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I was at home, not doing much, when my agent called me.

  “Hey Clarisse, how's it going? Listen, I've got a job for you as a last-minute assignment, they have a fashion show at Menken's on 7th street at 6 P.M. Pays well, they already have your measurements. You up?”

As always with him, I only managed to say a word when he deliberately allowed me to.

“What, today?

  – Yeah, yeah, they didn't cast enough models apparently, they're in a rush. They have two pieces for you to wear. You'll be there?

  – I, I guess, yeah, sign me up!

  – Great! I'll tell'em. Be there in an hour! I gotta go, have fun! Bye!

  – Bye Henri, take care!”

As always, he had hung up at “Bye!”. I dropped my phone beside me on the sofa, and returned to the book I was reading. It occurred to me, I had forgotten to ask him who the designer was! No hope in calling him back, I'd have no answer. I couldn't bring myself to look online, I'd have to see when I would get there. Strange to be cast for a show on the same day, I had never seen it happen. I quickly finished the current chapter of my book, then went to touch up my make-up slightly. No need to over-do it, it was only for the trip, a professional would do my make-up for the show. Models were always treated with care at Menken's. I took off.

I arrived at Menken's a half-hour later. Four and a half hours before the show, plenty enough to get ready. I spotted the small concealed entrance for models, with a pad-wielding woman trying to pass as a regular employee. I went directly to her, she saw me from a distance, and looked for my photo in her list. Smiling, she looked up at me.

  “Hello Clarisse, you're right on time! If you don't have to go to the toilet before the show, just go ahead, someone will take care of you.”

I thanked her and passed the curtains, to find myself in a narrow corridor with a door at the end. I heard the woman announcing my name, probably through a walkie-talkie. A sign said “KNOCK” on the door, so I knocked. A soft, deep voice answered gently.

“Come in.”

I entered a small room, with curtains on three sides. On the other side, I could hear the familiar hubbub of a crowd getting ready to do a fashion show. In the room with me was a tall man with dark sunglasses, and long dark hair. I said hi.

“Come here, and stay still.

– What's the program today?

– Just take off your coat for me, dear.”

Two women came in the room through curtains on the side, and took my coat and my purse, before exiting. They said nothing but they were very friendly.

  “Could you take your shirt off too?”

I did, exposing my cute black bra. The two women came back, and one took my blouse. They stood on either side of me while the man walked around me. He took my right arm in his hands, and lifted it. I was intrigued, at first I thought he was a hair stylist, but he was obviously someone else. The woman on my right supported my arm, as if she was going to help me get up from a chair. I looked at her, she was smiling gently, as if she was telling me that whatever was going to happen would be okay. He pushed on my shoulder with his finger, my eyes shifted to my arm. I gasped loudly. His fingers were, sort of, sunken in the flesh of my shoulder, and made their way rather quickly. I tried to shake myself free, but the woman held me tight.

“It's okay miss, everybody else did it.

– What in the hell are you doing to me?!”

Without saying anything, he answered my question, by severing my arm from my torso. My eyes were like marbles, but the woman was still calm and friendly, as if she had already done that all day.

“You'll get it back just after the show, don't worry!” the woman said, walking away with my arm.

I didn't feel anything, there was nothing left attached to my shoulder. I tried to move my arm, but only my shoulder twitched slightly. And strangely, from second to second, it was harder for me to form a mental image of my missing arm, it was as if it was fading out of my memory, as if I never had a right arm.

“How did you do that?” I asked, turning my head to the left.

The only answer I got was a quadruplet of fingers parting the flesh of my left shoulder. The other woman already held my arm, prepared to support its entire weight. I watched speechless, as his fingers passed through my shoulder, as a hot knife through butter. The bone I thought I had there did not seem to bother him at all. Where his fingers touched me, my skin seemed to be folding inwards, like a mix of thin rubber and fine sand. When his index reached the other side of my shoulder, the skin became thinner and thinner, before snapping to my torso on one side, and to my disembodied left arm on the other. As the room was quiet, I heard a very faint popping sound, and then my last arm fell into the woman's hands. She smiled to me, as to thank me for a voluntary gift.

“You'll get it back also, don't worry!” she said before disappearing behind the curtains.

So there was I, with no arms to speak of, completely weirded out, the memory of them fading like those of long gone summers, with that guy behind me. I turned my head.

“What now?

  – We're done here, let me reassure you.” he said with a smile.

“How did you do that?

– If you'll just step outside, someone will take care of you.”

He passed in front of me and held the curtains aside for me to exit the room. I walked outside, and the curtains swiftly fell back in place behind me. I stumbled a little, having no clue how to walk without arms. Thank God I had my ballerinas on, and not high heels, because I would have fallen dramatically. Looking down at my feet, my empty shoulders caught my eyes. They were round and soft, a bump between my neck and my ribcage.

“Hey, Clarisse, is that it?” a voice called. I looked up.

“Yes, it's me!

– Come on, let's get you ready for the show!”

The woman who talked to me turned and started walking quickly. I followed her as I could, still readjusting to the shift in my balance. Looking around, I saw a bustling world of tailors, hairdressers, make-up artists, all working hard to get every model ready in time. But something was off. Every model had her arms missing! Every one had round shoulders just like me, and I noticed the pieces of clothing took full advantage of that fact. Every piece played with the lack of arms masterfully, and differently each time. One model had a dressed with spirals, wrapping around the whole torso. One looked like a flower, with big petals sprouting from the neck of her dress and descending on her body, 360°. With every piece, the geometry was uncannily pure, and perfect. The artists, employees and other people that still had arms seemed like they had too many limbs. The two arms on either side of their torso definitely ruined their silhouette. Taking in this whole world of strangeness, I struggled to follow the woman that lead me down row upon row of stands, mirrors, and clothing racks. Behind me, I glimpsed a rack full of disembodied arms, each pair bound together and tagged. When I finally caught up with the girl, she turned around and pointed to a chair with her am, I thanked her, and she disappeared among the crowd. I sat down in front of a mirror.

I was beautiful. The shoulder straps of my bra barely hanged on to my torso, as they moved a lot when I struggled to walk fast without arms. Looking around me, I saw everybody was quite busy, and no one was coming towards me, so I figured I had some time. I shook the straps loose, and they fell to the sides of my torso. Of course the bra was still secure, because the back strap didn't move an inch. I took in the view of my armless torso. The natural-looking flow of the neck, to the trapezoid muscles, to the gentle curve of the empty shoulder, to the ribs, each one smaller. These shapes showcased my boobs wonderfully, they never seemed as pretty as they did now. I rotated on the chair to look at myself from every angle. I noticed there would be some tremendous side-boob to expose with the right dress, on a model without arms (I later spotted some pieces of clothing that took advantage of exactly that). From the back, I looked secretive, like a shy girl pushing her shoulders forward to hide her chest. Of course, pulling them back revealed my lack of arms, in addition to showing the marvelous mechanics of my scapulae, free of their usual burden. I played around with my new looks for a few more seconds, before a hair stylist arrived to work on me.

We chatted about everything and nothing, as usual for a fashion show, while he transformed my hair into a piece of art. I asked him what was the deal with this show, but he didn't have much to say. Soon he was replaced by a make-up artist, who did not much more. After all, it was business as usual for them both. Models just had to sit and wait for them to be finished, they could as well lack arms, it was easier to move around them. As the artist was finishing her masterful work on my face, I glimpsed at a clock on the side, and I noticed already three hours had passed. I spent most of these looking at myself in the mirror, and did not feel it pass. I felt great! Now it was time. I would soon see what kind of clothes (and shoes!) I would be wearing for the show. Two tailors arrived, pushing a short rack with two dresses and two pairs of shoes. Sandals, and... high heels?! How was I going to walk with these without my arms to stabilize myself? I hoped I would have time to practice with these before walking on the catwalk.

The tailors had to strip me naked, in order to put underwear on me that would be adapted for the pieces I would be wearing. Business as usual of course, you were there to be seen, so no modesty to have backstage. It was just strange to have to be stripped by someone else, as I normally had my arms to take care of myself. While naked in the middle of the uncaring crowd, I caught a glimpse of my nude body in a nearby full length mirror, confirmed I was absolutely stunning like this, and went on with the try on. The first piece was a white dress with large horizontal flaps, all around my body. I looked marvelous in it. The sandals fit perfectly, but they had to adjust the dress slightly so that it fit perfectly my shoulder line. They took it off of me, and put the second piece on me. It was a skin-tight body suit, in two pieces, with sprawling patterns printed all over it. There was a thin line of exposed flesh on my stomach. I was a little sad previously that the first piece hid my silhouette too much for my taste, but this body suit (combined with the very thin underwear they gave me) left nothing to the imagination. The stretchy fabric adapted perfectly to my body, there was no need to adjust it. They made me wear the first one once again just to be sure it fit me perfectly, and then they slipped the high heels on my feet. Perfect fit, I was pretty comfortable in them (or at least as comfortable as someone could be in high heels). They found they had to adjust the white dress just a bit more, so they stripped me once again to work on it. I asked if I could practice with the heels meanwhile, and they let me walk around in them.

It was easier than I thought at first. I adjusted quickly, it was as if I was made for this day. I walked a bit around the hall, making sure to look at my body in every mirror I passed. The light and almost see-through bra and panty that I wore let me look at everything I wanted, and I took in the view from all angles. This body shape really suited me well, and I caught quite a few impressed, if not envious glares. I walked proudly among the crowd, swinging my shoulders back and forth. I spotted a water fountain, adapted with a pedal. I drank a little, making sure I did not wet my hair. One of the tailors came to me. It was time to get dressed, because the show was starting soon.

I came back, got dressed on, put on the sandals, and checked one last time in the mirror. A tailor said “Absolutely stunning.” with a smile, which filled me with confidence. I gathered with all the other models, all magnificently dressed. They were all looking in a particular direction, so I followed their gaze. There was one woman with plain clothes, among the models, walking from one to the next, speaking to each one. It was certainly the designer that conceived of all these beautiful clothes. Soon she approached me, my heart went racing. She didn't have any arms, just like the models, but her shape was... irregular. Her shoulders were not as round and soft as ours.

  “Aah, parfait ma chérie, you look superb! With this one, went you get to the end of the catwalk, I want you to... tourner, I want you to spin around! Spin around a few times, and make them all drop their jaw!” she said to me, in her delicious French accent. As she was saying this, she spun on herself graciously, making the sleeves of her t-shirt lift up. I glimpsed a vision of horror. Her shoulders were ugly and deformed, covered in scars, and imperfectly healed. I gasped softly, as I understood what was going on with her collection.

  “Ça va ma chérie ? What's going on?

– Nothing, I'm fine, sorry.

  – For the second one you just have to show off your body, but I could see you had no problem with that before! Allez, en piste !” she said joyfully, before speaking to the next girl.

Moments after that, we were hurried to the back of the catwalk, arranged in two lines with one on either side. A scenographer stood just behind the center curtain, in front of us all. She would give the signal to each girl, when she needed to start her walk. Loud music started playing, intense light came flooding the hall, in the shadow of which we stood... and the show started. My heart was racing, as each girl started walking to the beat of the music, one after the other. Quickly, the last girl in front of me got on to the catwalk, passing by the heavy flow of models coming back from it to put on other clothes. Some had six or seven pieces, and had to changed in an absolute hurry, but as I was a last-minute call, I only had two, and plenty of time to change. It was obvious that most of the girls had practiced for a long time before the show, because they moved in an extremely natural manner without arms.

The scenographer looked at me, lifted her arm, and pointed towards me. I started walking. The intense light was blinding, but I moved forward. I struggled to catch the quick beat of the music with my steps, I stumbled slightly. People in the dark crowd seemed to laugh a little, but I moved forward. I did my best to show pride and confidence in this new state, but I guess it showed nevertheless that I had difficulty, because some people started to laugh and to mock me. Reaching the end of the catwalk, I posed for a second, looking some of them deep in the eyes, before spinning around, just like the designer told me. All the laughs transformed into gasps, and then into cheering and applause. I did not know what had happened, but it filled me with such confidence I didn't have any trouble walking back to the changing hall. I passed the rows of people smiling. I think I saw the designer among the crowd, smiling back at me. If she had arms, I'm sure she'd have been applauding. Everything seemed to have worked out as planned. I got backstage, still with a large smile on my face. Passing in front of a mirror, I got curious as to what had happened just before, and watched myself spin around. The plain, white flaps all lifted to be horizontal, and revealed words, embroidered in very colorful patterns: “Don't hide your strengths”. At the same time, the cloth beneath the flaps turned out to be very revealing, as it seemed like I was wearing practically nothing beneath the flaps. It suddenly made my body shape stand out beautifully, and made the lack of arms very apparent, when it was practically unnoticeable with the flaps down.

I was very impressed with the talent of the designer, and immediately I understood the purpose of the two clothing pieces. The first one was designed to express the urge to come out of one's shell, and the second one was there to materialize pride and joy of being. It was masterful. It probably told part of the story of the designer, also. I was quite moved by it, but I had no time to lose, I had to get to my stand to get into the body suit and heels, to finish realizing the vision of the creator. While the tailors changed my clothes, I had another breakthrough. She needed me to have no experience with being armless, to stumble a bit, and to seem ridiculous. That was why I was called only today. I figured before that was highly unusual practice, to hire a model on the same date as the show. She needed me to be inexperienced, exactly as her, when she had the accident that rendered her armless. I was moved by that, as she was putting me in her position from when she just became like that. But at the same time, it was so easier for me, as I was certain to get my arms back in just a few hours at worst.

Once I had the colorful and pattern-filled body suit on, I raced back to the catwalk, where it was almost my turn to walk. The music had changed, it was slower, and expressed so much confidence and awesomeness. I made sure I took the beat in, and when the scenographer sent me the signal, I was literally living the music. I walked, perfectly in sync with the slow beat, the heels clacking on the hard floor, my hips swaying left and right, my shoulders oscillating back and forth, and my face beaming with joy and self-confidence. It was a complete success. They were cheering and clapping, some stood up when I stroke a pose at the end of the catwalk, smiling. I turned back after doing three slow spins, overwhelming the crowd. While I walked back, I made sure to work the mechanics of my scapulae, and to add extra sway in my hips, just to put the icing on the cake.

Getting back to my stand, I was overwhelmed with joy. The tailors made sure everything was alright with the suit and my head, for the final defile, with all the models together. I got on the catwalk, and saw the designer being thrown bouquets of flowers at, being applauded by a standing crowd. Flashes were firing all around on her and her marvelous collection. This was the work of her life. Looking back at us all, lined up on the catwalk, she made sure to thank each of us with her eyes, for the effort we had made to realize her vision. I was so happy for her, and so proud to be a part of this experience. After a while (the ovation went on for a while), we were all sent backstage to change back to our own clothes, and get our arms back. The tall guy with dark sunglasses was passing from stand to stand, reattaching their arms to the undressed models, just like magnets snapping back. They recovered their abilities instantly, and some had already headed home.

The tailors stripped me naked for one last time, and this time I made sure I took a good look of my completely nude, armless body. They dressed me with my panty, bra, pants and ballerinas. They waited with my blouse, coat and purse, for the guy to reattach my arms. When he got to me, an assistant arrived, holding my arms in hers. I looked at them, then at him.

  “Hmmm, I think... I think I'll just take my clothes and my purse, thank you!” I said smiling.

He answered with a large smile.