Model Behavior

by Carter, M. E.

  It’s… frustrating. Physical intimacy is important to me. Am I the only single person in the world who thinks that? Surely not. Frustrating or not, I have to remind myself my perfect match will understand why it’s something I have to do for me and be glad to go without sex.

  Okay “glad” may be reaching. Maybe just willing. Resigned? Humoring me? Whatever. We’ll be on the same page. That’s the most important part.

  Dropping my phone on the small table next to me, I grab Donna’s upcoming release and prepare to read while my technician grabs one of my feet from the water. I’m so far behind on this read and I have a meeting with Celeste next week to go over timelines for the blog. She’s going to freak out if I don’t have my review written. I’ve never missed a deadline but at least a few times a year I cut it close and stress out. It’s become part of our process.

  I get behind.

  She freaks out.

  I catch up and get everything done right on schedule.

  She relaxes and has fifteen reviews ready to post at a moment’s notice because she’s so far ahead.

  It’s called balance.

  I try to get into this new story, which is amazing by the way, but the technician is being kind of rough with the cuticle scissors. I grunt a little when she tugs, hoping she’ll get the hint, but she doesn’t even notice. I couldn’t be so lucky.

  Shaking my head, I stick my nose back in my book, trying to lose myself in the story of billionaire tycoon Roberto Amore and his temporary secretary, Lola. Yes, it’s an overused trope, but Donna Moreno’s books are a guilty pleasure for me, no matter what. I’m kind of hoping a surprise baby shows up by the end. If we’re going to go for cliché, I want them all! Nothing keeps my attention more than a super-rich boss trying to decide how to break it to his family that he knocked up his secretary!

  I can’t seem to concentrate on the story as much as normal, though, when the callus shaver comes out and the woman at my feet goes at it like I’ve been living barefoot in a forest all my life. It’s distracting and, frankly, I’m a little afraid.

  Seriously, this is who Jamie recommended? Am I at the right place?

  Grabbing my phone, I shoot off a text to make sure I didn’t end up at the wrong salon.

  Me: You recommended that place at 8th and Parker, right?

  J: Yeah! Ooh La La Nails. They’re the best. I was there earlier.

  Me: Well the lady I got is NOT happy about doing my pedicure. I think she’s taking out some pent-up anger on my feet.

  J: eek! Does she have flowers on her dress? Kind of older?

  Me: YES!!!

  J: Haha! I’ve never seen her before today, but she did mine the same way when she started with me. Then she cut me and was super nice after that.

  Me: Probably because she was worried.

  J: No doubt.

  None of this conversation is reassuring, but it does confirm why I should have gone with my first instinct when she told me about this place. Jamie isn’t known for having the highest standards, but I took her word for it. Lesson learned. Next time, ask if blood was drawn.

  Joke’s on flower dress lady. Little does she know that I snuck Sven into her place of business in my bra, when the sign clearly says “No Pets.” I couldn’t just leave him in the car and I won’t have time to go get him from home before going to work. I had to prioritize. Painted toenails and reading time won out.

  Although, I’m still having a hard time reading because the nail clippers are out and—

  “Ouch!” I exclaim and just as Jamie predicted, the tech finally seems to notice my feet, instead of everything else around her.

  “Oh! Sorry,” she says and begins rubbing my foot gently. “Sorry. It’s tiny. I’ll be careful.”

  “Thanks,” I say but I’m thinking, You should have started off being careful.

  For the second time, I grab my phone.

  Me: SHE JUST CUT ME!

  J: So it should be all good now.

  Me: Except she just pulled out peppermint oil and is about to rub it all over my legs, including in the cut!

  Jamie doesn’t respond, probably too busy laughing her ass off. Which is actually okay. My favorite part of a pedicure is the leg massage. This is the time when I truly let go. I lean back, close my eyes, and just enjoy having my muscles rubbed. I always give a larger tip if they focus on the bottoms of my feet. The shelter is almost all cement to make it easier to clean, but it’s rough on my tootsies.

  My thoughts drift as the relaxation hits and for some reason Australia pops into my mind and all the things I want to do there. Matthew’s right. I think I want to spend more of my time outside the city. While I wouldn’t mind a day or two to explore the city limits, I’m so curious about the terrain and the wildlife. I want to see a kangaroo and hold a koala.

  Hmm. I wonder if Matthew did that. I should ask him—oh. Well. I might as well ask him now since the world’s worst nail technician just got up and walked away. Where the hell is she going? Seriously, is this woman on drugs? She may be only in her sixties, give or take a few years, but something tells me her capacities aren’t all there. At least it gives me time to text. We can do that right? Text? He asked me about Sven this morning, so it’s not weird between us. I think.

  Well now I’m angry with myself for ruining my favorite part of a pedi, which is just the feeling I need to get over myself and text already.

  Me: Did you hold a koala in Australia?

  Matthew answers quickly, maybe quicker than normal. I wonder if he’s getting a shitty pedicure too and is welcoming the distraction.

  M: You can’t hold koalas. It’s some sort of policy.

  What? Well that’s disappointing.

  Me: Are you sure? I work in wildlife rescue. Surely they’d make an exception for me. Maybe they have a koala with narcolepsy. I’m an expert in that.

  M: I’m sure they do since koalas sleep like twenty hours a day.

  Me: Sounds like my ideal day. Speaking of sleeping, I saw your live video. It was… interesting.

  M: Let’s not discuss that, shall we? Some of those comments made me want to run out and eat a dozen donuts. Maybe shave my head.

  Me: What’s wrong? You don’t want to be part of a Spencer Garrison-Matthew Roberts sandwich?

  M: I don’t even know who that is, so no. Wait. Does he look like Jack Ryan? Then maybe I’d consider.

  I snort a laugh as my nail lady sits back down.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Now she wants to talk to me? When the pedicure is almost over? “She’s working super hard for that tip, huh?” I think sarcastically. But I politely say, “Just work stuff,” and point to my phone. Maybe that’ll get me out of here faster. At this point, fighting the traffic in the Popeye’s lunch line sounds more relaxing.

  Ooh. Chicken sandwich. That sounds good for lunch.

  Me: I’ll have to see if Jack Ryan is available. We could both get so lucky.

  M: Suuuure. Celibate for me, but get ole Jacky boy involved and suddenly it’s on.

  Me: Everyone has a price, buddy. That’s mine. TTYL.

  Tossing my phone aside, I grab my book again. If I can get through just one chapter, I’ll be happy at this point. But no such luck. Once again, my phone chimes with a message.

  “I quit.” Dumping the book back on the table, I grab my phone. No sense in pretending I’ll get anything accomplished at this point. Right now, I’m more worried about leaving here with all my toes.

  J: How’s it going? Did the peppermint burn?

  Me: Not much. She’s painting my nails now. Hopefully between the lines. I’m not expecting much because she only massaged ONE LEG!

  J: Seriously?!

  Me: In her defense, she did a kick ass job on that one leg. I’m only side eyeing her because of it instead of full on glaring.

  J: I think we need to find a new place.

  Understatement of the year.

  And maybe I need to find some friends with better and higher standards.

/>   Chapter 17

  Matthew

  I love my child. I think she is the most beautiful, smart, and hilarious human on earth. She’s also stubborn, frustrating, and has a very loud, off-key singing voice. The day started off great and somewhere around three this afternoon turned into chaos. By the time I picked Calypso up from my parents’ house, she was talking a mile a minute and making a dozen plans for our day. Unfortunately, I forgot to turn the hose off before I left to get her and the normally nice and well-maintained backyard became a mudhole with Olaf as its ruler.

  Two hours of clean-up and a dog bath that quickly turned into my little sidekick needing a long bath of her own, I’m finally able to sit down for five minutes. If only it were quiet. Instead, my own little wannabe pop star is performing her own concert and her efforts are wailing, I mean serenading me, down the hall.

  “Daddy! Daddy! Are you here? Can you hear me? Daddy!”

  Groaning, I push myself off the couch and pad my way down the hall. Peering into the bathroom, I smile at the scene before me. With her hair covered in bubbles like a little bubble hat, a bubble beard, and bubbles popping all around her, she’s sitting with her head tilted back, mouth open to shout. It may be slightly evil but I can’t help myself.

  “You rang?”

  Her screech is louder than normal thanks to the bathroom acoustics. She jumps, eyes wide with water splashing out of the bathtub.

  “Daddy! You scared me!”

  Laughing, I sit down on the toilet seat, a huge smile on my face. “Sorry, Sprite. I couldn’t help myself. Now tell me why you’re shouting after me.”

  “I was thinking I haven’t seen my baby Sven in like four hundred years. He must be so sad and miss me. Can we call Miss Carrie?”

  “It’s been two days since you saw a picture so much less than four hundred years. And Miss Carrie is probably busy.”

  “No. She’s probably sad we haven’t checked on her and Sven. We should be better friends, Daddy. Grandma would be so dispontated.”

  I knew when I told my mom to mind her own business and stop asking me if I had a girlfriend now that I’d taken Carrie out that somehow she’d find a way to still bring it up. I’m just surprised it took her partner in crime this long to mention it.

  “I think you mean disappointed. And your grandma needs to get a hobby.”

  “Oh, Daddy,” she says with her hand reaching out to pat my leg. “Grandma’s favorite thing to do is make me snacks. It makes her happy.”

  Chuckling, I bend down on my knees and help my little Miss Know It All finish her bath and wrap her up like a snuggle bug in a fluffy towel. As I carry her over my shoulder, setting off a string of giggles, my phone rings with a text notification in the other room.

  “Get dressed, Sprite. How do you feel about ordering pizza for dinner?”

  “Okay but no green stuff on mine,” she says over her shoulder as she begins digging in her drawers for something to wear.

  Walking out of her room, I make my way to the kitchen to dial up my favorite pizza place. I don’t indulge in pizza often, but I’m feeling like today is a perfect cheat day. I’ll also order a salad for good measure. Before I can pull up my contacts, the phone buzzes in my hand, reminding me of the unread text.

  C: I see the appeal of your man crush.

  Smiling, I quickly tap out a reply.

  Me: Welcome to the Jack Ryan crush club.

  C: I assume you’re the reigning president of said club so tell me, is there some sort of initiation?

  Without allowing myself a second to think about it, I respond.

  Me: Yep. You have to stick our son into your shirt, drive over here, and share a pizza with me. Or Sprite if you don’t like green things on yours.

  I wait while the three dots bounce and then stop and start again. And stop.

  Me: Stop typing and deleting. Just say “Okay, Matthew. See you in a bit.”

  C: I’m only putting Sven in my shirt because he misses his big sister. And we’re out of pecans. Time to pay up, squirrel daddy.

  Laughing at her sass, I quickly call in our order for pizzas and salad. As I finish the call, Calypso skips into the room dressed in a pair of bright pink leggings with stars on them and a Brave T-shirt I could have sworn I put in the donate bag. A year ago. But it isn’t the ill-fitting shirt that catches most of my attention, it’s the way her brush is stuck in her hair. This is not going to go well.

  “What did you do?”

  “I was doing my hair and it kinda got stuck.”

  “Honey, that looks like more than stuck. Go grab the detangler and big comb. I’ll get your stool and meet you in the living room.”

  Her little lip pops out, and I see the first signs of tears. She hates when we have to work out knots. Her poor little head is too tender for the amount of work I have to do. Thankfully, we only have to do this a few times a year.

  “I know you hate this, but we have to get started before it dries. I have a surprise for you too. Now hop to it.”

  At the prospect of a surprise, she adds a little pep to her step as she sets off to get supplies. Meanwhile, I check on Olaf, who is exhausted from his day of mudslinging, before making my way to the couch and flip on the kids movies we have cued up on our favorites.

  I’ve managed to work out the knots of half her head when the doorbell rings. I stand, lifting my leg over her like I’m some sort of male Rockette as my daughter sits fixated on the movie playing. Other than a few wails as I tugged on her hair, Calypso hasn’t moved. She’s almost like a robot without batteries.

  Opening the door, I’m greeted with a smirk and a furry head peeking out of a V-neck T-shirt. Suddenly I find myself doing something I never fathomed was possible. I am jealous of a glorified rodent.

  Is this what my life has come to? Just a few months ago, Carrie was giving me attitude and almost refusing to let me buy her a drink at an industry event. Now, she stands at my front door, a grocery bag in her hand and dressed very similar to my daughter. Except instead of a Disney character on her shirt, Carrie’s reads “I like books, you not so much.”

  It’s then that I am really grateful Olaf ran away and brought her into our lives. I want to continue to get to know Carrie and build on the friendship we’ve started. The concert was a great insight of what could be, and it’s something I want to explore.

  “As much as I love standing here watching you think, this ice cream is going to melt and Sven is probably going to poop on my chest.”

  Shaking away my thoughts, I step back and motion for her to enter as I snatch the shopping bag from her hand. With one hand holding on to the critter in her shirt, she shrugs off her sweatshirt and grabs it before it falls to the ground.

  “I haven’t told Sprite you were coming. She may scream. Loudly. And, if I know my kid, and I do, there will likely be a victory dance.”

  “For me or this guy?” she asks, pulling Sven from her shirt and holding him up to her face like she’s going to kiss him.

  “Honestly? I have no idea. Come on in.”

  We make our way to where Calypso sits, still not moving from the position I left her in. Carrie looks to me and I shrug before clearing my throat. Nope. No movement. I try it again. And if it’s possible, I think she’s more frozen.

  “Well, Carrie. I guess you’ll just have to take Sven home. Looks like Sprite is sleeping sitting up.”

  At the sound of my voice, the little monster turns to face us, half her head a tangled mess and the other her usual springy curls. As expected, she jumps up and does a really intricate end zone style dance.

  “Oh, Miss Carrie! You brought him! Does he miss me? I told Daddy he probably does. Did you know that we went to that big store with all the things that Daddy says makes him buy things nobody needs and got a big bag of nuts? We did! It’s this big.” With her arms wide, Calypso tries to demonstrate how big she thinks the bag of pecans is that I grabbed the other day from the big box store.

  “Well, I think Sven will be very happy with h
is big bag of nuts. Umm, what is happening here?” Carrie asks, motioning to Calypso’s hair.

  “Tangles. It happens every so often. We were just working them out when you got here. Come on, Sprite. Have a seat and we’ll finish up.”

  No sooner are the words out of my mouth than the doorbell rings again. Looking from Calypso to Carrie and then the direction of the door, I wonder what I should do. Falling into our world seamlessly like the last time she was here, Carrie walks around the couch and sits in the spot I vacated.

  “Alrighty little one. I’ll work on this squirrel’s nest on your head if you’ll hold Sven. Be gentle; he’s still very tiny.”

  “Car—”

  “You better grab those pizzas before they get cold. We’ve got this. What are we watching?”

  I stand there for a few beats, watching as Carrie starts combing Sprite’s hair as she catches her up on whatever movie she’s watching. I knew I was starting to crush on my little blogger friend, but I had no idea how much until now. Seeing her with my daughter, making her giggle and not squirm at all as she works on her hair, opens up a piece of me I wasn’t sure existed anymore.

  Chapter 18

  Carrie

  Booting up my computer, I pull out my blog calendar and notes from last month’s meeting with Celeste. We have a lot to discuss, including a potential new advertiser. Unfortunately, I’m having a hard time keeping my mind on work. Memories of last night at Matthew’s house continue to run through my mind.

  It is in the top two most fun nights I’ve had in months, and we didn’t even do anything exciting. We ate pizza—well, Calypso and I ate pizza. Matthew had salad because he has a shoot coming up and we wouldn’t want his muscles to look bloated or whatever models worry about. Me? Not a model, and I love a good stuffed crust.

  While eating the gooey goodness, the three of us watched a show where a couple of teenagers ended up in a 50s style beach movie. There was a lot of singing and dancing and I was oddly entertained by it. Fortunately for me, Calypso fell asleep on her dad this time, so I was able to watch the ending to see how the main characters made it back through the time warp.