Life is a Fashion Show. There's models and mortals, NEITHER HAVE ANY MORALS. ---00--------------------------------------------------------------- t h e   c h a n e l  s h o o t <3 - - a flashback; the diaries of a supermodel "Marciano!" a young woman's voice called from outside. Her accent was quite strong and she spoke with the kind of unquestionable determination only someone in the upper echelons of society would. She knocked twice on the door to the girl's bathroom and then pushed it open. The girl was revealed as Riley Keough, the grandchild of Elvis Presley and she was represented by the IMG modelling agency, along with Miss Marciano herself. As she entered the rather empty bathroom, the door shut behind her and she locked it. The sounds of someone vomitting could be heard in the background and as Riley advanced towards the last stall, she saw Jolene draped over the toilet, pouring that afternoon lunch into it like a hose did with water. "Oh good lord!" exclaimed the 3rd generation star. "You don't even bother to close the door do you?" And she didn't. Who did she had to hide from? Being up there with the highest and most valued supermodels in the industry, one of three who had an eating disorder, she wasn't ashamed. Turning her head around now, she shot Keough a half smile. The girl was a few years older than her but they were almost like sisters. "Got your cigarettes," said Riley who tossed the package against her lifeless body which just clung onto the toilet like it was her only source of support. "Thanks," she managed to mutter before picking up the pack. The contents in the toilet were finally flushed down with the extending leg of Keough who couldn't stand the stench of it anymore. Jolene crawled out of the stall, cigs in hand, and relocated herself on the countertop where all the sinks were lined up. Dazed and confused, she leaned her head against the mirror as she propped a cigarette between her lips. "So what do we have planned for tomorrow?" she asks, her unlit cigarette bobbing up and down as she mumbles. Jolene always looked forward towards another day, but her problem was that she forgot about the one in front of her. "What the hell do you mean?" inquires Riley, who joins her on top. She grabs the lighter out of her jean's back pocket and lights the cigarette hanging from her friend's mouth as well as the one she recently put in hers. Without responding, Jolene slowly climbs into the sink. Her hockey stick like legs were burried into it as she gazed at herself in the mirror. Her hair looked wonderful, she thought. Her make up was rearranged on her face, her eyes were watery but her hair really looked stunning. "How beautiful am I?" she asked, suddenly with new bursting confidence. Riley furrowed her eyebrows as though she doubted Jolene's beauty, and she did at this very moment. But before she could even say anything, Jolene had read the expression on her face. "I shouldn't smoke, should I?" she asked like an unsure child. "Smoking makes you look much more older than you are. I just can't manage to let this little cancer stick suck the youth out of me," she now said, putting the cigarette out on the sink and then dropping it in carelessly. Changing the subject, as she didn't feel the inclination to care much about the self obsessive Jolene, Riley said: "You better not trip when we're out there again." She was almost trying to warn Jolene like she was an ambitious mother who never was. "I don't know, man," Jolene responded, a smile on her face as she recalled her trip down the runway. "It wasn't the heels," she confessed as if that weren't already obvious. "It wasn't the runway either. Portia walked perfectly when she came out. In fact, she stepped right over me as though I were a minor obstacle in her way. I didn't even notice that at first until I felt a hard kick from her heel as she was retreating backstage." "So why did you fall?" questioned Riley. "The stars, man," she said simply. "I saw stars when I was walking out there. At first, I thought they were here to greet me. I'm a fucking star after all, aren't I? But then they started to blind me," says Jolene with an expression on her face similar to Jay and Silent Bob. "Perhaps it was the flashes," guesses Riley Keough, talking about the numerous photographers that surrounded them at the Dolce and Gabbana show yesterday in Milan. "Nah." Jolene nods her head. "They weren't flashing. The light was constant, in my eyes, and I couldn't see anymore." A smile came upon her face as she recalled that evening and suddenly, she found herself head first into the bathroom floor. She had fallen down upon leaning backwards with the illusion that there was some support on the back. The paramedics rushed towards the penthouse and picked Jolene up, Riley tagged along with her friend. "Bonjour, madame," the nurse said, awakening her from a deep sleep. "vous aiment du pudding?" "What the fuck?" she asked in response. They had left for Paris immediately after the show as Karl Lagerfeld requested that the best models available be present before he made his choice. They had Riley Keough, Portia Beaufort, Abigail Pelletier, Jolene Marciano and of course, Tallulah denHayden. Jolene was now on a bed in the hospital as the nurse was tending to the gash on the back of her tender head. She had lost quite some blood and the memory of her conversation with Riley that afternoon. Squinting her eyes for a second, she gazed around the room and was now fully aware of where she was. Realizing that they were in France, a french speaking country, she excused herself in french and asked the nurse to repeat what she was saying. "Voulez-vous du pudding de chocolat?" repeated the nurse in a much sweeter tone. "Oui," replied Jolene with a smile. "Bien que je prefere la vanille." The nurse left momentarily and then reappeared with the pudding in hand. It was your average packed pudding from the United states with a plastic spoon sitting near it. American for the American, she thought and began to eat it. Riley had returned from the washroom, this time with a frown on her face. "What?" asked Jolene, mouth full of puddin'. "I just got a call from Svetlana," she stated flatly despite her previous emotions. "You got the Chanel shoot. Lagerfeld picked you." Jolene's once dull face suddenly lightened up as though new life had been thrust into her. "Omigod!" she exclaimed. "Really?!" she then asked as though she was just told that fairies really existed, quite innocently. "Yes, really." Riley then approached her, softly gazing at her with utmost sympathy. This caused Jolene to be purplexed. She frowned but then realized that although she was chosen, someone was not. Extending her hands with great force, and great pain, she nodded her head whilst saying: "Aww, I'm sorry Ryry." "Oh, I would be too if I were you," said Riley in the same manner she did upon asking her about the fall. "What?-" she asked now confused for real. "I'm really confused now. Why should I be sorry?" "Listen, you GOT the Chanel shoot. Lagerfeld picked you but-" she paused momentarily, her head hanging low. "-you can't do it." This caused Jolene to spring out of bed. "What the fu-" she held her head in pain. "OW!" Throwing herself back on the bed, she grabbed onto her head as though someone had just climbed up in there and rang a bell causing utter chaos within her rather large, oval shaped head. "That's why," continued Riley who answered her question before she was about to ask it. Making herself comfortable now and still holding her head with one hand, she looks at Riley with great displeasure. "then.. who did?" Shrugging her shoulders, she said: "I don't know. I guess we'll find out soon." Jolene sighed again, her dissatisfaction was quite clear. **DISCLAIMER: The reason you'd steal is layout is to prove that you wish you were me.. Cherie [c] 2006.