Free A Not So Model Home by David James Page B

I could admire myself up close. “You look like Jane Lynch from Glee . Sexy, smart, not too polished. Natural. Plus, it helps play up your nose.”
    â€œMy nose?” I asked like a bleary-eyed child. “Play it up?”
    â€œOh, yes. I like your nose. Very come-fuck-me.”
    I never thought about a nose inviting fornication, but I suppose it was possible. Over the years, I’ve heard of guys getting turned on by everything from writhing in custard to wearing certain wristwatches. Yes, wristwatches. The right kind of wristwatch can make some guys cum. Go figure.
    â€œCome . . . ?”
    â€œYour nose. It is very sexy. Very virile, aristocratic.”
    I put my hand on Sebastian’s arm. “You find my nose aristocratic? When I think of aristocratic noses, I think of pointy, sharp ones like the British.”
    â€œWell, then, Amanda, you haven’t spent enough time in Europe. The continent. The French. The Italians. Germans. All big. You are beautiful, now go and make love to the camera.”
    As I was escorted away by Jacob, I had to ask the question: “Is Sebastian straight?”
    â€œYes, he is. His girlfriend is absolutely stunning,” Jacob added.
    â€œDoes she have a big nose?”
    Jacob thought for a moment. “I don’t really remember. But he seemed to like you.”
    â€œNooooo, Jacob! He was just being nice.”
    â€œNo, I’ve seen him style lots of women. He doesn’t flirt with them like he did with you.”
    I thought no more about what Jacob said for the time being. I got into my dress and when I was squeezed into it, they made me up. I stole another look in the mirror and, Jesus, if I didn’t look fantastic. It was a whole new way of thinking for me.
    I got to the set and they were just finishing up shooting Keith MacGregor. Keith was attired in a black silky shirt unbuttoned practically to his waist, showing off his hairless chest and tan. And, if I wasn’t mistaken, his padded crotch. Now, I’m no slut, but I have seen a number of male boxes in my time, and I can tell when one is not all-natural. Keith’s crotch wasn’t anything to sneeze at, but it seemed more than prominent, compliments of the stylist staff. I wonder if they were serving kielbasa at the lunch. I mean, it ran a few inches down his right leg.
    As for the rest of him, Keith had that relaxed, easygoing presence in front of the camera and acted like he spent all his life in front of one. He probably did just one take, just like Elizabeth Taylor.
    My television debut was a little different. I didn’t even have to talk. All I had to do was smile and turn toward the camera with my body. But I couldn’t get it right. Take after take, and I couldn’t act natural. Go figure . . . a reality show and I couldn’t be real.
    The assistant director, Matthew, finally spoke up, “Amanda, just stop trying to be a character. Be yourself.”
    â€œEasy for you to say,” I replied. “I’m still trying to figure out that one.”
    Eventually, the cameraman either got the promo footage he wanted or he just plain gave up. He released me to get into my own personal swimsuit, which apparently wasn’t so hideous, so I was allowed to head out to the pool area. In hindsight, I should have turned back right then and there. But that’s the problem with hindsight. It only comes to you after you really need it.

C HAPTER 9
    Open Mouth, Insert Prada Loafer
    A s I saw the pool area, I almost gasped. It was beyond spectacular. The huge pots of cactuses that ringed the pool were retrofitted with blooming flowers that would burn up after a single day of shooting. Fabric cabanas lined the south end of the pool, and even though the day was pleasantly warm, misting systems spewed clouds of evaporative water, providing a cool oasis through the miracle of pressured water and the laws of thermodynamics. There were buff waiters wearing skintight