After a career-ending fight, ex-professional-hockey-player-turned-Zamboni-driver Chase Cassidy has never looked back at the sport. He's perfectly content cleaning the ice between periods and chatting with fellow staff members, and running a pub outs...
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Spencer
"Ow!" I exclaim, trying not to flinch as a needle pricks my hip.
"Shit, sorry," Amelia says. "My hands are shaking. I'm nervous about tonight's fundraiser. What if no one likes my clothing?"
Mirrors surround the scuffed wood platform Amelia and I are standing on. Above, natural light spills through the glass skylights, highlighting the neutral colour palate that decorates the room. Beyond the platform is a spacious room filled with mannequins, fabric, and tools. A vanity sits at the far wall. The walls surrounding the vanity are littered with sketches of outfits. Every design is eye-catching. Bold colours clash with peculiar patterns. There are splashes of glitter and strokes of gold against midnight blues and blacks. Like any other art, fashion has a depth that requires precision and talent. My mind cannot comprehend the value of the patterns and colours. The notion of how they work together.
I open my mouth, ready to argue with her, but she holds up her hand. Biting my tongue, I direct my gaze to one of the many mirrors, watching her.
Amelia has a flexible tape measure hanging over her shoulder and a needle and black thread in hand. She's wearing a bright yellow pantsuit that contrasts beautifully against her dark skin. Her heels click as she circles around me, inspecting her latest work while gnawing on her bottom lip and smudging her hot-pink lipstick. A line is visible between her eyebrows.
I have little knowledge about fashion, so I keep my mouth shut. Judging by her expression, there's something she doesn't like about this dress.
While Amelia is trying to figure out the issues, I ponder what tonight will look like. It makes a wave of anxiety crash over me. And as it continues to bloom, I chew on my thumbnail. Tonight, local fashion sources are coming together to raise money for marginalized kids that can't afford post-secondary education. They will auction each outfit that makes its way down the runway off. Combined with the tickets and the raffles, I'm predicting a hefty donation.
Amelia asked me months ago to model her clothing. I thought it would be fun, but that was before I realized I would work while modelling. Toronto's hockey organization attends as many fundraisers as it can during the season. With high-profile players like Lennon attending, the public relations team thought it would be beneficial to post about it. Which means I'll have to be observant on stage and maybe get some interviews done after, when the silent auction is happening.
Working doesn't scare me. Walking down a runway with everyone's attention focused on me does. What happens if I trip over my high heels? When I'm hyperaware, I become clumsy. It's guaranteed to happen, especially considering the fact that someone will be in the crowd.
I take a deep breath, trying to counteract my anxiety.
