“You must hate me,” he began. “Look, Mable, I needed time to think, to sort out shit.” His eyes diverted to the ground, and his hand ruffled through his loose hair. “You know I care about you? More than you know … more than I made myself believe, and now things are getting complicated between us. I got scared.” His eyes snapped back up and met mine dead-on.
“Is it Vanessa? Are you guys back together?” Maybe my insecurities were clouding my judgment, but I had a hard time buying it.
“Back? No.” His face came across as a mix of confusion and irritation. “Nothing is going on between us, nor will there ever be.”
Not a word he was saying was making me feel that he was being legitimate. Did he think I was stupid? I’d never taken Simon for a big fat liar, and now I realized there was a side of him that I hadn’t met before.
“There can’t be anyone else when all I do is think about you, love. You’ve sent me over the edge … That damn kiss and all its glories—just thinking about it makes me fucking crazy.” He rubbed his forehead. “You force me to feel things I haven’t felt in a long time … We can’t do this, right? Not if we want to continue to work together? I don’t want to ruin what we have. God, I wish things could be different, but you don’t know me, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
He had started it, but I wanted to finish it, have the last word.
“Listen, Simon, it was only a kiss …” I shrugged, playing it cool, building up that wall as fast as possible before his words could continue to rip me apart. “I had too much wine, and I guess we’ve gotten to know each other enough that I feel very comfortable around you. I—just … I don’t know what I was thinking. It was an ending to a perfect evening.” I watched him take a step back, allowing it to set in his mind.
“It meant nothing to you?” His voice came out tight.
“I’m sorry. I should have never done that.” The words felt forced, and the center of my chest gotten heavy. “Can we forget about it?” I watched his eyes go dim. I only wished I knew what he was thinking. Then again, maybe I did.
“Okay … if that’s what you want,” he said, in a tone that projected a hint of hurt. Did he expect me to fight for him? I wasn’t going to beg; he was either in or he was out. I deserved someone who wanted me as much I wanted him, without making things complicated.
“So we’re good? Because I don’t want to lose you as a friend,” I said. I was the one who had kissed him; why shouldn’t I dictate how this was to go down?
“No. Never. You will always have me,” he said. I guess I had to own it, accept it for what it was. I will always miss the mark, but at least I’m a cool girl, and cool girls don’t give a shit.
There are three stages of a model’s career: breakthrough, recognition, and, if you’re lucky—success. Only a few mannequins achieve this, mind you. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment where I can say I gained recognition, but after the Elite event, there was movement: people began to talk, and more designers were booking me. The photographs that were taken of me that evening were found in celebrity magazines. One photo of Julian and me was featured underneath the bold title: Heir to Luxury Goods’ Empire Dating Unknown Model. I laughed at how ridiculous it was when Gloria first showed me the magazine. And it was more surprising to find a text message from Julian. “Can it be true? Are we dating now? We make a charming couple. No?”
Now I understood what Simon had said about the circus lights. Once you entered the tent, you were a willing participant, becoming a part of that circus. It’s a false illusion, making you think you’re a lot more important than you really are. Simon’s words swirled in my mind. I felt guilty to admit it, but I liked the attention. To see my face in those glossy magazines, it was like a “screw you” to all the mean girls in high school who made me feel I was irrelevant. But still, I needed to stay grounded, not lose sight of who I was … to see fame as just another extension of my life.
I was in a cab on my way to the Ortiz fall-winter runway show with plenty of time to spare. Simon would be so proud. He had suggested that I text him when I arrive. Things were hunky-dory between us. I mean, I didn’t want to lose him, because our friendship was important. We were accountable for our actions and our words. Even though it was a lot to swallow, together we made little sense. He had a demanding career, and mine had just begun to take up most of my time. Like they say, it’s not meant to be.
The cab dropped me in front of Space 404, where the venue was being held. Bruno Ortiz, the designer, was more than happy for me to be part of his show, but his casting director and stylist were another story. A week before, I had come in for a last-minute fitting, and that’s when they had put me in baggy clothes. I wasn’t stupid; I knew they were trying to camouflage my body, so I didn’t stand out from the rest. Since I had signed up with Amanie’s agency, I had allowed my body to grow into its natural form. I had thighs, hips, and—hello there, butt, I haven’t seen you in a while. So with my new physique, I didn’t fit into the samples, and if the designers wanted me, they would have to accommodate my size. Not because it was me, but because I was Amanie’s client, and she had established a good relationship with designers for years. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have given me a second look. Simon had once said it might take a while before the industry matured in their ideas of what a model should be. To pioneer something that had never done before, there would always be a criticism. But is this industry ready for someone like me? I will soon find out.
Inside, I gave my name to the girl holding up a clipboard, and she sent me directly backstage. I was walking down the corridor, sending Simon a text, when I was body-checked into the wall.
“Watch where you’re going, idiot,” Vanessa said as she walked past me. I could have pulled her by her ponytail, swung my fist, but my father had taught me better. I was here to work, and I was a professional. I refused to play into her drama.
She had wrecked her integrity and I wouldn’t allow her to destroy mine. It blew my mind that a guy like Simon would get involved with someone like her. No wonder he has issues; she probably ruined him for anyone else.
I turned the corner and walked into a large room filled with sounds of blow-dryers and chattering. There were a few tables lined up along the wall, made into several stations for the hairstylist and makeup artist, who were already at work. I glanced around the room, and all eyes were on me. I felt like I was coming out of left field, but luckily for me, I saw another familiar face, and my body relaxed.
“Hey there, cover girl.” Noah kissed me in greeting. He was wearing a black T-shirt and dark denim pants. A backstage pass hung around his neck.
“Let’s get you ready, shall we?” He pulled out a chair. This was the first time we’d seen each other in a while. We’d tried to get together sooner, but we couldn’t get our schedules to sync. When I had the time, I was too exhausted, spending the time in bed with the covers over my head. I settled in Noah’s chair, and he began his magic. From the corner of my eye, I caught Vanessa. She was in a white robe and sitting in a chair close by, staring me down. Vanessa whispered something to the blond model sitting next to her, and they both laughed. Shit, this was high school all over again.
“Don’t get yourself worried about it, hon, she’s just a jealous bitch.” Noah caught my eyes in the mirror.
He’s right. I shouldn’t let it bother me, but it does. I had never offered her a reason to hate me, yet I gave her the power to manipulate my emotions. I wanted to despise her, I really did, but there was a part of me that felt sorry for Vanessa. She was a train wreck waiting to happen. I knew it, and the whole industry knew it: she was crazy and irrational, and it only made me wonder what had happened to make her that way. Would I feel the same about Simon if he had caused it? It would split my heart in two.
Noah separated my hair into sections, pinning them back with a silver clip. He started on the left side, so I removed my aid and placed it on the table in front of me. I was afraid Noah might yank it off while working on my hair.
; “Why would she be jealous of me?” Vanessa was the third highest paid model. I doubted she had anything to envy.
“Maybe she sees you as a threat.”
“A threat? Yeah, okay.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know.” He gave me a level stare.
“It must be for my high-tech hearing aids.” I laughed.
“For one, you’re fresh blood, and her career is fading fast, but I imagine what burns her the most is that you’re cute and cuddly with Simon,”
“We’re friends.” I played with the hem of my white T-shirt.
“No, darling, buddies don’t lock lips just for the sake of being friends.”
“What?” My eyes flashed upward. When I looked up in the mirror, Noah gave me a stare like, and I blushed.
“Simon?” I groaned, and he nodded. “Doesn’t anyone keep anything to themselves?”
“Of course.” He shrugged. “But that’s not something you keep from your best friend.”
“So what did he tell you?” I was hoping for more insight on Simon’s part on that night.
“He’s conflicted, but he cares for you. I can tell you that much.” He smiled. Before I could ask him another question, one of the show’s organizers came walking up.
“Can I steal her for a minute?” a girl with a clipboard said over my head.
“Okay, hon, I will pin the rest of your hair and finish up later. Come back and see me when you’re done. Okay?”
Disappointed we couldn’t continue the conversation, I followed the girl into the wardrobe area.
By the time I got my makeup and hair done, I realized that I had never placed my aid back in my left ear.
“It’s not there?” Noah asked when I didn’t find it on the table. “Well, that’s strange, I saw you put it right here a minute ago.” He bent down, looked under the table, but found nothing. I felt a hand on my waist and I flinched. My stomach was all twisted in knots but looking into Simon’s soft eyes seemed to have a calming effect on me.
He wore a dark gray pant and a matching vest, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned—the first two. He looked good, and I would have told him that, if I wasn’t preoccupied with everything else.
“Hey, I wanted to wish you luck … Are you okay?” My eyes dropped to his lips. With one of my aids lost, the surrounding commotion was making it tricky to understand what he was saying.
“What’s the matter?” The crease between his brows deepened.
“I lost one of my hearing aids.” I looked at him through my long false lashes.
“Oh shit. I found it.” We both looked up at Noah. He was holding up a paper cup, trying to fish out something out of my coffee.
“Seriously? Who would do that?” I said in disbelief.
“Oh, I have a good idea, and it starts with a capital V.” Noah’s eyes met Simon’s, whose features seemed to have hardened.
“Do you think it still works?” Noah placed my hearing aid inside a tissue and handed it back.
“Probably not,” I said. “It has to be dried before I can put new batteries in, to see if it works, but right now I don’t have time.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman with the clipboard coming around.
“They need you in the lineup,” Simon said, fully aware I didn’t catch what she was saying.
“What if I dry them with the blow-dryer, hon? Do you think it could work?
“It’s worth a try, I guess,” I said, watching Noah walk back to his spot.
“This is off to a good start.” I gave Simon a weak smile.
“Your hands are cold.” He warmed them between his.
“I will fall flat on my ass, I know it.”
“You won’t.”
“But what if I do?”
“Don’t miss a beat, love. Get up like nothing happened and go on. Make them think: wow—that Mable Harper walks like a pro.”
“I don’t feel so good.” I diverted my eyes back to Noah.
“Hey, you got this,” he said, forcing my chin up. “Listen, I will be at the end of the runway—just focus on me, okay?” Simon had been invited as a guest, not for work. It was difficult to focus on anything other than the fact that Simon had come to see me backstage. I felt a warm heat at the center of my chest.
“Sir, you’re not supposed to be here,” said the blonde dressed in black. Simon turned. “Oh, Mr. Rowe, the show is about to start—”
“I know, sorry. I’m going,” he convinced her.
“Are you okay?” He looked at me for reassurance, and I nodded.
“Knock them dead, love, and I’ll see you after the show?”
I nodded, and he kissed me on the cheek just before disappearing into the frenzied crowd.
The woman with the clipboard gathered us into a lineup. We all wore the same black strappy shoes. But otherwise, we were coordinated by the color of our outfits. I was in the second group of girls that was going out on stage, wearing gray chiffon. It was mundane to just stand there, but there was so much going on around us in the last twenty minutes before the show started. For one, there were makeup artists going around for the final touch-ups. And there were photographers, predominately men, all over the room, taking our pictures. Actually, they were always around us, even when we were getting dressed. The shit you have to tolerate.
“Chelsea, move aside. I need to check my girl,” Bruno, the designer, waved off the makeup artist. He was going from one girl to another, making sure that the outfits were perfect. There was a magnetic allure about Bruno Ortiz, even for a man in his sixties. He looked so sophisticated in his blue velvet suit and black bowtie.
“Where’s Vanessa? She’s supposed to be in the lead.” A girl wearing a headset rushed us by. Bruno just stood there silently; only a slightly-raised eyebrow indicated that he had caught that, too. His warm whiskey-colored eyes met mine as he repositioned the first button that had come undone of my ruffle dress. I glanced up and caught the model in front of me, swinging her hips rhythmically to some beat I couldn’t quite make out.
“The show has started.” He smiled and took a step back to get a better look at me before saying, “My little muse, you’re hidden in the tall grass, and a wildflower should be seen.”
“Willow,” he called, and the girl that had just run by was quickly by his side.
“Yes, Mr. Ortiz.”
“Mable will open the show,” he said, matter-of-factly, and my eyes widened.
“But … Vanessa,” Willow said. Of course, Vanessa was MIA, but I spotted her through the crowd, off the shoulder where no one could see her, and she wasn’t alone, either. I must have gotten the tail end of their spat, because she was trying to hold him back, and he gently removed her grip before walking away.
Simon.
“She was just over there a minute ago.” I pointed in the direction I had seen her last. I could have minded my business, said nothing, but I wasn’t one to take advantage of a situation for personal gain.
Bruno sighed, bringing my attention back to him. “I think we’ve given her enough chances. Bring my wildflower to the front, please.” He winked at me and moved on to the next mannequin behind me.
I followed Willow to the front of the line. I could feel all eyes on me; the other models gawked as I walked past them. For once my scanty height was to be reckoned with, placing me in a position I could never have imagined. When the show starts, I will be the first to set foot on that stage. There was no time to be nervous. I had to stay focused and wipe my face of any emotion. A few minutes later, Bruno stood on a chair in front of us.
“You girls look fantastic! Enjoy yourselves … Go out and rock it!”
Cheers and clapping echoed around the room. I had one last checkpoint to pass before going out. I was not ready, but I had no choice. There was no going back.
I began my walk behind a wall of white chiffon fabric suspended from the ceiling, pausing at the opening before venturing into the spotlight. I fixated ahead, walking in my four-inch heels and praying I didn’t make a foo
l of myself. Chills ran up my body, like a rush I had never felt before. It could easily be addictive, this newfound high. The crowd was so big that I didn’t see Simon or anyone else; the lights on my face were too bright. All that was visible was the front row, where all editors and buyers were hiding behind their white phones. But I didn’t focus on them. Instead, I pointed my eyes ahead, making it down the runway, turning around and walking back up again. When I was back behind the scenes I rushed to get into another outfit, repeating the whole thing one more time. It was comforting, though, to know that Simon was somewhere out there.
After the show, the photographers took pictures of us together, of Bruno and me. He kissed my cheek and told me that we needed to work together again. I caught Simon across the crowd of people. He was being interviewed by the press. Our eyes met what felt like a thousand times—I smiled at him, he smiled back. We were parted by a sea of people, yet I had never felt a stronger pull. After I changed back into my clothing, he found me.
“You were awesome, love.” He beamed, and it made me tingle. I didn’t see him as Simon Rowe, the famous photographer, but as Simon, a friend I valued, even though I knew sometimes there were illogical emotions involved. Nothing more would come of it, but It was okay, because not having him in my corner was far worse.
“You’re all right?”
“Exhausted, but what an exhilaration … I want to do it again,” I said, and he laughed.
“Soon enough, little grasshopper, you’ll get that chance.” He smiled. “Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
“Let’s go. Gloria and your dad are waiting for us out in front.” He slid an arm around my waist as we walked out the exit door. I hadn’t seen Vanessa after the show, and I didn’t care if she saw us together, because for the first time I felt he had chosen me over her.
“Oh wait, I forgot my bag.” I stopped and spun around. “I’ll meet you outside,” I said over my shoulder, and headed back to Noah’s spot to find my black satchel under the table.
Lyrical Lights Page 13
