by Anna Adams
“Maude, Maude!” Ben cried out. “We’ve been waiting for you for hours!”
“What is it?” Maude asked, worried. A horrible thought stood out in her head with legs and feet and arms: Mrs. Ruchet was going to drag her back to Carvin. The thought surprised her, for she had pushed her foster mother out of her mind for the last month.
“It’s good news, honey,” Victoria reassured, wrapping her arms around her.
“You’ve been nominated!” Ben blurted.
“I thought we were supposed to tell her all together,” Victoria reproached.
“You were taking too much time,” Ben whined.
“I’ve been nominated?” Maude shrieked. “For the NAM Awards, you’re sure?”
“Positive,” James replied.
“And not just for one award,” Jazmine continued. “For two: Artist of the Year and Best Album!”
“This definitely calls for a group hug.” Cynthia opened her arms wide. Her suit would get rumpled but who cared?
Maude was engulfed in a warm wave of hugs and kisses. How could she ever feed her inner Amneris when she was surrounded by so much affection? She could’ve died of happiness, when she saw James beam down on her with pride, and Victoria cover her in petals of kisses.
They went in the house amidst joyful chatter and clatter. Jazmine wanted to know what she’d wear and warned her learning to walk with stilettos wasn’t an option, while Cynthia warned her against wardrobe malfunctions. Ben was altogether excited he’d get to stay up later than his bedtime.
Maude and James went into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Before living with the Baldwins, cooking had been a dreary yoke imposed on her by the Ruchets, a yoke that dragged out any leftover parcel of pleasure that might have accompanied the task. She presently found joy in trying new recipes with her uncle who gave a new meaning to the expression “mad scientist,” more frequently used outside of the kitchen than not. In the present case, it applied to a man who viewed cooking as a realm full of culinary treasures waiting to be uncovered by the curious adventurer he was.
“Uncle James?” Maude was prosaically cutting off tails from green asparagus when another thought sifted through her mind.
“Yes, Maude,” James answered with apparent distraction as he brushed the bottom of the pan with a small amount of vegetable oil.
“Who else is nominated for Artist of the Year?” She might as well know her competition for the most sought-for award.
“If you’re asking me if a certain Lindsey Linton is nominated, the answer’s yes,” he answered as he laid six limp salmon fillets in the pan and on the boiler. Lindsey had been less than thrilled to learn Maude was nominated, with dire consequences for the nearest plant in Glitter’s lobby.
“Right,” Maude replied, biting her lip.
“You’ve got as much a shot as her at winning this award,” James reassured.
Maude took the plates and cutlery and headed for the living room. With Lindsey Linton’s nomination, the press would have a field day over their rivalry. But she didn’t care. Lindsey Linton wouldn’t spoil her fun. Not after she’d participated in ruining her relationship with Matt.
“Is Thomas nominated?” Maude asked when she came back to take glasses.
“He’s nominated for Best Male Artist.”
So they were both nominated. He’d had his wish granted, and Maude greeted the news with mixed emotions. Every time an inclination to rekindle their friendship surfaced from under stagnant waters of doubt, he found new ways to prove his trustworthiness remained as perennial as a sandcastle.
“You’re up against Bryan Hemstone, Dani Safran, and Natasha Fare for Best Album. I daresay Natasha’s your main contender. Her latest single ‘Too Deep’ peaked at number 2 at the Billboard and for six weeks.” Maude gulped. Her latest single, “Sunrise,” had peaked at number 3 for seven weeks but at number 3 nonetheless.
“Did Matt tell you he’ll present the award for Artist of the Year?” James asked, occupied with painting his salmon with a honey-tinged maple glaze so that he did not notice Maude’s grasp tighten ever so slightly over the glass she took from the cupboard and would not have recognized it for what it meant if he had.
Chapter 5
Maude Laurent and new boyfriend Thomas Bradfield enjoy a romantic afternoon in Manhattan
Spotted—Maude Laurent and Thomas Bradfield, were seen strolling hand in hand down in Central Park. The couple wore matching Rolling Stones T-shirts and seemed very much in love. The two talented singers have a lot to celebrate, with both being nominated for the NAM Awards, confirming they’re the hottest teen couple around. —Tina Huey from Hollywood Buzz.
*****
“Okay, Maude, remember what I said: shoulders straight, chin held high, and now walk, walk, walk. WALK! Don’t squawk!” Adrianna yelled. She’d been at it for hours, teaching Maude to walk properly in heels. She would never be a model, that much Adrianna was sure of.
Maude sat on the floor kicked off her Prada shoes and rubbed her feet. This was going nowhere. Couldn’t she possibly go to the NAM ceremony in sneakers?
“Sneakers!” Adrianna shrieked.
Maude blinked in surprise. She’d actually voiced her thought? Those stilettos must have pierced the left lobe of her brain, because she wasn’t thinking straight.
“I’m kidding,” Maude rolled her eyes. “But wouldn’t it be funny, me walking down the red carpet in sneakers?”
Adrianna choked. “That would be hilarious, Maude if you want to end up on Lexie Staz’s Worst Dressed Celebrity List. Wouldn’t that be fun, hmm?” The mere thought of her protégé on Lexie’s list made her faint.
“It would be a statement sent to the entire female population that women can wear a gorgeous dress and rock it with a pair of Doc Martens.”
“I give up!” Adrianna huffed, throwing her hands in the air.
“Great! Can I____—”
“—You aren’t going anywhere until you’ve learned to glide like a swan, not squawk like a freakin’ duck. Understood?”
She threw the door open, bumped into Matt about to enter the room, and hurried away, grumbling like an old cat-lady.
Matt peered into his creation room with caution. Had he stepped into another dimension, where women had once more taken over his creation room? Instead of exercising machines, Prada, Louboutins, and Ferragamo stilettos were scattered all over the floor, bones in the cemetery of fashion.
“What’s all this?” he asked as he searched for a place to put his guitar.
“This! This represents Adrianna’s new punishment. I heard they use Louboutins in CIA headquarters instead of waterboarding. That’s evolution for you!”
“I thought Alan had arranged for you to be in another room?” Matt picked up stray shoes, ignoring her furious brow. He wanted his room back, and no amount of righteous indignation would deter him from his goal.
“He has,” Maude replied with a sheepish grin. “But I feel much more comfortable here.”
“And where am I supposed to write my songs? Am I supposed to strum my guitar with this?” he asked, dangling a snake-skinned stiletto.
“It could make for an interesting new sound,” Maude tilted her head sideways, envisioning him playing with her shoe. “You’ve got to learn to innovate, Mathieu Beauchamp. I’m sorry to see you have little to no imagination.” She shook her head in mock disapproval.
“Innovate? Says the girl who refuses to tap into her inner glam?” Matt laughed.
“Can’t I be glamorous without having to wear these shackles?” She tossed her Prada aside in despair.
“Must I really teach you everything, Maude?” Matt asked as he handed her back her shoe.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I taught you to ice skate, and now I’ll teach you to walk with these.”
“You barely managed to stay on your feet in the ice skating rink, and you think you can make me walk properly on these skyscrapers?”
“I fell that day only because
you frightened me on purpose might I add. ”
“Oh, poor little Mathieu got frightened by a eeney-wheeney girl! You give Frenchmen a bad reputation.”
“But I know a thing or two about walking in stilettos.”
“Really? Is it one of your kinky habits, because I wouldn’t judge you if you admitted to indulging in such pleasures.”
“It’s not something I do, but I have been around models as you know.”
Maude paused, an eyebrow raised. “Of course you have. How could I possibly forget? You’ve never had to tap into your inner glam, have you? It was all out for the world to see!”
“You can sit here and scold me for all the fun_—”
“—Fun? You call getting photographed naked in the street, fun?”
“Fun, perhaps a bit wild.” Matt scratched his chin with a fond smile.
“Or the time you punched—”
“—Error of judgments!” Matt interrupted “Anyway, all I can say is you can ask for my help or stand there judging errors from my youth.”
Maude laughed outright.
“It’s a wonder you and I get along. I never would’ve liked you had I met you merely two years ago, Matt.”
“Never say never. You couldn’t stand me a couple of months ago and see how far we’ve come now.”
“Right. You’re going to teach me to tap into my feminine side.”
“Only if you ask nicely.”
“I’m asking nicely.” Maude crossed her hands as if in prayer.
“On bended knee?”
“Not going to happen.”
“All right. But promise to evacuate the premises as soon as this life lesson is over.”
“In your dreams.”
“You really want to see all this knowledge walk through that door?”
“You’d miss my stilettos if they didn’t walk all over you.”
Matt’s eyes laughed before he did.
“Fine,” he gave in. “Choose your instrument. I’ve got the perfect song for this.”
Maude chose a pair of red eight-inch stilettos while Matt put on some music. The loud hip-hop/ rock beat of “Walk This Way” filled the room.
“Aerosmith and Run DMC? Are you sure?” Maude asked. She felt she wouldn’t be doing them justice.
“It should give you all the assurance you need. First off, you chose the wrong shoes. You need to start with, well, baby steps. These for example.” Matt picked up a pair of four-inch Louboutins, inspected their steepness, and handed them to an amused Maude.
“Thanks, sensei. However this grasshopper needs to learn to hop in bigger stilettos fast.”
“Don’t worry, try these.”
Maude put them on. They were a lot less painful than the ones Adrianna had hammered into her feet. She’d been Cinderella’s stepsister, forcing the glass slipper into her foot.
“Close your eyes and picture yourself on a red carpet in these shoes.”
Maude complied, and when she pictured herself standing next to Matt on the red carpet, her eyes shot wide open. She closed them once more, but the image wouldn’t vanish.
“So the number one rule: standing straight and with confidence. Then, and this wisdom was passed on to me from a sure source, you have to go toe heel, toe heel.” He demonstrated the gesture with his right foot in slow motion lifting and lowering his foot accordingly.
Maude executed squatting and squirming to the rhythm of Run DMC and Aerosmith, thundering against society’s dictate on women and impossible standards while Matt straightened her shoulders, and reminded her “qu’il faut souffrir pour être belle” (no pain no gain).
“Easy for you to say. Male celebrities have a lot less effort to make when it comes to physical appearance. You get to wear All Stars all the time, and Teen Vogue finds it stylish.”
Matt lovingly rubbed his white All Stars. He would never get rid of these. Vintage style was more comfortable than penguin style.
“Maybe you’re right about shoes, but don’t you know how hard I have to work to keep my abs?” Matt asked. He lifted his plain white T-shirt to prove his point.
Maude caught a glimpse of his abs before averting her eyes but couldn’t keep her tongue from retorting. “You’re hardly Jason Taylor. Now he’s got abs to keep. Don’t you remember that scene in Vampire Love where ripping off his T-shirt is the only way to save Clara?”
“Let me remind you I was offered his role but turned it down, precisely because I didn’t want to be remembered for scenes such as you describe.” Matt contracted his muscles in front of the mirror. What did Maude see in Jason Taylor? Maybe he should’ve accepted the role of Leonardo di Angelo if it meant having Maude fangirling over the dumb vampire. She’d never fangirled over him, and he was the one and only Love Doctor.
Maude continued her awkward march.
“Would you have enjoyed the movie half as much if he’d been played by someone half as handsome as Jason or me?” he added, pushing his hair away from his face in a casual gesture of pride.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Matt, it’s very unbecoming in a man.” No use boosting an ego that was already sky-high. She wouldn’t be the one to confirm what every magazine had written about him, and what millions of fans had raved about in their diaries and fan fictions.
“Leonardo di Angelo is more than a face,” she explained.
“Of course, he’s also a pair of abs.”
“He’s a conflicted vampire torn between his ambition to do good around him and his desire to feed on human blood.”
“Incredibly profound.”
“You wouldn’t understand that. You’ve never had much of a conscience to start with.”
“I’m debating on whether I should leave you to strut in your stilettos alone and head out, far, far away from here. Grab something to eat.”
“If you’re grabbing something to eat, I’m coming with you.”
“No way, you’ll slow me down.”
“I know where we could go! Please, please, please follow me!” Maude begged, this time going through the motions of kneeling.
“Aren’t you supposed to stay here until you’ve learned to glide?”
“Exactly. I’ve learned thanks to my awesome new teacher.”
“Keep up the fake flattery, I don’t mind.”
“And now the ultimate test is how long I can walk in these shoes without wincing. I’ve got to fly away from the nest!” Maude cried, flapping imaginary crooked wings.
Matt thought she was crazy but was curious as to where this would lead him.
“Where do you want to go?” he finally gave in, curious as to know which place tickled Maude’s fancy.
“Follow me,” Maude indicated with a smile full of mystery. She ignored the small voice that whispered how unwise it was for her to appear in a public outing with Matt. She’d be careful.
“No taxi though. You have to practice walking. Stairs and escalators, public transportation is just what you need. Oh, and don’t forget your sunglasses.” He pulled out his of his shirt pocket and shielded his grey eyes.
An hour later, Maude and her unwilling companion arrived in bustling Brooklyn. She’d enjoyed her first steps in Brooklyn a couple months ago when Matt had treated her to her first Mexican restaurant. He took it for granted but in Carvin, a Chinese and an Italian restaurant had been her only taste of exoticism.
“Ever since you told me I could find bits of France in New York, I’ve been doing some research. And I discovered this cute little French bakery that I’m dying to try.”
“We had to come all the way to Brooklyn for a French bakery? There are French bakeries in Manhattan we could’ve tried.”
“But they didn’t have a nice storefront such as the one on the website. We’re almost there. Come on!” Maude took his hand and walked as fast as her shoes allowed her, much to Matt’s dismay.
“Here we . . . are,” Maude’s voice trailed off, and her crestfallen face only confirmed Matt’s suspicions.
A fresh coat of pai
nt would never have been sufficient to repair the bakery’s outward appearance. The red paint was chipped, the bakery’s name faded, with a few letters missing, and the entire bakery looked like it’d woken up from a slumber, drowsy and lethargic.
“Le Petite Bakery,” Matt read aloud. He squinted trying to make out the missing letters. “You dragged us to Brooklyn to seek out a place called Le Petite Bakery. There are so many things wrong with this name I don’t even know where to start!”
“I know, there’s a grammar mistake in the title.”
“It should have been LA petite not LE petite.”
“But the picture was so cute and lively.”
“And he should’ve used the word boulangerie if he wanted the French word for bakery.”
“And the Chef said his baguettes were authentic.”
“A CHEF! There are no such things as chefs in French bakeries! What is he? Italian?”
“His name is Antonio Scaramuccio.”
Matt hit the palm of his hand across his forehead, while Maude’s pearly laughter rang out in the street. Frustrated Matt was funnier than Professor Mathieu teaching her to disfigure her feet.
“He could be French-Italian,” Maude offered as an explanation.
“Trust me, Maude, if you want real croissants, I know just the place near Tribeca.”
“Uh-huh.” Maude shook her head.
“Uh-huh?”
She pointed at her swollen feet. “I can’t take another step with these. We’re staying here.”
“Didn’t you bring sneakers just in case?” He pointed at her bag. It was big enough for a pair of sneakers.
“Girls don’t carry sneakers in their Gucci bags, Matt.” Maude shook her head comically. “There, now I sound like your beloved Adrianna.”
Matt had to agree. Except for the ‘beloved’ part.
“I thought this was a serious evaluation. I didn’t bring back-up. I was so sure I would ace this test. You boosted my confidence to a max. You should’ve thought to bring back-up, you sorry excuse for a teacher!”
