Beneath Beautiful

by Allison Rushby

  “I tried once. It was too hard.” He paused for a moment. “Though, come to think of it, getting this interview hasn't been much easier . . .”

  Cassie chose her words carefully before uttering them. “So, um, any movement on that?”

  James sighed a tired sigh. “Not much. Apparently he's busy working on some new piece, trying to slot it into the next exhibition at the last possible moment. Bit late in the day, if you ask me. Not that he has, of course.”

  Cassie tried to remain calm. “Do you . . . think you won't get the interview, then? That you'll just have to go home?”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?” James stood still for a second.

  “No! I . . .” Cassie stopped on the spot.

  “I'm just joking.” James laughed, continuing on his way again. “The truth is, I really don't know. I've taken two weeks' holidays, and to be honest, I'm realising I needed the time off anyway. It's been good. I'm hanging out with the couple of friends I've got over here; it's not a huge hassle. I really do want the interview, though. And if I got it now I'd have the time to really write it up, you know? Make it something special.”

  Cassie nodded. That's it, then. She would simply have to ask Cameron if he would do the interview for her as a favour.

  “Let's stop talking about work,” Cassie said. “Considering it's not going well for either of us. Tell me something else. Tell me about your family. Alys says you're a quarter Jamaican, which would account for your seriously cool hair.”

  Self-consciously, James ran one hand through it, which made Cassie smile. “Yeah, that's true. My grandmother's Jamaican,” he said. “She rules the family with an iron fist, and makes an out of this world goat curry.”

  “Sounds good,” Cassie said, as they crossed the street. “And what about brothers and sisters and so on?”

  “One of each.”

  “And you're the youngest,” Cassie guessed, catching James's eye.

  “I am,” he said. “How did you know that?”

  Cassie smiled. “Well, Alys is the youngest, and I'm the youngest. And the truth is, a lot of my friends are the youngest children in their families. Apparently you're more attracted to people who have the same birth line-up as you.”

  “Really?” James said. “I didn't know that. So, do you have one of each as well? Same as me?”

  “No, just an older sister. But Jo is plenty to be going on with, trust me . . .”

  “Well.” Cassie turned, standing on the doorstep of the entrance to Alys's apartment, bringing her in exact alignment with James's eyes. “That was truly disgusting in the best possible way.”

  James had been right. The burgers at the place he'd walked her to had been the best she had ever had, and the onion rings were something else. But the true highlight had been the toasted marshmallow shake that James had insisted on ordering as well. Cassie was going to drag Alys back there. Very, very soon.

  “Did you want to come up?” She nodded toward the door, and only then realised what she'd said. “I mean . . . that is . . . I'm sure Alys would love to see you.” As she stammered away, James ran his hand through his hair once more, equally embarrassed. Instinctively, Cassie put up her own hand and grabbed his.

  “Sorry.” He grimaced. “Nervous habit.”

  Cassie loosened her grasp on his hand then, which fell to his side. But Cassie's own did not. Now, she ran her hand through his hair—it was short, warm and dense, and she wasn't surprised he touched it so often. It begged to be felt.

  Their eyes met, James stepped forward, and before Cassie quite knew what was happening, James was kissing her. Warm and uncomplicated James. Her mouth meeting his, she was surprised to find how right it felt—the two of them, together. She hadn't been expecting this. Him.

  “I don't think I will come up,” he finally said, once he had pulled back, but only slightly, his face still close to hers. “But I know Alys is planning her party for Saturday, so I guess I'll see you then?”

  Not having expected either the kiss from James, nor that it would leave her wanting so much more, all Cassie could do was nod.

  “Saturday, then.” James's smile was warm and he kissed her once more on the cheek before sauntering away.

  Alys was out when Cassie let herself back in upstairs, which she was thankful for. She wasn't sure she could either explain what had happened between her and James, or handle Alys's gloating about her matchmaking skills after she'd told her.

  Checking the time, she realised it was a good time of day to Skype Jo, who had been sending her increasingly frantic text messages that had started with, Everything okay? and now ran along the lines of, WHAT THE #$*^ IS GOING ON OVER THERE? CALL ME OR I'M ON THE NEXT PLANE OVER!

  Grabbing her laptop, Cassie settled in on the couch, and got ready to be told off. She didn't have to wait long.

  “It's yooouuu!” Jo stared at the screen, goggle-eyed. “You're still alive!”

  Cassie sighed. “Of course I'm still alive. I couldn't have been texting you all this time if I wasn't alive, could I?”

  “I've just settled the children in with bowls of pasta, so I'll totally pay for it with a hideous clean up later, but I'm going to sit here until I've heard it all. Everything. Now, go.”

  Cassie felt slightly ill just thinking about where to start. “You know when I sat on that stool in your kitchen, and told you and Jeremy that I was smart enough to control who knows what when it comes to the media?”

  “This stool?” Jo turned her laptop around until the camera faced the stool.

  “Yes, that stool,” Cassie replied as her sister's face appeared again.

  “Oh, yes. I remember that.”

  “Why didn't you slap some sense into me?”

  Jo laughed. “It's not nearly so much fun that way, is it? And I wouldn't get to say, 'I told you so', which is really my sisterly duty. What's happened?”

  “Oh, everything,” Cassie wailed. “For a start, I just kissed a boy. Not Cameron,” she hastened to add.

  “Well, no. He's no boy.”

  “No.”

  “So, who?”

  Cassie took a deep breath. “A friend of Alys's. An English friend of Alys's. A journalist.”

  “Well, that's nice.”

  “A journalist who's currently here on a mission to interview Cameron Callahan.”

  “Ahhh . . .” Jo said, her face freezing as realisation hit. “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh.”

  Jo was silent for a moment or two as she took this in. “It's certainly all going on over there, isn't it? Are you going to kiss him again?”

  “I don't know. I think I'm going to try to get him his interview so he'll go home. I can't have him hanging around here, can I? What if he finds out? I haven't even told Alys.”

  “Well, obviously. You know Alys. She wouldn't be able to contain herself.”

  “Exactly. “

  “And have you stripped for Mr. Callahan yet?”

  “No!” Cassie said. “And I'm not planning on it. Especially after I saw someone else who had—a yoga instructor with a body to die for.”

  Jo's face creased. “Ouch. Still, it's only a matter of time.”

  “What?” Cassie frowned. “You think he's going to want me to?”

  “Let's see . . .” She thought about it for a moment. “Yes.”

  “But what if I don't want to?”

  Jo simply shrugged. “Then don't.”

  Cassie took a deep breath and tucked a piece of hair back behind her ear. “I'm very confused.”

  “Are you getting any work done?”

  Cassie groaned in frustration. “No. You're making this worse!”

  “Sorry,” Jo said. Her grin told Cassie she wasn't sorry at all.

  “Oh!” Cassie remembered. “I'll tell you something interesting. I met Plum Tarasov the other day—she was hanging around Cameron's studio. She remembered you.”

  Jo paused, frowning slightly. “But I thought they broke up ages ago.”

  “They di
d. Wait, what is it?” Cassie could see Jo looked altogether sheepish.

  “Oh, um. Nothing.”

  “What?” Cassie sat forward on the couch.

  Jo covered her face with her hands for a moment and shook her head.

  “WHAT?”

  After a while, Jo slowly uncovered her face. When she focused back in on Cassie, she took a deep breath, then exhaled loudly. “There's something I haven't told you.”

  “You're completely freaking me out now.”

  Jo took another deep breath. “Okay, at university . . . Well, Plum and I might have had a little something going on for a while.”

  “WHAT?” Cassie almost fell off the couch. “What are you talking about? You're joking. You're joking, aren't you?”

  “No.” Jo didn't crack a smile. “I'm not.” She leaned in toward the camera. “There's not much to tell. One night, at a party, she made a play for me and . . . well . . .”

  “What on earth happened?”

  “Use your imagination, Cass.”

  “Holy . . .” Cassie was lost for words.

  “What can I say?” Jo shrugged. “I liked the attention.” Her cheeks colored now. “And she gave very good attention.”

  “Jo!”

  Jo snorted nervously. “Well, it's true.”

  “How can I not know about this?” Cassie shook her head in disbelief.

  “Because nobody knew! It became this sort of thing between us that happened only at parties. You know, when I was . . . a little bit drunk. Plum tried to convince me to make it public, but I wouldn't. And, anyway, then I met Jeremy and it all fizzled out, of course.”

  “Wow.” Cassie was having a difficult time taking all of this in.

  “The thing is . . .” Jo started, then faltered.

  “Yes?” Cassie urged her on.

  “I sort of wish I'd been brave enough to come out about it now. I did really like her, and we were obviously attracted to each other. I should have had the guts to own up to that, but I didn't. I was worried what people would say, that Dad might find out . . . ugh, everything along those lines . . .” She sighed now. “It was odd, but I didn't really think about her for years, and then when I had a daughter myself, it all came up again, and I started thinking about it a lot. Eventually I saw a piece about Plum in the paper and I just thought . . . well, I hoped that my own daughter would be brave enough to try whatever she wanted to try. To be whoever she wanted to be. Because I wasn't. Not that I don't think I would have ended up with Jeremy anyway, but I wish I'd been brave enough to try things with Plum. She was quite angry about it for some time, you see. We had some shocking fights. Anyway, I tried to contact her to tell her all of that—that I wished things had been different. Just to make peace.”

  “Did you get in touch with her?” Cassie asked.

  “I don't really know. I got her email address and I emailed her, but she never replied.” Jo sighed a long, tired sigh. “Anyway, do NOT tell Jeremy. Can you imagine it? He'd be forevermore like the kids, begging for a personalized bedtime story, all 'tell me about the time'. He'd never let it go. And he'd tell everyone he'd ever met. Including the postman. I'm sure of it.”

  Cassie's eyes were wide. “Well, now I know why she remembered you. Still, how can you not have told me this before?”

  “Like I said, I haven't told anyone before!” There was a crash of crockery, and Jo whipped around in her seat. “Oh, God. I'm going to have to go. There's pasta on the wall. I'll talk to you soon, shall I?”

  “Sure,” Cassie replied, stunned. “Hopefully our next chat will be as revealing as this one.”

  It was Friday morning and Cassie had been sitting relatively still for more than an hour as a group of people, directed by Cameron, moved her coat a millimeter this way, tweaked her scarf, and fiddled endlessly with her hair, as if they wanted to account for the placement of each and every strand.

  As Cameron kept on working, seemingly oblivious to her presence today, she watched him out of the corner of her eye. “I went on a date last night,” she finally said, one eye tracking him as he adjusted the edge of her scarf. If he were surprised, he didn't show it. “A proper one, with mini golf, and burgers, and a shared shake.”

  His mouth twisted into a wry smile now. “How Norman Rockwell.”

  Suddenly he seemed so much older than James, though Cassie wasn't entirely sure if this was a good or a bad thing.

  He stood back, assessing her. “Tell me you drank the shake at the same time with two straws.”

  “Sorry, no.”

  “Damn. You've just gone and shattered all my illusions about dating.”

  Something flared up within Cassie—not exactly anger, but irritation.

  He saw through her instantly. “Oh, dear. Now I've made you cross.”

  “No you haven't,” Cassie replied. She moved her head now, just because she could, and the pair stared at each other for a moment or two.

  “So, what would you say to a date with me, then? I'm not sure I can compete with a shared shake, but I was going to ask you to an event tonight.”

  Cassie frowned slightly. Was he joking? She couldn't tell.

  “Plum specifically asked me to invite you after the other night at the restaurant.”

  “Plum?” Cassie spoke up, thinking immediately of her sister.

  “Yes. She's quite taken with you, it seems. Anyway, it's a private event, so no photographers, or anything like that. It's for her investors and likely investors, before her next exhibition kicks off. I think she's hoping to entice a few more and persuade the others to dig a little deeper.”

  “Oh.”

  “It's dressy, though. I was thinking Marianne could help you pick something out this afternoon.”

  “Well . . . all right, then.”

  Cameron crouched down to her height. “And look at that! Cross no longer. Did you always know you had it in you to have two men at once?”

  Was that what she was doing? She really had no idea anymore. Wanting to take his comment in a lighthearted manner, however, she went to swat at him.

  But Cameron simply dodged her swat and stood up again. “Now, no moving. We have work to do.”

  “I know exactly where I want to go,” Cassie told Marianne after Cameron had released her for the day. She was hopeful of picking up something fabulous to wear at the vintage shop she'd been to with Alys the other day. In fact, she'd seen something that would be absolutely perfect, if only she could fit into it.

  “That makes it easy then.” Marianne ran around her white office, stuffing things into an oversized handbag, and checking her email before they set off. “Where's that?”

  When Cassie told her, Marianne was pleased. “Excellent choice. I'll call ahead. They know us—we've shopped and rented there before. Let's grab a cab.”

  “What do you think?” Cassie bit her lip as she emerged wearing the dress she'd had in mind. She tried not to think too hard about who might have worn the dress before, considering she didn't entirely trust herself not to stand on the hem or do something equally silly. Having just been shown items such as Josephine Baker's rhinestone-encrusted bra from the 1920s, that had been rented by Lady Gaga, she was afraid she might ruin a piece of history. As it was, she could only just breathe, so tight was the gown.

  “It's perfect.” Marianne nodded. “Absolutely perfect. I love it. And Cameron will love it, too.”

  Cassie plucked up the courage to take a better look in the long mirror. Cassie had always loved Vivienne Westwood's designs, but this had to be her ultimate creation. The georgette silk was printed with the British Flag, the Union Jack wound tight around her body from her corseted top to where it flowed on the floor. Only the knee-length split at the back of the dress allowed for any movement.

  “We'll take it,” Marianne said to the assistant, handing over a credit card.

  Cassie turned to her as fast as humanly possible in a gown like this. “But can't we rent it?”

  “We can,” Marianne told her. “But you need
to keep it. It's too perfect.”

  “But . . .” Cassie began to argue.

  “No, really, we'll take it.” Marianne nodded at the assistant once more. “Thank you.”

  When the assistant had gone, she guided Cassie back to her changing room by the elbow. “Think of it as a souvenir. It will be lovely for you to have something . . .” She paused here, considering her words. “. . . afterwards”.

  Cassie watched her closely, wondering if this were a warning of some sorts.

  And perhaps Marianne picked up on this, because she quickly spoke again. “I don't mean anything bad by that, but it really is a fantastic dress, and you should have something to remember this time by. Cameron isn't very good at gifts, and remembering birthdays and holidays, and things like that. So think of it as a simple thank you.”

  “Well,” Cassie said. “If you're sure.”

  “I'm very sure. Now, let's find you some shoes and a clutch.”

  “You're awfully clever, darling, as my English friends would say.” Cameron smiled as Cassie revealed her outfit later that evening in the void of the studio entrance.

  “You know—” Usually a flats girl, Cassie reminded herself to remain steady on her heels, “—that's exactly what my sister would say.” Her entire body felt alien to her, from her hair, swept up in a soft chignon, and lips, painted a waxy bright red, down to her feet, encased in those scarily high heels

  “See? But, really,” Cameron approached her now, “you do look stunning.” He kissed her on the cheek, lingering in her personal space.

  “Thank you. So do you,” Cassie replied. And it was true; he did. Cameron was dressed in his own peculiar way, as usual, this evening in a blacker than black bowtie, plus a dinner suit (a tuxedo, they called it here)—complete with not a white, but a black dress shirt.