Style Queen

                                    

                                          
Jasmine

                          
June 4,2011
                          
9:30 am Jake's Fashion Show

                          
Today is the big day.
                          
I look at myself in a full-length mirror, adoring my white floor-length gown. It is a long-sleeved dress made of lace, which has a floral pattern, intricately designed with glittered embellishments to make it sparkle from afar. 

                          
The dress fits comfortably, hugging my legs snugly. From my waist down, the skirt is layered with soft tulle from the outside, which makes the dress appear flowing and light. The tulle fabric puffs the dress, the lace neckline V-shaped, showing a bit of cleavage.
                          
As for my black hair, it's tied into a messy low side bun with a fringe that is dramatically side-swept over my right eye. Jacob, the designer, has attached a mix of fresh white and light pink ranunculus onto my hair to create a flower crown.
                          
Attached to the crown is my veil, which flows freely down my back all the way to the ground. 

                          
"I'm born ready," I murmur below my breath as I prepare to walk down the runway. I'm proud to be one of the models--the center, no less-for Jake's spring bridal collection. This is his big debut and I'm glad to help him out. Jake is my cousin, and, at the tender age of twenty, one of the youngest fashion designers in Asia. 
                          
I don't perceive him as an enemy, but as a fellow designer, I can't resist having a mild rivalry with him. We have one of those love-hate relationships; one moment we're sharing air kisses, and the next, it's all we can do but tear each other's hair out, competing over whose pieces are better.
                          
"Everything's going perfectly," I whisper to Jake, hoping to placate him after approaching him backstage. "Don't worry so much. Relax," I add in a soothing tone.
                          
"I know, Jay," he mumbles, my words unable to mollify his nerves. "But you know how events like this makes me feel!"
                          
Patting his back, I kiss him on the cheek to reassure him that everything is fine. Then I take a deep breath and I begin to flounce across the runway, immersed in my element. 

                          
10:30 My Last Strut Before I Leave

                          
Time to put on a show!
                          
My hair and makeup are done to perfection. I'm wearing one of my designs-a dainty little black lingerie paired with killer red heels. 

                          
Out I strut onto the catwalk. 

                          
Cameras flash. I'm sporting my fierce, venomous look, my smile mysterious. Unattainable. Everyone wants to know what makes me tick. They say my smile is loaded. It intrigues them.
                          
I walk like I own the stage.
                          
When the show ends, everyone gushes over how successful the presentation was. As expected from Jasmine Ortiz. I'm proud of my accomplishments. I smile confidently. I still need to meet up with someone after this, but afterward, it's time to return to the Philippines.
                          
11:30
                          
After eating an early lunch of leafy salads, Savannah and I stroll through the brand-new deluxe section of the Beverly Hills Mall, which has a Burberry, a Tiffany's, a Gucci, and a Coach; it smells of the latest Michael Kors perfume, and is packed full of gorgeous back-to-school girls with their beautiful moms.
                          
My co-model and I stride into Tiffany's; it is full of glass, chrome, and white lights that make the flawless diamonds extra shimmery. Savannah prowls around the cases and then raises her delicately plucked eyebrows at me. 

                          
"Maybe a necklace?" I always love hearing the faint British accent in her voice. Half-American, Half-British, with long and curly chestnut hair, an oval face, and a foxy figure, Savannah is the third most sought-after supermodel in both Asia and Europe. 

                          
For our friendly date today, she's wearing a lilac top with a ruffled neckline, denim jeans, and chic brown ankle boots. Her outfit accentuates her svelte frame and emphasizes her pale skin and dark eyes. 

                          
Meanwhile, my long ebony hair spills down my back and cascades over my bare shoulders, as I'm wearing a deep blue peekaboo blouse, pristine white pants, and open-toe black sandals.
                          
"What about a charm bracelet?" I suggest.
                          
"Perfect," she beams, her eyes sparkling with joy.
                          
The two of us walk closer to the case and eye the silver charm bracelet with the heart-shaped toggle. "So pretty," breathes Savannah.
                          
"Interested?" an elegant older saleswoman asks us.
                          
"Oh, I don't know," says Savannah tepidly, feigning indifference.
                          
"It suits you." The woman unlocks the case and feels around for the bracelet. "It's in all the magazines."
                          
My lips form a taut seam, stifling a scoff from escaping my throat. As if we don't already know that--we're world-renowned supermodels-we're constantly in the front covers of several magazines.
                          
Savannah nudges me with her elbow. "You try it."
                          
I slide the bracelet onto my slender wrist. "It's really beautiful."
                          
My stunning friend excitedly flags down another saleswoman, a honey-blonde girl who wears coral lipstick. "Can I try that bracelet there, with the round charm?"
                          
"Sure!" The girl unlocks the case. "I have one of these myself."
                          
"How about the matching earrings as well?" I say, pointing at them.
                          
"Of course."
                          
After a few minutes, Savannah saunters over to a different case while I remain standing in front of the display of diamond-studded accessories and jewelry glinting under the store's lights.
                          
The first saleswoman who approached us earlier notices my impatient look and instantly rushes towards me. "Have you found anything you liked?" she says cordially.
                          
A nasty smile spreads across my full lips. "These diamonds are too small."
                          
"We have others," she tries, her shoulders deflating a little.
                          
"Come on," I say, grabbing Savannah by the arm. 
                          
We weave our way out of Tiffany's, my jaw clenching with annoyance as Savannah complains that she would have bought something had I not dragged her out sooner.
                          
"She made me wait," I fume while aimlessly roaming the plaza alongside my co-model.
                          
"Who? The saleswoman?"
                          
"Who else?" I grit my teeth. "You know I hate waiting."
                          
"But you have no trouble making others wait for you."
                          
"That's because I'm important and they're not. My time is too precious."
                          
"Jasmine..." Savannah shoots me a wary side-ward glance. "Don't you think you're behavior is sort of... I don't know.. bratty?"
                          
"I'm an Ortiz," I announce, flipping my long hair over my shoulder. "I should be treated no less than I deserve. Otherwise would be unacceptable."
                          
"But patience is a virtue."
                          
"Not in my world," I snap, glaring at Savannah. "In my world, I don't wait. I make things happen. Now are you going to keep lecturing me or are we going to get some tropical drinks? My lips feel horribly dry."