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Velvette wouldn’t go so far as to say she trusted the other Vees. It was hard to say that you trusted people who undoubtedly had multiple contingency plans to assassinate you at a moment’s notice. Not that she minded—so did she.
It’s true that she wasn’t as vigilant as she used to be—no more keeping an eye out for uppity models looking to pick a fight outside their weight class, now that she had a group to watch her back.
If Velvette trusted anything, she trusted the group’s mutual selfishness. For now, the Vees were stronger together. It would be unfathomably stupid for any of them to rock the boat.
Unfortunately for her, one member of their little trio was, in fact, unfathomably stupid. She punched Valentino’s contact image on her phone and ground her teeth as she waited for him to pick up.
Right as the call was about to ring out, he answered. “Hi, babydoll,” he purred.
“Val. Do you care to explain why my top model is late to work today?”
“I wouldn’t know. Maybe she hit a spot of traffic?”
It certainly looked like the model had gotten hit by a spot of traffic—a.k.a., been run over by a car. Maybe ten times. Velvette used the toe of her boot to nudge the pile of viscera in front of her and grimaced. The body, barely recognizable as Veronica, was smeared against the pavement of the executive parking garage. Worse, it was blocking her VIP parking space.
“It looks like you put her through a fucking meat grinder. What did you even do?”
“What didn’t I do?” Valentino leered. Velvette scowled.
When it was one of her lowest earners lying shredded on the floor of her office, Velvette was inclined to think of it as a particularly fucked up present. Like a cat leaving dead birds for its owner. When it was her top model smashed against the pavement, the one who had been set to debut their brand’s new eyeshadow palette today… Well.
“That’s the third time you’ve shredded her this year,” Velvette said. “You got something you want to tell me?”
“Ah, Velvette, not everything is about you,” Valentino drawled.
“Then why do you care? What, did she turn you down for a role or something?”
Valentino didn’t reply for a moment too long, and Velvette burst out laughing. He hissed unpleasantly close to the microphone.
“She’s an ungrateful bitch who doesn’t know her place .”
Velvette scoffed. “You and your casting couch nonsense.”
“In this business, it’s more of a trial run.”
“It’s not the seventies anymore, grandpa. Everyone can see through your bullshit, now stop trying to poach my models.”
Valentino sputtered. “As if I’d even want your knock-off Verosika Mayday.”
Velvette wracked her brain, trying to understand the comparison. “They don’t even look alike.”
“Pink.”
“You’re an idiot,” she told him. Veronica was clearly more of a soft coral. “And if you ever fuck with one of my models again, I’ll cut your other antennae off your stupid bald head.” She hung up and snapped her fingers. Two of her assistants hurried forward, one holding a large plastic bin. They began to scrape the twitching remains of Veronica into the bucket.
It would take her at least two weeks to reform, which would put the ad campaign at least three weeks behind schedule. Fuck. Her job was hard enough without constantly having to put out Valentino-related fires. She FaceTimed Vox, who picked up immediately from his office.
“Velvette! Good morning.”
“He tore up Veronica. Again,” she said, in lieu of a greeting. Vox swirled his coffee, not looking up.
“Who’s Veronica?”
“My top model, you idiot. Veronica Vixen? 100 million Sinstagram followers Veronica Vixen?”
Vox rubbed his chin. “I still think we should have gone with Voxstagram.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“It’s important to have a cohesive brand.”
Vox wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit him in his stupid flat face. Velvette sighed. “It’s about the optics. We don’t want people to think we have a monopoly on all the media in hell.”
“But we do,” Vox pointed out smugly.
Velvette wisely did not mention radio. See? Subtlety. “I’m going to need you to transfer 20% of Val’s funds to me for this month.”
“He’s not going to like that,” Vox said, but, she noted with satisfaction, started transferring the funds anyway. “Done.” Her phone buzzed, notifying her of the deposit.
“I also need a replacement model for the Fur-Friendly Fall palette,” Velvette said. “Preferably from Valentino’s lineup. Who’s available?”
“Hm. I think there’s a cat hybrid that might fit the bill? Brown with white spots… Ah.”
“What?” she demanded.
“He’s O.O.O. right now. Snuff film,” Vox explained. Velvette scoffed. What was it with Valentino and murdering their employees during their busiest season? For lesser sinners, those reforming times could be no joke.
“Fuck it. Who would Val miss the most?”
“Definitely Angel Dust.”
“Send him, then.”
“Val won’t be happy,” Vox said, sounding positively gleeful. Velvette wondered if the two of them were on the outs again or whether this was the normal level of petty sadism Vox directed towards his boyfriend. She decided she didn’t care.
“Whatever. Book him all day today.”
Vox gave her a thumbs up and drank his coffee, attention already drifting to a different monitor. “You got it.”
“Bye, darling. Kisses.” She hung up, turned to her assistant, who was holding a tablet at the ready. Velvette talked fast, directing her to bump the new Seasons palette shoot an hour later and move up the scale oils. The assistant’s hand danced across his tablet, quickly updating the master schedule. Velvette also moved the weight-loss updates to tomorrow. As she rode the elevator up to her studio, a different PA passed her a cinnamon caramel macchiato without having to be told.
Then, she spent the morning directing. They got through six GRWMs in two hours before they got stuck on a truly clueless lizard sinner. She explained to him how to use their scale tints like three separate times. He nodded like he understood—then, when it came time to film, he did fine on the eyeshadow, but absolutely flubbed the lipstain and eyeliner. She watched his hand shake with a tremor that only got worse the longer the shoot went on. Luckily, he was an okay actor, and after a few pulled scales, they shot something nearly passable. If her editors filtered it into oblivion.
Regardless, after the shoot, she told her assistant to take him off the roster. Clearly, her algorithm boosting was being wasted on him. Some people just weren’t cut out for this lifestyle, and Velvette wasn’t one to try and fit a square peg into a round hole. She made a note to reassign him to their misinformation department at the end of the quarter. Every part of the buffalo, and all that.
By the time Veronica’s normal time block rolled around, she had almost forgotten about that morning’s spur of the moment substitution. That was, until she saw a spider demon hovering awkwardly in the studio doorway, a PA blocking his way and flipping through a clipboard. She realized she hadn’t changed the model note on the official schedule and walked over quickly, frantic models and stylists darting out of her path.
The PA was saying, “Are you sure the appointment’s under Angel Dust?”
“Um, yeah. I don’t see what else it would be under.” Angel Dust scratched his head.
“He’ll be subbing for Veronica today,” Velvette interrupted.
The PA looked Angel Dust up and down. “Um. I don’t think he’ll fit—” seeing her expression, he quickly amended, “I’m not sure he’ll be a good fit.” Then, in a lower tone, “We only have the sample sizes in right now.”
Velvette rolled her eyes. “He’s modeling the eyeshadows.”
“Oh, alright.” The PA made a note on his clipboard and moved away.
Velvette beckoned Angel Dust into her studio, then set off to Veronica’s filming room without checking if he was following.
When she arrived, a set designer was steaming the bedspread. “Veronica’s out today,” Velvette announced, and the designer jumped like she had burned him. “We need something for him.” She pointed at Angel Dust, who was taking in the setup with wide eyes. “How soon can you re-dress it?”
“Um.” The designer swallowed visibly. “For a minimalist bedroom with no repaints? Forty minutes.”
“He needs a neon sign and a custom vanity. Maybe some throw pillows. You have twenty,” Velvette said. Couldn’t have her team getting lazy. The set designer’s eye twitched and he ran off.
Next, Velvette took Angel Dust to the designers’ studio, where she stopped in front of a drafting table covered in color swatches. She grabbed his chin and moved his face from side to side. Angel Dust let her, which she liked. Sometimes models could get fussy about things like ‘personal space’ and ‘boundaries’ and ‘not permanently altering their faces for a photoshoot.’ Maybe she should poach from Valentino more often.
“Hm.” Soft summer. Probably. “Melissa?” she snapped her fingers and Melissa was there, hovering over her left shoulder. “What do you think?”
Melissa hesitantly leaned forward to peer at Angel Dust’s face, hands wringing. Velvette rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a pussy. You can touch him.”
Moving far too slowly for Velvette’s liking, Melissa cupped Angel Dust’s cheek. Then, like Velvette, she turned him side to side, eyeing his pink spots. She placed her thumb just under his eye and pulled down gently to peer at his waterline—looking at the blood vessels, presumably. Velvette felt a sliver of pride.
Finally, she let go and took a step back. “Light summer.” Belatedly, she covered her mouth and added, “I think.”
“Close. Soft summer, actually. You have to think about the contrast,” Velvette explained. She could be very patient.
“There’s such a thing as too much contrast,” Melissa said, glancing at Angel Dust’s horrible gloves before hiding a grin behind her hand.
His gloves were pretty bad, but… “You can’t turn the contrast down on a sinner with heterochromatic eyes.”
Melissa looked up and blushed. “You’re right. Soft summer.”
“Hetero?” Angel Dust said.
Velvette snapped her fingers under his nose. “Can you talk to a camera while you do your makeup?” She mimed the action very slowly, like he was stupid.
“Um. Yeah?”
“Great. You’re not totally hopeless.” Unlike lizard-idiot from this morning. “Show me your makeup.” He pulled a nondescript tote bag out from behind his back and passed it to her. She looked into it and saw a jumble of lipsticks and eyeliner pens, loose and rattling around. It was as if he had just swept everything off his dressing room table and into the nearest open bag. Which, in retrospect, is probably exactly what he did. Her eye twitched.
She passed the bag to Melissa, who would know how to deal with it. Sorting through which of Angel Dust’s drug store lipsticks were salvageable was a little below Velvette’s pay grade. “Take him to costuming and bring the summer palettes,” she ordered. “We’ll film at 11.”
Velvette turned to Angel again. “We should have you out of here before lunch.”
Velvette took the opportunity while the set was being readied to check on her designers. To her surprise, it wasn’t as much of a trainwreck as she had expected. Sure, a few pieces were embarrassingly 2012, and a few more fell on the wrong side of the tightrope between retro and dated, but there were at least four pieces that, with minor tweaks, she could see ending up in their solstice collection. One of them was Melissa’s, presented in absentia as Melissa was off babysitting Angel Dust. Velvette had recently promoted her, shifting her from modeling to designing, which had clearly turned out to be the right move.
Although Melissa was skittish, she had a genuine spark of creativity and a keen instinct for composition that kicked the rest of Velvette’s designers back into high gear. And thank god, too. They had been producing nothing but dreck for two seasons—especially Abigail, whose skills had taken a nosedive, truly, she had been the worst of them. Velvette had felt nothing but satisfaction when disposing of her. Nothing like replacing her oldest designer with fresh meat to remind her team that everyone was expendable.
More than just competition fodder, Melissa had the makings of a great designer, though she remained daft enough on most days. With guidance from Velvette, she was catching up, though her progress was painstakingly slow.
At eleven-sharp, a PA found her and handed her an iced caramel macchiato, her second coffee of the day. Feeling merciful to the set designers, Velvette gave them another five minutes before she began meandering back to Veronica’s filming room.
When she arrived, she saw Melissa and Angel Dust hovering just outside the doorway, Melissa fussing with his new outfit, as was her nervous habit. The costumers had put him in a cropped white hoodie which had clearly been starched into oblivion. On the bottom, he wore a pair of black high-waisted Shushu shorts. She had to admit, it wasn’t her team’s most inspired look. But it did give the impression that Angel Dust’s legs were about 80% of his body, which could only help him.
Melissa straightened the hoodie cords on Angel Dust one last time, then hovered her hands and watched Velvette, waiting for her reaction. Velvette didn’t give her one, walking straight past onto set. The pair hurried to follow her.
When they stepped into the bedroom, it was transformed. The linen bedspread had been switched to black silk, surrounded by a modern, sharp-edged bed frame. The bed was absolutely heaped in throw pillows—many of which had decorative embroidery of tiny spiders and hearts. Gauzy purple curtains covered and disguised Veronica’s paneled accent wall, interwoven with string lights and heart-shaped baubles. The curtains ran from the ceiling all the way to the ground, where two thick shag rugs layered stylishly against the far wall. And above the headboard, a neon heart-shaped spider web blazed in hot pink. It was not real neon as she had requested, but an LED strip tucked inside a plastic light guide. But it would show up nearly the same on camera.
The room was nearly unrecognizable. She was begrudgingly impressed at the quick work—she’d have to raise her standards for this particular set designer. It was more maximalist than they usually went for, sure. But that was a natural choice given Angel Dust’s… well, everything.
Angel Dust stared at the setup, silent. Velvette grinned. “Impressive, right? I’m not paying them for nothing.”
Angel cleared his throat. “Half of this is just stuff from my old apartment.”
“What?”
“I used to live here. In Vee Tower.”
“Oh.”
“We get a lot of cast-offs for set dressing,” the PA cut in. “That’s probably why we were able to find such a good shade match for the lights.”
“Also, a suspicious amount of spider-themed throw pillows,” Angel said snidely.
Velvette pinched her nose bridge—she knew her team wasn’t this competent. Twenty minutes, her ass. “How much of this stuff is just shit Valentino bought you?”
“Um. Some of it,” Angel Dust said, in a tone that clearly conveyed All of it. God.
“Fuck. Okay.” Velvette took a deep breath and tried to conjure an image in her mind’s eye. If Angel Dust’s bedroom wasn’t a vaporwave man cave, what would it be? The current tacky neon setup was truly the most obvious choice and she wanted to smack herself for taking the easy route. LED spider web? What was she thinking? If her and Valentino’s tastes had this much overlap, clearly something had gone horribly wrong. “Toss everything spider-themed. I need an upholstered bed frame, white or off-white. One of our round ottomans… Alyssa has a big circle mirror. Bring that and backlight it.”
She looked up. The set designers hadn’t moved. “Go!” They scattered. Two hurriedly started unhooking the wall curtain. She considered the room again, then snapped her fingers. The black leather wall panels shimmered for a moment before turning a soft white. There. That could work.
When she looked up, Angel Dust was hovering near the edge of the set, poking at a large earthen houseplant in the hallway. Staying out of her sightline—he’s not as dumb as he looks.
She snapped her fingers at him. “Hey. You. Sit down.” Velvette gestured to the vanity. He came back and sat down quickly.
She squinted at him. “Do you have lash extensions?”
“No.” Angel Dust shifted his weight. ”Is that a problem?”
If he was one of her models, yes. Given that this was a one-time thing… “No.” Melissa began setting up the collapsible tripod to the left of the vanity while a trio of set designers hurriedly stripped the bed behind her.
“Since we have a few minutes to spare, we’ll do a dry run,” Velvette explained to Angel Dust. As she spoke, Melissa set the summer eyeshadow palette down on the vanity. “Just do your makeup how you would normally do it, but go for a more natural look. And then use this,” she tapped the box for emphasis, “for your eyeshadow. Make sure to mention that it’s natural, long-lasting, and silicon-based.”
“And easy to apply,” Melissa added.
“I’ll just do the base with my usual stuff, then?” Angel Dust said, holding up his tote.
“What? No.” Velvette shot a look at Melissa, who cowered.
“I didn’t have time,” she whispered.
Velvette rolled her eyes. If you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.
Angel Dust stayed quiet as they rummaged through his bag. He didn’t protest when they threw out his warm-toned blushes, expired lipsticks, and 2019-chic space paste. But when she made to toss his concealer, he spoke up.
“You know, I wear that every day,” he said. “I promise it looks fine on camera.” His hand hovered, outstretched, as if to stop her from throwing it in the bin. He stopped short of actually touching her, though. Smart.
“It’s not going to go with the palette we’re giving you, which is a silicon-based formula. This is wax-based,” Velvette explained.
“Why do you gotta throw it out though? Just because you don’t like it…”
“Wax will make you break out. I’m doing you a favor.” She dropped it in the bin. “You can dig it out later, if you care that much.” Besides, he’d be getting a replacement worth two to three times its value. She was starting to see where Valentino got that ‘ungrateful’ chip on his shoulder from.
Angel Dust tensed momentarily, then relaxed and shrugged. “Whatever. Good luck finding me another shade match though. That’s the only one I’ve found that’s even close.”
Velvette stared at him. “What the fuck are you talking about, shade match? You’re literally just white.”
“Oh, I’m ‘just white’? What was all that crap about undertones then?”
Velvette laughed despite herself. “Alright, asshole.” Melissa passed her a sheer coverage silicon-based concealer, and she passed it to Angel Dust without checking it. She didn’t need to look to know it’d be the right shade.
Angel Dust started to do his makeup. She was pleased to find he was competent enough. He wasn’t an expert by any means—which was fine, and honestly, better for the feel of the ad. Not to mention his cut-crease was near flawless. She watched him freehand liquid eyeliner on top, making a clean, even line.
Velvette hummed. “It’ll do.”
Angel Dust snorted and she fixed him with a glare. Velvette stressed, “It’ll be fine as long as you stick to the nude palette.”
Nude palettes, of course, were fairly broad in hell, spanning all the way from a bright, cool-toned magenta to a soft aquamarine. Nothing shimmery, nothing wax-based—designed to sit on a sinner’s fur without changing its texture or sheen. A natural look. Or, as natural as you could get when you were half-bird, or bug.
Angel Dust mock saluted her. “You got it, boss.” Melissa handed him a wipe and he started taking the makeup off, movements a bit jerky. Velvette set about clearing notifications from her phone. Nothing from Valentino, yet. Though she suspected he’d be missing his toy soon enough. She grinned.
When she finally looked up, she saw that Angel Dust was halfway twisted around in his chair, watching the set designers drag in a new rounded chest of drawers. He caught her eye and tugged on his hair self-consciously.
“I didn’t know that the bedroom Veronica Vixen filmed in wasn’t her real bedroom,” he explained, and scratched his head again. “Though, now that I think of it, it is always suspiciously clean.”
Bemused, Velvette said, “This is her real bedroom.”
“What?”
“This is her real bedroom. Didn’t you see her subbathon last year?”
Angel Dust looked at her funny. “I mean, sure. But it’s a set.”
“So?”
Angel Dust paused, then shrugged. “Nothing.”
They already lived in a goddamn panopticon. Eyeballs coming out of the damn walls. If the Angel Dust was too stupid to realize that, that was his problem. At least her models were getting paid for it.
The lead set designer skidded to a stop in front of her, checking his watch. “Done,” he panted, just as two other demons finished mounting the circular mirror above the headboard. The backlighting flickered on, slightly delayed.
Velvette hummed. The new bedroom was… fine. Minimalist. Pink and white, soft and opulent. But it did give a different impression of Angel Dust. Less straight-up porn star and more like a real person. But still, the room was a bit too simple. Empty.
Angel Dust was squinting at the finished set with a pinched expression.
Annoyed, she snapped, “What? What’s your critique this time?”
Angel Dust froze, and shook his head silently. But there was the smallest tell—for a moment, his eyes flickered to the hallway again, where the large houseplant sat, just off-set. Which—that was stupid. But maybe…
She snapped her fingers. “Bring that plant in. Put it behind the bed. And mess up the bedspread.”
The set designers did as she asked and… It filled the space, sure. Added some natural color. But most importantly, it changed the energy of the room. Sure, it was still minimalist, but now there was evidence of life. Here was Angel Dust, someone with hobbies. He likes earth houseplants and forgets to make his bed. She shrugged. “Good enough.”
As they were about to start filming, Velvette realized she should probably mention, “We’ll be posting this to your personal Sinstagram account, by the way.”
Angel hesitated. “I mean. I usually keep that account separate from work, is all.”
“Big mistake,” Velvette said. Valentino didn’t have Angel Dust do promo on his Sinsta? Unless… “Actually, how many followers do you have?”
“Uh.” Angel Dust checked. “Seventy-two million.”
Velvette rolled her eyes—no, Valentino was just an idiot. “Yeah, we’ll use your account.”
The cameraman finished fiddling with his ring light and gave her a thumbs up.
“Okay! Everyone who doesn’t need to be here can get the fuck out,” Velvette said. Everyone except Melissa, the cameraman, and a spare PA started to leave, by now well-acquainted with Velvette’s considerably more haphazard version of quiet on set. The last one closed the door gently.
Melissa swept all of Angel Dust’s spare products off of his vanity, leaving the remaining ones in a neat row.
Gesturing to the cameraman, Velvette waved her hand and called, “Action!”
Angel Dust twitched at the sudden start, before relaxing and grinning right at the lens.
“Hey there, baby,” he purred. “Thank you all for joining me today. I missed you guys sooooo much.”
He held up the summer palette next to his head, posing.
“I wanted to show you this new eyeshadow palette I got recently as a gift.” He traced a finger down the edge of it while his lower set of hands came up to frame his face. “And to the person who gave it to me—thank you, daddy.” He blew a kiss into the camera.
“Cut,” Velvette said. Angel Dust didn’t start at being interrupted, just gently set the palette down and turned to face her.
She sighed. “Look, can you be a little less—well. Just cut the daddy crap.”
“Okay, uh, sure.” He nodded. “I got ya.”
Velvette nodded to the cameraman to start rolling again.
Angel Dust angled himself back towards the camera. “Today, I want to review an eyeshadow palette I recently got as a gift.” He winked. “Thanks, mommy.”
“Cut!”
This time when Angel Dust set the eyeshadow palette down, it clattered a bit. His face was serene as he asked, “Yes?”
“Are you trying to piss me off?” Velvette said, slowly.
“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’
“Then do it right ,” she said. The cameraman started rolling again.
“Right, right. I’ll just do it right.” Angel Dust held the palette next to his face for a long moment, silent, before putting it down again. “When you say ‘right’...”
Velvette slammed her hand down on the vanity, causing the lined-up tubes of lipstick to topple and scatter across the surface. Angel Dust twitched, but didn’t jump, and made steady eye contact with her.
“I mean not like Jessica Rabbit on steroids,” she hissed.
“But Velvette, he’s just drawn that way,” Melissa giggled. Velvette shot her a look and she hid her face behind a clipboard.
“I don’t know what that means,” Angel Dust said.
“Less sexy. Do it less sexy,” Velvette said. “Action.”
“Um.” Angel Dust held up the product, more stiff than before. “My name is Angel Dust,” he said, voice flat. “This is a silicon concealer and it, eh.” He paused. “Line?”
“How is it possible you’re this bad at this?” Velvette said, feeling extremely frustrated. “This is literally what you do for a living.”
Angel gestured to the table of scattered cosmetics. “Babydoll, this is not what I do for a living.”
“You’re an actor,” she said, flatly. “So. Act.”
Angel Dust opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and looked down at the vanity.
Melissa cleared her throat. “Velvette, maybe he can just do a silent GRWM for now, and we can dub it later.”
Jesus. Velvette couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Would that be easier for you?” she said to Angel Dust, a bit sarcastic.
“I dunno,” Angel Dust said.
Velvette sighed. “We’ll try it.”
Surprisingly, Melissa’s idea was effective. It still took a few tries, but while working in silence, Angel managed to get through both the eyeshadow and the eyeliner—even managing to go through all of the required motions, like holding up the products label-forward, with only minimal awkwardness. However, when they moved on to the rest of the face, trouble started again.
Angel Dust applied their new lip-stain—but then he kept applying it, way past when pigment would have stopped building up. What the hell was he doing? Velvette almost stopped him, but—this was the furthest they’d gotten into the ad so far. She watched silently as he traced the wand across the lip again and again. Back and forth.
Then he leaned forward, tilting his head up slightly, and pressed the flocked wand down, against his bottom lip, pursing and opening his mouth slightly as if it was—well, as if—
Velvette looked down. Melissa’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. “Cut!”
Angel Dust seemed genuinely surprised to be interrupted from his unbearably phallic display.
“Hey. Quick question. What the fuck are you doing,” Velvette hissed at him, who at first leaned away from her, before leaning forward again and responding:
“I’m acting, doll-face, you got a problem with that?”
“Well, can you act a little less fucking horny?” Velvette rubbed her face hard. This shoot had been going on for… too long. Way too long. “Just be normal.”
Angel didn’t throw the lipstain at her, but he did look like he was strongly considering it. Instead, he put the cap back on the lipstain and firmly placed it down on the vanity.
“If you didn’t want a porn star, why the hell did you hire me?” he groused.
And what could Velvette say to that? Oh no, I just did it to piss off Valentino. I fucked up the entire shoot schedule and wasted my entire day just to get extremely petty revenge on my coworker.
Velvette wasn’t supposed to be like—like Vox . She wouldn’t be caught wasting her time and resources to get back at every idiot who slighted her. Well, she’d still do it. She just wouldn’t be caught.
So, this ad had to work. It wasn’t enough to steal Valentino’s favorite toy for the day. She also needed to win. It couldn’t all be for nothing. Velvette pinched the bridge of her nose and fought the headache that was slowly building behind her eyes.
In the brief moment of silence, Melissa moved forward. She tugged Angel Dust’s face back and forth, looking at his makeup with a critical eye.
If you have an idea, just spit it out, Velvette thought. Then took a deep breath. Gentle, Melissa needed gentle, she had to remember… “What’s your idea?”
Melissa leaned closer to Angel. “We could change the eyes.”
Velvette tilted her head. She had thought the neutral siren eye was working well enough. “How so?”
“We could make them match,” Melissa said, somewhat wistful, and tapped one long painted claw on the soft spot below Angel Dust’s left eye. The one with the black sclera. Velvette pinched Melissa’s hand, drew it back, then snapped off the offending nail.
Melissa cried out and pulled her hand into her chest, blood seeping between her fingers.
“Don’t ruin your dress,” Velvette scolded. Trembling slightly, Melissa held her bleeding hand away from her body. It dripped onto the ground instead of her light blue frock. “Body modification is over. It’s all-natural right now. Get it through your fucking head.”
Melissa nodded, on the verge of tears.
Velvette pinched her nose bridge again—there was the headache, out in full force. “Go. You’re making a mess.” Melissa scurried away.
Angel Dust had closed his eyes when Melissa touched him, but hadn’t drawn back. Or touched his face and ruined the makeup. Even now, he just leaned towards the mirror and began fixing his concealer on the left side, where Melissa’s thumb had thinned it slightly. Unwittingly, she felt a surge of affection. Valentino sure knew how to pick ‘em.
Her phone rang, loud and shrill. Her heart sank when she read the caller ID. Speak of the devil. She picked up.
“Hey, babe,” Valentino drawled.
“Not your babe.” Velvette had pictured having this conversation—about swiping Angel Dust from beneath Val’s nose—once she had pried an incredible ad out of Angel. Not when she was three hours into a shoot with only a bleeding assistant and a reel of unusable footage to show for it. She tugged on one nylon pigtail and scowled.
“What do you want, Val?” In the corner of her eye, she saw Angel perk up.
“A little birdie told me you took something that belongs to me.”
“So?”
“Well, normally I’d be fine with you taking one of my whores for a spin, but you know, we’re filming today. So I really do need him, chiquita.”
Velvette laughed in legitimate disbelief. “Imagine. Imagine how that would feel if I took your actor–” uh oh, her voice was getting louder, “on the day of your biggest shoot of the year! Imagine that.”
“No need to get all bitchy about it.”
“Bitch! You’re the bitch!” Not her best comeback. She took a deep breath.
Valentino clicked his tongue. “Fine. I’ll move the shoot. You can have him for the day—I’ll need him by 8, though.” That was… disappointingly well-adjusted for Val.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get him back to you whenever.” She decided to poke the dragon a bit. “You know, he’s actually doing pretty well.”
Valentino’s voice drifted, already sounding disinterested with the conversation. “Yes? You know I train them…”
“No, I’m having him do an ad.”
Valentino laughs. “Really? And it’s going well?”
“Yeah. He’s practically a natural… I might want him to go part time.”
Valentino snarled wordlessly. Velvette grinned. There it was.
“You borrow my things, I take yours,” Velvette reminded him. “Next time, think before you touch my stuff.”
“He’s mine,” Valentino snapped, somewhat redundantly.
“And if you behave, you’ll get him back in one piece.” She hung up and turned back to the set.
Angel Dust, having only heard half of the conversation, looked at her with wide eyes, somehow paler than before.
“Hey. Quick question. Am I playing hookey from my actual fucking job right now?” He started to stand up from the vanity.
Velvette grabbed his shoulder, hard, and pushed him back down. He sat down on the ottoman with a soft oof . He shifted slightly but her grip stayed fast. Benefits of steel joints. He didn’t try to stand again, but kept jabbering at her.
“It’s just, I haven’t missed work in ages. Without calling in. Or with calling in. And it’s just—well, Val, last time–” Angel Dust cut himself off. Tried to stand up again. She pushed him down again. His shoulders were tense under her grip.
“Hey. I’m going to give you some free advice. Worry less about what Valentino’s going to do to you later, and more about what I’m going to do to you right now if you don’t start giving me a good performance.”
Angel Dust’s shoulders tensed beneath her hand for a moment, before he abruptly relaxed and settled back into the seat. The transformation was almost comical in how fast it was.
“Fine. It’s fine. Let’s go again,” he said. When Velvette didn’t say anything, he spoke louder. “Can you hear me? Hello? Let’s do it again.”
“You have to take off your makeup first,” Velvette said.
Angel Dust did, scrubbing hard at his face. He threw the used wipe on the vanity. “Okay. Let’s go.” He was staring down the camera like it was the barrel of a gun.
Velvette indicated to the camera man, who started rolling once more.
This time, it was a shitshow from the start. Angel was twitchy, rushing through the steps of applying the eyeshadow. It was sloppy—no more careful cut-creases. Velvette told herself it was fine.
When he went to apply his eyeliner, he had to steady his right hand with his lower one while he applied it. Even so, the line came out slightly crooked.
He breathed deeply, wiped the eyeliner off, and redid it. This time came out worse. Before he could reach for the wipe again, Velvette stepped in.
“Hey–“ she said, and moved to take the eyeliner pen, but before she could get any further, Angel Dust stood up, pushing the stool out from the table as he did so.
“I can do it,” Angel Dust said quickly, shuffling backwards. His breath was coming faster. “Let me try again.”
Angel Dust was gripping the eyeliner pen so tightly Velvette was half convinced it would snap in half. She took a few seconds to gather her thoughts.
Finally, she said: “Well, are you going to do it right this time?”
—which turned out to be the wrong thing to say. Angel Dust opened his mouth to respond, then abruptly burst out crying.
Velvette exchanged looks with the cameraman, then stepped back a few feet to text Melissa to come back.
Velvette checked her notifications while she waited for Melissa to arrive and tried to ignore Angel’s fast breathing. Thankfully, Melissa was back within the minute, carrying clean handkerchiefs and bottled water. Jesus. Velvette was never sending her away mid-shoot again.
After a few minutes of fussing from Melissa, Velvette looked up from her phone to see that Angel was looking—well, only marginally more put together.
“I can do it,” he said. And—god, his eyes were still watering.
Velvette sighed. “Stop crying. The eyeshadow’s water soluble.”
Angel Dust picked up a handkerchief and started dabbing frantically at his face again, succeeding in removing more pigment than moisture.
“Why the fuck isn’t it waterproof?” Angel Dust wheezed. “What’s even the point of this shit?”
If it was Veronica or Melissa sitting in that chair, Velvette might have said something sweet like: Don’t worry, we can redo it. Or maybe: Because I like to see you cry.
Angel Dust blew his nose into a makeup wipe. Velvette wrinkled her nose.
“Some people like that,” she said. “It gives a more natural look.”
“And you want me to advertise it,” Angel shook his head and blew his nose again, loud. “I can promise you that none of the people who want to fuck me are interested in a natural look.”
Velvette opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“I’m being serious,” Angel said. “Whatever realness you’re hoping for? Isn’t there. Everyone knows I’m fake.”
He… had a point. For fuck’s sake. This is what happened when she lashed out like Vox—she ended up looking like an idiot. (Also like Vox.)
The ad wasn’t working, but she was in too deep to back out now. The idea of having to explain this mess to Valentino—No. Just, no.
“Well, that’s your problem. You’re still not leaving until we shoot this ad,” Velvette said.
“An ad,” Melissa said, smiling.
“What?”
“An ad,” she repeated. “It doesn’t have to be this ad, right? We just need something to show for all this.”
“Huh,” Velvette said. It wasn’t a half-bad idea. She mentally scanned through their upcoming product line.
“Next season’s shapewear—do we have the samples?” Velvette wheeled on Melissa, who nodded sharply.
Melissa said, “They came in yesterday.”
Velvette nodded sharply. “Okay. I need the samples, last seasons corset, this seasons dresses–“ she closed her eyes, “A, C, and F–“
“—and the Mary Janes,” Melissa added, writing it down.
“Did I ask?” Velvette said hotly. “Fuck, no. The stripper heels—lace up.”
“I’ll bring both,” Melissa said, and scampered off.
“You will not,” Velvette called before turning back to Angel.
“Do your makeup as over the top and slutty as you want,” she instructed him. To the cameraman, “No, we’re not filming anymore. I want still photos.”
The cameraman nodded and started switching out his lens.
Velvette looked at the bed, which was—wrong, now, all wrong. She debated the merits of grabbing a PA to do it for her before deciding it would take too long. She started stripping the bed of its cotton sheets—silk, they needed the silk ones again. And the stupid spider pillows. When she turned back to grab them, she saw that Angel Dust wasn’t moving, just sitting there and watching her with a stupid look on his face.
“What?” she snapped. “Get moving!”
That snapped him out of it and he turned back to the vanity, hurriedly applying a thick layer of concealer.
Velvette, for her part, focused on the bed, their soon-to-be background. The black silk sheets were tempting, but she went for red silk instead—the ultimate sleaze. Onto the bed also went heart shaped pillows, the spiderweb crochet throws—everything cutesy and infantile and obviously, intentionally sexy. Finally, she rumpled the bedspread artistically, tossing it half askew. She stepped back and—yes. A perfect, over-the-top canvas for a perfect, over-the-top model.
At that moment, Melissa came storming in, clutching bundles of fabric and two pairs of 7in heels in her arms.
“I said no to the Mary Jane’s,” Velvette warned, snatching the slinky shapewear from the top of Melissa’s pile.
Melissa shrugged as she started hanging up dresses. Velvette shot her a glare, but she refused to act nervous, presumably still riding the high of Velvette having to call her in for back-up. Velvette made a mental note to punish her later for the attitude.
“Why does it have a zipper?” Angel Dust said, looking at the shapewear. He stepped into it and shimmied it over his hips.
“For extra cinching action,” Velvette said. “Or something. It’s next season’s. We’re still workshopping. No, zipper goes in the back.”
Angel Dust switched the garment’s direction. “Like a corset.”
Velvette stepped closer to zip him up. “Bingo.” She came up behind him and braced her hand on the zipper, then paused. The sample size was small on him—two sizes at least. But it was shapewear, so it wouldn’t be impossible. Still…
“Breathe out before I zip you up,” she said.
“Pretty sure that’s the opposite of what you’re supposed to do,” Angel said, but did as she asked.
“Don’t breathe, okay?” She instructed him. “You’re not cheating this.”
He nodded.
Velvette zipped him up as smoothly as she could manage, but the zipper still got stuck around the widest part of his ribcage, teeth splayed wide, elastic straining. It took some coaxing, but she managed to get it over the hump, and then it was done.
Velvette rested her hands on Angel’s waist. He must have lost at least an inch at the narrowest part of him. She could have tossed him around, she marveled. These moments were what it was all about. This was what she had dreamed about when she was alive—lacing up those stick thin models slowly, drawing the corset ever tighter, until they were squirming, tense, all the while, begging them to give her just another half-inch.
She traced a hand against the seam and Angel shivered beneath her hands. Velvette gripped his waist tighter, and leaned forward to see that Angel’s face was screwed up, his eyes closed.
Velvette realized abruptly that Angel Dust still wasn’t breathing.
“All done. You can breathe now.”
Angel opened his mouth instantly and took a huge breath—or tried to, but couldn’t. The extreme tightness of the shapewear meant that the most he could manage were these little gasping breaths—impossibly shallow, and, Velvette imagined, impossibly unsatisfying. His hand flew down to his stomach to touch there, as if that he could relieve the pressure that way—totally nonsensical. Pure instinct.
Velvette gripped his hips even tighter, just for a moment, then let go. She circled around to see his expression.
Angel’s mouth was open, and he was taking short, shallow, quick breaths—his eyes wide and just a bit wild.
“How does it feel?” she probed.
Angel shook his head.
“Use your words,” Velvette said.
“It’s good,” Angel said, quietly.
“Good,” Velvette said. “I’m glad.” She leaned back—she hadn’t even realized she had been leaning in—only to see Melissa watching them like a hawk.
Velvette cleared her throat. “Okay. Which dress?” she said to Melissa, who was still frowning.
Instead, Angel Dust replied. “That one,” he said, pointing to the middle pick. It was a sharp, modern dress—a new take on the hi-lo, with blunt hems, asymmetric slits, and a row of delicate ruching down the front. Horribly unflattering, except on the most perfect bodies, where it became utterly transcendent.
Still… “I was thinking the midi,” Velvette said, pointing to dress C, which was a horrible strappy thing.
“It’s not short enough,” Angel said in a voice that was still a touch breathy but growing stronger by the word. “You need the hem of the shapewear to show.”
Velvette looked at Angel Dust. He was right. “Dress A it is.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Melissa cover her mouth.
“Yeah?” Angel didn’t sound out of breath anymore. His breath control was, she realized, that of a professional.
“Yeah,” she said. “Get to it.”
Melissa sprang into action, giving Velvette a moment to retreat into her phone again and get her wits about her. She read some notifications from Vox, deleted some from Val, and went on Vitter. She caught up on some minor celebrity cancellation, dropped a pithy tweet about it, which made her feel marginally better. She looked back up from her phone—only to find that they still weren’t done.
Melissa was smoothing her hands down Angel Dust’s torso repeatedly, looking increasingly frantic. She started tugging on the hem of the dress. Velvette snapped, “Melissa, stop fussing. He’s ready.”
“It’s not lying flat,” Melissa said, drawing back and wringing her hands.
Velvette took a closer look at the dress, and… “Weird. It’s giving you a gut.”
“If you think I have a gut right now, I don’t want to see what your ‘skinny’ looks like,” Angel Dust said, with too much smugness for her liking.
She frowned. What was it with models and needing constant reassurance? It’s not you, it’s the clothes. She didn’t remember being this needy in life. She had kept her angst to herself, like any self-respecting fatty.
She didn’t voice any of this. Instead, she said, quite honestly, “If you were one of my models, you’d be on a diet.”
“Huh. Really?”
“Yup.” She smoothed her hand down his abdomen. The fabric was too loose over his stomach and too tight just below it, creating the illusion of a small ‘gut.’ The shapewear was still doing its job, no doubt—the bunching was due to Angel’s weird fucked up anatomy, not any flaw in her design, thank you very much. This is why she preferred to work with more standard-looking demons. But if natural was the name of the game, it might be worth branching out… She shelved the thought for another time. She could fix the bunching by raising the slit on either side, but she was loath to alter one of her designs. Besides, that would ruin the ruching. She’d rather just pin it in place.
She moved to grab a pin from her pincushion of a wrist, then paused. Slowly, Velvette pulled a satin pin from her wrist, held it up so he could see, then tapped right below his belly button.
“I’m going to pin it so it won’t pop up. We don’t want any creases or bumps, so I’m just going straight in.” She almost finished with Is that okay, but changed tack at the last second. “You’re not going to be a pussy about this, are you?”
She looked up and Angel was grinning. “What, do you want me to flatter you?” He put on a squeaky falsetto. “It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen, I swear mister.” He batted his eyelashes. “I don’t know if I can take it.”
Velvette laughed out loud and said, “Shut the fuck up,” before pushing the pin directly into his abdomen. She twisted it at the last second so it wouldn’t hit anything vital—probably—but it was still subcutaneous, and no doubt extremely painful. Yet, he didn’t move—the only betrayal of the pain he must have felt were his stomach muscles, which flexed minutely beneath her palm.
The flat head of the pin pulled the fabric in neatly, sitting nearly invisible below one of the ruches. Making the side silhouette flat, nearly concave. As intended. There was nothing more satisfying than seeing a design executed near flawlessly.
“It’s good you didn’t squirm, or I might’ve had to do it again,” she said, patting his stomach again and feeling the involuntary twitch of the muscles there. Angel didn’t say anything.
Velvette looked up. Angel’s eyes, though still a little red, were perfectly dry and staring straight at her.
Velvette froze for just a moment before clearing her throat and stepping back.
The rest of the shoot passed in near silence, besides from the clicking of the photographer’s camera and his low whispered instructions for Angel to change his pose. Angel reclined on the bed, his expression seeming relaxed and his movements fluid, even if he was a hair slower to respond than usual. Once or twice, she saw him graze his hand against his abdomen between poses—as if delighting in the slight concave curl of his stomach. And boy, didn’t she remember that feeling. The artistic satisfaction of perfect proportions was hard to beat.
Angel paused between two poses and breathed harder. He shuddered, just barely. Velvette felt—strange. Both very distant and altogether too close to the situation.
When the time came to wrap up the shoot, she barely glanced at the previews the photographer showed her through his viewfinder. “Looks fine,” Velvette murmured.
She flexed her fingers in anticipation, and motioned for Angel to sit in the chair at the vanity. As soon as he did, she knelt down, very close to him.
She heard someone behind her snort softly—a PA? She would fire them later, maybe. Not now.
Angel Dust leaned back and didn’t make eye contact with her. He was staring at the ceiling. In the moment she touched his abdomen, he twitched, but didn’t move away, exhaling slowly.
He was tense beneath her fingers. Then, his muscles twitched, and purposefully untensed. She pulled the pin out with no resistance. While the metal was glazed in a red sheen, the hole itself didn’t seem to bleed—though it was hard to tell through both the fabric of the dress and the shapewear.
The photographer transferred the photos to Angel Dust, and gave him back his phone. Angel swiped through, picking one to post. His hands didn’t shake as he held the phone. He tilted the screen towards her to check before he posted. The caption was something inane about going out on the town—good enough. The photo, though. He had chosen a good one, where the hem of the dress pulled upwards only slightly to show the barest edge of the shapewear shorts. It looked entirely natural and accidental as Angel simpered towards the camera. And even on the small sliver of the shapewear that was visible, she could still see, if she focused, the V-stitched hem that was signature to Velvette’s products.
She nodded. “Looks good. Schedule it to post later tonight.”
Velvette watched as Angel did as she asked. His fingers flew across the screen, steady, steady.
She stood and held out her hand to help him out of the chair. He took it.
Velvette barely remembered taking Angel back to the changing rooms. She had things to do, surely, she should go… get ready for the next shoot. Instead, she waited.
As Angel exited the changing booth, he gestured with the folded dress and shapewear. “Where should I put these?”
“You can keep it,” Velvette said—which she usually only allowed when she was courting a new model. She tried not to think too hard about it.
Angel Dust nodded, and bundled up the clothing and placed it in his sad tote bag. Velvette passed him the first outfit, for good measure. He added it to the bag as well. She led him through the studio in silence.
When they reached the elevator, Angel Dust cleared his throat roughly and pulled out a pair of tacky cat-eye sunglasses. He didn’t put them on, though, fiddling with the hinge—stalling, she realized.
“Hey, just a suggestion. If the theme of the year is natural, you might wanna…” He gestured vaguely around his head. “Go all-natural with that, too. Maybe old-school. Afro?”
That was enough to snap Velvette out of her reverie. “Jesus, dude. How old are you?” Sometimes older sinners could be more than a little tone deaf. She still wasn’t quite used to it. Not that hell was exactly lacking its fair share of racists to begin with.
Angel batted his eyelashes. “A lady never tells.”
“Whatever,” Velvette said. Angel probably didn’t mean anything by it. She brushed her hand against one of her nylon pigtails, and then–
“It grows this way,” she said without quite knowing why. “I mean. Not when I was alive. It’s a hell thing, I guess.” Velvette had left textured hair behind when she died.
“It may be natural, but it doesn’t look natural. And I think we both know that how something looks matters more.”
It wasn’t like she had never considered it before, but, well. Old habits die hard.
“I’ll take it under advisement,” Velvette said.
Angel Dust shrugged. “Hey. Sometimes you gotta be a little fake to seem real.” He winked at her before putting on the sunglasses. “Thanks for the day off, toots. Let’s never do this again.”
Velvette could see a small spot of blood forming on the front of his blazer. She grinned. “Sure. See you, Angel.”
The elevator doors closed. Velvette gave herself a few minutes before she called Vox. He answered, seeming harried.
“What?” Vox snapped. “I’m on in five.” Behind him, a stylist was tugging on his shoulder pads. Patting them down? Fluffing them up? How anyone could get this pissy in the lead up to filming when they didn’t have hair to style or a face to make-up, Velvette had no idea. Truly, Vox invented new levels of faggotry every day.
“Book him again. Same time next week.”
“Who?” Vox’s gaze drifted down to his tablet.
“Angel Dust.”
His head snapped back up. “Angel? Really?”
“Fuck off,” she said. Vox started laughing.
“You and Val both! God, I can’t believe it.” He laughed again, the reverb on his voice strengthening. “That’s so stupid.”
Velvette’s eyebrow twitched. “You’re one to talk. You and your radio cunt.” Vox’s face fell and his screen stuttered somewhat, and Velvette belatedly remembered the risk of mentioning Alastor too close to prime-time. Namely, if Vox got it in his head to give a repeat performance of his last on-air tantrum.
Luckily, the stylist chose that moment to spray him directly in the face with Windex, which left him coughing and distracted him sufficiently for her to redirect the conversation.
She cut in, quickly: “I need Angel next Tuesday. 9am onwards. Book it for me.”
Vox swore, still pissy. “Fuck off. I’m not your damn assistant.” But he began tapping away at his phone immediately. “It’s done. Get someone else to manage your fucking calendar.”
Velvette got a notification for the Vcal event and rsvped to it without looking. “Aw, but you’re my favorite UI,” she purred.
Vox rolled his eyes. “Anything else?” His stylist shuffled back into frame and started stuffing a red pocket square into his lapel.
“That’s all. Break a leg, darling. I’ll be watching.” She blew a kiss and hung up. As promised, she tuned into the live feed of Vox’s evening talk show, letting it play out on her office TV. It was, thankfully, fairly uneventful. In the meantime, she couldn’t help but scroll through Angel Dust’s Sinsta.
Pet pic. Pet pic. Thirst trap. Pet pic. A fit check… It had good lighting, an okay outfit. Nice enough makeup. Velvette hesitated over the like button.
It had been a while since she had discovered a model with real, raw potential. Most had to be cultivated, delicately. She could see in Angel a robustness—an edge of hunger that separated the best from the crowd. An investment in beauty and an obsession with beautiful things. And most importantly, the desperate, almost self-destructive urge to replicate that beauty at all costs. He had the instinct—he just needed training. A guiding hand.
Velvette liked the photo and grinned.