Every member of the entourage that followed me into the building was rather useless. Each of them had talents, I suppose, but if you want things done right you have to do them yourself. I didn’t get where I was by lazing about.
The Metronome was not the best venue for today’s show, but I knew it was a stepping stone to greater things. Octavia at least kept the place clean. She wasn’t responsible for the rest of the neighborhood, however. Manehattan needed help with its crime problem. Sure the citizens put a glitzy face on it, but everypony knew what lay beneath.
I wore my best showtime face and focused on the event that day. There were stylists and dressers to get all the models ready. I found myself doing a significant portion of the work, however. Ponies’ talents only went so far.
There was an empty place in the model roster that hadn’t been filled. To maintain standards, I didn’t normally invite unknown ponies into the show, but something about Octavia’s friend Millie drew my eye. Her coloring was bold enough to be eye catching but not bright enough to outshine an outfit I had in mind. There was also something about her manner that seemed young and virgin, but with a harder edge beneath it. It was an attitude I could use; maybe for a teenage rebel theme. She certainly had the youthful face for it.
Millie turned down my offer without even a thought. I could have pressed her, but perhaps there was a reason for her attitude. Nopony knew better than I how things could be so different beneath the surface. My job, my talent, was creating a façade of beauty. Of course, it helped if things actually were beautiful on a deeper level. That thought reminded me of the city again.
Comb, one of the stylists, came to me to complain about something. I had sent him to prepare the stage, but apparently somepony had done it for him. I was only half paying attention as I put the finishing touches on the model in front of me.
“Are you even listening, Ms. de Lis?” Comb demanded.
“I thought you were finished making the stage ready. What are you doing now? Are you doing something productive for me?” Comb faltered for a moment at my rhetorical question. I was doing his job, fixing a mare’s mane before the show. Without looking at him, I said, “You’re fired.”
Maybe that was cold of me, or maybe that was just eliminating somepony who held me back.
Things progressed well enough without Comb, and the show started on time. I used a conversation with Fancypants as a guise to keep watch for any spies Photo Finish might have sent to steal models from me. I had a plan for greatness, to eventually make Photo look like B-list celebrity by comparison. I had plans for many things, in fact. You don’t make progress without strategy and hard work.