Covet
“Ummm, Macayly right?’ Makedde looked up from her menu at Gabby, the abrasive English model from her apartment. Sitting hunched in her chair in a silk singlet with her bony shoulders jutting out and dark make-up smudged around her feline eyes, she looked even more rail thin than she had the night before. When Gabby stood she looked as if her body had been stretched.
‘It’s pronounced Mak-kay-dee, actually,’ Mak told her. ‘But you can call me Mak.’ After the Ely Garner show, the American girl, Jen..., had invited Mak to join her and some other models for a late dinner at a restaurant called Che’s. There were eight models in all, dressed in the usual uniform of fashionably sloppy jeans and skimpy tops.
‘Mak. Right,’ Gabby huffed in response, as if she didn’t care what the name was and would no doubt mispronounce it again.
Jen, seated to the left of Gabby, beamed at Mak. She and Gabby were chalk and cheese. Jen was fresh-faced with a cheerful Midwest accent, as wholesome as freshly cut hay and apple pie.MoreLess
‘It’s pronounced Mak-kay-dee, actually,’ Mak told her. ‘But you can call me Mak.’ After the Ely Garner show, the American girl, Jen..., had invited Mak to join her and some other models for a late dinner at a restaurant called Che’s. There were eight models in all, dressed in the usual uniform of fashionably sloppy jeans and skimpy tops.
‘Mak. Right,’ Gabby huffed in response, as if she didn’t care what the name was and would no doubt mispronounce it again.
Jen, seated to the left of Gabby, beamed at Mak. She and Gabby were chalk and cheese. Jen was fresh-faced with a cheerful Midwest accent, as wholesome as freshly cut hay and apple pie.MoreLess
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