“Love the wheels,” I said as I opened the passenger door.
“Thanks. One of my graduation presents. You missed having a big blowout out here, huh?” she asked as I got in.
“Guess so.”
She sped out of the gated driveway. “We’ll make it up, I’m sure. Now, I know we’d planned on the latest movie, but…”
I waited for my newfound friend to tell me my all-access pass to the land of young Hollywood had suddenly been revoked and kick me out just outside of Dad’s gates.
“We got a better offer.”
We? But I came up with a better question. “Which is?”
“I’m so glad you asked. Charity modeling gig. Primo clothes. Top designers and modeling scouts are rumored to be in attendance.”
I shifted uneasily in my leather seat. “Uh, good?”
“You’re not excited? Why aren’t you excited?” She cast a bewildered glance in my direction.
“I’m not exactly into modeling.”
Okay, truth be told, I’d never modeled before. Well, unless you count trying on the clothes my grandma sent me for Christmas every year in front of Mom and her favorite digital camera.
“Why? I mean, what do you want to do?”
“I really haven’t decided yet.” Just because everyone else I knew seemed to have their entire futures mapped out ahead of them didn’t mean I needed to follow the pack—or so I kept telling my mother.
And now…
“Well, then, it’s settled. You have to go, if for no other reason to strike it permanently off your list of options.”
I sighed. I wasn’t exactly the modeling type. I glanced at Sorche who looked so excited about this little idea as she expertly maneuvered the Los Angeles streets. ’Course, modeling like this was probably something she did all the time. Me? I could go my entire life without ever walking the runway.
I just knew that a) my nerves would get the better of me, and I’d become the klutz of the millennia, and b) I just wanted to stay low-key right now. Why embarrass myself in front of who knew how many people?
“Do I have to?”
“I guess not.” She frowned. “I just figured it’d be fun. You know, part of your L.A. experience.”
A rush of guilt hit me like a blow to the stomach. Sor was just trying to inject some fun into my summer by doing something I totally wouldn’t be able to do back home. “How did I get asked to do this, anyway?”
She smiled, glancing at me for a moment. “Well, I forgot the rehearsal was today, and when they called to check to see where I was, they asked if I knew anyone who could come in as a last-minute replacement since a couple people had backed out for some reason and I said I had the perfect candidate. Told them all about you, and they said you were in.”
Butterflies started to appear in my stomach. I was in. “Couple hours, right?”
“Absolutely.” She looked back over at me as she rounded a corner. “Worse-case scenario, we have to catch the late, late showing.”
“All right, count me in.”
***
As soon as we arrived at the hotel, I started getting a bad case of nerves, especially when I heard a testing blast of loud music from down the hallway. But since I figured this was a good start to my ‘living the L.A. experience’ this summer, I kept silent and followed my new friend through an open door and into a maze of hallways.
At least, Sorche knew where she was going because frankly, I became completely confused after the second turn up a short flight of stairs. There was no signage on the walls saying which direction to go for what.
We went through a set of double doors and clearly found ourselves in the right place as we began to weave our way past the racks of waiting clothing and the half-dressed women talking excitedly about the clothes with their names on them. Needless to say, I felt totally out of place and stuck as close to Sor as possible, not wanting to find myself faced with the inevitable ‘who are you and what are you doing here?’ question. I saw enough curious looks thrown my way to keep my head down and stick close to my unofficial tour guide.
Sor circled around one rack, and I realized she was following the tall blond guy dressed in all black with a clipboard in hand. Finally, she tapped him on the shoulder.
“We’re here,” she informed him as she slipped her denim jacket off and draped it over her arm.
He spun and looked at us, his eyes lighting up when he saw Sor.
“Darling!” He kissed her cheek then turned to look at me. “And this must the one and only Cheyenne…”
“Chey, please,” I said quickly. Mom only called me that when she was royally ticked off.
“Chey it is, then.” He smiled as we shook hands. “Sor was right.”
I almost started to ask about what but managed to keep my mouth shut and just glanced at my friend instead.
Sor just grinned at my misery as she slung an arm over my shoulders. “I said you’d look great. Besides, what better way to spend an afternoon or two?”
“When is the show, anyway?” I asked, caution strong in my voice. Sor had neglected to leave that little detail out.
He looked at Sor then at me. “Why, tomorrow afternoon, of course. We start at one…today’s the last run-through, and I cannot tell you how thrilled we are to have you, Chey. We were scrambling for a couple last-minute replacements after the twins backed out.”
“Total serendipity that you came into town at just the right time,” Sorche added, giving me a big smile as she looked around. The excitement literally radiated off of her.
Oh, it was serendipity, all right.
Sorche was clearly in her element.
“You two are at the far end of the room, second last rack.” He checked his clipboard. “And Chey, you can see the stylist first if you want.”
Oh, great. Me first.
What did that say?
Sor gave me a little half smile. “Come on, let’s see what we got.”
Our rack sat right at the end of the room by the last few remaining empty chairs. At least, we weren’t wedged in between a large group of people. I let out a deep breath in relief and perused the clothes hanging there. Most of the rack seemed dedicated to Sorche, but I found my three outfits easily. One was a pastel multicolored silk sundress, another a set of jeans and a simple T-shirt that looked like it could have come straight out of my revamped closet, and the third looked a little more club-style, with black capris and a metallic silk halter. Since I was filling in, I had less than half the stuff Sorche did and breathed a silent sigh of relief. There was a curtained-off change area, and I pulled a folding chair out to sit down and wait to see what I was supposed to be doing.
Sor looked at me as she rooted through the clothes. “You have to be more excited.”
“It’s just not my idea of a great time,” I tried to explain. A few girls our age were down at the other end of the room, doing the same as Sorche, and I just felt, I dunno, like I totally didn’t fit. Sorta like that old Sesame Street game, one of these things is not like the other? Put a big blinking neon sign above my head because that was me.
“Well, what is?”
“I don’t know…” I reached for an abandoned magazine nearby, which she quickly snatched out of my hand.
“No time,” she chastised. “You’ve got hair and make-up, and you need to get into your first outfit for the run-through,” she said, taking hangers off the rack and holding them out to me.
The same hanger that I just noticed had a number attached to it. The dress had the earliest number. Nineteen. At least Sor had a matching dress in lavender marked twenty. “Fine.”
“Hold on…don’t forget the shoes.”
For the first time, I glanced down and noticed the shoe boxes lined up in a perfect row beneath the rack.
Taking the hanger from her fingers, I stepped into the curtained-off area, yanking it shut behind me. I couldn’t believe I’d been roped into spending my afternoon like this—and in a dress, at that. Better not think that I had
to repeat the experience tomorrow.
In front of an audience.
The sooner we started, the sooner we’d get it over with.
I came out in the knee-length dress, amazed it fit; after all, not like I had given them my sizes beforehand. I stowed my clothes beside Sor’s under the makeshift table and looked around to find her, but she was already across the hall in hair and make-up, gabbing away.
Once again, I felt like the total outsider.
I stumbled out of my thoughts as a tall, skinny redhead shoved me aside.
“Hey, watch it,” I muttered, watching her go by.
Sor appeared at my side, shaking her head at the girl. “Come on, Chey. Time for make-up.”
“Who was that?” I asked as she pulled me away. I could still feel the instant dislike radiating off the redhead. Almost like she’d targeted me for some reason. There was something kind of familiar about her, and I wondered if I hadn’t seen her at the party last night, hanging around the pool area.
Was she the one with the cell phone?
“Never mind. We’ve got to get you to hair and make-up. I’m so excited we’re doing this.” She almost squealed and jumped up and down in excitement.
I splashed a smile on my face for her benefit. Besides, I didn’t want to lose the first friend I’d made in L.A. over something as simple as spending a couple afternoons wearing expensive clothes. I mean, hey, there were worse things I could be doing, right?
Just because I didn’t envision my future full of runways didn’t mean I had to ruin it for Sorche.
“So cool,” I said as we headed into the make-up room.
The space was brightly lit and filled with a bunch of make-up stations in a long line, dividing the room right down the middle. A few girls around our age and some twenty-somethings were at the other end of the area, getting made up.
As I glanced around, my gaze landed on the guy at the far end of the room, talking with who I assumed was one of the stylists, clad in the all-black look I’d seen earlier.
JT.
“What’s he doing here?”
“Modeling. You didn’t think it was all women, did you?”
Sor sounded surprised that I hadn’t expected to see him.
Well, now that she mentioned it, I hadn’t really given it much thought. ’Course, the only guy I’d seen since we walked into the dressing room had been the one with the clipboard… Guess I should have realized we were only in the women’s dressing room.
As if sensing us, JT looked up at that very moment. He flashed me a boyish grin, highlighting his pearly whites, and I forced a weak smile back as Sor shoved me into the empty make-up chair, and I suddenly found myself with a plastic cape draped over my shoulders.
“Chey, this is Enrique. Enrique, my new friend, Chey.” Sor made the introductions as she lowered herself into the chair beside me.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, meeting his cocoa eyes in the mirror.
Enrique gave a barely perceptible nod. “You’ve got the look.”
“Isn’t that a Roxette song?” I asked, hearing JT’s instant snort a few feet away. Not my fault my mom loved old music from the eighties. Besides, when had JT gotten so close?
What was he eavesdropping through the open doorway?
The stylist rolled his eyes.
“You’re hilarious. Now I’m seeing a blank canvas.” He leaned in close enough that I caught a strong whiff of cinnamon breath. “That’s rare,” he confided in a hushed tone.
I looked quizzically at my reflection. Same dark blonde hair and nude lip gloss I’d had on when I left the house. So I hadn’t gone make-up crazy, but I usually didn’t. Besides, who would have seen me in a dark theatre, anyways? Sor’s lucky I didn’t come out of the house in my pajama bottoms with the flamingos on them and a hoodie.
“What do you see?” Sor asked, spinning her chair to face mine and tapping her finger on her glossy lips thoughtfully. Well, until Enrique shot her a dirty look, and she quickly lowered her hand.
“Don’t ruin that make-up.”
Clearly, Sor had gone to make up while I’d been in the dressing room, trying to get organized…and more than that, get my courage up.
“Sorry.” She shrugged and grabbed a bottled water from the table and a straw. “So?” she prompted.
“I see…” He began wrapping my hair around his fingers, holding it against my head.
I prayed he wasn’t about to say curls.
“Loose and flowing…some slight waves…natural, but without me, you’d never create it.”
That made me laugh, and he smiled. I knew I liked Enrique. “Sounds good.”
“Sorche, hand her a water. She’s going to be here a while.”
He wasn’t’t kidding. It took him almost forty-five minutes before he had my hair the way he imagined it. By then, the room had filled up with the other models ahead and behind us.
I tried not to move as Lola, the make-up woman, did my face once Enrique had finished with me. So weird having someone else do my make-up. No one but me had ever lined my eyes, and it took a while to get used to. I’d even asked Veronica to let me do that when she’d done my make-up.
“Sor tells me your dad’s an actor.”
I leaned my head back against the neck rest, trying not to tell her it tickled when she lined my eyes, like a thousand little feathers dusting my skin. “Yeah, Sean Morrow.”
The pencil stopped halfway across my right eyelid, and I was so tempted to open them to see the look on her face. Surprise? Disbelief? Who knew what kind of rep Dad really had? But I sorta figured I’d rather not be impaled with the charcoal-black eyeliner, so I waited for her to speak.
“Really? He doesn’t look old enough to have a daughter your age.”
Great, I passed for an old-looking seventeen and he, a young thirty-eight. Quite the pair.
I shrugged, the most I dared to move for fear of getting myself poked in the eye.
“He and my mom married young, I guess.”
That must have satisfied her as the pencil started to move again.
I breathed a silent sigh of relief and hoped I wouldn’t get a lot of questions about Dad. I mean, I knew some stuff about my parents’ relationship. They’d met in L.A. and got married before he hit it really big…but the rest, well, I figured that was a convo Mom was saving ’til I jumped over twenty-one.
“So you don’t live in Cali?” she asked as she stopped lining my eyes, and I risked opening them again.
I was tempted to come up with some witty reply about Swiss boarding schools when Sor caught my eye; she must have sensed my slight annoyance. “Nope. We moved back to where my mom’s from. Buffalo.”
That seemed to satisfy Lola as she went back to finishing up her last-minute touches. Finally, she deemed me ready and pulled the cape off. “Perfection.”
Following a couple of blinding photographs by a bored-looking twenty-something with a dark ponytail and a huge camera, I trailed behind Sorche out of the room.
“Where’s nineteen and twenty?” someone yelled from the front of the line.
I grabbed Sor’s hand and pulled her along, through the dressing room and out into the hallway already packed with models looking less than enthused we weren’t in the desired spot, all ready.
“Right here,” I called.
The line of teenagers and women parted, and we slipped through. The guy with the clipboard smiled as he saw us.
“You’re up after this group.” He smiled warmly at me, and I had a feeling the next words out of his mouth were going to be something about me cleaning up nice.
I leaned by Sorche, trying to see where it was we were headed. Four steps up to a glossy black stage and runway. All the better for me to stumble on.
“Watch,” Sor whispered, nudging me in the ribs.
The two blondes ahead of us marched up on the stage while the song changed. They walked—or rather, strutted—to the beat of the song down the middle of the runway into the crowd of tables, before sep
arating at the end and heading back up the stage.
“Think we can do that?”
Sor looked at me hopefully. She must have thought I’d bolt.
Which really wasn’t that bad of an idea. But I think I’d passed the bolting stage when we moved a few steps ahead. If I tried now, I’d definitely create a scene.
“And go…” Clipboard Guy whispered, giving us both a gentle shove forward.
Cruel Summer Page 8
