Tonight, I’d make her sorry she ever called me a buzzkill. I opened the bathroom door, walked out.
Claudette and Summer didn’t speak. They just read me, starting with the vintage black stiletto pumps (classic Charles Jourdans circa 1983—a major find, according to Miguel) right up to the loose curls falling down my back. Claudette slowly walked a circle around me. “Allee, you look mm-mm good.”
“You really think so?”
“Babygirl, you are fabulosity.”
Summer still hadn’t said anything. Why didn’t she? I couldn’t tell what she was thinking either. She just kept looking, chewing on her lip and shaking her head. “So, Summer, what do you think?” I was dying to know.
She crossed her arms, smiled a lopsided, icky smile that I hadn’t seen before. It was so bizarre, it sent a shiver down my spine. “Reckon I been a horse’s butt all this time. Jiminy crawfish, Allee. I didn’t know ya had it in ya.”
SoBe looked different in the dark. Forget the daytime gumball colors. Neon signs glowed in lime and fuchsia, strings of electric lights coiled around palm trees, even the sky was screaming for attention with a full moon tonight. And on the sidewalks, it was a look-at-me contest, a parade of toned bodies with bronzed skin, all traveling in packs, decked out in linen and satin and leather. I tried to pick out which of these rich-looking people were small-towners, pretenders, like me. Everyone and everything was competing for the spotlight, but as usual, it was Summer who stole it.
Not one person passing us could stop themselves from staring at her. Some even turned around to catch another glimpse. She didn’t notice them. She was too busy complaining about how her starlicious talents were being wasted. “I’m a killer actress. I book almost every damn commercial she sends me on and she still don’t push me for the big movie roles. Just ‘featured extra’ parts or bit parts with a couple lines. I didn’t even get upgraded on that Mark Wahlberg movie.”
“Same here,” Claudette said. “And I’m a good actress too, as long as there’s no dialogue in the script.” She was serious. I kinda understood what she meant, though. I’d seen it at castings. Some models could show all kinds of emotion on film; blushing bride, happy shopper, thoughtful friend. But give them dialogue and suddenly everything goes flat. I’d seen it go the other way too. Models who were great with dialogue couldn’t always show the right emotion if there weren’t any words to help them. So far I’d only gotten booked on no-dialogue jobs.
“Momma won’t send your reel out unless you do a monologue for her,” I said, repeating what I heard Miguel tell another model once. Summer didn’t say anything.
“Yeah, I heard that too,” said Claudette. “Momma puts all talent into three categories: models, actors, and models who can do dialogue. That’s why she makes you do a monologue, to see where you fall.”
“Horseshit!” Summer fumed. “Niki Taylor, Janice Dickinson, Cameron Diaz, and Heidi Klum all modeled right here in Miami before they were famous, and I bet they didn’t have to do no stupid-ass monologue.” I’d never heard Summer throw curse words around like that. She usually said “sugar and spice” or “cheese Louise” when she was mad. In fact, I’d never heard her complain before either. She was acting very un-Summer-ish.
Which got me thinking. She had apologized like crazy for not giving me the message about being booked in that Argentinian movie and I totally bought it at the time, probably because I was so excited about getting the Dietra job, but what did I really know about Summer? All I knew was that she was always “on,” with good posture and a quick smile. Living with her was like having a puppy around. A puppy who could talk and show you things. But nobody was that helpful and nicey-nicey all the time. Maybe it had all been a front. A front that a “killer actress” could pull off.
“I’m fixin’ to be as famous as them someday. More famous.” She spun around to walk backward for a few steps so she could face us. “You jest wait.” And she was off, stomping ahead of Claudette and me, her long legs taking her onto the next block in no time.
Maybe it was just a bad mood. I didn’t think Summer could have a bad mood. Brynn was the one with the bad moods. “What was that all about?” I asked Claudette, who just shrugged. She was sporting her usual outfit of naked this evening, made up of two pieces of tied-on gauze. She was also holding Mars under her arm like a bizarre accessory. I could see right through that gauze and so could everyone else, which was just what she was going for, bouncing down the sidewalk like it was a runway. Although, to be fair, I’d been watching her for a while and she didn’t give off a slutty impression, not really. She wasn’t scamming on any guys. It was more like she was a free spirit, so happy with her body she wanted the whole world to see every inch of it. Hillary High Beams popped into my head. Maybe exhibitionism was only slutty in a small town?
“What’s up?” Claudette asked me. “You look so serious.”
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
Claudette stepped behind me, and I just knew she was going for a touchy-feely. Sure enough, she rubbed my shoulders as we walked. “Allee, try not to think too much. Just have fun.”
Just have fun, the South Beach motto. “I will. Don’t worry.” I’d change their opinion of me. They’d see. I was feeling the urge to break free and let go tonight.
“Thanks, Dad!” some guy called out to me as he passed, recognizing me from my Ford dealership spot. He waved his keys, like I did in the commercial. Then he told his friend, “Hey, that’s the girl from that commercial.” I flipped my hair and glanced back. They were still staring. Summer was usually the one who got recognized, especially since she’d done that Ludacris video.
I guess Summer wasn’t the only one who could get attention.
I saw Brynn. She was a few yards ahead of us, behind a velvet rope in a silver, metallic strapless dress, smoking and blowing smoke rings. Luca Lizard-face was next to her, pacing and talking into a headset, near a tank of a guy with tree-trunk arms. The marquee above them read TONIGHT DJ LAZ, THE PIMP WITH THE LIMP, AND THE SEX-O-METRA DANCERS, A LOCO LUCA PRODUCTION. There was a crowd waiting to get in, spilling off the sidewalk and into the street. Limos and cabs were pulling up to the curb.
Brynn saw us. Her eyebrows lifted when she realized it was me under all this glammed-out gear. Then a slight tilt of her chin, a nod of approval. Satisfaction ran through my veins. Luca said something to tank guy, who lifted the rope and motioned for us to come to the front, cutting in front of the crowd.
I was going in.
The VIP lounge was upstairs, hanging over the dance floor like a huge balcony. It was dark, with tea light candles all over the bar, plush velvet couches, and glass cubes for tables. I didn’t know what was so VIP about it. There was nothing very important happening, just a few people hanging out, talking and drinking, and two modely girls dancing. I was hanging over the rail, watching the action below. It looked way more fun down there with the bubbles and go-go dancers. The sight of women in cages did make me want to retch, but there were men in the cages too, so I guess it was sort of okay, like performance art.
I was drinking something sweet. Claudette had gotten it at the bar and handed it to me. It was in a martini glass and had chunks of pink Jolly Rancher candy all over the rim. The candy was delish, but the drink burned my throat unless I gulped it down fast.
That looked like Miguel down there, dancing. Yeah, and he was with Dimitri. I waved to them, spilling my drink. Claudette magically appeared next to me, holding out another one. “HERE YOU GO!” she screamed into my ear. We had to yell directly into each other’s ear to be heard over the music. “BRYNN HOOKED US UP. IT’S ALL FREE TONIGHT.” She clinked her glass with mine. “GUESS IT CAN’T HURT TO HAVE A BOYFRIEND IN THE PARTY BIZ.”
“WHY DON’T YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?” I asked her.
“WHY DON’T YOU?”
My answer was to clink my glass with hers. I downed the last of my drink and started on the next one. It was getting hot in here. And I was smiling. A feeling of joy was wellin
g up in me for no reason at all. “SO,” I shouted, clinking my glass with hers again, just because I liked the sound of it. Then I did it again. I was going to ask her something…what was it? Gulp. Burn. Gulp.
Claudette was looking at me funny. She said, “SO…”
“WHAT?”
“WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO SAY?”
Oh, yeah. Now I remembered. “SO, ARE YOU, LIKE, A LESBIAN OR WHAT?”
“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU JUST ASKED ME THAT!”
“ME EITHER!” Gulp. Burn. Gulp. “ARE YOU?”
“I DATE GUYS.” She laughed. “AND GIRLS.”
“OH.” What else could I say to that? “GOOD TO KNOW.” Gulp. Burn. Summer hadn’t moved from her spot on one of the couches. She was in a heavy discussion with some dude who worked for a casting director. She knew he’d be here.
It was getting hotter in here. I loved the candy on this thing, this drink, this pink—
“Hey, biatch, this the one you were so worried about?” It was Luca Loco. He didn’t need to shout. His voice was so deep, it was almost Darth Vader. His arm was hooked around Brynn’s neck in a headlock. I bet he beat her. “This the one, biatch?”
“YEAH, BUT FORGET ABOUT IT,” Brynn answered. “SHE’S NO COMPETITION FOR ME, ARE YOU, YALE? LAST MONTH YOU COULDN’T EVEN BOOK RESERVATIONS, RIGHT? KIDDING, KIDDING. YOU KNOW I DON’T—”
“YEAH, YEAH, YOU DON’T FILTER,” I yelled, cutting her off. “I KNOW ALREADY.” She blinked, surprised. Ha. I held up my empty glass. “UM, EXCUSE ME, ANOTHER DRINKOLA HERE?” Something about the way that came out made all of them laugh. I laughed too, but what was so funny? “IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY.”
“WHAT, TODAY?” Brynn screamed.
“NO. LAST MONTH.”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SOMETHING?”
“I FIGURED YOU’D BE OBNOXIOUS ABOUT IT.” I never once thought about Brynn being obnoxious about it. But right now I felt like telling her she was obnoxious.
“Her? Obnoxious?” Loco said with affection, winking a hooded eye. “Never.”
Brynn punched him in the arm. “SHUT UP, YOU FRIGGIN’ MORON. GET THIS GIRL SOME CHAMPAGNE, FA CHRIS-SAKES.”
I was drunk. And making out with a cute guy. He’d told me his name but it was so loud in here I couldn’t hear him. These couches in the VIP lounge were pretty comfy. “GET A ROOM!” Miguel screamed at us, sitting down on the couch across from ours. Dimitri and Elmo-hair joined him. They’d all been dancing on the bar a minute ago.
I’d just gone into the bathroom and run into Elmo-hair in there (not sure if it was men’s or women’s—there were guys and girls in there and one transvestite wearing a nautical sailor dress who introduced herself as Mandy Lifeboats). Elmo-hair and I hugged like old friends. I didn’t care that he hadn’t booked me for that German catalog. I loved him right now. I even loved Brynn for popping open that champagne bottle. I also loved the taste of this Jolly Rancher drink.
April the Great had been in the bathroom too. I gave her a big hello even though she barely looked at me, like she didn’t even know me. But I didn’t care, because you know what? Drinking made me one friendly girl. Just ask The Cute Guy I Just Made Out With Even Though I Don’t Know His Name. Now April was in the VIP room with us. She was dancing on the bar.
I pointed to her, leaned forward, and screamed to Miguel, “WE JUST DID A JOB TOGETHER AND SHE’S PRETENDING SHE DOESN’T KNOW ME.”
He shrieked back, “TYPICAL. SHE’S SO MEET, GREET, DELETE.”
Where was The Cute Guy I Just Made Out With Even Though I Don’t Know His Name going? He’d just said something to me but I couldn’t hear a word of it. He was gone. Now it was down to me, Miguel, Elmo-hair, and Dimitri. We decided to go to the Delano hotel pool bar for drinks. Well, they decided, but I was in. I didn’t know where Claudette or Brynn had gone.
Brynn had yelled, “Hey, Allee, I’m going to the bathroom. You wanna come?” I was gonna go with her, but Miguel asked me to stay with him for some reason and pulled me away, and after a couple of Jolly Rancher drinks I lost them, right around when Prince showed up in the VIP room. Summer got her picture taken with him for Ocean Drive magazine. She was still sitting with him and his entourage on one of the couches when we left.
Inside the Delano, it was dim, with candles and curtains everywhere. Tonight it was a fuzzy Wonderland, like I was dreaming this fashion show of pretty, shiny people in their pretty, shiny clothes: open necklines down to the belly button, sandals laced up to the knee, tattoos, body jewelry, short little dresses like mine. My wastoid eyes couldn’t take it all in.
In the pool, two chairs and a table rose out of the shallow end. The life-size chess set was lit up on the grass. I swayed. The tiki torches were getting blurry.
“Allee, you okay?” Miguel asked.
I sank down onto an empty deck chair and curled up into a nice, cozy ball. Mmmm. Sleep.
“Get her an espresso,” said Dimitri.
They sat me up and ordered one, plus a round of mojitos for themselves and nachos with salsa. I hogged the nachos, suddenly starving. They were really salty and good, but then I got queasy. Very queasy.
Uh-oh. I didn’t feel so good. Elmo-hair’s hair hurt my eyes. It looked like there were two of him. I blinked hard.
He’d just asked me a question. I wasn’t listening. “What’d you say? And is my sweaty all forehead?”
“Ya, a little. I said, we would have put you on option, but we couldn’t remember your name or your agency, and you didn’t leave a comp card. We had nothing. What happened?”
“Ve had nussink,” I parroted. “Vat hapnd?” I sounded so funny. Why wasn’t he laughing too? He looked all pinchy-faced.
Miguel slapped my wrist. Hard. “Allee, you didn’t leave your comp?”
“I gonna kill you!” Dimitri yelled.
Whoa. The room was spinning. There was a sour taste in my mouth.
Hold on. Focus. I might have been drunk, but I remembered handing my comp to the lady who took my Polaroid. “I left a comp.”
“No, you didn’t.” But I was sure I did. Someone at Scarlett Print Productions must have lost it. I wanted to tell Elmo-hair, tell them all, but I was…
Nauseous now. Extremely.
Oooh, God.
Very sick now.
Very sick.
chapter 17
My tongue was growing algae. And I decided this bathroom floor was made of ice cubes, not tiles. But at least it was near the toilet. And at least I wasn’t sweating or shaking as much as I was before, so the worst must have been over, the poison all gone now.
Nope. Nope, it wasn’t. Here we go again.
“Christ on the cross,” moaned Brynn when I was done. How long had she been standing there? “Sounds like you puked up a lung that time, Allee.” She wet a washcloth and handed it to me.
I wiped my face. “What time is it?”
“Almost six. My call time’s in a half hour.” She said it quietly, trying not to wake Claudette. Summer hadn’t come home last night. It wasn’t the first time. When Brynn didn’t come home, we knew she was with Luca, staying at a club all night, but when Summer didn’t come home, she never told us where she slept. She was probably Prince’s new drummer by now.
Brynn was in her version of pj’s: sweatpants, socks, a sweatshirt with the hood up, eye mask on her forehead. She brushed her teeth, put in eyedrops. “You want crackers?” she asked, yawning. “I have some in my model bag. They help.” I nodded, stunned to hear she owned food. She brought them to me and I took a mouse bite. My mouth was so dry the cracker felt like pencil shavings. But she was right. It helped.
I was about to get up for water when Brynn filled a paper cup from the faucet and gave it to me. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you don’t like me.”
“Who says I don’t like you? Well, maybe I don’t like you a little bit. But you’re growing on me.”
“I am?”
“Yeah, I gotta
give it up. You weren’t a complete pain in the ass last night.”
“Thanks.” My stomach rolled over with a loud gurgle. “Uch, I’m never drinking again. Never ever never ever again.”
“You didn’t pace yourself, you lightweight. I’ve done that.” She leaned in to the mirror, inspecting her face. “You ever, uh, party with anything harder than drinks?”
“You mean, like drugs?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
“You wanna try anything?” She tapped her nose. “I got some in my makeup kit, right here.”
Holy shiitake mushrooms, she had cocaine in there!
“No, thank you.”
I’d never been this close to a severely illegal drug before. This was serious. I had to get out of here. Now. Any second a police officer could barge in here and yell, “Freeze! Miami Vice!” and I’d wind up in the joint. Okay, not probable, but there was a one percent chance it could happen. Time to flee, vamoose, giddyup.
Except I stood up way too fast and was hit with a dizzy rush. I slid back down to the floor. So she did coke. That explained the sniffing and how jittery she got sometimes.
Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “Now that’s ruining the nice little moment we’re having here, see.”
“What?”
“That look you’re giving me.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m cutting back, just so’s you know. I just need a couple lines for today. This client’s making me jump on a trampoline, so I better rev up the engine.” She put everything carefully away in her makeup bag, then pulled out a tube of Preparation H. This time I managed to stand all the way up. I definitely didn’t want to be around for what she was going to do next. Crime was one thing, but bodily—oh, wait, she was only smearing it under her eyes.
Still, I couldn’t leave. Too many questions. Like how often did she ski with Lady Snow? Was she an addict? Was I the only one who just says no? “Does Summer do it too?”
“What, this?” She held up the Preparation H. “Probably. It’s the best for shrinking puffy eye bags.”
Braless in Wonderland Page 14
