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Ali is the author of The Six Elemental and The Fifth Queen, as well as numerous short stories in Engen Book’s From the Rock series, and The Battle of San Remo (Gathering Storm Magazine). She is an avid traveler, foodie, and fan of the Oxford comma. her blog can be found here:  engenbooks.com/tag/house-blog/

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Turn to Stone

By Ali House

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I am fifteen years old.

It’s my third fashion show in as many years, and every time I walk the runway, I feel strong and powerful. I’ve watched a ton of videos, so I know how to stand tall and straight, and how to give the right amount of flare at the end of the catwalk.

My final outfit of the night is my favorite. The dress is green with a fitted top and flared skirt. It has delicate white flowers cascading from my left shoulder, across my body, and down to the floor. I don’t know what the flowers are, but they’re beautiful.

After the show is over, I’m disappointed to get into my own clothes. I already miss the gorgeous and elaborate outfits – not that I’d have any place to wear them. As I wait for my mother to pick me up after her shift, I’m approached by a tall, beautiful woman. She introduces herself as the head of a modeling agency and I suddenly find it hard to concentrate. I’d always had a dream that I would be discovered at one of these shows, but I knew there was a slim chance of it happening. The people who came to these shows were looking at the designers, not the models.

Luckily my mother arrives and she takes over talking with the woman. I’m still too in shock to fully understand what is happening. After a few minutes my mother says that she needs time to think about it and takes the woman’s card.

On the drive home we talk about the offer the woman has made. My mother knows that this is a great opportunity, and one that doesn’t come by every day. She can’t afford to send me to college, and there’s no guarantee that the diner I work at will upgrade me from dishwasher to waitress any time soon. My mother wants me to have a good future.

*

I am sixteen years old.

Maria Anastos, head of Anastos Modeling Agency, has taken me under her wing. I’ve moved to Los Angeles in order to work for her. My mother wanted to come with me, but she couldn’t risk leaving her job, so she had to stay behind in Oregon. Maria assured her that she’d take good care of me.

She found me a place to stay with another one of her clients, who’s really nice and great at helping me adjust to ‘city life’.

Work is slow at first, while Maria helps me build a portfolio and learn more about the business. So far, I’ve done a few small modeling jobs and low-profile shows, but Maria is pleased with my work and wants to start sending me out on bigger jobs. I don’t earn as much as I’d hoped, since Maria takes a large cut for having ‘discovered’ me, but it’s more than I’d have earned washing dishes. I send as much money as I can spare to my mother, to help her out.

*

I am seventeen years old.

Maria takes me to a industry party so that people will know my face. I’m not supermodel-famous, but I’m working fashion shows and modeling for high-end clothing stores.

This is the night when I meet Troy Hypos for the first time. He’s a famous photographer, and one that Maria wants me to work with. She says that his photos will make my portfolio stand out.

When I’m introduced to him, he seems nice and friendly, and shakes my hand. He says he’s looking forward to working with me.

*

It’s my first photo shoot with Troy.

Maria was quick to book him after the party, saying that time was of the essence. I’m very nervous, so Maria accompanies me to the shoot, to chat with Troy and make sure that he gets the kind of photos she wants.

The shots are all very artistic, and sometimes I find it hard to hold the poses for as long as Troy wants, but he’s patient and doesn’t get mad if I falter. I’ve had other photographers get upset for less, so his relaxed attitude is comforting.

At the end of the shoot, he shakes my hand again and says that it was nice working with me.

*

It’s my fourth photo shoot with Troy.

Normally Maria contacts him, but this time he contacted her. He said that he wants to do a specific shoot with me, for an upcoming gallery exhibit. Maria was over the moon with his request and agreed before even asking me. She told me that when a photographer specifically asks for a model, it’s a very good sign.

This time Maria is too busy to accompany me, so I go to the studio on my own. Troy is very nice, as always, and I’m excited about the photos he’s taking. I get to wear outfits that are silver and gold, and very dramatic. He has ladders for me to climb and a wind machine to help the material move. This is way more interesting than any other shoot I’ve been on.

Afterwards, he offers to show me the photos he’s taken, and I say yes. He tells his assistant to go out and get us some food, and once his assistant is gone, I suddenly realize that it’s only the two of us in the room.

It’s never been just him and me. There has always been someone else, but suddenly it’s only us. It doesn’t feel weird at first. He’s at least twenty years older than me, but he’s always been nice.

But then we sit on the blue couch near the back wall, and he moves closer in order to hand me his camera. He shows me how to scroll through the pictures, and tells me to hold it with both hands so that I don’t drop it because it’s very expensive. He stays close as I start to look at the pictures, his mouth next to my ear as he gives me compliment after compliment. I’m uncomfortable with his closeness, but don’t know what to say or do. I try to move through the pictures quickly, hoping that once I’m done I can go home, but he tells me to slow down and look at each one carefully. He says there’s no rush – his assistant won’t be back for a while.

He places his hand on my thigh and I am frozen with fear.

*

I feel ashamed and terrified and betrayed.

*

A few days later I decide to tell Maria what Troy did. She’s been like a mother to me, and surely a mother would know what to do.

She tells me that I need to keep this quiet. I don’t understand why, and she tells me that Troy is a very important person in this business and he holds a lot of power. If I decide to say something against him, then her modeling business would be blacklisted and she would lose everything. I tell her that what he did was wrong, and she says ‘that’s life’. If I stay quiet, she’ll promises that I’ll never go to his studio alone again.

I have a suspicion that this isn’t the first time she’s heard this. Her answers are too well-thought-out. There’s no surprise on her face, only a hint of disappointment, but not towards me. I wonder how many other girls Troy has done this to.

When I say that I want to press charges, she tells me that I won’t be doing it as her client, and asks me to reconsider.

After leaving her office, I go to the police station and file a report.

*

I am contacted by a lawyer, who offers me more money than I’ve ever seen to settle out of court. I’ve already been dropped by Maria’s agency, so I have no income.

I decline.

*

A private trial has been scheduled. I can’t afford a lawyer, so I’m assigned one. His suit is not as well-pressed or as new as the suits worn by Troy’s many lawyers, but he seems committed to my cause. My mother has taken time off work to be with me. It comforts me to have her here. I’ve missed her so much.

I’d hoped that other girls would come forward once they heard of the trial, but no one does. It’s my word against his.

At first I wanted the trial to be public, wanted the world to hear what he’d done, but as soon as I’m put on the stand and forced to relive that night, I’m glad for the privacy. It only gets harder when one of Troy’s lawyers proceeds to tear down everything I’ve said and twist all my words. He paints a situation where I’m a conniving child looking to ruin a man’s good name, and no matter how I try to protest I can see that the jury is on Troy’s side.

I know the statistics. I know that not all trials result in a conviction, and that even if one does, it won’t be enough. I know that Troy’s defense lawyers are very good at what they do.

Before the verdict is announced, I know that I will lose.

*

I am eighteen years old.

I’ve been at my mother’s for the past seven months. I’m too depressed to leave the house.

Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake, if I should have kept quiet and continued with my career. Reporting him did nothing. He’s still out there, still famous.

I hate myself for these thoughts. I want to stand tall by my decision, but it’s difficult. I lost everything. He lost nothing.

*

I am nineteen years old.

Once I manage to pull myself out of my depression, I realize that I’m not completely powerless. There’s still something I can do to fight against people like Troy.

I decide to get my GED. I study hard and pass on my first try.

I start working on university applications.

*

I am twenty-four years old.

I have just graduated from university, with a degree in Philosophy.

I am not finished.

*

I am thirty-six years old.

I work for a small legal firm, specializing in women’s rights. I’m building up a reputation as someone that should not be crossed in the courtroom.

Today I’m in court, defending a group of young women who had been abused by their track coach. Their stories have made my heart break, and strengthened my resolve to find them the justice I was denied.

It’s the coach’s turn on the stand. While his team questions him, he stays casual, giving the impression that this is simply a hilarious misunderstanding, trying to get the jury to sympathize with him. For the most part, it works, and I can see his confidence building.

When it’s my turn to cross-examine him, I stand up and step onto the court room floor. He looks over at me, and when he sees the look on my face, the smile falls from his. He can tell that I am not someone to trifle with. He knows that I’m out for justice, and that I’m not stepping into this fight unarmed.

He looks at me, and my confident expression turns him to stone.

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The End

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© 2019 Alison House. The content of this article, except for quoted or linked source materials, is protected by copyright. Please contact the author for usage.

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