Milano and Pretty Things

Excuse my lack of frequency in all things beautiful. I am taking a sort break to work out Manuscript kinks and get down to business. I will be back full force soon, lipstick loaded.

In the meantime, here's is a Chapter from the book. The flip side of Modeling.

Enjoy :)

 

Milano and Pretty Things

excerpt The Vast Landscape

by Jacqueline Cioffa

Harrison arrives at the station. It’s the 80’s, she wears 501’s, black tank top and a ripped jean jacket. Her hair is short red, the bleached blond streak is back. She’s listening to George Michael on her Walkman. She shuffles her black Doc Martens with the red stitching to and fro, growing impatient. Bustling men in sleek suits with slick hair smile, women decked out in designer wares, clunky gold jewelry, garish crocodile handbags have dry, poofy hair. They sneer, keeping a healthy distance. Harry stands out like a sore thumb. Freakishly tall, stunning, lanky with the smell of American model written all over her. A young boy races up. “Are you Harry? Sorry I’m late traffic was,” flustered has a heavy accent. She grins and tries not to roll her eyes back in her head. “I’m going to take you, first to the agency for keys, then apartment.” She nods, shrugging. Nice grammar, kid. He smokes in the car. What the hell she lights up, soon to realize everyone smokes. Harrison lives on vino and cigarettes and the occasional tomato, mozzarella salad. No pasta for her, she’s been warned to keep her weight at 120 lbs. They threaten to send her home if she gets fat. Small price to pay for fame. The apartment is gorgeous and gross, a duplex with skylights, high marble ceilings, tile floors and four other girls. “Fuck me.” She’d never seen anything like it. Clothes’ thrown haphazardly on chairs, beds, the floor, anyplace they landed. Bloody tampons on the bathroom floor, hot irons left plugged in, wet clothes hung from racks, mismatched shoes thrown about, food and dishes piled high in the sink. It looked like a war zone. “Pigs.” Harry puts her duffle on the empty bed upstairs where it’s clean, there’s open sky and air. Figuring it’ll be quiet, she lights a Red. “I don’t plan on making friends with these bitches. Stick to the plan Harry, magazine covers, fame, Hollywood.”

“Call your boss, send a maid. I’m not living in this filth.”

“The maid is Fridays,” the boy shrugs.

 “Call.”

“I’ll have a chit chat with the girls. They’ll come around.”

 When I’m through the whores won’t know what hit ‘em.

“Hi. I’m Katia. I think you’re my new roommate, “bounding up the stairs. A drop dead, gorgeous fiery redhead with hair down her back ascends the wooden steps, looking frazzled. “I saw you shooting today at the Studio. I was on a cattle call.”

“Ok.” Harrison humors her not sure why. She’s intrigued and relieved to have someone to talk with. She looks older than fifteen, very good sign. “We’ll get along just fine. I need silence, dark to sleep. That’s it. Oh, and a clean space, “ Harrison immediately spewing demands.

“Um, ok. Whatever. Sure.” Katia looks at Harry like she’s nuts, rolls off her back. She stands her ground not batting an eyelid. Her signature know it all smile, mocking Harrison.

“Want coffee? I bought this sweet Mocha. Makes the best café you’ll ever taste.

Watch the metal shutters on the windows, they're lethal.

Came down hard on my head, passed out cold.”

There it was.

This chick was not intimated. Harry smiles. Well what do you know.
"Sure. Hey sorry for being a bitch. You were here first it’s your room.”

“Don’t sweat it.“ Just like that Harrison let Katia in.

Surprise surprise, Harrison Gertrude had met her match.