wow, I am so sorry. I know that is no excuse for taking my sweet sweet time, but know that I adore you all and I'm sure that with counseling you'll come to forgive me. haha. cricket. cricket oookaaaay... sorry for taking so long, I'll be updating more often now. I think. I really hope you like this chapter. thanks to everyone who reviewed! I love those people!

The day I moved in with my new guardian was difficult. Richard's apartment was nicer than ours had been, but it was darker, sadder, if you will. Richard seemed incredibly nervous to have a young girl living under his roof, and if I didn't despise him so much, I probably would have felt sorry for him. As it was, I didn't care a mite. In fact I was more worried about myself, and my own horrible situation. Five years, I told myself, after five years I would leave and live in France, making my living as a model.

He put my suitcases down at the foot of a bed in a dark sad little room. Despite my first impression however, the memory of that room now makes me glad that I was able to reside in it's comforting, damp walls. The bedding was green, and the walls were a pale pink. Bright enough to show color, but pale enough so as not to become offensive when I became older. Green and pink was one of my favorite color combinations, but I would die rather than let him know that I was content with the room in any way.

"I- don't like pink" I said sadly, innocently. He seemed to panic on the spot and I reveled in it.

"Oh, well, we, um, I could paint over it if you like" he said nervously. I looked at him, and seeing the look on his face felt ashamed.

"No. It'll do, the pink is fine. I- like the bedding." Why was I bothering - no- going out of my way to make him fell better? I just stood there, my eyes glued to the green bedding, and he stood there, his eyes glued nervously to me, as though I was some queen, and if I was not pleased, then his life would be over.

The next few weeks Richard did everything he could think of to please me. He bought me everything I needed as a young girl, and tried (and failed) to help me with my homework. He cleaned up his wardrobe, cut his hair; no bad comb-over would be good enough now that there was a lady in the house. He tried desperately to learn how to cook, and (after a few miserably failed attempts) became quite good at it. He smiled and cracked bad jokes, and I heartlessly tried his patience by glowering at him, and gazing darkly at the world that I insisted had thrown me out, but inside, I knew I was being unfair, and I knew that Richard was terrified out of his wits, and trying as best he could to be a good guardian. I couldn't believe that all this time I had refused to see that Richard Lewd was a truly good person. Maybe he just became better because he was trying to make me happy; whatever the reason, it was impossible to tell.

Before I knew what had happened, a year had passed. Then two, then three, and I was sixteen years old. My grades were fairly good; I would have excelled, especially in mathematics, had I not been traveling around so much. I would have dearly loved to join the debate club, or try out for the school musical, but I was far to busy for anything like that. Ah, life's little regrets. But my platinum hair shined, and my vibrant green eyes sparkled on the camera. With Richard as my agent we were both able to thrive. My modeling career was flourishing in an unexpected blaze of job offers. I was only turned down two out of every five jobs I auditioned for. I flew to across the country more times than I can remember, and Richard was hardly able to keep up with my success. Fashion magazines, makeup campaigns, runway shows (I was only barely tall enough to do runway), and catalogues, all seemed to be adding themselves to my resume.

I was traveling back and forth from home (San Francisco) to New York and LA so often that I sometimes wondered if it would be easier to just move, but Richard wouldn't have that, he liked San Francisco, and liked living in a place where he felt at home. He said that here he felt like he belonged and knew the rhythm of the place. Here he could share inside jokes with the rest of the people of the city and feel connected to those he didn't even know, just because they lived in the same great place. Anywhere else, he said, and he would feel like one of those annoying tourists that swarm the city in ugly hats and socks in their sandals; the tourists that he was always complaining about. And so, we never moved.

I grew to love the small apartment in which we lived, and my pink and green room. That room saw all my tears and laughter and anger for three and a half years, after that well… my story happened, and I had to leave home from there. I also grew to love Richard

It was when I was sixteen that I had the opportunity to interview for a huge runway show in Italy. It was a big opportunity, and I was heartbroken when the woman at the interview sneered at my application.

"Green eyes and… blonde hair… platinum blonde hair at that. That's very unusual," she said suspiciously, "unusual bordering on the" she paused for emphasis and looked at me critically, "unnatural." It was a strange way to begin the interview.

"I- I swear I've never dyed it." I stammered, sounding a bit more passionate than I meant to. She raised eyebrow. I mentally smacked myself.

"Right then…"she said looking back down at her desk and writing something on the papers in front of her. She then turned to a camera that I hadn't noticed until now and turned it on "So tell me, why do you want me to hire you." I tore my eyes away from the blinking red eye of the camera to see her looking at me expectantly. I cleared my throat to buy myself some time and when I realized that I still didn't know what to say, I opened my mouth anyway. To the surprised of no one, no words came out.

"I'm sorry," I said finally, "what was the question?"

"Why. Do you want me. To hire you?" she said slowly.

"I well," I was horribly conscious of the camera to the left of the woman and lost my train of though. I shook my head. "I'm sorry, I've never been to an audition like this before." The woman smiled and scribbled something else on that dreaded clipboard of hers.

"I'm sure you haven't" she said with no small amount of condescension "but regardless to that little fact, answer the question."

"Well," I began thoughtfully, "I've never been to Italy" I laughed, the woman sucked her teeth, and I cleared my throat again. "Well, It would be a fantastic opportunity for me, it would really boost my career and I'm a big fan of the designer-"

"Boost your career? You act as if this is just something for you resume. Is that how you see this line? If she- if any designer heard you talk about their labors like that I would assure you that you would never model again." I was horrified

"I never meant any offense! I have been hoping to model this type of clothing for as long as I've been modeling!"

"Type? This line cannot be classified by any type"

Everything I said seemed to get me farther and farther into a hole that I never meant to dig. After an eternity, the interview from hell ended. The woman heaved a deep, "I-am-just-so-put-upon" sigh and rubbed her eyes.

"Thank you," she said, "we'll be calling if we decide we need you" I took a deep breath and didn't take my time to stand to leave; mustering all the strength I could to give her a gracious smile. Right as I reached the door, the woman called after me "but don't hold your breath."

X

I came home and tossed myself upon the couch my arm flung over my eyes in a picture of despair.

"I just know I didn't get the job I know I messed up. That woman… I may never get an opportunity like this again!" I started speaking to myself in rapid Russian cursing my inferiority and my horrible luck, peppering my language with a few incomprehensible swearwords here and there. Richard had no idea what to say and didn't understand why I cared so much.

"This is just another interview," he said in attempted consolation, "you know you won't get every job you try for." I sat up and stared at him, scandalized by the words.

"This. Is. Not. Just. Another. Job. Do you even know who the designer is? Do even know what the line of clothing is?"

"Well… no"

"She is the most forward thinking revolutionary designer to hit the scene in years. She dreams the designs of the future, she sews the seams of tomorrow, creates the patterns of true elegance, boldness, fantasy. Every time she does a line, people always whisper that it will be the last time that she ever designs again. They say she doesn't like models-

"If she doesn't like models, why would you want-"

"But right when people think she's gone, she comes back again with a line bigger and better than anything ever seen before. Who knows when she'll be gone for good, but while she's around, her clothing is the most fantastic, any model can ever dream to wear on the runway. She's immensely rich, immensely famous, and immensely talented and ever since I started modeling, I've always dreamed of modeling her clothes. Now that I've messed up that interview, all I can do is dream." I heaved another unhappy sigh and buried my head in my pillow.

"My God." Richard said as he awkwardly patted my head.

"Yes. It is that bad."

"Who is the designer?" he asked, absolutely aghast. I lifted my head and gazed out the window.

"Edna, Mode."