"A. R. Morlan - The Anabe Girls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morlan A R)

The Anabe Girls by A. R. Morlan


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WannaBeAnaBe: I was thinking that since u and I have the same goal, we could join
forces. If you really want to avoid eating, make sure you flick your ashes from your
cigarette onto your plate after the first bite, if you are still taking the first bite. From
your trigger, I’m guessing you are still eating some food. Check out mine at
www.life-diet.com to see what I mean...

****

“Hey Jake, take a look at this.”

Jacob kept on ratting the hair of the Anabe Agency model sitting placidly
before him into a gauzy puff-ball of processed-down-to-colorless brittle strands
which hovered over her (if you could still call what sat on the chair in front of Jacob
a her) taut-skinned skull like a tumbleweed which had lost its central core of thicker
dried branches, until Shane repeated, “Jacob, take-a-look-at-this.”

Knowing that whichever of the Anabe Girls sitting there (was she Odella or
Letje, Radella or Paola?) wasn’t about to wander off in search of a cup of coffee, or
a fresh pack of cigarettes, Jacob put down his ratting comb on the table of hair
grooming products positioned near his work area, and turned to his fellow
hairdresser.

“What now?”

Shane was looking at the exposed nape of his Anabe Agency model’s neck,
pushing aside his girl’s forward-and-upward ratted mane of crispy-processed hair
with one hand, as he probed a small patch of stretched-tight-neck-flesh with the
forefinger of his free hand. For her part, the model (Coretta, Vibeke, perhaps
Carling?) didn’t seem to notice that she was staring not at the rush and bustle of the
pre-showing backstage chaos surrounding her, but instead at her own baseball-bat
thin legs, and bas-relief patella jutting up sharply under the smooth, hard skin of her
knees. A singular trait of the Anabe Agency girls—no bitching, no wiggling around,
no constant chomping and cud-chewing of gum ... just blessed stillness, and deep
focus.

“The damn bitch does brand them ... like freaking range-roaming cattle.”

Jacob didn’t need to ask who “the damn bitch” was—in the last five years,
ever since she’d started agenting her astonishing girls, and inundating every major
casting with dozens of her “finds” the latest wunderkind of the modeling world’s
name was known by both constant exposure and earned reputation to anyone and
everyone in the fashion world. Ms. Stephanie Steele, also known and loathed as
Miss Steal by all the modeling agencies whose girls routinely lost runway slots at
major designer casting sessions to her impossibly skinny-emaciated-skeletal walking