Cruel Summer

by Lisa Cardwell

  6

  Several deep breaths and twenty-four hours later, we found ourselves suddenly on stage. All the practicing in the world the day before couldn’t have prepared you to face a room full of expectant faces. From the side, you couldn’t tell how full the room really was, and now, I had an up close and personal view. Every table, every seat, appeared filled.

  Over two hundred people.

  I’d taken the time—or made the mistake, whichever way you chose to look at it—at counting the tables yesterday. At least ten chairs per table. And more than twenty tables.

  I tried to keep my eyes straight ahead and stay in sync with Sorche as we replicated what we’d spent hours doing yesterday, perfectly mimicking the two blondes in front of us, right down to the exact turn at the end of the catwalk and the slow stroll back.

  I was sure I recognized a couple of famous faces at the tables up front, but I couldn’t make myself slow down to take a quick peek. The end of the stage couldn’t come soon enough.

  “Did you breathe at all out there?” Sorche asked with a giggle as we headed back to the dressing room to change.

  “I think so,” I said optimistically.

  I wasn’t sure.

  I’d just kept reminding myself to put one foot in front of the other and stare straight ahead, try to keep a somewhat natural smile on my face, ignoring the fact there were so many eyes on me.

  I didn’t take drama in school for a reason—I didn’t exactly relish being in front of a crowd.

  Sorche shook her head, obviously trying not to laugh at newbie me. She grabbed her next set of clothes then looked at mine hanging there with the glossy sign that said ‘Chey Morrow’ that had been there to greet us early that morning. “I’m thirty-two, and you’re forty-four. So you’ve got a little wait.”

  “Good.”

  I sat on the folding chair and took in the flurry of activity around us. Before I knew it, Sorche had changed and headed back to the line-up. I took that as my cue to get into the jeans and T-shirt, careful not to mess up my hair and make-up before going back to the line myself in a routine that went on for the next two hours.

  As I stood in line in the hallway once again, taking calming breaths and straining to see Sor ahead of me, I heard a few murmurs from the girls behind us. Every once in a while, I could feel their gazes on me, and I fought the urge to turn and ask ‘what?’

  I didn’t quite get it. There’d been a few more additions to my clothing rack when we’d arrived that morning after a quick breakfast of Starbucks coffee, the most I could stomach without fear of getting sick. I’d figured the additional clothes had been because someone else had backed out. No big deal, right?

  ***

  I hung the last hanger on the rack. The dressing room felt a lot less crowded now than it had been for the last couple hours. I even had to admit I’d had a good time, better than I would have thought when I woke up that morning fighting back a case of nervous nausea.

  Kinda fun playing dress up. I even wished Mom could have seen me. I think she would have loved to have seen me in a dress for once. But I hadn’t told Dad or Trish, for that matter, about my newest activity, not sure I wanted them there to witness any possible disaster. Besides, this was a one-time deal, and the only souvenir I would take with me was the glossy program Sor had presented me with upon arrival, with my name and photo inside among the list of participants.

  The photo being one of those last-minute shots they’d taken yesterday before we’d left.

  They must have had a printer on standby for those last-minute changes.

  I headed back towards the comfy chair in the make-up room where I could see down the hallway for Sor’s inevitable appearance. About to pick up a discarded issue of IN STYLE, I saw a man pass by and peek into the room, smiling when he saw me. I figured he had to be another one of the male models. Dressed in faded black jeans and one of those T-shirts I’d seen half the models wearing, his shoulder-length, jet-black hair had been pulled back in a small ponytail. He didn’t look a day over thirty.

  I smiled back, and he walked in. I just hoped he didn’t ask me where so and so was, because I hadn’t exactly met that many people yet that I could put faces to names. Other than Sor, Enrique, and Lola…I’d be out of luck. But I guess I could direct him to one of them for more help.

  “You’re Chey, right? Sorche’s new friend?” he asked.

  I nodded, taking a seat on one of the empty make-up chairs to wait for Sor to finish changing. She had one outfit left before we were out of there.

  “I’m Rico Vanetti.”

  The name set off bells in my mind.

  Rico Vanetti - the designer. The one behind all those T-shirts and half the outfits we’d worn this afternoon. The one who a lot of the other models were talking a lot about. I vaguely remembered Sorche telling me he was there somewhere, but she’d never bothered to point him out to me. I’d pictured someone older, a lot older.

  “Hi, nice to meet you,” I said, putting the magazine down on my lap. I couldn’t quite figure out what he was doing talking to me, but I figured he must have had to wait around for everyone to finish so he could take the clothes back to wherever he kept them. He was probably just being friendly and killing time.

  “Great to meet you. I gather you’re new to town?”

  “Is it that obvious?” I asked, slightly embarrassed. Had Dad sent out some kind of announcement or something? Or even worse, did I just look that out of place?

  He laughed, taking a seat beside me in one of the empty chairs. “No, not at all. But I’m pretty familiar with the ‘it’ crowd around here, and I’m sure I’d remember your face.”

  So I hadn’t exactly made the rounds, or as Sor called it, had my unveiling. I think she had big plans for that one. “I’ve only been here a couple days, really. Staying with my dad for the summer.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “I hope so,” I admitted, glancing at my freshly painted nails. They’d been done a copper color that morning while I’d waited to get into make-up.

  “Do you have any big plans while you’re here?”

  “Not really.”

  A slight, uneasy silence settled as I felt him studying me closely.

  “You’re a very attractive girl, Chey.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded.

  “The clothes worked beautifully on you.” He leaned forward. “More so than on some of the others.” He studied me again. “In fact, you just might be perfect...”

  Right as I was about to ask “perfect for what,” I saw Sorche heading our way, and he must have, too, because suddenly, I found a business card pressed into my palm. Before I could look at it, Sor had reached my side, shaking her hair out before pulling her glossy dark locks back into a ponytail. I slid the card into my jeans pocket, deciding to forget about it for a moment. Especially with Sor so close. My gut instinct said it wasn’t a big deal, so why make it one?

  “Nice talking to you, Chey. Great job in the show, girls.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Vanetti,” Sor said as he left us. “You ready?”

  I still had my eyes locked on him walking away. My fingers tapped my pocket absently, wondering what exactly was going on.

  What was I perfect for?

  I snapped out of my fog as I realized I hadn’t answered her.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Did you pick up your bag of goodies for modeling today?”

  For the first time, I noticed the navy canvas bag in her hand. A rather large, heavy-looking bag.

  “No…” I said slowly. There really should have been a neon blue sign above my head blinking ‘innocent newbie.’

  ’Course, with the way JT kept staring at me every time he saw me, there may have been.

  “Second room off the hallway, just past the dressing room. I’ll wait.” She smiled, dropping into the seat Rico had been in.

  I followed her directions and found myself in a small room filled with tables covered with bags. The guy with t
he clipboard was lounging against the far table.

  “Chey, there you are. I was wondering when you’d come pick yours up.”

  I gave a weak smile. “Sor just reminded me.”

  “Glad she did.” He checked his clipboard then leaned over to get a bag. “You can grab a set of sunglasses, too,” he said as I took the bag and looked where he was pointing. A rack half hidden by a pile of black totes.

  “Okay.”

  “You impressed a lot of people today,” he said as I looked over the styles of sunglasses, trying to spot a pair of aviator ones like Dad’s.

  “Did I?” Had he seen me talking to Rico?

  “You did.” He confirmed. “We’ve got another fashion show in a few weeks for another charity out in Malibu. Sor will have all the details, if you’re interested. We’d love to have you back.”

  I finally spotted a pair of aviator shades with metallic lenses and lifted them off the rack before he handed me a case for them.

  “Thanks, I’ll think about it,” I said, but really, deep inside, I wasn’t sure this was anything more than a one-time thing. Without Sorche’s pushing, I wouldn’t have even done it in the first place.

  I sat in Sor’s SUV, my bag taking up my entire lap as I rummaged through it, getting more and more amazed by the minute. Make-up. Three bottles of perfume, and not those little sample ones I tended to get at the perfume counter, either. One of them was Mom’s favorite, and I smiled, thinking I could bring it home at the end of my vacation and make it a nice surprise.

  We also got gift certificates to restaurants and a free facial and a mani/pedi that I thought I’d give to Trish for helping me out. I opened a box and found a watch glistening up at me.

  “What is all this?” I asked in amazement. It felt a little like Christmas.

  Sor glanced over casually as she pulled out of the parking lot. “It’s called swag. Isn’t it great?”

  “Uh, yeah.” But I still didn’t get why we’d—or make that me—had gotten any of it. “But it’s a lot of stuff.”

  “It’s a thank you for doing the show.” She stopped at a red light behind a silver version of her SUV. “Enjoy it.”

  Seemed a little much for a couple hours of playing dress-up, but I kept silent, stuffing the watch back inside the bag and then setting the whole thing down by my feet.

  “What are we up to next?” I asked, glancing out the window.

  Sor headed down Rodeo. I hoped she was going to suggest we’d stop to eat soon. I was starving. I’d barely managed to drink a couple glasses of juice that morning, afraid of making myself sick if I tried to eat anything that actually resembled food.

  “Mom texted me and offered to take us to a celebratory lunch for looking so great at the show. You mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  Turned out, lunch was being held on Sorche’s back patio.

  “Wow,” I muttered as I followed her inside the house. Smaller than the one the party had been held at, but still way bigger than Dad’s. I tried to remember what it was Sor’s parents did again. Acting, directing? Agenting? I didn’t want to say something that made it seem like I hadn’t been paying attention.

  Music, I suddenly remember. I think her dad was in music.

  Sorche smiled at me as she dropped her canvas bag on top of a beige suede couch in the living room.

  “It’s not the fabled Spelling residence, but it’s home,” she said as we walked across the spotless foyer and headed past the winding pale marble staircase.

  I followed closely, trying not to stop every few steps to gawk. The place looked straight out of an old movie set on those black and white TCM movies Mom watched sometimes.

  I shook my head in awe. “It’s…”

  I didn’t know where to start. As much as I loved Dad’s place, I’d pack my suitcase and move right in here if asked.

  “Been featured in a handful of magazines. Mom’s publicist makes sure to send someone over with every redesign.”

  “I can see why.”

  “Hope you girls don’t mind,” Sorche’s mom said as we walked out a set of French patio doors in one of the living rooms, done all in white. “Every place I went by was packed, and I thought we’d do just as good with take-out.”

  Sor glanced at me.

  “It’s fine,” I replied as I looked at her mom.

  She looked like an older version of Sorche, but not by much. She had Sorche’s same brunette color and the newest layered hairstyle that fell just past her shoulders. Her nose was a little thinner, and I could see the smallest hint of smile lines around her eyes when she smiled at us.

  She wore a pair of black jeans and a blue v-neck T-shirt.

  She waved for us to have a seat at the large stone table under the beige canvas awning. “I’m so glad to meet you, Chey. I’ve heard lots about you from your father and now from Sorche.”

  The rush of warmth crept on my face. I hadn’t known Dad talked about me to his friends out here or at least often. “Thanks, Mrs. Maxwell.”

  “Call me Sydney, please. Have a seat. You two looked great up there on stage today. Sorche told me you were really nervous, but I couldn’t tell at all. You were both so poised up there, so professional. Did you have fun?”

  Fun.

  Nerve-racking, panic inducing fun.

  “Yeah, it was a good experience.”

  Sor sat beside me and lifted one of the covers, revealing Chinese food. I breathed deeply, feeling my stomach rumble lightly in response as my mouth began to water. I couldn’t wait to dig in.

  “Yeah, I think Chey here made a good impression, don’t you?” Sor asked as she settled into her chair and started taking more covers off of the food. Rice. Dumplings. Sweet and sour chicken. More dishes I wasn’t too familiar with but which smelled amazing. I couldn’t wait to start adding something to my plate and dig in.

  Sor’s mom, er, Sydney handed me a plate. “Hope you don’t mind? I had a craving for sweet and sour chicken all during the fashion show. I wasn’t too big on the finger food they were serving us.”

  “Don’t mind at all.” In fact, it reminded me of Mom’s irregular Friday night Chinese dinners. I scooped some of the egg noodles onto my plate and eyed the chicken that Sorche was adding to her own.

  “So Sean’s been hiding you away all this time,” Sydney said with a smile. “What did you have to do to get out here for the summer?”

  I laughed as I helped myself to some spicy chicken. “Graduate, apparently. I think he thought it would make up for missing my birthday the last couple of years.”

  Not to mention the graduation.

  That was still a little bit of a sore point. Even though I tried to pretend it wasn’t.

  It was one of those one in a million moments in my life, the type I’d always imagined having both of my parents at. Except I hadn’t. I’d had one, and one empty chair.

  “What’s he have planned for you two so far?” Sydney asked, handing me another plate of food to try.

  I took the plate of some sort of chicken and veggie dish and added a few pieces to my plate before setting it down.

  “He really hasn’t said much,” I said as Sor poured us each a tall glass of ice water. “I’m sure he’ll come up with something, though.”

  Sydney smiled. “Well if he doesn’t, I know Sorche here will have plenty enough to keep you occupied this summer. And I’m sure we can come up with something for you two girls to keep busy.” She glanced at me. “You and Sor should spend a weekend in Malibu while you’re here. I have a place out there, have a girl’s getaway weekend for a few nights,” she suggested, digging in to her food. “Knowing Sean, you’ll need a break from him at some point.”

  I held my smile as I nodded, glancing at my new friend. I kinda hoped I wouldn’t have to take her up on that offer.

  Dad had to clear his schedule for some father-daughter time sometime, right?

  ***

  Sor dropped me off from a long celebratory lunch, and I headed through the back patio d
oors, hearing Dad’s voice carrying down the hallway the minute I stepped inside. I set my gift bag down on the hall table and contemplated going to see him.

  I wanted to tell him all about my day, fudging the truth a little from ‘I’d been the one modeling’ to ‘Sor had dragged me to see a charity fashion show.’ Which was the truth, really—I’d just had an insider’s view of things. I knew if I did tell him how I’d really spent the afternoon, he’d burst out laughing at the thought of me on the runway. I wasn’t always the most graceful one in the family. When Sydney had called me poised and professional walking the runway, for a moment, I’d wanted to ask if she was sure who she was talking about.