At the beauty parlour, Iman's leg was floating in the air somewhere above her left ear when her phone began to ring. Inconveniently, she'd placed it just out of reach on the seat beside the salon bed. The ringtone was difficult to ignore. She wanted to kill Mathew. He'd downloaded that ringtone to her phone as a going away joke.

Hopped up of tha bed,

Turn my swag on,

Looked in tha mirror...

Hot liquid wax in hand, the beautician in charge of her Hollywood wax, paused dramatically.

"Go ahead," Iman instructed desperate to ignore the annoying sound. She'd not been so uncomfortable in her entire life. Whoever it was that was calling would need to wait.

The lady applied a strip of warm wax to her tender skin.

The rap song continued relentlessly, amplified in the tiny sterile room.

Yeeeeeeea im getting money (ohh)

I put my team on, and ma theme song

Now it's time to turn it up

Yeah...

With her best conciliatory smile, Iman apologized.

"I can't stop now" the beautician said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Please don't!" Iman's leg was starting to cramp.

"Won't be long..." the lady smirked. With gloved hands she applied a strip of muslin atop the wax, pressed down and then tugged. Tears sprung to Iman's eyes. Still, her phone kept ringing. And ringing.

"Hand it to me, please?"

"Here you go..."

A fierce looking blue female warrior avatar appear on screen. It was her agent, Sparkly Diva Delmardi (don't ask!). Iman swiped to answer. "You do remember you sent me to have my va-jay-jay waxed?" she said.

"I do," Sparkly said. "I just need a moment."

"I'm in a terribly vulnerable position. Can it wait?"

"Not this time. Give me Penny?"

Feeling confused, Iman handed her phone to the beautician. "He wants to talk to you..."

Penny (she has a name!) took the phone.

"Do I interrupt when you're with a client?" the Penny woman grumbled. "We're busy."

Feeling beyond awkward, Iman sat up on the salon bed and reached for her jeans pulling them across her lap. Not that it made sense to do so. Her lady bits had been on full display for the past fifteen minutes. Something about the half-finished job made everything that much worse.

Penny didn't take long to resolve whatever business she had with Sparkly and handed the phone back. "He wants to talk to you..."

Inwardly, Iman cursed herself for jumping at the chance of a free wax. A moment ago, she'd had no connection with this woman. That had all changed. It was obvious Penny and Sparkly knew each other well. The few euro she'd saved wasn't worth compromising her anonymity.

Putting the phone on speaker (because why not?) she grumbled: "What is it?"

Sparkly sounded animated. "So, we've been offered un très, très intéressant opportunity to walk for Gucci in the Triennale di Milano on Friday morning."

"That is jolly interesting," Iman beamed. "When did this come in?"

"A minute ago. I called you right away. Couldn't wait. They want an answer by tonight."

Iman paused. "I've got my hijab shoot," she said. "It's a clash, right?"

"It is, yes." Sparkly affirmed.

"If you know that, why are you calling?"

"Because its Gucci, darling!"

"I don't renege," Iman said firmly. "You know that. I never renege."

Sparkly grumbled. "I thought you might make an exception. It's not smart to turn down runway girl. Especially not Gucci. And not in Milan!"

Iman's thoughts were cascading. This was the best offer she'd had yet, and she hadn't even asked what they were paying. "Have you double checked on the timing? I can dress quick..."

"I've checked." Sparkly responded. "You've got to give up the Haute Hijab gig. Sorry babe. You can't swing both."

"Sparkly, I don't renege," Iman said firmly. "Call me foolish, but it's my brand at stake. My name."

"You're foolish. I'm calling it," Sparkly responded a little too quickly.

"Funny! I'd love to do Gucci. You know I would..." Iman put her jeans back on the chair and resumed her position on the salon bed. Penny picked up her steaming bowl of wax. She took the phone from Iman, but Sparkly's voice still echoed in the tiny room.

"I'm not going to get back to them until this evening. Think on it! Please? These opportunities don't come along every day!"

"I won't change my mind," Iman said. 'Ciao!"

Sparkly resumed her torturous de-fluffing of Iman's privates. Fortunately, the pain was so great, she couldn't think about Gucci and the loss it would no doubt turn out to be.

***

Later that day, Iman arrived early on set, hoping to speak to the photographer before the models arrived. She took the entrance closest to the theatre and made her way down the stairs, crossing the stark white concrete towards the circle of professionals setting up. The open-air Bagni Misteriosi swimming pool, closed to the public for the winter, provided the perfect location for a retro-inspired shoot. Still, the pool looked bitterly cold, and Iman shivered at the thought of possibly having to get in the water. The photographer was busy setting up lights and cameras—she'd catch him later. Supersized see-through inflatable lilo chairs covered in glitter already littered the cool blue surface of the water, ready for the shoot. She moved to the change rooms and slipped into a pastel rainbow-striped suit. Just as she was about to get her hair done, her phone rang.

That ringtone! I must change it...

Mathew's avatar appeared on screen.

"Hey. I don't have long," she said. "On a shoot."

"I'll be quick. I've got Arjun with me on speaker."

"Hey Princess!" Arjun said. "Who is it today?"

"Michela Occhetto. Mimì à la Mer? You know it?"

"Nope!"

Iman chuckled. Arjun knew no one in fashion. He was a computer geek, like Mathew, and cared nothing for the industry. Still, they engaged in polite chit-chat about her modeling every day.

Mathew cut in, "Isn't it a bit chilly there for swimwear?" It was one of the many things Iman loved about her brother. He was devoted to her happiness.

"It is cold. I'm in a coat. What can I do for you?"

"We're in a bit of a bind," Mathew said. "One of our devs cut and run yesterday. The team won't meet their sprint goal. We're moving fast to recruit, but we need you to authorize an over-spend."

Iman sighed in protest. "Have you done a change request?"

"We need to move quickly on this one, Princess. Time is of the essence." Arjun said.

"I appreciate that, but how do you know you need an extension if you haven't done the thinking?"

Mathew jumped in, his words tumbling out for under him. "Sis, I explained. We missed the sprint. It's done! It takes time to recruit. Any schedule slip is going to cost us. You know that. It's inevitable. Might as well just bite the bullet."

Out of the corner of her eye, Iman noticed the set hairdresser indicating her turn. She moved into the seat and put the phone on speaker.

"You need to wrap this up," the hairdresser said, her tone clipped. Iman raised a hand in apology.

"Matty, it will cost us in time, I get it. But can you move stuff around? Can you drop any jira tickets?"

"Not a chance. Not at this late stage."

"I'm not just authorizing extra spend whenever you ask for it. I can't do this forever, boys. Start thinking!" Iman glanced in the mirror at the hairdresser, who was applying moisturizing oil to her scalp in a soothing massage.

"We're going big," she said.

"What do you want us to do?" Mathew sounded resigned.

"Do the CR and get it to my inbox before I get home. I'll need to know how much and by when. Be specific."

"Okay, thanks." Arjun interrupted. 'We'll let you go."

Though she should hang up, Iman knew it would take the hairdresser forever to unravel her braids, and she'd be stuck in that chair unable to achieve anything. She couldn't resist asking, "How's the build coming along?"

"Fantastic!" Mathew said. "Before this hiccup, we were flying."

"It's looking super, Prinny," Arjun said. "Think Jira and Canva had a baby."

"Alright chaps. Keep up the excellent work. I'll be in touch tonight! Cherio!"

"Ta ta!" The boys hung up in unison and she let her phone drop to her lap. The hairdresser was unravelling each braid from root to tip with the methodical patience of a tortoise.

"What are we doing?" Iman asked.

"Ringlet curls... extravagant amount of hairspray!" Iman grinned. She loved a seventies hairdo. It felt authentic and cool and would hold through the night. She was going dancing with Shortie and couldn't wait.

As her braids fell to the ground one by one, a makeup artist moved in to do her face. The photographer approached and explained the plan for the shoot. She'd be in the water up to her waist, holding a silver beach ball above her head. Of course! Those lilos were for the big-name models. The hair seemed to take forever.

"Would you mind terribly if I make another call?" she asked, pushing her luck.

"Go ahead..." the hairdresser mumbled.

Iman scrolled through her emails, landing on the instructions for the Haute Hijab job. She held her breath and planned her pitch. The booking agent came on the line, and as briefly as possible, she explained her conundrum with the Gucci runway offer. And then she pitched her offer. She'd worked it all out. If she hired a car for the whole of that day, she could complete her Gucci walk and then sprint across town. If traffic was manageable, she'd be only an hour late for the hijab shoot. All she needed was a little leniency.

"Darling, what can I say?' the agent gushed. "It's Gucci. Of course, you must take it!"

"I don't want to let you down," Iman sounded apologetic.

"So, you're a wee bit late. What's the fuss? We make it work."

"An hour late. Maybe more."

"It's Gucci. We're proud of you! You take it. We see you after."

"I'm most grateful." Iman gushed. "Thank you. Thank you!"

"No problem. Congratulations!"

She hung up, and the hairdresser echoed, "Congratulations. We'll all look out for you. It's not every day one of our girls makes it."

Iman smiled warmly. A wave of sheer joy rippled through her body. With her hair and makeup done, she took a quick selfie and sent it to Sparkly with a brief instruction:

"Say yes to Gucci!"

There was no time to wait for a response. The photographer was calling the models to take their places. As they all gathered, she was gratified to see the diversity in size, age, and gender. Sara Grace was the sole recognizable face, her auburn hair masked under a Jackie O style wig. It was going to be a fantastic aesthetic, like something out of an old Italian movie. She slipped her phone into her pocket and let her coat drop off her shoulders. Standing on the edge of the pool, a thought crossed her mind:

How lucky am I? I'm blessed. Truly.

Without hesitation or a single thought wasted on how cold the pool was going to be, Iman navigated the small steps and waded into the icy water. Neck extended, arms held high, she took her place.