The word model, in his mouth

The husband said it twice. First at the door, loud, the model's here, babe, and I corrected him — I'm the stylist — and he came back with you look more like the model like that was a compliment and not a diagnosis. I have been called worse things but I have not been called that thing in a long time and I felt my face do the thing it does when a client says something I am going to remember at midnight.

Lisette wanted me behind the curtain. Step back, just for a second, so she can see the drape. A slip. I said no the way I say no to a second coffee, flat, and I started packing. The rack was half-done when I walked. I am out a half-session and probably a star and I do not care. I care. I care because the rating follows me home and Jolene does not lose stars for walking out on a client who wants to see her in her underwear.

I ate pasta standing up. The Jolene screenshot was on the counter like a coaster. Wednesday win. I zoomed in. There is a security man behind her in the Tribeca lobby wearing the same suit the lobby guys wear. So Jolene's win has a doorman attached to it. I do not know what that means yet. I screenshotted it again and locked the phone.

I texted Robin you up because I needed to send something to someone before I started talking to the ceiling fan. She has not answered. That is fine. I am not sure what I would have said anyway. A man called me the model today. A woman asked me to try on a slip. I walked out. Jolene won a Wednesday.