Model Guy Read Online Free

with varying degrees of sincerity, each
thinking 'Just shut up and get on with it, you incompetent tosser.' The other guy
seems to pick up this vibe and looks genuinely embarrassed, smiling nervously.
      I'm fourth in. There is
a strict order in these matters even if no one is keeping a list. First come, first
served. Anyone who tries to get ahead risks being ripped limb from limb by their
fellow models. Got to get off to another casting? Haven't we all, mate? Got a job
in half an hour? Go and do it then. Car on a meter? Should have taken the bus. Need
urgent dialysis? Bite on a towel, bud. You can steel my money, take my girlfriend,
shoot my dog, but don't ever try and get ahead of me in a casting.
      I walk in and say:
      "Hello, Charlie Barrett.
Good to meet you."
      "Charlie. Excellent.
Piers," says the talkative one, extending a hand. "My associate, Guy."
I shake hands with him too and then hand them my book. It's the standard format
- good, strong headshot at the front then a mixture of fashion, lifestyle, business
- me with suit looking at watch, staring down into laptop, walking fast with another
guy- then a bit of young Dad stuff with a girl and a four year old, plus a couple
of my weddings. They flick through and I give them my well-rehearsed anecdotes.
"That was actually taken at seven in the morning, even though I'm wearing a
DJ", "That kid was such a brat", "The girl I'm with there presents
something on Sky TV now", "That one? Thanks. Actually the photographer
got really drunk at lunchtime, I'm just amazed it's in focus. Ha, ha."
      Piers laughs uproariously
and Guy smiles and asks more questions. They ask me how long I've been modelling
and I tell them since I left University.
      "What did you read?"
says Piers, obviously surprised that someone in such a brainless profession could
have gone to university. Don't worry about it Piers, I'm used to it.
      "Marketing. At Leeds,"
I tell him.
      "Really? Why are
you...?"
      "In this daft game?"
I laugh. Does that sound too cynical? Oops, never mind - plenty more jobs out there.
"I thought I'd do it for a while after university and, well, here I am eight
years later."
      "It's a form of marketing,
I suppose," says Guy.
      "Yeah, I suppose
it is." I say, hoping to recover the situation.
      "OK, Charlie, that's
splendid," says Piers. "Absolutely fantastic. Great pictures. Thanks very
much for coming in to see us."
      "Thanks, Charlie"
says Guy.
    I smile, take my book back, and then it's the next bloke's turn.

 
    First come first served is how I first met Lauren. I'd seen her
at castings before a couple of times. Even in a room dotted with stunning women
you couldn't fail to spot Lauren. There was something about her manner and her self-assurance.
She certainly knew how to make an entrance too, she breezed in as if she was doing
a catwalk show, ignoring looks of interest from the boys and depressed resentment
from the girls.
      It was a casting for a
new type of mobile phone. Europe wide. Lots of money. Even more models up for it.
She gave her name, turned around without looking at anybody else and found a seat.
Then she dipped into her bag and took out a book called 'Know the market: Choosing
the best ISA for you.' 'What?' I thought. Around her other female models are reading
Marie Claire or novels about girls with fat thighs, a Chardonnay habit and no boyfriends.
This girl even seemed to be enjoying her improving tome. She brought a pen out of
her bag and made a note in the margin.
      I knew I was staring and
I knew she would sense it and look up in a moment but I didn't care. In fact her
eyes didn't move away from her book so I went back to my own reading matter - a
mindless thriller. A few moments later I realised that there was some discussion
going on about whose turn it was next, because one girl had arrived late but had
been allowed to go in early. I could sense the tension rising. The girl at the desk
was checking her list and muttering "Just hang