Cruel Summer

by Lisa Cardwell

  “You sure he’s okay with this?” I asked quietly as Dad headed out the door with the driver, each carrying a suitcase. I noticed Dad had taken Trish’s carryon.

  “Milo’s fine with it. Besides, it’ll give him an excuse to earn some of the money your dad’s paying him.” She smiled as she headed to the door. “Shouldn’t be more than three days, I promise. Talk to you soon.”

  “See ya. Have a good flight.” I waved as they loaded the last of the luggage in the car and got in.

  Before I knew it, they were past the gates, and I hit the button on my remote, making sure they locked up behind them.

  I stepped back inside and shut the door behind me.

  All alone.

  The house was really quiet after Dad left with Trish. With at least seventy-two hours of alone time ahead, I had my take-out menus to occupy me. Trish had taken me grocery shopping so the pantry was fully stocked in case I got the urge to cook. We’d joked that was probably the most food the house had ever had in it since Dad had moved in.

  Milo was indeed on speed dial on every phone in the house and newly added to my cell phone as of the night before, and I just knew he’d be putting in the occasional surprise appearance to check up on me so I wouldn’t be totally on my own. Besides, I had no doubt it wouldn’t take all that long for Sorche to stop by.

  I grabbed my breakfast bagel along with a bottle of orange juice and headed outside for some air and to watch the sunrise, way too keyed up to fall back asleep any time soon.

  I dragged one of the oversized chairs off to the side, more under the umbrella, and sat down, propping my bare feet on the other chair, and leaned my head back, setting my drink and bagel on the table and let my eyes drift closed.

  The sound of the phone ringing woke me up, and I blinked my eyes open to find the sun high in the sky. Guess I’d missed sunrise by a couple hours. Oh, well, there was always the one tomorrow.

  I stumbled inside and grabbed the cordless off the wall. “Hello.”

  “What are you doing?” Sor asked.

  I propped the phone against my ear. “Not a lot.”

  I had the feeling Sor wanted to take advantage of my free time and do something— which was totally cool with me. Checking the time on the stove and seeing it was almost lunch, I opened the fridge and pulled out the makings of a salad. I’d managed a few bites of the bagel hours earlier before falling sound asleep, but that wouldn’t last me long.

  “Good. I’ve got to do something with my mom this afternoon, but you free later?”

  “Most likely,” I replied, looking for the leftover chicken I knew I’d seen last night. We’d bought one of those rotisserie chickens just before we’d left the store, and I knew Milo and Dad had made themselves sandwiches after their basketball game...but I was hopeful there was still something left

  “Cool. I’ll come by when we’re done. Say four-ish?”

  “Four-ish.”

  She laughed. “See you then.”

  I clicked the phone off and started shredding my lettuce when the phone rang again. I grabbed it immediately, figuring it must be Sorche wanting to change times or something.

  “What did you forget?” I asked as I picked up.

  “Chey?” a confused voice asked.

  I blinked at the unfamiliar male tone. Definitely not Milo calling to check up on me. “Uh yeah, who’s calling?”

  “It’s Rico Vanetti.”

  I almost dropped the phone. “Mr. Vanetti, hi. How did you get my number?”

  I set my knife down before I hurt myself by dropping it on my foot.

  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” He chuckled. “Besides, I know some people in your circle.”

  I barely knew I had a circle.

  “Oh, okay.” I slid onto the kitchen stool and tried to find a logical reason why Rico was calling me. I glanced at the time on the microwave. Just before eleven.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked, trying to remember if I’d accidentally gotten a piece of Vanetti clothing in my swag bag. I didn’t remember seeing anything like that in there. But maybe it had been rolled up or something?

  “Can we get together? I wanted to finish our conversation from the other day.”

  “Mr. Vanetti...I don’t understand why you’d want to meet with me,” I said honestly as I glanced around the empty house. Maybe I was still half asleep and this was a dream. Any minute, some llama or something was going to walk into the kitchen. Wasn’t that the way all crazy dreams went?

  “I told you before, Chey, you were perfect—”

  “For what?” I interrupted him, immediately feeling like an idiot.

  “To be the ‘Face’ of House of Vanetti.”

  My grip slipped on the phone, and I managed to catch it before it hit the floor. My hand shook a little as I put the phone back to my ear.

  “The ‘Face’?” Even to me, that sounded important. Mega important, and something that shouldn’t be offered to a newcomer like me. I barely took photos as it was. The occasional family photo at Christmas or whatever. Hell, I wasn’t even that big on selfies…there was less than a handful on my phone at any given time. “I don’t know…”

  I raked my teeth over my bottom lip in thought.

  I could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “An hour. That’s it. If I haven’t convinced you of your amazing future by then, feel free to walk out, and I’ll go search for someone else who isn’t as fresh or perfect for this.”

  Should I? I mean, going to a meeting didn’t mean I’d officially signed on as the new ‘Face’ of Vanetti. I scrunched my nose up. Well, one hour proved doable. “When?”

  “Are you free today? My afternoon’s clear.”

  The clock on the microwave informed me I had more than enough hours to kill before meeting up with Sorche. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Great.”

  He gave me the address, and I scribbled it down on the inside of a pack of gum I found in one of the kitchen drawers, knowing I’d have to check my phone’s directions to make sure I knew how to get there.

  “Guess I’ll see you in a couple hours,” I said, and we said our goodbyes before I hung up, pressing the phone against my chin as I reread the address again.What had I just gotten myself into?

  I didn’t know what to wear to meet up with L.A.’s hottest new designer. My little online search I’d done after I’d hung up the phone had been eye opening. The stars who wore his clothes was like a list of who’s-who in Hollywood.

  And he was interested in me?

  I couldn’t believe it.

  My closet suddenly seemed a little lacking, so I threw on the jeans I’d worn to the party and a clean black T-shirt, pulled my hair back, and added a pair of heeled sandals which amounted to about as good as I could get without calling Sor. I didn’t exactly want to confide this to her yet. I mean, we were friends; I just didn’t think we knew each other well enough for me to rock the boat with this piece of news.

  Like, newbie takes title of ‘Face’ of House of Vanetti?

  Not exactly something to bond over, especially when said friend was an aspiring model.

  Halfway there, I stopped at a drive-thru, for a second time that day, deciding maybe something caffeinated would help with my nerves. Then I thought maybe some air would help, so I put the top down on the car and headed back in traffic, making it there in good time.

  I parked the car in the first available parking space I found and looked at the large, bright white building that matched the address on the gum wrapper. Not exactly what I’d pictured. It was about five stories high and sort of a shoebox shape. For a moment, I asked myself just what the heck I was doing there when a glass door opened and Rico stepped out and waved at me.

  I waved back in surprise. He must have been keeping an eye out for me to appear so fast.

  Either that, or he’d wanted to make sure I wouldn’t bolt.

  Which I definitely couldn’t do now that he’d seen me.

  I took a deep breath, loo
ked at my empty iced coffee container, and pulled my keys out of the ignition. Now or never.

  I stepped out of the car and took a deep breath, relaxing a little as I headed towards him, hitting my key fob and hearing the familiar sound of the doors locking behind me. “Hi, Rico.”

  “Hi, Chey. You’re early.”

  “Wanted to make sure I got here on time,” I said as he held the door open for me. “Still learning my way around Los Angeles.”

  I slipped off my sunglasses and tucked them in the collar of my T-shirt.

  The strong smell of freshly brewed coffee hit me the moment I stepped inside, and I took a look around us. The floor was bare cement; up ahead was a huge circular reception desk in a matte silver. On the bright white wall behind the desk hung a huge version of what could only be Rico’s logo.

  To either side of the door were tall potted palms. To the left was a small waiting area with leather chairs and a glass coffee table. To the right, it was set up like an office with a huge conference room you could see into behind a set of glass walls.

  Further back down a hall, I could see racks of clothes that looked like the ones from the fashion show.

  “We’ll go in the conference room, it’ll be more comfortable,” Rico said. “Can I get you a coffee? Latte? Something else?”

  “Coffee’s fine.”

  He told me to go and wait for him so I went inside the conference room and took a seat in one of the plush, bright red leather chairs that surrounded the large table. Through the glass, I could see him talking to the blonde woman behind the reception desk. He took a couple files from her before nodding and heading my way.

  Somehow, I had a feeling this could take longer than expected.

  I glanced at my cell phone really quick, debating on canceling my four-ish plans with Sorche. If she went by the house and I wasn’t there, that wouldn’t be good. I tapped the screen to bring up the keyboard and texted a quick message. We might have to get together later than planned before turning my phone off and stuffing it back into my purse.

  “Coffee will be here shortly,” Rico said as he came in the room. “Have you eaten? We were going to order out a late lunch.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, feeling a touch of nerves as he sat down in front of me at the glossy black table. After he’d called, I’d put away the makings of my salad and gone for a quick drive-thru breakfast which had consisted of an extra-large iced coffee and two hash browns. All that I’d felt I could stomach at that point.

  “I really don’t get why I’m here, though.”

  Or why he called me 'the Face.’ Los Angeles was full of beautiful people. And they were a lot more qualified for something like this than me.

  “The House of Vanetti’s about to do a massive launch in Los Angeles. I’ve been looking for months to find the perfect girl to be the official face…and then, I saw you. As they say, the rest is history.”

  “Me?” I repeated blankly.

  “Yes, you. You’re perfect for it.”

  Sure. Plain old me would be perfect for it.

  The conference room door opened, and the woman from behind the front desk walked in, carrying a tray of two coffees and a plate of biscotti. She gave me a smile as she set everything down on the table.

  Evidently, Rico realized I wasn’t convinced.

  “You’re a fresh face, Chey,” he continued as I helped myself to the cup in front of me.

  Fresh or naïve, take your pick. Sorche was going to kill me. She was the one with all the modeling aspirations. Not me.

  “I should be. I’ve barely been here a week.” I cracked a smile as I added cream and sugar and the woman left the room, closing the barn-style glass door behind her with a welcoming smile in my direction.

  Rico smiled.

  “I like your sense of humor,” he commented as he set the file folders on the table out of the way of our coffee cups. “I think you’ve got the perfect look to be the new face for House of Vanetti.”

  I shifted in my seat. “I honestly don’t see it.”

  I took a sip of my coffee. I stared at my reflection every morning in the mirror, and not once had I seen model material staring back at me.

  “Let me show you.” He sorted through the file folders and peeked in the middle one before sliding it across the table to me. “Take a look at those.”

  The heavy manila folder had his logo etched in copper front and center. I pushed my coffee away before I pulled the folder towards me, wondering what lay inside. I lifted the cover to find a stack of photographs, and a quick look told me they were from the fashion show the other day. I racked my mind trying to remember if I’d seen a single photographer, but the spotlights had been so bright, it would have been hard to remember another flash. Besides, I honestly hadn’t really been looking. My main focus had been on staying upright.

  “I didn’t know anyone had photographed the show,” I said, looking at the folder full of glossies. There were photos of everyone. I paused on one of Sorche walking the runway alone. She was amazingly photogenic. Poised. Cool. Perfect.

  Me, on the other hand…not so much, I realized on the next shot of the two of us together. I could see the deer in the headlights look in my eyes even if the rest of my face looked carefully masked.

  Rico nodded. “There was some local press covering the event, and a few of the photographers I know were kind enough to share their shots.”

  He picked up a couple of the photos I’d discarded and looked them over.

  “It’s a lovely offer, Rico.” I met his gaze straight on. “But really, I don’t see anything that shows I’m destined to be the next ‘it’ girl.” Zit girl, maybe. “Sorche would be a much better choice.”

  He shook his head, an emphatic ‘no.’ “I know the two of you are friends, and I’m fond of her, too. But she is not new, fresh, or vibrant.”

  “And I am?” I asked in amazement.

  “You don’t see it. But I can. The camera can.” He opened up a glossy red folder and took out a handful of photos. “See if this set doesn’t change your mind,” he said as he spread them out in front of me. “This girl is destined to be an ‘it’ girl, Chey.”

  I pulled a few of the photos closer, ready to argue that another set wouldn’t change anything, especially my mind. But the girl in this set was beautiful…she was everything Sorche had been in that first set…this girl was…

  Me.

  Well, I think it was me. The girl wore the clothes I’d modeled at the benefit.

  I remembered the slight struggle I’d had with the side zipper on that dress.

  One of the outfits that had suddenly been added to my side of the rack that morning.

  Was Rico the reason I’d suddenly had more to wear in the fashion show?

  “Now you see what I see. What everyone at that fashion show saw.”

  Right then, I was seeing a whole other me. One that I think my father could be—would be—proud of.

  ‘It’ girl, huh?

  I could tell Rico thought he was swaying my decision given my silence.

  “I’m still not sure,” I said, even as my gaze never left the photos. Even if I wanted to, I still would have a little convincing to do on the parental front. “Besides, I’m camera shy,” I argued weakly, finally looking at him again.

  He smiled, looking at me then back at the photos. “We can work on that. But I can wait. You, Cheyenne, will be worth waiting for. Trust me, this city is going to love you.”

  That’s what I should have been afraid of.

  “Do you have a few minutes? I wanted to give you something.”

  I checked my watch, surprised to see I’d been there almost an hour already. “Yeah, I’ve got time.”

  “Great. Wait here.”

  I watched him say a few words to the receptionist then head towards the back to where I couldn’t see him anymore. I finished off my coffee and waited, my nervousness coming back. I grabbed a biscotti from the plate and broke a piece off, popping it into my mouth and chewin
g slowly just to give myself something to do.

  I didn’t have to wait too long before he came back with a large glossy white gift box in hand.

  “For you,” he said, presenting it with a flourish.

  “Mr. Vanetti…”

  “Rico, please,” he said with a big smile.

  “Rico, I can’t accept this,” I said quickly. I mean, a gift? I hadn’t even said yes yet. Or even that I’d seriously think about it, although I think he kinda knew I was thinking about it. A lot.