Roses & Ruin

There really is no way to get comfortable on an airplane. Cramped legroom and seats that don’t recline far enough for you to actually sleep without your head bobbing forward.

Or worse, when it cranks to the side in the most awkward of angles until your neck knots up. Even with that donut pillow I still can’t find an angle that keeps my head right.

I was exhausted though. I had back to back modeling gigs in two different time zones. Now I’m on my way back to New York, where again I lose hours as time moves forwards and backwards for me.

“Are you asleep?” I heard the voice beyond my earpods. My eyes popped open and I sighed, “No, I never sleep on planes, but not for lack of trying.”

Mia pointed to the aisle to show me why she tried waking me up. Snacks. Finally I can put something in my stomach. We almost missed our flight, so we had to run and skip the meal we planned to have at the airport earlier.

Mia is many things in the fashion industry. She models, is the face of a few brands, and designs clothing with THE Karl Lagerfeld. This makes her a legend by proxy.

She and I met on a job recently, and both realized we live in New York City. That’s how we ended up on this flight together.

Mia’s friend Simon was the photographer for the shoot, and we were both models participating in the Fendi advertisement for the new coming collection.

“Blue chips?” I removed my earpods and asked her.

“Always” she smiled. She’s a very pretty girl. Green eyes, full lips, not exactly as full as mine but nice, and a sweet disposition.

I wouldn’t call us friends exactly. This was our second time working together, so we did exchange phone numbers, though I don’t care whether she ends up calling to make plans or not.

I’m new to New York, just moved, so friends aren’t really something I have right now. But I’ve never been one for socializing.

I won’t be cliche and blame my fucked up past, but I do have one. A fucked up past that is.

Maybe I don’t like making new friends because of all the questions they inevitably ask you in order to ‘get to know you’ better. I have too many secrets to enjoy answering questions without having to lie.

And who can ever keep those straight?

When we got our mini bags of blue chips it was less than satisfying to eat the three damn chips inside, while suffering an empty belly.

“Sitting coach must particularly suck for someone who’s flown in a private jet with a fashion industry icon” I nudged Mia playfully. She’s told me things here and there about her career, and the rest I’ve honestly read online or in Vogue magazine.

She seems to have accidentally walked onto the express train of success because she’s so new to this industry, and yet she’s accomplished so much. She told me she just met the right people and was lucky, but I also know she’s talented.

Maybe luck had something to do with it, but having that ‘it’ factor is what’s important.

I started modeling at 17 and a half years old when I was discovered by a Russian modeling agency who liked my bare faced, young, innocent look.

I was surprised when Vitaly, aka my complicated father, actually let me do it. Model.

I just turned 20 years old, so just over two years in the modeling world is enough, but not a lot. I still have a name to make for myself. It gives me the opportunity to distance myself from Russia and the Petrov family chaos.

I actually lived in America most of my life, but when....nevermind.

“Eh, not really. I was a broke girl living in LA for school, with a million roommates and shitty jobs to cover rent. The broke-girl in me still exists” she laughed.

I knew what she meant. The Petrov’s are rich for sure. Me however, not so much. Not if I want to distance myself from Vitaly’s money.

That leaves me a broke girl renting the shittiest apartment in New York City with another model.

I actually had a third roommate not very long ago, which meant I was sharing a room with a stranger for a while, since it’s only a two bedroom apartment. If you can even call that a bedroom.

She found herself a little sugar daddy and moved out. Go with God my friend. Whatever works.

“I think that might be a right of passage in the fashion world, huh? I’m living the broke-girl life as we speak” I crunched up the empty chip bag, handing it to the flight attendant who was collecting trash from the aisle.

“I’ve only recently been making decent money. I have a successful, fancy, businessman brother who was kind enough to let me live with him while interning and making no money. I think I told you this already” Mia stopped talking when she recalled telling me this before the shoot she and I worked on.

I’d asked her questions to deter her from asking me.

She can become distracted and take over the conversation if you do it right. She says she’s used to talking because her boyfriend isn’t a very chatty man.

“Yeah, you told me” I fixed the damn donut pillow I still have around my neck for no reason at all. I ripped it off and fixed my hair.

“I hate these things” I plopped the pillow down on my lap.

“I know, sometimes I pull down the food tray and bend myself practically in half, just to sleep on my backpack on the tray” she showed me as she bent forward.

“You’re very short. I can’t fit” I chuckled.

I’m a model. I have model height. The long legs, the elegant neck, the thin frame. I can’t bend in half and fit between two cramped airplane seats.

“I look smaller next to you, but I’m average height” Mia tried. I laughed this time.

“No, you’re short” I broke the news to her.

“I’m 5′3ish- 5′ 4,” she informed me.

“I’m 5′6 and a half, which is actually short for a model, but my frame gives the illusion of seeming taller than that.” I watched her green eyes cast down my body and she shrugged like she agreed.

The ding above us signified the flight attendant coming over the intercom.

“If we could have everyone bring their seats to an upright position, buckle up, and be sure any personal items are stored under the seat in front of you. We’ll be prepping for landing. Thank you.”

The voice was too cheery for my tired ears. I yawned to prove it.

“When I get home I’m going to crash so hard” Mia shoved something underneath the seat in front of her before clicking her belt. I hadn’t lifted my seat to its upright position yet. I hate the stiff back.

“Ma’am, your seat.” The same flight attendant that’d just been speaking was now coming around with a hawk eye for anything out of place.

Honestly, what does it matter if my seat is upright or very slightly reclined? Is it to let passengers out of their seats more easily once we touch-ground? I suppose that probably is why.

I’m still cranky about it.

I hit the latch and popped forward. The woman let a wide smile come across her thin lips. “Thank you” she spoke cheerily before being on her merry way.

“Whatever she’s on I want some” I whispered to Mia. She snorted a laugh, then covered her mouth.

“Are you going to have a ride home from the airport? I just remembered you saying you don’t know many people here?” Mia randomly asked me when she removed her hand.

“Uh, just a lift” I shrugged.

“Well, I’m, like, 99% positive my brother’s assistant driver guy is going to be picking me up. It’s kinda our thing. So if you wanted-” she began offering, but I put a hand up to stop her.

“Oh no, that’s okay. Thanks, that’s kind and all, but I don’t live on your end of town” I chuckled at our obvious differing lives.

She’s on the rich side of town. I am not.

“Are you sure? He won’t mind” she continued. She’s nice.

“Nope, I insist you go straight home and sleep” I patted her arm on the arm rest between us.

“Eat then sleep” she reminded me. “True, I’m not sure which will overtake me first.”

The same dinging noise sounded overhead.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. On behalf of myself and our crew we’d like to thank you for flying Jetblue. New York City is a lovely 77 degrees and the sun is out. We should be landing in about 20 minutes, so sit back and relax and once again, thank you for flying with us.”

-

My apartment is narrow. Why are so many NYC apartments so damn narrow? You walk in the front door and you’re in the living room, the kitchen is just after, then bathroom and bedroom one across the narrow hall from the other.

After that, at the very end of the hall is the second bedroom. Each room is very small. No room for a kitchen table, and I forfeited a dresser when I lived with my third roomie.

Only now that I have my own closet sized bedroom do I have racks of clothes along the side wall, and an actual closet for the rest. It’s messy and I can’t hide much.

I have a stack of books beside my bed that seconds as a table whenever I have a glass of something to drink.

It may be blasphemy to put a liquid item above a book like a dang coaster, but times are hard.

The racks of clothes automatically look messy. My bed is never made. It’s not a very large bed either. We had one mattress and one futon when the third roomie was here. Now it’s just the mattress, which gives me a little floor space I didn’t once have.

I remember her and I rolled dice for it. Whoever got the higher number got the mattress not the futon. I won. But of course I did. My brother’s taught me how to rig dice.

My current and only roommate now is Chloe.

She’s a British girl who’s 20 also, very thin with her model typical build, strawberry hair with brownish eyes. She once had crowded teeth. She got an invisalign though, and is almost complete from fixing them.

Chloe isn’t particularly interesting. I guess her accent is nice.

I don’t hold a Russian accent since I spent my majority of years here in America, but I do speak the language. My mother wasn’t always fluent in English, so we spoke our native tongue in the house.

When I rolled my carry-on size suitcase into the apartment I got Chloe’s attention right away. She popped out of her bedroom in sleep clothes since it’s morning.

“Hey, welcome back” she waved.

“You’re up early” I glanced at the phone in my hand. 8:14 am.

“I have a casting” she was already looking at herself in the large mirror we have on the wall between bedrooms. “I have to get dressed, but you’ll have to tell me how it went later when I’m back” she offered.

I was practically grunting at this point. I was so tired.

“I need something quick to fill my belly and I need my bed” I rubbed my eyes.

“Grab one of my yogurts if you need to,” she offered politely again. Chloe’s disciplined with her eating habits to stay her current size. The plague of modeling is that one.

I used to have a small eating disorder just from the constant pressures that the Russian agency had against me, but I’ve worked on it and I’m doing better. I eat. I prioritize it actually, because I don’t wanna go back there.

Just another thing in my past I don’t talk about.

When I stuck my head in the fridge I heard Chloe call for me, “Lexi” but she never finished her sentence. I grabbed the yogurt and leaned into her bedroom’s doorway.

“What do you think?” She asked me, holding up two pairs of shoes.

For castings you don’t want to overdress, but you don’t want to look like a slob either. You want to be a bare canvas for them and if they like your look then you’ll end up with the clothes and the makeup and all.

New York Fashion week is in a few months. Girls my age are working to get themselves out there and noticed, so a brand will pick them up for the runway shows.

I did mainly photographs in Russia, but I’ve been pushed towards both runway and photographs here in New York, so we’ll see.

I wouldn’t think I’d have an ‘in’, but I think Mia might actually be mine. If she calls.

“Those” I pointed at her right hand. I left Chloe to change after that. We walk around the house half naked most of the time. You get used to it, working with other models who all undress in the same space.

I’m not a modest girl. I’ve taken tasteful nude photos for professional photography before. Doesn’t bother me.

My name is Aleksandra, mom used to call me Aleks in the house, but she changed my name to Lexi Vero when we moved here. Again...checkered past and all that. My real last name carries its sins with it.

Lexi Petrov.