A lifeless model swayed before Milo in a lace dress beaded with gravel. Martin continued his presentation, “Here is Tiffany in what I like to call, Death to the Adorned.” It represents the contradiction between beauty and destruction. Her dress is made of the finest Chantilly lace from France, beaded with rubble from the recently destroyed Taj Mahal, flown in specially today.”
Milo forced a grin with his hard leather face and waved his approval.
Martin gestured for another model. “Next is Bianca, blazing in a daring silk dress singed to her panties. Ooh, la, la! She wears straps of bullets that cross over her breasts and scream: Stop! Don’t go there!”
Suddenly, Venetia burst through the door, looking like a wreck in her wild curls and jeans. “Stop don’t come in here!” yelled Martin.
“I need to talk to someone!” cried Venetia.
“You quit, remember, and therefore you are trespassing,” replied Martin.
Venetia stared at a model wearing a red-stained and burnt wedding dress. “What is that?”
Martin pushed Venetia toward the door. “That is art. Art is decay, decay is art. It is the latest trend.”
“You’re celebrating death and decay? Martin, how could you?” asked Venetia. “You should be celebrating life.”
Martin squared Venetia’s shoulders. “That is the problem with you Venetia, you never understood fashion. It’s about what’s hip, what’s here, what’s now. We gotta jump on this destruction thing before anyone else or else it will be too late!” He shoved her out the door. “Now run along and celebrate life elsewhere.” Turning to Milo with an apologetic grin, he introduced the next model, “And now Cindy Lou, show us Shrapnel City!”