Plus by Veronica Chambers Page B

I’d showered, had dinner with the crew, and got back into hair, makeup, and wardrobe, it was another two hours. If everything went well, I could be in the car by nine p.m., at Kevin’s party by eleven p.m. A little late, seeing as I had an early morning go-see, but I could at least go in for a hot minute to say hello and congrats.
    In the next setup, I was grooming a horse. I wore another pair of Daisy Dukes, a white T-shirt, a suede vest, and a pair of cowboy boots.
    It was all good. I don’t know a lot about horses, but this one was a beauty: a gorgeous chestnut brown Appaloosa with patches of white on its haunches.
    Then the horse started to poop. I tried not to complain, but the odor got stronger and stronger.
    “Oh my God, this horse smells,” I said as quietly and professionally as I could.
    “I know, darling,” Laurence said. “But the manure is not in the photograph, and we’ll lose the light if we take the time to muck the stable out.”
    I tried to give good strong model faces, to contour my body in interesting shapes against the strong profile of the horse. But after about twenty minutes, I just gave up.
    “I can’t take the smell,” I said. I felt like I was going to pass out.
    “Sure, you can,” Laurence said. “You’re a pro. Give me some great shots and we’ll move on to the next setup.”
    I took the brush from Laurence’s assistant, then lovingly brushed the horse as if his poop didn’t smell to the high heavens. Finally Laurence called, “Okay, next setup.”
    I was so excited that I threw the brush down and it hit the horse’s foot. The Appaloosa started to kick up manure, and before I knew it, my bare legs were covered with the stuff.
    “No, no, no,” I said, staggering away. “This can’t be happening to me.”
    Laurence called out to Rosie, the stylist, “Another shower for Miss Bee, and make it snappy because I’d like a nice twilight for the final shot.” I showered and got dressed again, and the hair and makeup people dolled me up with a new look. Laurence led me over to the pigpen and gave me a feed bag full of corn. I was wearing a 1950s-style housedress and pumps, and my hair had been teased into a giant bouffant.
    “This one’s easy,” Laurence said. “You’ll stand on this side of the fence, and all you have to do is toss corn at the pigs. Toss it far and they won’t be anywhere near you.”
    “Got it,” I said. “Then we’re out of here, right?”
    “You’ll be off faster than a pack of dogs on a three-legged cat,” Laurence said, flashing me a huge smile.
    It had been a crappy day, literally and figuratively, and Laurence had kept the mood on the set light.
    “Okay, Bee,” he said. “I’m coming in for a close-up.”
    “No problem,” I said, smiling sweetly.
    “I’d like to get a little closer,” Laurence said, inching in. “Could you arch your back? A little more, a little more? Like a ballet dancer. Did you ever dance ballet?”
    The answer to that question is no, I never danced ballet. Which is probably why I ended up toppling over the pigpen fence and plopping right into the mud. And because I was holding a sack of corn feed, I was surrounded by pigs eager to eat the treats that had also fallen in the mud.
    Maybe it was because it was so late or maybe it was because I really did look ridiculous, but everyone just burst out laughing. After a while, I started laughing too. Everything that could’ve gone wrong had gone wrong, but I’d survived and it was over.
    By the time we’d wrapped, it was nine p.m. and by the time the car dropped me off, it was almost eleven p.m. I thought about going to the party, but one, I was exhausted, two, I couldn’t face the crowds, and three, I wasn’t entirely sure I didn’t smell ever so slightly of cow pee and horse manure.
    I picked up my mail, threw it on the kitchen table, took my fourth shower of the day, and crawled into bed to watch the news. When I was still dating Brian, I only watched CNN. But