by Lulu Pratt
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said, not able to work myself up to rage, too exhausted and heartbroken for anything that energy-draining.
Finn sat down beside me and pulled me into a hug.
“What can I do to make it better?” he murmured into my hair, his fingers gently petting the nape of my neck.
I thought for a moment, at last telling him, “You could come home with me.”
The idea had popped out before I’d really analyzed it, but the moment I’d said it, I knew it was exactly what I desired. I wanted Finn, wanted him in my life and not working for the garbage can fire of a company that was Regency, and with such an evil woman as Chrissy.
“Come home with me,” I repeated, gaining steam. “You’ll find a new job, you’ll be happier, we can try to make us work…”
My words died out as I saw the rueful expression on his face. He didn’t need to speak. His features said it all.
“You’re not gonna come, are you,” I murmured. It wasn’t a question.
Slowly, Finn shook his head. “I can’t, Poppy, I’m sorry. I need this job. I don’t have any other income, and if I get a bad recommendation from Regency, I’m fucked.”
This was baloney. “You’re already plenty rich,” I replied. “They pay you well. And besides, you’re so talented. You don’t need them. You can finally pursue the stuff that makes you happy, the real art.”
“Please be realistic. New York is expensive, and–”
“So move!” I cried, frustrated. “The world is not just about money, Finn, it’s about doing what you love. Why don’t you get that?”
He sighed, and I could hear the mounting annoyance in his voice. “There are some things you don’t get, Poppy, and that’s all right, you don’t have to, but trust me, money is always important. To pretend otherwise, in this society, in this day and age, it’s just – I know you have your faith, and that’s great, but I don’t believe some god is gonna intervene and make my life easy. I have to work for every single thing I have.”
“I’m not naïve,” I hissed. “I know that. But not having my kind of faith doesn’t mean you have to place your faith in money. Those are two different things. I’m twenty-three. It’s possible to be optimistic without being stupid. So why are you trying to paint me like some kind of child?”
“Because right now,” he replied, each word piercing me, “you’re acting like one.”
“So that’s it. This is where we end.” A sob choked between my teeth, and I sorely wished that this wasn’t the moment my spirit had broken and a cry had emerged. Finn didn’t deserve that satisfaction. “Last night we were lying in bed and cuddling and we were so happy and now… now this? You can’t be serious.”
He looked at me with dark, baleful eyes, and I knew it was over. He wasn’t coming. He would never leave Regency, would never put me first. It was about his job, and would always be, no matter how shitty said job was.
“Fine,” I finally blurted. “Then get out. I have to pack.”
“Poppy–”
“Get out!” I screamed, my voice tearing through my throat.
Finn gazed at me with hard, hurt eyes before quietly replying, “Have it your way.”
Then he turned on a heel and stormed out of the room, leaving me to cry alone.
Chapter 23
FINN
I CONCENTRATED on the viewfinder of my camera.
Just take the damn shot, I told myself. Stop thinking, start doing.
I clicked and the shutter snapped, capturing Bebe, elevated on her toes, at the termination of the fishing dock. Well, it wasn’t so much a ‘fishing dock,’ these days – but rather, a long, wooden plank on stilts that led into the ocean, then stopped abruptly. I know that sounds a bit boring, but in the low afternoon light, it was pretty picturesque.
“Great, Bebe,” I called out. “Looks great.”
She gave me a small smile from the end of the deck, but she knew that I was in no mood to shout words of encouragement.
“Thanks Finn,” she replied, giving me a thumbs-up. “You always make me feel so confident during shoots.”
Man, she was trying so hard to cheer me up, which counterintuitively, only made me feel worse.
That morning, Poppy had rolled her suitcase through the villa, its plastic wheels clanging all across the stone floors, sending reverberations through the house. I’d sat silently on the couch, firmly ignoring Poppy and her bag, while Chrissy looked on in triumph. Bebe and Kareen had tried to ask what was wrong, but all Poppy’d say was that she had to leave. Even though Poppy had been opaque in her response, I think both girls deduced it’d been something nasty – what else could cause a hopeful young make-up influencer to leave such a fabulous opportunity?
Chrissy, who knew exactly what had gone down, also made little suggestive comments about Poppy’s departure, probably enough out of my earshot that Bebe and Kareen were able to infer a thing or two. Either way, they’d been exceedingly nice to me all day during our bikini shoot, which only made me feel like more of an ass.
When Poppy had fled the villa, I thought I’d been right, that I’d made sound decisions. She’d told me to quit my job. I’d argued that it wasn’t monetarily feasible. She wanted too much from me. Or at least, that’s how I’d reasoned it to her. In reality, I suspect that I was just afraid of admitting deeper feelings for Poppy, the ‘hop on a plane and start a new life with you’ feelings. What if I left everything behind for her, and then she left me? It was a risk I couldn’t take – I’d been abandoned before.
Besides, I was living the dream… allegedly.
Bebe, dressed only in bikini bottoms and no top, with her fingers splayed suggestively over her nipples, switched poses.
“How’s this?” she asked.
“Good,” I replied with absolutely no enthusiasm for the bare-chested woman in front of me.
She grabbed a nearby towel, wrapped it around herself, and strode up to me.
As she neared, she said, “Finn, we don’t have to do this right now. Take a break. You’re clearly having a shitty day.”
“That’s nice of you,” I said, “but this is my job. I can’t just not do it because I’m in a bad mood.”
Chrissy, who had been swimming in the water beneath the deck and looking up at me with bedroom eyes since we’d finished her portion of the shoot, interrupted our conversation.
“Why are you in a bad mood, Finn?” she queried, though she knew the answer as well as I. “It’s a beautiful day.”
She reached up for the ladder that hung from the dock into the water, and scaled it easily. Models these days are also nearly world-class athletes. In short time, she was standing on the dock near me, wringing water from her hair.
I ignored her, hoping that if I said nothing, she’d dive back into the water and hey, maybe even drown.
No such luck.
“Come on, Finn,” she mewed, putting a spidery hand on my arm. “Tell me all about it.”
She wasn’t going to let up. Not now, not ever. She’d asserted her power this entire trip, and every time, she’d succeeded. Chrissy was certain that, sooner or later, she’d get me back into her bed.
And maybe she was right. God knew it’d be easier to stop resisting her and just give in. Anyways, Poppy wasn’t in the picture anymore, so what the hell was preventing me from taking the easier way out?
As if reading my thoughts, Chrissy added, “Isn’t it so much more pleasant, now that that cow is out of our hair? Now we can have such a cute little romantic getaway.”
I didn’t shrug her arm off my shoulder. I was getting so tired of asserting myself, only to have my boundaries violated again and again. Bebe turned around quickly, facing out to the ocean. Being a friendly, kind girl, she’d likely inferred that we were having an affair, or something else she wasn’t supposed to be spying on. If only it were that simple, I thought wistfully.
Chrissy, meanwhile, took my stillness as an invitation.
She snaked her hand from my ar
m, down the side of my stomach and to my hip.
“Now that she’s gone,” Chrissy murmured in a sickly sweet voice, “we can do this.”
She grabbed my cock and squeezed, and it was as if I was awoken from an awful dream. I started back, shocked and horrified, coming to my senses.
“What’s wrong?” she laughed. “I know you like that, Finn.”
It was all wrong. I’d been afraid to tell anyone about Chrissy’s harassment, for fear that I wouldn’t be believed – because I was a man, and she, a model. But people don’t stop being abusive without reason. That’s not how abusers work. Chrissy would never stop, or at least, not until she’d finally faced some damn consequences. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t told Poppy about it, that I’d been too ashamed. She would’ve understood, and then I wouldn’t have been alone for the next part.
Because after Chrissy grabbed my junk without permission, I immediately stumbled to the end of the dock that led onto dry land, walking off and pulling out my phone.
Chrissy was calling out behind me, but I ignored her. Never again, I thought with malice.
Janice picked up after the third ring.
“Hey, Finn,” she began. “I heard about Poppy’s, uh, departure. That’s–”
I wanted to talk about Poppy’s dismissal, obviously, but if I didn’t say this now, I might never speak the truth.
So I cut Janice off, saying, “That’s not why I called.” I took a deep breath and walked a few more feet up the beach, feeling the sand between my toes. “It’s Chrissy.”
I could almost hear Janice’s eyes roll. “What’d the bitch do this time?” she inquired angrily.
“Janice…” I sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but… I think Chrissy’s been harassing me. Sexually harassing me.”
Janice’s end went dead quiet before she quietly responded, “Tell me everything.”
And I did. After I walked past the beach line, and out of Chrissy’s earshot, I let loose. I told her about the continual veiled threats, the unwanted advances, my constant rejection of Chrissy and her continual ignoring of said rejections. I unloaded to Janice, and only after I’d finished my story did I take a full breath.
“So,” I finished. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m calling Regency the second we get off the phone, and telling them they have a fucking problem. And if they don’t listen, then I’m calling you a lawyer.”
My heart tightened in my chest, and this time, not from anxiety. I was so incredibly grateful to have someone hear my story and still be in my court. It felt like a victory unto itself.
I hung up on Janice so she could go make the call and walked back through the trees, onto the beach. Chrissy and Bebe were still on the dock. Bebe, seated at the end, dangling her toes, and Chrissy, stretching out and looking like the cat who got the cream.
“Bebe,” I hollered. “Let’s finish this.”
As I snapped my final pictures of her for the day, I thought about Poppy, and how desperately I wished she was here – how she would be here, if not for Chrissy’s awful intervention and my subsequent fuck-up. I’d been so close to finally trusting a woman again, and then I’d gone and let another shitty one in the form of Chrissy make my life hell, and prevent me from finding the happiness I deserved.
Just after I told Bebe we’d gotten all the photos we needed, and she, Chrissy and Kareen had headed up the beach to the van, my phone rang. I set my camera against my chest and picked up.
“Hello?”
“Finn Maguire? This is Mike from Regency. Are you alone?”
I looked around. The models were definitely in the car and no one was around. “Yes.”
“Then let’s talk.”
Mike, a Regency higher-up, had me run down the same story I’d told Janice. He was silent the entire time, until at last I came to the close, saying:
“And… yeah. That’s what happened.”
Mike sighed heavily into the receiver. “I’m sorry about everything, Finn. I really am.”
My mouth popped open with surprise. Even after speaking with Janice and hearing her insist that something needed to be done, if I’m being honest, I doubted that I would get so much as an apology from Regency. They were a big company, and needed to cover their ass. Allegations of this variety couldn’t possibly be welcomed. Yeah, I’m cynical, but shitty, abusive stuff happens in fashion all day long. Why would my case be any different?
Mike accidentally answered my question, saying, “Because of all of this ‘me too’ business, we’d like to make everything right with you.”
So that’s why they were taking this seriously – because hordes of women had spoken up, and suddenly, there was a much-needed microscope on abuse within creative industries. I said a silent thank-you to Tarana Burke.
“Here’s what we’d like to do,” Mike continued. “We’ll remove Chrissy from the shoot, and then ensure that you two never work together again.”
I considered this. Mike had implied that they would go on employing Chrissy, which pissed me off. But then, Rome wasn’t built in a day. The fashion industry wasn’t going to magically become perfect through a single movement. It would take time, and this was a first step.
Thus, frustrated as I was, I decided to accept these terms. I’m still not sure if it was the right decision, but it was the only one that allowed me to keep my job and my sanity.
“All right,” I told Mike. “I wish you’d just fire her, but I guess that’ll do. For now.”
“Thanks for understanding,” he said, his voice slick with snake oil.
But I wasn’t quite done. “One more thing. Contact your people at BeYou Magazine, and tell them to rehire Poppy Reeve. She got the blowback of Chrissy’s shittiness, and she didn’t deserve it.”
Mike’s tone changed from obsequious to non-committal. “I guess I could see what we could–”
“No,” I replied, firm on this point. “Get her back her job, the one she earned, or I’ll sue.”
“What if she doesn’t want to come back?” Mike asked snidely, diverting blame.
I thought about this for a moment, then rejoined, “I’m gonna fly out. To Atlanta. Then I’ll convince her to come back. I’ve finished the Regency shoot, anyways, and I assume the BeYou one with Poppy is postponed now, given the circumstances.”
Mike snorted. “What makes you think we’ll pay for you to go chase a girl?”
“You want Poppy to tell her millions of followers about how and why she got fired?”
The phone line was silent.
“Thought not,” I finished, pleased with myself. “Get me a ticket.”
Mike spat out, “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Maguire. But fine, we’ll get you the damn flight. Consider yourself lucky.”
I pictured Poppy – her smile, her brightness, her beauty. “I am lucky, Mike,” I informed him. “Or at least, I will be, if the woman I’m falling for takes me back.”
Chapter 24
POPPY
“PEANUT BUTTER or mint chocolate chip?”
“Peanut butter,” I called back, even though I really didn’t care which one I was handed.
“Okay.”
Moments later, April emerged from the kitchen with two pints of ice cream – peanut butter for me, rainbow sherbet for her – and two spoons.
“Here you go,” she said, passing the pint and a spoon into my hand. Then she flopped down onto the floral couch next to me and sighed. “Ben and Jerry will never betray you.”
I popped open the lid, and dug into the coldness. April was right. The only men in my life I could trust were the ones who fed me.
I’d landed about eight hours ago, and was already on my second helping of ice cream. As it turns out, that amount of sugar does not make you feel better. Once the rush is gone, you’re left feeling kind of nauseated and dizzy. In other words, distraction only works for so long.
April hadn’t asked questions when I first walked through her door, tearful and my make-up in shambles
. She’d just hugged me for a long time on the threshold, petting my hair and promising that everything would be okay. Once I was able to lift my face up from her strong shoulder, she led me to her couch, and we hadn’t moved since. Over the past few hours, I’d explained everything that happened – Chrissy, Finn’s betrayal, and ultimately, BeYou Magazine’s decision to fire me.
She’d listened attentively, with the focus and empathy of somebody who listens to people for a living. About half of her job is helping guide members of her congregation by hearing their problems, suggesting solutions or sometimes just listening when there was no solution. When I finished my story, she gave me another long hug, and then we’d begun parsing through everything.
There was, after all, so much to consider. Did I tell my followers what had happened, or would that permanently sever my ties with the fashion industry? Or were those ties severed anyway? And if so, how far-reaching were the consequences? Would I be ousted from make-up as well? Heck, would I need to find a new job, period?
Those were the easier questions, in a way, because their answers were so out of my control. There was no way to know what the chatter was amongst fashion insiders vis-à-vis my removal. Chances were, nobody cared. I wasn’t anyone to them, just some bumpkin from the country. Then again, Chrissy could be bad-mouthing me even at that very moment, telling all her make-up artist friends that I was hell to work with, that I’d been fired for being a… you know what. I mean, she’d done as much with BeYou Magazine and Regency, right? What was to stop her from going a step further? That girl was out for blood.
The harder questions were about Finn, and that’s what April and I had been addressing when I announced that it was time for a second pint.
As I licked brown ice cream off the spoon, she asked, “Before all this happened, how did you feel about Finn?”
“I felt… like I really liked him,” I admitted. “Like I wanted there to be more between us.”
April nodded, understanding. “That’s what it sounded like when you called me, post-coitus.”
“Ew, don’t say coitus,” I grimaced.
