by Mary Ramsey
I could feel the cold of his breath against my neck.
“Well, twinkle-twinkle, little star … while you still can.”
Two
I was landing job after job, all thanks to London. She believed in me. So, for her, I would push myself to try harder. Whatever local shows she walked, she’d try to get me a spot, or at least an audition. She passed my portfolio along to her fashion designer friends. I was the real deal: London swore on her fame.
She took me with her to various award shows, where all she did was walk the red carpet. Any reporter who tried to shout, “Can we get a shot of just you?” would get her now-signature reply, “Nope, we’re like Barbie and Ken.”
Only London spoke, even if it was just to tell reporters that we were both wearing early-access pieces from Gale Jordania’s fall collection. She knew she needed to protect me; the tabloids were full of images of her coming in and out of my home. They captured every hug, every smile, and of course each time I rode on the back of her motorcycle.
At home, things were fine. Jen snorted at the more ridiculous rumors emerging about our affair, particularly re one article where she was in the window waving London off after she’d apparently stayed over in my bed like a shameless bad girl. They’d spent most of the evening binge-watching Netflix while I’d been sleeping. At work, though, the atmosphere was getting a little bitchy on set.
At one music awards show, we had the unfortunate luck of running into Sofia Bryce. The tall redhead model-turned-country-singer had green eyes, like a snake. She made my skin crawl, the way she looked me up and down. I was shirtless under my purple suit jacket, a Mayan sun pendant drawing attention to my chest. I tried to ignore her as she approached with two friends, whispering in a way to make sure I knew they were talking about me. She moved fast, even in her high heels and tight black dress with those elaborate cutouts.
“Keep walking Sofia,” London said to her rival.
“I just wanted to check out your little puppy. Is he housebroken or do you have to take him outside?” She grinned. “I bet he’d look good with a dog collar, chained up in my basement.”
What? Though I knew she had to be joking, her words sent a shiver down my spine.
London put her arm around my waist, beneath the jacket. “Just keep walking.”
Once inside the venue’s entrance, she cupped my face in her hands, looking deep into my eyes. Her face was inches from mine. “Are you okay?”
I nodded though, clearly, I wasn’t okay. At least five paparazzi guys got their payday shot.
London shook her head in disgust. “Let’s get out of here. It’s still early, maybe Shauna’s still awake.”
“Yeah, I’m about done here.”
I followed her lead, cutting through the building to go find our car, but waiting for us was Sofia. My heart sank. I was way too tired for drama.
She smiled at London. “I had a feeling you were going to cut and run. I just wanted to apologize to your puppy. What did you name him? Dakota?”
I groaned. “Oh, go fuck—”
London got between me and Sofia.
Sofia moved in closer. “No hard feelings, Dakota? Unless you’re experiencing some other ‘hard feelings’, of course.” She flicked her glance to London’s low-cut dress.
London flung out the heel of her hand, punching Sofia hard in the chest and damn near knocking the wind out of her. The girl toppled backwards against a guy aiming a cell-phone camera.
“You got that shot, right?” she shouted as she struggled upright. “London Sharp, I’m going to sue you for assault!”
London grabbed my hand and we headed straight for the valet, who had our keys ready. When we got home, I set up my laptop so she could get on top of damage limitation on social media. As soon as she’d logged in, I gave Shauna and Jen a cuddle and then went to crash out.
The next day I awoke to a bunch of notifications on my cell. I swung my legs out of bed and scrolled through the comment threads on London’s Facebook page, where she was giving the haters as good as she got. I stumbled into the kitchen where Jen was reading her phone, chuckling.
“Plague monster?” Jen laughed as she scrolled down. “Is London trying to make enemies, or what?” She squinted. “What’s this about Sofia sexually harassing you?”
I sank into a kitchen chair. “You really don’t want to know.”
“Did that Bryce bitch actually touch you?”
I reached for the coffee. “Nope. Didn’t get that far.”
“Good to see that all that karate finally came in handy for her.”
“Huh?” I didn’t remember Sofia doing any karate.
“I’m talking about London’s black belt, you goof.” Jen giggled and reached over to squeeze my hand. “I think it’s cute she can be such good friends with the one guy who’s never seen a minute of her reality show.”
“Right.” I coughed, putting the cup back down.
“You okay? You seem a little pissed about something.”
“No, not pissed. It’s just … one of these days, London’s going to have to let me do the talking.”
London walked in, wearing just a towel. “Can you lend me something to wear?”
I looked at her, confused as to who she was asking.
“Dakota, hello? Not enough caffeine yet? Give me something of yours to wear so I can go freak out the paparazzi.” She motioned to the nearest window.
I waved toward my room. “Help yourself. You bought most of it.”
London came back out wearing one of my tank tops over her black bra and blue thong underwear, holding her gown over her arm. As she opened the door, the ocean of camera flashes was blinding. “See you soon!” she called on her way out.
I’m pretty sure I didn’t imagine Jen rolling her eyes as the door shut.
Our next shoot together had us in bed on a studio set in North Hollywood. The set featured a big red-and-gold bed in a somewhat medieval chamber. I was on the bed in the nude with London kneeling over me in a lavish gown covered in gold lace.
Perfume ads could be weird. I’d learned that early.
As I lay down, she was supposed to pour glitter-infused champagne all over my face and body. That was the concept London talked the director down to; originally, I was supposed to be tied to the bed with London stepping on my groin while pouring the champagne.
“I told them the idea was disgusting,” London said as the makeup artist finished with her eyes. “In the concept art, it looked like my character was about to eat you.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad.”
London rolled her eyes. “Funny. Anyway, my mom was like, ‘are you just not comfortable doing the shoot with Dakota? We can always hire a different model.’ But I stood my ground.”
“I’m proud of you.”
She gave me a nervous smile. “I just hope it’s not going to cost me. I mean, it’s one thing facing down other models, but I don’t want a reputation as being difficult, you know?”
“I guess.”
For the first take, the director asked London to simply open the bottle at a high angle as if she were ejaculating. The cork flew off with such force it broke a light.
“Let’s try it at a lower angle,” the director suggested.
“I’m not shooting my friend in the face.”
I’d positioned myself so I was sitting up enough so she could lean in to kiss me for the final shot. Also, so that I could breathe.
“Sean, I’m going to need you to lie down,” the director said, combing her hair back out of her face with her fingers.
“No, Sean is seated according to my instructions.”
The director walked around the bed, checking out the angles, then shrugged. “Fine. It can work.”
There was no audio, so London was free to laugh, talk and adlib lines.
She looked into my eyes while straddling me in a kneeling position. “My prince,” she whispered as she touched my face, tracing a finger along my jawline.
I blinked
slowly, as if waking from sleep.
“You lay here before me, injured as you return from battle with the evil red queen, your heroic heart always defending my honor.”
I struggled keeping a straight face, trying to remain serene while she fired the cork over my head.
“Close your eyes, my love.” She kissed my forehead, then whispered, “Seriously, close your eyes or this crap is going to sting.”
She poured the warm glittery champagne over my forehead, as if to bless me, then down to my shoulders and chest. With a little less than half the bottle remaining, she poured some over herself, letting the sparkles drip down her shoulders. As we both sparkled under the stage lights, she finally fake-kissed me.
“And cut! That was kind of amazing.” The director stood from her chair as the studio erupted in applause.
Since no one was bringing me a robe or even a towel, London pulled the blanket off the bed to cover my nakedness. “I feel like I just urinated on you.”
“No worries. By the way, you’d make an awesome princess.”
London smiled. “Before I met you, I would never have had the courage to stand up for myself.”
I couldn’t exactly get my head around that. Not after the Sofia-flattening display a few weeks back. “I don’t believe that.”
London hopped off the bed. “No, the old London would have been a good girl and stepped on a male model’s groin to make her mother happy.”
“Explains your mom’s popularity.”
She giggled. “Seriously though, Dakota, you’re special. You inspire me.”
My luck ran dry for a little while after that. Though London pulled in a hefty paycheck and was soon off to Paris Fashion Week, I took a fraction of her earnings and had no new prospects on the horizon. Certainly not via my actual agent, Angelina Ferria, whose agency had been in business for less than a year when she signed me. I shouldn’t have been surprised that we had pretty similar levels of influence in the fashion industry—virtually none. But she wasn’t exactly working her butt off on my behalf.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” she sighed over the phone, maybe a week later. “No one wants to use someone with your look.”
I knew she was full of shit. “I can walk down the street and see dozens of ads with guys who look like me.”
“I’m assuming you mean other long-haired models with high cheekbones?”
Her tone always got under my skin. “It’s not exactly a niche market. I’d be happy with catalogue, for God’s sake—”
“Yeah, but they’ve got the Greco-Roman ripped look to go with the face. No scars. Way easier to book.” She sighed. “You could build yourself up more and chop a few inches off your hair. Between shoots, you look like a sexually-deviant crack whore.”
I hung up before I could lose my temper.
My look, my story: they were the reason I had fans, the reason people called me an inspiration. I didn’t want to cry. Angelina had no right to make me cry. London could land me work, so I clearly wasn’t a freak. I stomped into the kitchen and managed to tip the sugar bowl onto the floor while reaching for the coffee.
Could this day get any worse? I suddenly felt a rush of wind.
Cam stood before me with rage in his eyes. “My father’s moving back to North Dakota.”
“I know,” I groaned, replying out loud in the empty apartment. The decision had already been taken, and I couldn’t spend my life trying to save Diego from himself. “Cam, this is what your father and Remy want. Remy’s got a clinic to run, and your dad can continue his treatment in North Dakota.”
“If my father sets foot back there, it’s only a matter of time before my mother will get to him.”
I knew what he meant. His mother was too evil and his father too kind. “Remy loves Diego. He’ll protect him.”
Cam shook his head as he faded into the wall. “You’d better hope you’re correct.”
Two days later, Diego was loaded onto a private flight back to North Dakota. We were allowed onto the tarmac to say goodbye. I rocked Shauna in my arms. She was crying so hard, her little body trembling.
Remy had been helping the medical staff make sure Diego was comfortable. He trotted down the four steps from the plane. “Would it be alright if I brought her aboard to say goodbye?”
“I guess.” I handed Shauna to Remy, following behind.
“I want to go with Grandpa!”
Remy stroked her cheek. “Your home’s here, sweetheart. And anyway, this isn’t goodbye. You and your grandpa have a connection. Whenever you think about how much you miss him, how much you love him, he’ll feel it in his heart, and it will make him strong. When your Grandpa thinks of you, you’ll feel warmth in your heart, because that’s how much he loves you. Do you understand?”
Shauna nodded.
“Now give your Grandpa a kiss.”
Shauna kissed Diego’s cheek. “Goodbye Grandpa, I’ll miss you.”
There were tears in Diego’s eyes. “I’ll miss you too, my little angel.”
I shook Remy’s hand. “Take care of him.”
I took Shauna back and headed inside the terminal, where Jen and Sara were waiting. “You guys ready to go?”
“Yeah,” Sara sighed. “I wish Johnny could have been here.”
“We’re all afraid,” Jen said, putting her arm around Sara. “But all we can do is hope for the best.”
Three
The day before she left for Paris, London visited me. “You need to make a clean break from Angelina Ferria; I’m already a much better agent.”
Shauna ran out to the living room. “London’s here!” It was around noon, but ever since Diego left, she took to running around the house like a rat in a maze.
London pulled Shauna onto her lap. “Aren’t you just a little ball of energy?” London looked back to me and Jen. “I’m going to cut to the chase—I want you to come to Japan with me.”
“Aren’t you going to Paris?” I asked, scratching my chest as I lay on the couch with my head in my sleeping wife’s lap. I couldn’t feel less like a model that morning. I was still wearing sweatpants with no shirt since I hadn’t any reason to put clothes on until London showed up.
“Paris isn’t for long. After that, I have a six-month gig in Japan. I cannot fathom not seeing you or this little cutie for six whole months.”
Jen was starting to open her eyes. “Huh?”
“You’re invited as well, Jen. I’m not trying to kidnap your family.”
“Invited where?” Jen asked.
“Japan! In three weeks!”
“One, it’s too early for shouting,” Jen groaned. “And two, we need to talk to Sara and Johnny. Can you come later?”
“Sure. My flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning,” London said as she put Shauna back on the floor.
She returned at eleven, wearing a black cocktail dress as if she’d just come from somewhere important. She made coffee as she watched Shauna run around the house with a roll of toilet paper streaming behind her like a giant ribbon. “How long’s she been doing that?”
Jen grumbled into her palms. “Four hours.”
Johnny burst through the door. “I found a guitar!”
Sara rolled her eyes as she followed him in. “Johnny found it in a dumpster near the tattoo shop.”
He grabbed a chair. “It’s perfectly good. Waste not, want not. I had to leave my guitar behind to come to Los Angeles.” He strummed a few chords and played some nursery rhyme from memory. It was a nice gesture, but not enough to hold Shauna’s attention.
“Will Daddy sing?” Shauna asked.
“Daddy can’t sing,” I quickly replied.
“Have you ever tried?” London asked, reaching her hands out for Johnny’s guitar. Once settled, she strummed with just her fingers, ignoring the plectrum Johnny was holding out. “Won’t you sing me a sad song …” Her voice was hauntingly beautiful. “Baby, make it good a long, make me cry, make me cry, make me cry.”
Shauna sat wit
h a pouty face. “Grandpa sang happy songs.”
“Okay, let’s try something else. Sing with me, Dakota.” She started to play a slow ballad version of “Amazing Grace”. “… how sweet the sound, that saved a wraith like me …”
“… I once was lost, but now I’m found,” I sang, only to Shauna, “was blind but now I see.”
Shauna clapped her hands. “Daddy sings better than Grandpa.”
London put down the guitar and checked the kitchen wall clock. “Now, let me get straight to the point. I want to take Sean, Jen, and this little cutie to Japan.”
“What about me and Johnny?” Sara asked.
Johnny glared across at her. “We’re not following Sean and Jen to Japan.”
Sara went quiet.
“We can visit,” he went on, more calmly, “but the sooner you finish your degree, the sooner you can land a residency.”
“It’s fine,” Sara growled at him. She turned to London, pouting. “I just want Sean to be safe. Will he be able to get his medications? What about his medical equipment?”
“They’ll live with me,” London answered. “As for medical care, there are American hospitals throughout the world, even military bases. We’ll be covered. Don’t worry. Sean just needs to get copies of his medical records to travel with.”
Sara bit her lip, glancing from London to me. “Sean, I’ll miss you.
“You and Johnny can stay on in the condo,” London assured. “You’re blasting through school—you’ll have UCLA in your rearview in no time.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Sara replied.
It was official. I was going to Japan.
The next day, my family and I got passport photos. I looked up how to print the application online and paid for expedited processing. Then I took a taxi to Angelina Ferria’s office. I could have gotten a ride from Jen, but I needed to be alone for this conversation. I stopped to buy a bottle of water and a cheap bouquet of yellow roses. When I finally arrived, I knocked on her door.
