Beneath the Glitter: A Novel (Sophia and Ava London) by Elle Fowler, Blair Fowler Page A

a plastic bottle of Tums in one hand that made a clicking noise like maracas when he walked. He stopped abruptly, flipped the Tums open and tilted it directly into his mouth, chewed, grimaced, and called to the photographer. “That last series were winners. I think we’ve got it. We can strike this set.” He turned to his assistant. “Get Ohlfons and Troy in for touch-ups.”
    Ava and Sophia had been on photo shoots before, but this was by far the most elaborate, and it was fascinating to watch as a crew now swarmed over the set and made it disappear like ants at a birthday picnic. Ohlfons and Troy came in and started talking to the photographer with the blue hair, taking surreptitious glances in Ava and Sophia’s direction.
    “They’re just jealous,” Ava said to herself. She shook her head. “No, still not making me feel better.” She turned to Sophia. “I’ll do the dishes for a week if you go up to Ohlfons and say ‘Hi John. Been to Topeka recently?’”
    “You do the dishes anyway because you can’t stand to see them in the sink,” Sophia reminded her. “Look at that, I think we get to pose with telescopes.”
    Ava slumped in her chair. “We could have had monkeys.”
    “Telescopes are a lot easier to work with,” Sophia pointed out.
    “But I love animals.” Brightening up, Ava said, “Liam is an animal lover too. That’s the two hundred and eleventh thing we have in common.”
    Sophia shot her a worried glance. “Promise me that you will never ever tell another person that. Especially him.”
    Ava got to work making sure the hem on her skirt sat exactly straight across her thighs. “Sure. Okay.”
    “You already told him.”
    “We’re up to number three hundred and six.”
    “What’s that? Breathing? Chairs?”
    “Duh, no,” Ava huffed, elbowing Sophia. “Movies with talking animals.”
    Sophia was just lowering her head into her hands when their attention was diverted to a group of people who swept through the middle of the shooting area and into the tent.
    Leading them was a tiny girl in massive high heels with her blond hair in old-fashioned curlers. She held a lit cigarette in one hand and a Slurpee in the other. She wore tight leather pants, four-inch black studded pumps, and a white tank top with nothing under it sheer enough to allow you to read her famous tattoos, including the one that said W HITNEY ♥ L IAM F OREVER .
    The art director rushed up to her, his scarf and his assistant following close behind. “Whitney, darling!” he cooed, giving her a kiss on each cheek. “My god, don’t you look delicious.”
    Whitney was surrounded by her own small posse which appeared to be made up of one terrified-looking assistant and four reporters. She gestured to them now, telling the art director, “I was just saying, I don’t think anything is sexier than curlers and a cigarette. I mean, it just screams debauch, trailer parks, broken homes, making out at the Laundromat, the whole nine. Sexy sexy sexy.”
    The art director and indigo-haired photographer who had joined them both bobbed their heads in enthusiastic agreement.
    Sophia leaned toward Ava. “Did she really just say that curlers and a cigarette are sexy?”
    “Yes,” Ava confirmed. “And housing projects.”
    “I wonder how many things she and Liam—”
    “Stop right there,” Ava warned her.
    “What’s important is the real,” Whitney went on, making a fist with her tiny hand. “Authentic. That’s what Tastemaking is about. Risk taking. Going beyond, above, below. Not being afraid to break the norms, ask hard questions, say unpopular things. Am I right?”
    The art director gripped the container of Tums to his heart. “As always, darling. Trenchant. Beautiful.”
    Whitney nodded, her eyes half closed like she was in a trance absorbing the praise. Then they snapped open and she looked around. “What’s going on here? Where are my monkeys? Why isn’t this ready for me?”
    The art director gave her a