by Jody Klaire
“Darcy, are you okay?”
She shook her thoughts free and nodded. “Yes. I’m ready.”
Paul strode to the podium and smiled at the audience. “Darcy’s book isn’t quite an autobiography. It isn’t a guide or a ‘how to’ book. We were only allowed to put some pictures in because I promised to buy the right shaped jeans.” He tugged at them, and the audience chuckled. Why, she wasn’t sure. His jeans before had made him look like a slob on a tight budget. He looked like he was an agent now. “It’s a compelling read; yes, Darcy can write, and it’s quite the story getting to know her.”
Know her? She doubted anyone who read it would remotely know her. Susannah frowned and turned to Zoë, who shrugged. As if she would tell a book anything they didn’t know. She tutted, then all eyes fell on her and she shot a dazzling smile at Paul. Yes, pretend that he wasn’t speaking drivel.
“So, this book, ‘the frozen image’ shows that Darcy McGregor is more than just a beautiful face.” He motioned to her and she strode over, trying not to roll her eyes. Cliché much?
“Thanks, Paul.” She took up the podium. Kate studied her like she was curious as to what the book was about. Maybe she could just give her a copy—then would Kate stop trying to pry answers from her? “Fashion has been a friend. Sometimes it’s been an untruthful, unkind friend, but we always seem to make it up.” She flashed a dazzling smile. The audience laughed, easily pleased. “But it provided the escape I needed and provided me with a wonderful daughter.”
Susannah pursed her lips. Yes, she thought that was a show too.
“So here is the opening. I hope you agree with Paul that I can write. If you don’t, please pretend you do.” She smiled again, the audience laughed again, but unlike everything else she had done publicly, this made her hands tremble, her knees tremble. She took a deep breath. “There has always been a frozen image in my mind which returns to me in important moments. I was ten, sitting on the front step of the council house my mother owned. Three boys were fighting over something down the street, hurling abuse at each other. The man next door had come home drunk; he was a violent man, and his wife was trying to keep the door barred from him. My mother was on the pavement in front of me, screaming at my father because she’d discovered he had another family. It was the moment when I realised I didn’t live in a cosy, happy home, and I never would again.” She took a deep breath. Reading in front of an audience was easy usually, bearing parts of her that hurt was not as easy. “That image haunted me when Susannah was born. Happiness was not something I knew or expected to have, but I made the decision that she was never to see that. I never wanted her to be hurt like that. I wanted her to live far from the damage I’d left behind.”
She dared to look at Susannah. She had her hands over her mouth, tears in her eyes. She hadn’t wanted Susannah there at all. She didn’t want her to read the book, but Zoë insisted.
“So, I focused my sights on reaching for a better life and needed to learn how to catch attention, to hold it, to harness it, and to turn it into a career.” She met Zoë’s eyes. “And for that, I needed a little help.”
She closed the book and stepped back. Silence. Good silence? Did they think she could write, or had they fallen asleep?
“Questions?” Paul asked, a smug look on his puffy face.
Kate nodded to her as hands shot into the air, and she breathed out a sigh of relief. Must be good if Kate liked it. Kate was a reader. Confidence oozed up, and she eased into a smile. Yes. If Kate, Susannah, and Zoë liked it, that was all she cared about.
The audience had loved it. Every copy there had been sold in minutes, and there was a long line of people waiting for her to sign theirs and have a photo. Paul looked like his eyes might turn to pound signs, and she flicked her gaze over to Susannah, Kate, and Zoë loitering with Marge in the corner.
“Darcy, that was so poignant, so raw,” one lady said, handing over her book. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.” She beamed and flicked her blonde hair back. Not natural. Too much tinted moisturiser. “Marshall doesn’t usually go for rough people.”
Marshall? “Yes, well…perhaps he should remember that his grandfather worked on the docks before his big break.” She smiled at the lady. Whoever she was, she was clueless. “He’s hardly aristocracy himself.”
The woman laughed. “He did?” She leaned over, thrusting her breasts forward as the camera shutter clicked. “He’s a smooth talker.”
“If you say so.” She leaned back, hoping the woman would hurry up and move on. She produced her most polished smile and reached for the next book.
“He said you look a picture,” the lady said, pausing and glancing back over her shoulder. “Said that the book should be called ‘the fake image.’” She laughed again, like it was hilarious, and strode off.
Darcy shook her head and turned back to the line. Odd woman.
Kate shoved her hands in her front pockets. The unease of hearing Darcy read from the book prickled at her. She wanted to read it, yet she really didn’t. It definitely wasn’t going to include her relationship with Zoë, so what did it include?
“Did you know?” Susannah stared up at Zoë, hugging herself. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t she tell me?”
Zoë wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, I knew. Took a lot of elocution lessons to get her talking like that.” She smiled down at her. “When I met her, she had a really strong accent.”
Susannah glowered over at Darcy, then stomped off. Marge lowered her camera and sighed. “Think I’ll delete that bit.”
Zoë nodded to her and hurried after Susannah, then Marge wandered over to Darcy, and Kate stared at the cover of the book. Darcy in front of a tall window, high contrast, white against the black details of the window panes, Darcy’s long legs stretched out on the window seat. She was looking out, a pensive look on her face, pulling the focus in, right to her eyes. Not the masked look that she always produced in all the other pictures, but a raw look.
“How’s the stalker doing?” some woman whispered next to her, then laughed. Kate looked her up and down. Wow, she didn’t know a lot about make-up, but orange definitely wasn’t good. “Did she tell you to keep your mouth shut?”
Kate looked around. No. The woman was talking to her. Great. “If you’re going to try ripping my jeans, I warn you that Zoë is mean with a tape measure.”
The woman leaned in, false smile—Kate coughed—and too much perfume. “Marshall said she was hot for him. Followed him around, begging for his attention. Didn’t like it much when he let her down easy.”
“How sad are you?” Kate shook her head and turned away.
“Oh, come on. You think she’s hot for some cheap tart like you?” The woman walked around to stand in front of her. “She’s heartbroken over him. Can’t you see it? He knows it too.”
“Honey, Marshall is nothing but some soggy-cheeked jerk who thinks he can act.” Blanche strode over and slid her arm around Kate’s shoulder. “And he’s lucky Darcy as much as breathed on him.”
Kate stared at her. Was Blanche really talking or had she just passed out?
“Marshall is a red-blooded man who is better than any…” The woman paused, then laughed, then held up the book. “He is a real man inside.”
“Everyone has red blood unless they have a very bad circulatory problem,” Kate mumbled. She never got that saying.
The woman looked her up and down. “What?”
Blanche blurted out her laugh.
“Blood is a mixture of plasma: water and proteins, red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets.” Kate shrugged as both Blanche and the woman stared at her. Okay, so her A Levels came out when she got nervous too. Another defensive trait: humour, kissing, and biology… Odd mix. “And the lymphatics clear the waste products.”
“What are you talking about?” The woman glared at her as Blan
che laughed harder.
“Everyone is made up of cells and water. Bones, muscles, tendons, ligaments, blood, etcetera…” Kate smiled at the woman. “So no one can really be better than anyone else, and everyone’s insides look the same.”
“What?” The woman waved the book around. She looked thrown off.
“She’s a geek.” Blanche kissed Kate on the lips. “But we love her.”
Darcy scowled over. So she was watching, then.
“Honey, if you’re gonna kiss her, it’s only fair I do.” Zoë strolled over and kissed her on the lips too.
Right. Well if she wasn’t bright red before, she must be now. And…yes, Marge was filming it, and Darcy looked like she might smack her across the head with her book. It was hardback too. Didn’t fancy that.
“Disgusting.” The woman turned and stormed out.
Zoë raised her eyebrows at Blanche. “Any reason?”
Blanche winked at Darcy and smiled. “Just getting my own back.” She strolled off, and Kate chuckled. Yes, she might have been, but was it her, or had Blanche defended Darcy?
Chapter 32
Darcy had let Zoë and Blanche take Susannah and Kate back to their house. She could tell by Susannah’s scowl that it would take a while for her to snap out of her pout, and she didn’t trust herself not to either slap Kate for letting anyone kiss her, or kiss her too just to remind her who she enjoyed kissing.
London was in the midst of its evening rush hour as she headed toward Oxford Street for the next live segment, and her driver was, once again, zipping through with expertise. “How is the baby?”
He beamed into the rear-view mirror. “She’s doing really well, thanks to you.”
She waved it off. The traffic backed up, and she leaned on the windowsill. It was snowing again. That meant people would be camped out in front of their TVs and watching the evening’s episode. It would be the first one since Kate’s declaration. She chewed on her lip. She hadn’t been within feet of Kate since she’d walked out the door. “How is your wife?”
“She’s trying to cope with breastfeeding.” He pulled his mouth to the side. “The nurses all keep telling her she has to, but I keep telling her we can buy milk, that she doesn’t have to do anything.”
“Yes, they can bully.” She tutted. She had fought off their tactics, stuck to formula, and Susannah was healthy and intelligent. “It should be her decision. Not everyone can do it.”
“Is that in your book, Ms Darcy? Because she’s reading it, and she’ll listen to you.” He said it with a cheerful tone, but she could hear the worry in his voice.
“It is. Chapter three, I believe.” She smiled at him as he zipped around a backstreet. “If you want me to talk to her, just ask.”
He smiled. “You’ve done so much already. We wouldn’t have her if it weren’t for you.”
“Nonsense.” She stared out at the crowd of cameras waiting at the department store.
“Never.” He screeched to a halt. “You’re wonderful in our eyes.”
She nodded and got out of the car. Shutters, calls, flashes. She strode in through the doors and over to Marge. “Why are you looking more sour than usual?”
Marge sighed and pulled her over to the side by the elbow. “Kate wants to pull out.” She glanced over at where Kate, Zoë, Blanche, and Susannah were whispering amongst themselves. “Mikey is being bullied after she said that she loves you.” Marge’s gaze turned hard. “Doesn’t help you have ignored her.”
“I didn’t ignore her.” But then, she wasn’t telling Marge about spending the night with Kate. “Who is bullying him?”
“Kids at his school. Headteacher was trying to deal with the bullies, but one of Mikey’s friends told their parents, and they got involved, and there was a fight outside the school gates.” Marge pursed her lips. Her top lip was very…furry. Went with the pipe-cleaner hair. “Kate’s mother has pulled him out of school for now. Mikey has no idea he was being bullied.”
“Better for him.” She nodded to the camera, slamming down the urge to throttle someone. “Kate can’t pull out. Let’s get on with it.”
Marge stared at her, then scowled. “As always, you’re a delight to work with.” She motioned to the cameraman. He eased his camera onto his shoulder, and the red light flicked on.
“As so many of you were keen on seeing Kate turn the tables, here we are, back where we started.” She strolled over to Kate. “And what have you all concocted?”
Zoë flashed a cheeky smile. “We have to do the examination first.” She nodded to the changing room. They always did the examination in the apartment where there was a special changing room and the lighting was less glaring, the mirrors more accurate. The idea was to find body shape, not terrify people.
“Get in the changing room. Time for you to stand around in underwear.” Kate’s hard stare filled with hurt.
“No. Why don’t we pull out a mirror and I will do it here?” Lighting was more flattering outside. The garish lights and funhouse mirror in the changing room would not do. She nodded and one of the crew scurried into the changing room with a screwdriver. “So what are your first thoughts, Kate?”
Kate turned to the camera. “You dress to hide who you are.”
And she was trying to get a rise. “Or accentuate my natural form.”
“No, I’d say you’re hiding.” Kate folded her arms. “And I’m the doctor right now.”
Her laugh exhaled through her nose. “If that makes you feel better, Kate.” She smiled. Yes, her tone was calm and controlled, but Kate’s eyes narrowed.
“It does, Darcy,” Kate snapped as the crew member carried out the mirror. Hopefully the store wouldn’t mind.
Darcy unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it off. The crew let out muffled groans, and Kate’s long neck flexed. Yes, she modelled underwear, among many other things. She knew exactly how to unveil herself. “As the camera can see”—she pointed to her breasts—“I am wearing a bra that not only fits but supports.” She flicked the toggle between the cups. “And this marvellous little contraption allows me to have a natural feel.” She tightened the string, and the crew murmured. “Or, as you will hear from my colleagues, create a more voluptuous look.”
Blanche nodded. “Important when you need to create some volume.”
Zoë raised an eyebrow. “You have ample volume.”
Blanche smirked at her.
“By drawing your attention here,” she continued, ignoring Zoë gazing at the twig. “I create a waist and emphasize my long stomach.” She ran a hand over it.
Kate coughed, the crew mumbled, and Marge cocked her head. Susannah, she was peering down at her own stomach like she wondered how to do the same.
“Pilates, darling.” She turned back to the camera. “All this pulls your attention away from my hips, which need careful working around.”
“Your hips are fine.” Kate shook her head. “Why would you need to work around them?”
She looked to Zoë. “Put on your designer hat, please.”
Zoë pulled her mouth to the side. Yes, she was reluctant. She’d personally loved Darcy’s hips, but this was not personal.
“Zoë?” She motioned with her finger.
Zoë sighed and headed over. “They have good shape, but it’s an inch wider than balanced.” She met Darcy’s eyes as if somehow it was a crime to be honest. “You tend to hold water there.”
“Which means?” She rolled her finger in encouragement. Why was she wandering around the obvious?
“We’d call them saddlebags.” Zoë hung her head. “But they really aren’t.”
“No, they aren’t,” Kate snapped. “Load of rubbish.”
“I work hard to ensure that there is maximum drainage from the muscles.” She shook her head at Kate. Was she being angry or defending her? “And do the relevant exercises to counter it when I need
to display them to a camera.” She undid her trousers and slid them down. Several members of the crew spluttered out their breath, some wheezed, some groaned. Yes, she did love her high-leg silk underwear. “Quite often, if I am wearing a dress, I have special shorts that pull in my thighs.”
“You don’t need shorts. Your legs are perfect.” Kate marched over and tapped them. “There’s not an inch of fat on them, they’re toned, not to mention I don’t think cellulite has come anywhere near you.”
“I use a treatment.” She chuckled as Susannah folded her arms, looking ready to either tell Kate off for slapping her thigh or her for stripping down to her underwear. “I had stretchmarks from pregnancy that I also had treated.” She smiled at the camera. “The only difference between me and any new mother out there is that I know the right things to use to draw your attention where it needs to be.” She tapped the string on her bra again.
Kate scoffed and turned her around. “This bum is rock hard.”
Zoë nodded. “If it wasn’t, she wouldn’t be a lot of use on a billboard.”
“Yeah,” Blanche said, tapping Susannah on the arm and grinning at her. “You do not want droopage when you’re a fifteen-foot image.”
Susannah chuckled. “I thought Photoshop could help that.”
Blanche wagged her finger. “I don’t need any touch-ups.” She thumbed in Darcy’s direction. “And neither does she.” She mouthed “bitch” at her.
Darcy poked out her tongue. Yes, she was. “The line of my lingerie is designed to accentuate the curve under my buttock here and create an effect that the designer knows any man will be riveted to.”
Zoë laughed. “Honey, I am no guy, and right now I want to grab your ass.” She shrugged at Marge, who scowled. “What?”
“Swearing,” Marge mouthed at her.
