Look I'm sorry, Sharon suggested it would be a good idea if I could arrange some company for you, and I have no idea what your taste in men might be. I do know that other girls find him quite good looking, so I figured he was as good a place as any to start.”

“I wouldn't care if he had greasy hair and eczema as long as he had a personality.”

There wasn't time to say anything else as Pete was on his way back. He put his hand on my back and placed a large glass of wine in front of me. I forced a smile and took a sip.

Things degenerated rapidly form there. Pete seemed to have recovered what he might call his mojo and managed to keep the conversation ticking along. An inordinate amount of it seemed to be about himself, and he became excessively tactile, touching me on the leg and the arm whenever he wanted to make a point. It made me feel uncomfortable to the extent that I started squirming away from his hands. Phil and Sharon could see the effect it was having on me and were looking just as uncomfortable. In the end I had enough. I took hold of the hand he had just placed on my bare thigh and lifted it off.

“Listen Pete, this isn't working for me. Maybe I'm unusual, but my idea of an enjoyable Friday evening doesn't stretch so far as to include listening to someone I've just met tell me his life story while taking every opportunity to grope me. I'm sorry, you're probably a nice guy and most girls probably love you on sight, just not this one I'm afraid. Thanks for the drink.”

I stood up to leave with him ready to protest.

“You've only drunk half of it.”

“Actually if you remember, I asked for a small one, which is about how much I've drunk. The rest must be yours.”

I turned to Phil and Sharon.

“Sorry to ruin the evening guys, I'll see you later.”

I picked up my coat and headed for the door. More or less as expected, Phil and Sharon divided forces with Sharon chasing after me leaving Phil with the more awkward job of dealing with his friend.

“I'm sorry Liz, I really thought this would be a good idea.”

“It might have been with almost anyone else. Look Sharon, I'm still a bit confused about my feelings for men right now. I think in time with the right guy it has a good chance of working, but encounters like just now are not going to help.”

We walked on in silence for a while. I was heading towards the bus stop and Sharon noticed.

“Look why don't we find another bar and I'll text Phil, see if he can get rid of Pete and meet us there? We can at least go and see that film you wanted to see.”

“I'm not really feeling that much like it at the moment Sharon, I'm sorry.”

“Maybe in half an hour with another glass of wine inside you?”

I couldn't help but smile.

“Ok, we'll have that drink, but not the movie. I have something else in mind. It'll involve a bit of walking, how are you're shoes?”

Sharon glanced down.

“They should be alright for a few miles. What do you have in mind?”

“You'll see. Text Phil, we'll need to have him along.”