Out on the runway the stick thin models swayed and stomped down the runway to the music to applause. The crowd was loving the new 'Clothes over Bros' designs. Unfortunately, the designer was not among the crowd to relish in the praise. Instead Brooke was back stage, pins in mouth, trying to fix her model's gown.
"You looked stressed," Rachel said with a smile. Brooke glared up at her. She jabbed the pins into the dress to an 'ouch' from the model.
"Suck it up," Brooke scolded the model. "Do I look stressed?" This time she was talking to Rachel. "I wonder why, hmm." Brooke tapped her chin in false puzzlement. "Well let's see. It seems that everything that could go wrong has. Four of my designs showed up torn or destroyed in some way, you know buttons missing, zippers stuck, etc. And two of my seamstresses that I hired to help in the case of such faux pas are sick. Three of my models have been hospitalized, thanks to the persuasion of a certain soon to be fired employee of mine who convinced me to use the emaciated girls who it turns out…and this is a real shocker..." Brooke's voice dripped with sarcasm. "have eating disorders." Playing along, Rachel dropped her jaw to fake surprise. "So now, I'm playing designer, seamstress, whatever the title is of the person that makes sure all of the models' looks are together…" Rachel opened her mouth to respond, but Brooke put her hand over it. "Save it, I don't care. Let me rant. Where was I? Oh yeah, and if I can't get a model here in like two seconds, I'm going to have to do that job as well. And oh my gosh."
"What?" Confused, Rachel looked around the chaotic backstage.
"You." Brooke pointed a finger at Rachel.
"Me what?"
"You're a model."
"Brooke I…"
"Oh come on Rachel, I don't ask you for much, the least you could do is bail me out this once." In an attempt to look pitiful, Brooke stuck out her lower lip.
"Ok," Rachel said as she threw her hands up in defeat. "But I should tell you…
"I don't care, just get over to that rack of dresses and tell whoever's over there that you'll be filling in for model number three. I think the two of you are about the same size. And did I mention I love you?" Without another word, Brooke flitted of to perform whatever task needed to be done.
"Maybe not after tonight," Rachel mumbled to herself.
Finally Brooke's assistant had pulled through and got another seamstress to fill in for the sick and Brooke could finally leave the war zone that was backstage. She slid contentedly into her seat in the front row and sat back to watch her fashion show. Brooke loved to sit in the crowd during her shows. To see the looks on people's faces as each girl strutted out in Brooke's clothing. Clothes that came from Brooke's own imagination. People did seem to enjoy her clothing. Brooke smiled to herself. A blonde model stomped by Brooke's seat while Brooke rolled her eyes. Every girl thought she was Tyra Banks. Lucky for Brooke, she had Rachel. Despite her tendency to be a bit bitchy, Rachel was a damn good model. Speaking of, at that moment Rachel made her entrance. But instead of her usual poised walk down the runway, Rachel stumbled a bit as she took her first steps. A couple more steps and Rachel's ankle twisted in its terribly high heel. Gasps emitted from the audience. Whispers and laughs followed. Jaw planted on the ground, Brooke watched the fiasco that was Rachel's trip down and back up the runway. With a last smile, Rachel was headed to backstage. Brooke thought she knew what was up. The next outfit that Rachel paraded out in, she tripped over the train and giggled the whole way down the runway. After she had left, Brooke turned to her assistant who was seated beside her.
"Gina is she…"
"I think so," Gina responded with an anxious look to where Rachel had just been. Brooke's head sank into her hands. How did she not smell the alcohol on Rachel's breath when they had talked? How had she not seen that Rachel could barely walk in a straight line in jeans, much less down a runway in a dress with a three foot train? But Brooke had been too busy trying to keep her show from going down the drain that she had allowed a drunken idiot to walk in her designs.
By the end of the show, Brooke had sunk so low into her seat that from the row behind her one couldn't even see the top of her head. Rachel had succeeded, in the six outfits she had modeled, to rip three, trip over two, and fall flat on her face in one. When the models came out for the finale, clapping and smiling, Rachel was bent over in a fit of giggles. An ashamed Brooke made her way onto the stage to join them. Brooke tried her best to smile and act as if nothing was wrong as photographers snapped her picture. Casually, she walked up to Rachel.
"How many drinks did you have before you came here?" Brooke hissed through clenched teeth.
"Two," Rachel said with a smile.
"Plus?" Brooke knew Rachel too well for her little games.
"A few, but I tried to tell you so don't give me any of your crap."
"Why is that one photographer winking at you?" Brooke asked as she noted a particularly rat like man in the front row winking to her friend.
"When I made that little stumble the last time, he saw it all."
"I think everyone saw the fall hon."
"That's not what I'm talking about." Brooke cocked her head in curiosity. "Let's just say that if we were in a strip club, he would have to pay extra for what he saw." Brooke couldn't contain herself anymore, a guffaw escaped her lips. The models nearby turned to watch as the designer broke down into fits of laughter. "Are you sure I'm the one who has been drinking?" Rachel asked. Brooke shook her head as she continued to laugh and the cameras continued clicking.
The newspaper fell with a thud onto the table. There on the front page, lay Rachel sprawled across the stage. Above her the headline read 'Drunken Model Ruins Show'. "Hey at least they got my good side," Rachel said as she sipped her coffee. Brooke plopped down into the chair beside her with a shake of her head. The two girls looked out onto the busy street. Cars whizzed by as the two girls sat in silent contemplation. The breeze whirled around them.
"Is it weird that even though you ruined my show I would still hire you?"
"Ok A, I did not ruin your show. If anything I made it more exciting. And B, the reason you would hire me is because even in my drunken state, I'm still a better model than half of those skinny little bitches that were out there with me." Brooke gave a nod of agreement.
"Speaking of being a good model, don't you have a shoot this morning?" Brooke asked. Rachel glanced down at her watch.
"Shit!" Frantically, she began to gather her things. "I hate going to shoots hungover." Then she began to hurry off down the street.
"Here's a suggestion, don't drink!" Brooke yelled to her retreating back. In response, Brooke got the one finger salute. With a chuckle, Brooke threw a few crumpled bills onto the table to pay for breakfast and then stood. Brooke loved LA, the hustle and bustle of it all. She loved the way that no matter what time it was, whether it be 1Pm or 1Am there was always an equal amount of things to do. Even more she loved that she could afford a life style like she had come accustomed to. Brooke truly had the fairytale life. At that moment Brooke passed a couple strolling down the street holding hands and giving each other sappy looks. Ok so maybe she didn't have someone to walk down the street with but she had everything else. Before she had even finished her thought, Brooke saw a woman jogging towards her in a hideous track suit. In front of her, she pushed a stroller out of which poked a mane of dark hair. Brooke looked to the sky as if to ask 'Really'. Deciding that it was time for some serious shopping, Brooke ducked into the nearest store.
Three hours later, and Brooke was still going. By now she had already hit up her typical clothing stores and she was ready for something different. She stepped down a street that she didn't normally go down. Across the road sat a small unassuming book store. Ever since a certain someone had come into her life, Brooke had a small aversion for books. It couldn't hurt to look. So, after looking for oncoming cars, Brooke crossed the street and stepped into the bookstore.
The bell jingled as Brooke entered the shop. The woman behind the counter looked up with a smile. Brooke smiled back and then looked around. It looked like any other bookstore one might come across. A clearance section stood out front, a big red sign reading 'Books up to 75 off' next to it. To her left, Brooke saw a sign reading nonfiction. To her right, fiction. And dead ahead were the new releases. Brooke headed straight for them, her typical routine in bookstores. It was a habit she had picked up when she lost contact with her friends from Tree Hill. Brooke scanned the authors of books. Alphabetical order. Good. That would make this easier for her. She skipped the first half of the alphabet. Moved down to P. The books stopped there. Puzzled for a moment, Brooke walked around to the back of the shelf where the alphabet resumed. R's and then what she was looking for. The S's. She wasn't really expecting anything. There was never anything there, but she always told herself that there was a possibility. And a possibility was enough for Brooke. Brooke's fingers traced the books by authors with the last names starting with S-A, her fingers stopped. There was an S-C. An S-C-O-T-T to be exact. And to be even more precise, a Lucas Scott. Gingerly, Brooke slid the book out from its place on the shelf. 'an unkindness of ravens' read the front cover. Brooke opened the book and gasped; there on the back book flap was a picture of her very own Lucas smiling up at her. Sure she had the pictures of him from before, but this was different. This was proof that Brooke hadn't destroyed him. That he had gone on living his life and, by the looks of it, done a pretty good job. Brooke gently touched the curve of his jaw. She closed her eyes, remembering what it felt like to touch the real thing.
"Can I help you?" a voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Oh no." Embarrassed, Brooke shoved the book back onto the shelf in what she was sure wasn't the right place. "Just browsing." The store employee gave her a look. Brooke smiled in what she hoped wasn't a crazy way. "Thanks." She began to back away from the man when she collided into something. Brooke whirled around and fell. Sign and person crashed to the floor. Heads turned to see what the commotion was about. Quickly, Brooke stood up, dusting herself off. "Sorry." She picked up the sign, an announcement that a best selling author would be signing books at the bookstore. Setting the sign back in its place, a flustered Brooke hurried out of the store without a look back.