Big Smile No Teeth

After a twelve-hour flight from Bangkok, I ditched my connecting flight and caught a train to Bern.  When I got to the embassy, it was just opening.  I dragged my bags up the driveway and plopped them in front of the glassed in service counter.

            “Hi.  I’m Jason Godfrey.  I need a visa for the Czech Republic,” I said to a burly red haired woman with thick-rimmed glasses.  She looked like she stepped out of a FarSide cartoon.

            “Fill out these forms.” She said, in a thick Czech accent.

            “I need an emergency visa.  I believe my client from Korea has contacted you.”

            She gave me a stern look.

            “You are model?”

            “Yes.”

            “You are the one who is causing all this trouble.”  She said.  “I told them we only issue rapid visas in extreme cases.  The fastest you can get one is five days - like everyone else.”

            “There’s no way for you to -”

            “No.” 

            I sat down on a bench in front of the embassy service window, so much for doing the job.  I couldn’t get into Czech.  The flight, train, it was all pointless, suddenly I felt exhausted.

            “There is a phone call for you.” The burly Czech woman tapped the receiver of the phone on the glass.

            “Thanks.” I took the phone.  It was Christine.

            “Any luck?”  Her voice sounded far away.

            “They say they can’t do it.”

            “Wait there.  I’ll get the client to call again.”

            I was going to tell her not to bother, but what did it matter.  I wouldn’t be going anywhere, I was wasted.  I should have been cancelling flights, booking hotels, figuring out how to get out of Europe without paying, but all I did was sit down.  Sitting on the bench at the Czech Embassy until the burly woman kicked me out seemed like a good plan.  She took the phone back from me and said, “It was your client?”

            “My agent.”

            “I wish they would stop calling.  All night long, they are calling and asking me the same thing.  I tell them over and over, no!”

            I nodded.

            “They are so stupid these people.”  She said.  “They keep bothering again and again.”

            “You got that right.” I said.  “They are stupid.”

            The burly woman paused inspecting me over the rim of her glasses.  This entire thing didn’t have to be a disaster, if only someone had made half an effort to find out some basic info.

            “I found out about this trip two weeks ago and only found out I needed a visa yesterday.”  I raised my voice.  “They told me they checked.  They told me it was fine.  I only found out because I called your embassy in Thailand.”

            “I don’t know why they didn’t know.  It is plain information.”

            “I know how they didn’t know.  This is fashion.  This is how fashion works.  Everything is last minute and nobody checks anything.  Nothing’s ever organized.  Somebody decides to book me and they think throwing money at a plane ticket is all they have to do.  They have no concept of reality.”

            The burly woman nodded and smiled, exposing a set of big white teeth.

            “Fashion is ridiculous.” I went on.  “It’s like things are run by school kids.  If these people couldn’t work in fashion they wouldn’t be able to work anywhere.  No other industry breeds or tolerates incompetence like fashion does.”

            “Yes.  Yes.” She said.  “That is what they are like.” 

            The phone rang and she picked it up.  She gave me a look and I knew it was the clients.  A few minutes later, she hung up.

            “They ask me the same question again.”  She said.  “Always the same.”

            “They can’t even think of something new to tell you.  I wasted my time, they’re wasting your time.  It’s unbelievable.”

            The burly woman put two hands on her big round stomach and laughed, and then she stared at me, long and hard, as if she was deciding whether or not I was edible.  I hoped she wouldn’t try anything, I was too tired to run.

            “What you need to go to Prague for?”

            “They didn’t even tell you?  Idiots.  I’m going there to shoot a commercial.”

            “TV?  For Europe?”

            “No, South Korea.”

            “How long you need?”

            “A week.”

            “Hmm.”  She examined me through her glasses.  Then she broke out a big toothy grin.  “Maybe I can make you favor.  Give me your passport.”

            I put my passport into her outstretched paw and collapsed on the bench.  Whatever happened, I felt better after venting to this big Czech woman.  I should’ve gotten her phone number.  I sat, watching the sun shine through the autumn tinted trees, too tired to do anything else.

            An hour later, she returned with my passport.

            “Here you go.”  She opened the page to a brand new Czech visa.  “How long do you need again?”

            “Just a week.”  I couldn’t believe it.  Somehow bitching about the organizational skills of the production company had united us.  Nothing brought people together like complaining.

            “Maybe you should stay longer.”  She smiled.  “Prague is beautiful.  You should take some time for yourself.  Would you like to stay longer?”

            “Great.”  An hour ago, I couldn’t even get into the country, now the embassy was pleading with me to visit.  “Sure, why not let me stay a month!”

            “Do not be crazy.”  Her grin disappeared replaced by a stony look.

            “A few extra days are fine.”

Now that I had my Czech visa, all I had to do was get to Prague.  I promptly missed my express train with a comfy sleeping compartment.  I got another train to Prague an hour later, but it wasn’t an express and the chairs seemed to have been inspired by little league bleachers.  There was only one direct train to Prague a day and I’d missed it.  My new ride made every stop on the way from Germany to Czech and included nine transfers.  Christine wanted me in Prague ASAP and this was the only option.  Kate Moss would’ve got the clients to send a helicopter stocked with a team of fashion minions to rub her back and caress her ego; my clients told me to get on the next vehicle with wheels be it train, truck, or donkey cart.  I was still a few campaigns and fashions shows short of being a top model.

             The train ride was a disaster.  I couldn’t sleep because I was afraid I would pass out completely, miss a transfer, and end up in Estonia.  The longest I had to myself was when the train dropped me in Dusseldorf station at two in the morning.  My next train didn’t leave until 5am, so I curled up on a frozen marble bench in the open air station and shivered myself to sleep.

            When I finally boarded the last train on the Czech/German border I had a thousand yard stare, my eyes stung like I’d poured rubbing alcohol in them and my back ached from dragging my bags on a tour of German train stations.  I’d been up for over 48 hours and crossed seven time zones.  I wanted nothing more than to lose consciousness on the first flat surface I found. 

            Then the Czech border guards showed up.  I didn’t understand what they were saying, but made out something about drugs.  I watched red eyed, totally indifferent, as the police dumped my bag out on the floor of the train.  They rummaged through it, while a group of elderly Czechs glared at me like I was Osama bin Laden.  If the jail was closer than Prague, maybe I could confess to something.  At least I could sleep in the cell. 

When I staggered off the train into Prague, I felt and looked terrible, and had stopped being distressed that my deodorant had stopped working over a day ago.  The client didn’t want to pick me up at the train station but gave me an address and a handy hint that I should get some local currency.  Other models negotiated higher rates and bigger hotel suites; I couldn’t even get a ride from the train station.  I got in a taxi and told them to take me to the address I had scrawled on a receipt.  I assumed it was a hotel.  When I got out of the cab one of the South Korean production assistants was waiting on the curb.

            “You’re here!”  He said, shaking my hand.

            “Yeah.” I grunted, dreaming about my bed.

            “You must be very tired.”  He said.  I nodded rubbing at the deep bags under my eyes.  “You can sleep.”

            “Is this the hotel?”  I asked looking at a grey 18^th century era building.

            “No hotel.” He smiled.  “Studio.  You sleep after we do the fitting.”

            “I haven’t showered or slept in two days.  My clothes are filthy.”  I said.  “I slept on a bench last night—outside, like a vagrant.”

            “I know, I know.” the production guy smiled.  “Fitting first.”

            I couldn’t get out of the fitting.  I dragged myself to the production office determined to offend as many people as I could with my odor.  That would teach them not to let the model shower first.

Prague has a reputation as one of Europe’s most beautiful cities and is famous for its medieval Old Town Square and diverse architecture.  I assumed the production was shooting here to use the city as a backdrop.  Instead, the location ended up being a run of the mill ice rink on the edge of the city.  Modeling just kept getting more and more glamorous.

            I lay on the ice wearing a gleaming silver pair of pajamas.  Wearing the same PJ’s and lying beside me, like we were having a jolly arctic slumber party, was a red headed, freckle faced girl from Australia named Elouise.  Her boney hand was shaking with cold inside mine.  We were freezing.

            “W-w-why don’t they shoot?” Elouise’s teeth were chattering with the regularity of a telegraph machine.  “This Styrofoam isn’t doing anything!”

            Styrofoam boards, cut to our body shapes, lay between the ice and us.  She was right.  The Styrofoam staved off the cold for about four seconds and we had been lying here for hours.

            “I don’t know what they’re waiting for.” I stared up at the big lights and crane with the camera attached to the end looking straight down at us.

            All we had to do was lie on the ice while the production team pulled us sliding across the surface.  In the storyboard, we moved around separately until coming together like the sliding receiver of the mobile phone we were advertising.  I wasn’t sure about the premise, but liked getting paid for doing as little as possible.  The only hard part was trying not to look cold.

            “Five minutes!” The AD yelled.  “Get them warm, but stay on set.”

            We sat up on the Styrofoam and the stylists wrapped us in blankets and gave us heating pads.  Michael ran over carrying a puffy winter jacket.

            “Get warm.  Get warm.” He said, draping it around me and hugging me hard through it.  Elouise raised an eyebrow. 

            I’d discovered Michael when the production team finally brought me to my hotel room.  Just wanting to drop into a coma on my bed, I found a pudgy Korean man fondling a palm sized crystal dolphin sitting on the single bed across from mine.  I’d been too tired to be adequately surprised.

            Michael explained that CAT, the model agency in South Korea that found me with Dreamworks, sent him to take care of me.  I think they were trying to impress me into signing with them should I decide to go to Seoul.  The problem was nobody wanted to shell out the extra cash for Michael’s room, not the client or CAT, and they had to pay for my room anyway, so they moved him in with me. 

            All I could do was stare at my new roommate.  Crystal, Michael had told me, was cheap in Prague, and moments after arriving he’d bought a shiny crystal dolphin for his mother.  He asked me if I liked it.  I wanted to tell him to get the fuck out of my room, but nodded instead.  Maybe Michael was a nice guy, but showing up to your precious hotel room after two days of sleepless, ass wrecking travel and finding a man coddling a crystal dolphin was more irritating than impressive.

            “I’ll get you something hot to drink!” Michael skittered off the ice.

            “Who is that guy?” Elouise gave me a queer look.  I told her what I knew.

            “I thought he was your boyfriend.” She grinned hugging herself inside the blankets.  I think she was only half joking.  “How old are you?”

            “Twenty five.”

            “I’m seventeen.  Why do you need an escort if I don’t have one?” She said, making me feel like a diva.  “And I’m a girl too.  Boys are supposed to be able to take care of themselves.”

            I shrugged.  Michael goose-stepped over the ice handing me a steaming cup of tea and stepped on Elouise’s leg in the process. 

            “Ow!” She yelped.  He didn’t even look in her direction.

            “How about a sandwich?  Or some mittens?  You really should have mittens!”

            Michael was the smothering over protective mother I never wanted.

            “I’m good.” 

            Michael stood there for a second before nodding and scurrying away.

            “I can’t believe that guy.” Elouise shuddered.  She shot Michael a look.  He was busy, peering into the little blue box at the crystal dolphin he carried everywhere.  “I’m freezing too.”

            “Here.” I handed her the cup of tea.  I had a healthy layer of fat insulating me, poor Elouise was pile of skin-covered bones, if I was cold she was a Popsicle.