The Tokyo Cover Girls: The Tokyo Cover Girls, #1

BECAUSE SHARING IS CARING

Jess had once seen a Japanese game show contestant crawl through a tub of boa constrictors wearing nothing but a bikini and a poker visor. If only castings were that easy.

She pulled her shoulders back, planted her feet on the ground, and stretched her mouth into a smile as the man at the desk scanned her face and body. Apparently satisfied, he turned to her manager, Hiro, and began barking out sounds she could only assume were words (calculus she could handle, chemistry, no problem—however, Jess had given up trying to learn a language with four different ways to say the word eat a long time ago). From somewhere behind her she could hear the tinkling sound of the Candy Crush theme song and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. At least Blake had turned the volume down this time.

It was just past ten a.m., and the four members of Tokyo’s Visage International Modeling Agency—Hiro, Jess, and her two roomies, Blake and Hailey, were in the head offices of a local housewares manufacturer. They had come to audition for a magazine insert advertising the company’s new line of bathroom accessories. Blake and Hailey had already taken their turns and were now sitting in plastic office chairs behind Jess. She would have preferred they wait in the hallway—it was never safe to have your back turned on other models.

Jess glanced at the man at the desk. The client was still deep in discussion with her manager, the overhead lights bouncing off his rectangular glasses like a flickering computer screen every time he nodded. Whatever they were talking about, it had has his complete attention—for the moment. Jess allowed her smile to drop several decibels and instead scanned the row of display products lined up behind his desk. She wondered which item her face would appear on if she actually managed to pull this thing off: the puppy-print toilet paper or the panda-shaped plunger? Sure, neither was exactly portfolio gold but considering how things had been going the last few days, she wasn’t in any position to be picky. She needed this.

After what felt like ages, Hiro lifted his gaze to look at her—though they were both standing, Jess was still a good head taller than he was.

The client wants you to raise your arms and turn in circles, he said.

Jess cocked her head to the side. This was the modeling industry. People usually asked her to demonstrate catalogue poses, not windmill impressions. On the other hand, it was Tokyo: a girl never knew quite what to expect in this market. Jess reached for the sky and began spinning. Somewhere between her third and fourth rotation she heard several barely contained snort-laughs coming from the direction of the app music. Jess grimaced; as if either of those girls had any right to laugh at her. She might be going through a rough spot right now, but she was still doing better than they were.

Jess had been modeling for three years, having first started at the age of fourteen. With her large brown eyes, narrow face, and teacup chin, her look was what agents called commercial. Normal people would have just called her pretty. Either way, Jess’s face sold well in Asia and she had worked every big city there from Seoul to Taipei. Out of them all, Tokyo was her favorite. The city’s catalogue day rates were higher than anywhere else in the region, especially for underwear. One day of Japanese bra and panty sets could net her the same as three days of Taiwanese cardigans. Plus, who couldn’t love a place where they swept and washed the streets on a nightly basis? It was like living in a giant dishwasher. There was only one downside; the Japanese word was kawaii.

There was a reason the toilet paper sitting across from her had enormous eyes and the plunger was smiling. It was the same reason all the city’s fashion magazines had names that sounded like cartoon series—An An, Cutie, Pinkie, and why hundreds of teen girls arrived in Harajuku every Saturday dressed like they’d escaped from some rich toddler’s doll collection in pastel bows, knee socks, and ridiculous amounts of crinoline. Beauty in Japan was all about kawaii. In other words, looking and acting as sweet, cute, and child-like as possible.

Sure, it was a little annoying wearing pigtails at almost every shoot and sort of ridiculous that she was forbidden from getting a tan and totally irritating when clients patted her head like she was a small dog, but it was all harmless enough. More importantly, clients went crazy for it. Jess had learned to master the art of kawaii several trips ago and as a result could normally count on earning at least twenty thousand dollars during the two months she was contracted to work in the city. However, she wasn’t so sure about this trip. She had been going to castings for four days already and hadn’t landed a single gig. If things didn’t change soon, there was no way she would make her summer target—and law school wasn’t going to pay for itself.

Okay, very good, Jess. You can stop, said Hiro.

As Jess forced the room to come back into focus, she couldn’t help but glance at the two comp cards sitting on the edge of the client’s desk. Comps were like business cards for models and featured the girl’s best shots, along with her name and measurements. The one closest to Jess displayed a girl with wavy dirty-blond hair and round honey-colored eyes squinting into the distance like she was trying read the side of a really small Pocky box. Comps were given out to every client a girl visited so they would have something to remember her by when they were making their final selection. Of course, if a client was really interested in hiring a girl, he would almost always take a photo of the model himself, usually with her in one of the company’s samples. Jess had yet to see a single client raise their camera in Hailey’s direction; heck, most barely even glanced at her portfolio. Despite the fact that the girl looked like the love child of a Disney prince and an anime schoolgirl and should have cleaned up in the city, she always managed to do something totally daft that came off as rude and completely turned off the client. Today’s gaff: she had asked the man at the desk where the bathroom was instead of going through Hiro. Everyone knew clients didn’t talk directly to models. At least the girl had an excuse: it was her first trip and she was obviously lost. Jess couldn’t say the same for Blake.

Headshot number two featured a platinum blonde with puffy red lips smiling brightly into the camera. It was a gorgeous shot, and the only proof that Blake actually knew how to look happy. The girl spent every casting either glaring at the client or staring off into space. Today was no exception. In fact, Blake had managed to outdo her usual freshmen-in-morning-detention-impression when she’d pulled out her phone and started texting just seconds after stepping up to the desk. And no, it didn’t help that she was dressed in a tight, mesh shift that barely made it to her thighs. The client had dismissed Blake even faster than he had Hailey. Jess knew from the girl’s tear sheets, pics showing her previous work in magazines and catalogues, that she’d been to the city before and was no rookie. Jess could only assume that her roommate was one of those cocky girls that thought they were so amazing they could get away with treating clients like garbage. She was wrong.

Importing girls to Japan wasn’t cheap. The agency paid for everything upfront—the plane flight, housing, comps, daily transportation, plus they provided a weekly allowance for food and incidentals. Of course, they took it all back out of the model’s earnings, but that was assuming the model had earnings. Agencies usually gave their new arrivals about three weeks to start landing bookings. If they didn’t produce in that time, the agency would write them off as a bad investment and send them home. If that happened, the girl might never get offered another contract in Tokyo again.

Hailey and Blake had arrived in the city before her, which meant they were already pushing day eight and had nothing to show for it. If those two didn’t change their ways soon and start getting work, it would be too late. It was almost enough to make her feel sorry for them, but she wasn’t that dumb.

One thing Jess had learned from living with other models was that they were not to be trusted. Some girls got carried away with the freedom of living alone in a big city and started doing drugs or hooked up with guys who only wanted to take advantage of them—like that girl from Minneapolis who had run away with a photographer. What was her name? Annie? Annabel? Jess had cleaned up those kinds of messes too many times. But the really dangerous girls were the ones who didn’t just sabotage themselves. Her Shanghai roommate had hacked into her email to delete her job sheets, and an Australian had cut holes in Jess’s favorite skirt. She was not getting involved with these girls, even to give them a few casting tips. It sounded harsh, but it wasn’t like they were hostesses. Models got fired, not murdered.

The client grunted another string of noises at her manager.

Hiro nodded and turned toward her, a reassuring smile spread across his moon-shaped face. Now he wants you to stand on one leg while reaching your arms to the ceiling.

Jess inhaled deeply. This casting was going from weird to, well, weirder. On the other hand… She snuck another look at the soon-to-be-out-of-work blondes pictured on the desk.

Jess’s left leg was throbbing, both arms were aching, and her fingers were entirely numb when she finally resumed a standing position. She braced herself as the client spat more lines at her manager. What would it be this time? Jumping jacks? The splits?

Okay, honey bunny, he wants to see your poses now, said Hiro.

Jess smiled. That was more like it.

She started with a classic, flashing a tween-magazine-cover-grin while cradling her chin and jutting her hip to the right. She held it for exactly two seconds before softening into a spring wedding catalogue simper, one hand resting on her collar, the other shielding her thigh to make it appear even slimmer than usual. Her eyes were as wide as two rainbow-swirl lollipops and she had just finished a shoulder-shrug-giggle-combo when she heard the client speaking. Only this time it was just one word: Hai.

Hiro immediately reached over and squeezed her arm. Good work! He wants to take a photo of you with a product sample.

Jess had skipped the portfolio phase and been promoted straight to the sample item! She grinned—for real this time.

What the fuck? hissed Blake.

Jess whipped around and glared at her roommate. Was Blake crazy? Swearing in front of a client! If she offended this guy, the whole agency could get cut off and no one would get booked. Unless insulting the client was exactly her idea. If I can’t get it, no one can. Just the kind of move a saboteur would make.

A pair of darkly lined blue eyes met Jess’s gaze, and held it.

She didn’t mean it, Jess, whispered Hailey from her seat next to Blake. The girl’s mouth was frozen in a perfect O over her lilac blouse like she was afraid Jess was going to lunge forward and attack Blake right in the middle of the casting.

Jess shook her head in disgust and turned back around. She was relieved to see the client was still rummaging in his display shelf and had apparently missed the outburst. Still, it was a close one and she would definitely be keeping her distance from Blake. And Hailey for that matter, she didn’t have the patience to talk to anyone who could underestimate her that badly.

Jess bowed slightly as a toilet scrubber with a polar bear face was put in her hands. The smell of old gym shorts and rotten eggs wafted up her nose as she lifted it toward her face. Jess hesitated a moment. It was a new scrubber, wasn’t it?

Jess? said Hiro. You okay?

She nodded. On the other hand, no one ever said modeling in Tokyo would be glamorous. Jess pressed the bristles to her cheek and smiled.

Ten minutes and as many photos later, Jess, Hiro, and the others were heading back to the van. Jess led the way, a triumphant smile on her face. According to Hiro, her first job sheet of the season was finally on its way to her email account. The dry spell was over. She was sure others would start pouring in now. Heck, maybe she’d get even more bookings than she’d estimated and this would be her last trip to Asia ever.

So how much was the guarantee for that, anyway? Jess reached for the side door. She always inputted her income into a spreadsheet so she could track her progress.

Sorry, sugar-blossom. There is no pay for that one, said Hiro.

What? said Jess.

Hiro popped open the driver’s side door. This one has no guarantee. But you will get some nice photos for your portfolio.

Jess’s mouth hung open. She had snuggled up to an object used to remove fecal stains for nothing?

"I wouldn’t have done that gig if they offered me ten grand a cut. That bathroom crap was sooo tacky," said Blake.

Jess stared at her roommate’s smug smile. Was the girl who had just tried to destroy Jess’s chance at landing the gig now saying she was too good for it?

"And here I thought you wanted to get booked—well, that sure explains a lot," Jess snapped.

Blake turned around. However, instead of shooting Jess a death glare, she looked almost…worried.

Jess cocked her head to the side. Had that hit a nerve, or had she just imagined it? The sound of the van revving interrupted her thoughts and she climbed into the back. Seriously, Hiro, why would you take us to a casting if there was no guarantee? Can you at least be more clear about that next time?

Oh! Sorry, I forgot to tell you the good news! Hiro smiled at her through the front rearview mirror. That client is very good friends with the men we are seeing at the next casting and he said he would put in an extra special word for you. I think you will have no problem landing this one with his recommendation.

What’s it for? asked Jess.

Bear Bear Lingerie, said Hiro.

Jess’s eyes widened; maybe that casting hadn’t been a total waste after all.

Minato Studio was located next to a row of bento box factories in a light industrial sector on the outskirts of Tokyo. Low tin buildings that Jess imagined were as tidy and organized inside as the boxed lunches themselves lined the street. Jess held her portfolio to her side as she hurried ahead of her roomies toward the only building that didn’t smell of fried fish, soy sauce, and spicy tofu.

Because of their high guarantees, lingerie castings always attracted a lot of attention, and this one was no exception. Despite the tall ceilings and wide walls, the studio felt as a tight as a Shinjuku subway car during rush hour. A line of thin girls snaked across the studio’s exposed cement floor toward the client table where three men in gray suits sat flipping through portfolios. A Brazilian Jess had worked with two seasons ago stood in front of the table in a blue string bikini.

Japanese lingerie was pretty conservative—most of it looked like fluffier versions of J.C. Penney-style sleepwear. However, clients still wanted to see what they were ‘paying for’ and they almost always asked models to audition in their bathing suits—hence, why girls always kept a bikini or two in their purses. A temporary wall that Jess assumed was the changing area stood behind the Brazilian. A swarm of managers occupied the rest of the room. They were easy to pick out, striding up and down the space like a bunch of celebrity P.I. wannabes—slick black dress shirts, tight pants, and cell phones pressed to their ears. All of them except, of course, Hiro. Dressed in purple velvet dress pants, matching gloves, and a white ruffle-front vintage tuxedo shirt, he looked more like he was going to a Beatles-era prom than a Tokyo lingerie casting.

At the far end of the room, Jess spotted her former manager, Eti from Cinq Trois, and waved. He returned the gesture but didn’t come over—which in Japanese business culture was pretty much the equivalent of giving someone the bird. Not that she was surprised. Or disappointed, for that matter.

Jess had been signing with Cinq Trois since she’d first started coming to Tokyo—their head booker, Risa, was good friends with the head of her mother agency in Seattle. Sure, they weren’t as prestigious as Elite or Folio, but they were always punctual with her advances. Plus, they had nicer vans and apartments than a lot of the other agencies in the city. Jess had intended on going with Cinq for the summer again, until she’d seen their contract offer. Everything had seemed normal till she had gotten to the second page and seen that the agency had increased their cut. Instead of clawing back 50 per cent of everything she earned, they wanted 65 per cent now. Talk about greedy! She wasn’t sure if Risa had assumed Jess wouldn’t notice the change, or wouldn’t be able to figure out the math but either way she wasn’t about to let them get away with it. Jess had deleted the attachment immediately and gone with Visage instead. She had to admit the decision had been a bit impulsive. Visage was pretty small, with only one booker—a lady named Yuki who pretty much ran the place. Plus, they had only been in business for a few months. However, Jess was sure it had been the right one. Not only was Visage’s cut rate 5 per cent lower than any other agency in the city, but the apartment they had put her in was so clean she hadn’t even needed to scrub the shower tiles yet.

Jess joined the line behind two blondes in micro sundresses. One of them was holding a cell phone and both were glued to the screen. Jess recognized The Pirate Machine theme song, an electronic Irish jig, and pictured the show’s equally horrible logo: a cockroach wearing an eye-patch. Ugh. The Pirate Machine was a really bad, really popular Japanese reality show—at least, it had been. She looked over their heads and counted the number of girls in the line as Blake and Hailey stepped up next to her.

Moshi, moshi, said Hiro, lifting his phone to his cheek. Jess did a quick calculation: thirteen girls at approximately ten minutes per turn meant they had at least a two-hour wait ahead of them. She groaned. With that kind of time, she might as well get in a calculus quiz.

Hiro nodded a few times before leaning over to Jess. I have to take this call. I will be right back, okay, my little sea star? he whispered in her ear.

Sure, I— started Jess. She paused mid-sentence. That was weird. Little Sea Stars was the name of her high school basketball team in Seattle. Why had he called her that? She hadn’t told Hiro anything about her life back home. However, before she could say anything, he had already disappeared into the crowd. Jess shrugged. It was probably just a coincidence, she thought, and pulled out her phone.

What was that about? Blake said. What did he whisper to you?

It was nothing, said Jess.

It didn’t look like nothing. You made a funny face. What did he tell you? Was it a secret? Was it about me? said Blake.

Really, it was nothing, said Jess.

You’re lying. I can tell. Blake’s lower lip jutted out slightly. Despite her dark makeup and tight clothes, she suddenly reminded Jess of a little girl with no one to play with at recess. Maybe she wasn’t as arrogant as Jess had assumed. Could she still be hurting over Jess’s casting dig? It had been a little harsh.

Really, it had nothing to do with you, said Jess, her voice softening.

Whatever. Blake turned around.

Jess was tempted to apologize for her earlier comment, but didn’t. It was better for everyone if they kept their distance, she reminded herself. She opened her Facebook app instead. Before she launched into quiz mode, a quick lurk on Morgan’s profile couldn’t hurt. She was just about to type his name when her phone buzzed.

Are you alive? Should I call the American consulate? Dana

A photo of a shorthaired brunette with almond eyes and a slice of orange wedged in her mouth was displayed next to the message. Jess smiled. Dana and Jess has been best friends ever since they had played on the Little Sea Stars junior team. Unfortunately, in addition to very youthful and pale skin, clients preferred girls without visible quads so she’d had to quit the following year. However, Dana was riding it all the way—she had already been offered two university