Second Hand

Elizabeth sat in the desk of her old boss at the old agency she used to model for in her beauty queen days. They should be honored she was back, she thought bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth. We're just full up right now," her old boss said unconvincingly.

"Give me a break, Walter," Elizabeth scoffed. "You had a models wanted sign on the door." Walter blinked, changing tactics.

"You just gave birth recently," he said, nodding at her black daughter Tanya. "Your body isn't ready to be out on a shoot. I'm sorry, it's just not the image we're looking for."

Elizabeth's blood boiled. She knew exactly what this was. It was because she was Elizabeth Jefferson instead of Elizabeth Lancaster. Fucking second hand racism.