The Liar, The Bitch and the Wardrobe

by Kingsley, Allie

  He was sitting on the edge of the bed when he snatched the phone from my hands. “You can’t do anything right! How the fuck did you get here? You’re pathetic and completely worthless! You think you’re going somewhere . . . like all the other losers who try to use me as a stepping-stone . . . but I’ll have you know that you are nothing and you will always be nothing.” Right then and there, my heart broke. I could actually feel it shatter. I froze and looked down at the floor, unsure how to respond and unable to physically move. He continued rousing me. “Because you’re fucking stupid and ugly and you do not belong here!” I looked into his hateful eyes and felt my own well with tears. Why was he being so extremely cruel? What did this have to do with his phone not being charged? Did he really think that I couldn’t do anything right? Did he really think that I was stupid . . . and ugly? My dream had become a nightmare. This was not what I had wished and prayed for all those years worshipping the great Stefano Lepres. I had placed him on a pedestal and thought of him as this great symbol of awesomeness and inspiration, and here he was making me feel that I was better off dead. My pride, at least what was left of it, wouldn’t allow him to see me fall apart, and I could feel that I was on the verge of a meltdown. Turning my back to him, I took a few quiet steps toward the door . . . when BAM! I pressed both hands tightly against the back of my head. Horrified, I half turned and saw the portable phone broken into pieces and spinning on the hardwood floor. He had hurled the phone at my head! He turned ballistic. “You fucking bitch! You broke my phone! Get out of my face you stupid . . . ugly . . . bitch!”

  I stood horrified, in shock as the words cut through me like a dozen flying daggers. How could Stefano Lepres hate me so much when all I did was love and admire him? It was worse than any heartache caused by a boyfriend or fight with my parents or any other type of pain I had ever experienced before. He lunged forward and I bolted from the bedroom. I sprinted as fast as I could away from the house, dropping his keys on the driveway before fishing my own out of my purse. Running on fear-driven adrenaline, I got to my beat-up Jeep, which was parked up the street. Since I’d started working for Stefano, I hadn’t even touched my own car. Without allowing even one second for the engine to warm, I peeled out of the spot and sped away from the house.

  My entire body continued to quiver as I broke into a cold sweat. I dialed Julie’s number. I couldn’t be alone like this. She didn’t answer. Next, I tried Sebastian, but he didn’t answer either. Liz answered the phone but she was at a club and couldn’t hear me. My parents certainly wouldn’t understand and I was far too embarrassed to confide in James. I had nobody to call.

  I sharply turned onto Highland Boulevard. I was alone and I deserved it. Stefano is right, I thought. I am stupid. Stupid enough to shut out my friends, stupid enough to think that I belonged in that world and stupid enough to have run out on Stefano-goddamn-Lepres. Did I do the right thing leaving like that? Did he just need a few minutes to cool down as Liz had rightfully suggested the times before? I had just thrown it all away and I knew it. Would he blacklist me from the industry? Could he do that? I began to really panic. Was this the end of my career? I eyed the dark highway, observing the oncoming cars speeding closer. My hands were shaking and so numb that I could barely steer the wheel. What did I have to look forward to? Nothing. Like he said, I was nothing. I had nothing. I’d always be nothing. Pulling over to the left, I shifted gears. My heart pounded like it might punch through my chest. What if I could just end it, right here—right now? Would Stefano then feel badly because he finally sent someone completely over the edge? Just do it, I thought. Nobody would care if I did. Or would they only care about me after I did? I wondered if I felt this intense because of those few lines I had just done at the house. Regardless, I didn’t care. On impulse, I closed my eyes and careened the car into the oncoming traffic. The Jeep barely missed the first car, tipped up on the two left wheels as it weaved between the second and third cars. I came to a screeching halt at the opposite side of the road. My head slammed into the steering wheel. I burst into sobs.

  Who and what had I become? Where did things take such a wrong turn? It was then that I decided that my time working for and worrying about Stefano Lepres was over. I was willing to sacrifice much of my self-esteem by letting him belittle me with his mind games. I even accepted the fact that I compromised many of my standards to be part of his cult-like studio. But was I willing to hit the ultimate low and tolerate being abused physically? No.

  I stretched to the side, reaching for my purse, which had spilled out in front of the passenger seat during my near crash. Beneath it was the bikini I had borrowed from Bella, still damp and smelling of chlorine. I smoothed it out over the passenger seat and thought; if everything happens for a reason, which I do believe, maybe working for Stefano was meant to lead me to Bella, who in turn would be the one to get me where I really wanted to go. Was it possible? There was only one way to find out. I picked up my cell phone.

  Isabella sang out, “Lucy-goosey! How was the rest of your day?!”

  “Bella . . . it . . . it wasn’t good.” I decided not to tell her everything. “I’m calling to let you know that I am leaving Stefano.” I never in a million years thought I’d say those words. They returned me to reality. I had to cover the mouthpiece so she couldn’t hear me whimper as tears streamed down my cheeks.

  “Well, I can’t say that I’m shocked. You are a great photographer and you will never make it this way.” Her insisting that I was this great photographer intensified my insecurities and emotions because she had never seen my work! But still, I knew that I was good. Perhaps if she gave me a job, even out of pity, she’d be blown away and would help me launch my career.

  I took a deep breath and faked my disposition. “Thanks! So I am wondering . . . Does your offer still stand to hire me as a photographer?” I crossed my fingers on both hands and closed my eyes.

  “Of course it does! Let’s put together a show at a fabulous gallery! I’ll invite everyone we know!”

  Only momentarily did I consider that “we” didn’t have mutual friends and I knew nobody. Still, it was everything that I needed to hear. I opened my eyes and grinned ear to ear. “Really?”

  “Yes! Oh my God, you can shoot a whole series of . . . me! It will be like a documentary on my life! At the beach, with my kids, behind the scenes of other shoots—it will be fabulous! Once all my famous friends and editors see how talented you are, they’ll all hire you for sure. How does that sound?”

  Again I suffocated any voice of reason reminding me of the fact that Bella had never even seen my work. “It . . . it sounds too good to be true . . .” I chuckled.

  “Well, it isn’t! I will help you become the most celebrated photographer in Hollywood! We will bump Stefano What’s-His-Face right off the radar! Okay?”

  I laughed out loud. “Let’s not push it!” I pulled myself together and started my car. “Okay, Bella. Thanks again . . . for everything. You don’t know what this means to me!”

  “Great! We’ll meet next week and begin making plans for all of your dreams to come true! Good night!”

  I clutched my chest, inhaled and exhaled deeply. Everything was going to be okay. I think.

  “Good night, Bella!”

  chapter twenty

  WWJD?

  Goodnight was the understatement of the year. On the fifth evening of isolation, I remained buried in bed with my eyes glued to the television. I wasn’t ready to face the world otherwise known as my friends and parents. How would I even begin to explain what had transpired? I flipped through the channels in search of something light to escape to, some comedy maybe, anything to take me away to another place—at least for an hour or four. Nothing in the world could have prepared me for what I saw on E! News. The split screen behind Ryan Seacrest and Giuliana Rancic showed two stock images of Jax Phoenix and Jessica Amore with the words “Breaking News” splashed across. Jessica Amore is a bubbly, blonde songstress with girl-next-door appeal. She is effo
rtlessly adorable, admired globally and the last person on the planet anyone would want anywhere near their boyfriend . . . or could-be boyfriend, in my circumstance. I hurled myself to the edge of the bed and turned up the volume.

  Ryan amped up his legendary charm, “Reports are flooding in from France that two of our hottest songbirds are making a lot more than beautiful music. Giuliana, what do you think of the story? Another rumor or a match made in harmony heaven?”

  “Well, Ryan, my sources aren’t just telling, they’re showing. Take a look.”

  Various images rolled across the screen of the enraptured couple strolling in Paris. Jax looked fantastic in a loose knitted beanie and Jessica looked like she always did, happy and perfect. Ryan continued, “It looks like this duet might actually be duet’ing it, if you know what I’m saying . . .” A final picture flashed of the two from behind, walking down a cobblestone street with their hands in each others back pockets.

  I was sick to my stomach. I turned off the television and disappeared into my comforter.

  Forcing myself up, I decided it was time to come back to the land of the living. I took a quick shower and looked at my phone. “Twenty-one new messages?” I stared at my blinking answering machine in disbelief. It had been almost one week since I had turned my ringer off and there were messages that had gone unheard for weeks before then. The machine ran as I rolled my wet hair into a towel turban. I tightened the belt of my silk kimono and shuffled across the cluttered floor, sifting through boxes labeled “kitchen.” (Considering that I’d technically lived in this apartment for eight months, I’d barely spent any time here at all.)

  “Hi Luce, it’s Julie. I’d leave you a message on your cell phone but it says your voice mail is full. Anyways, my parents are flying in tomorrow and they’d love to see you. Call me.” I bit my lip. That message was clearly more than just a few weeks old. I put a cup of water in the microwave to make some tea.

  “Lucy . . . it’s Mom. I’m sure you’re busy at work. We need to talk about what happened in LA as well as discuss your Thanksgiving plans. I love you, here’s Dad.”

  My father continued when my mother left off. “Hi, Luce. I mailed you some insurance forms. Please take care of that. You can’t go another day without health insurance. Okay? Call us back.” I glanced at a large envelope stacked in the midst of the other unopened mail.

  “Hey, it’s Julie . . . again. Sebastian and I are going to an outdoor movie at the Hollywood Cemetery—you had said you always wanted to go, so we thought you might be interested. My parents missed you but send their best. Don’t be a stranger.” Carefully balancing a full mug, I climbed my way to the window and opened the curtains to let in the morning light.

  “Ugly . . . where are you? You know I can’t get out of bed without a smoothie. I mean, if you can’t do these things I ask of you, maybe you should just . . .” I could hear my own voice faintly in the background. Stefano clearly was unaware I was already at his house. I heard my own voice again, “Good morning, Stefano!” Stefano’s voice continued on the message machine. “Umm, thanks, Lushy. See you at the studio.” I nearly choked on the tea as I laughed for the first time in a while at Stefano’s attempt to hide his idiocy.

  “Hey, Butler, it’s Braves.” I was surprised to hear his voice. “I ran into your parents at Pike Place Market of all places. I was surprised your father remembered me from orientation. They sounded . . . concerned. We need to talk.” I curled up on my chair. “Anyhow, I’m going to be back in LA for my cousin’s wedding the sixteenth through the nineteenth, and I thought we could get together. I’d love to see you again. Call me, e-mail, send smoke signals, whatever . . .” I jumped to check a calendar for the date. It was Sunday the nineteenth. Maybe I could still reach him!

  Immediately I dialed James’s cell phone number. I paced the room while biting my thumbnail.

  “About time!” A friendly and familiar voice, at last!

  “James, I am so sorry! Everything has been . . . I don’t even know what to say! Are you still in LA?”

  “I am . . . my flight isn’t until ten tonight. What are you doing? Can you meet up?”

  “Yes! Let’s do lunch?”

  “Do lunch? Oh, Butler . . . that is so LA . . .”

  “Oh shush! Where do you want to meet?”

  “How about Cafe Med? It’s close to my hotel . . . and I’m pretty sure we don’t have to sneak in through a tent,” he joked.

  “Sounds great—I’ll pick you up!”

  “It’s just down the street—I’ll walk.”

  “Oh, James, nobody walks in LA.”

  “See you at the restaurant, Lucy,” he said through a chuckle. I wasn’t sure if he thought I was kidding or not, but I was elated either way.

  I tossed the remnants of my tea into the sink and bolted to my closet. I wanted to show James how grown up and sophisticated I had become in the short but life-changing month that had passed. I had to look amazing! Sliding the hangers from side to side, I pulled out several pieces of clothing and tossed them onto the bed, grabbing the latest issue of Harper’s Bazaar and flipping through it for inspiration. There was a stunning picture of Presley Dalton at a Hamptons party and I wanted to emulate her look. As if . . . But maybe with couture courtesy of Isabella Blackstone I could get close enough. I pulled a taupe box labeled Camilla Skovgaard from under my bed and reverently unwrapped a pair of the designer’s draped leather sandals. The coveted shoes were a borrowed gift from a stylist that had to be returned “within the week” from the photo shoot they were used for. I mentally calculated that it had been two weeks since I swore to return them. I made a promise to myself that I’d return them the next day. A striped 10 Crosby Derek Lam dress had the same effortlessly chic vibe as the one in the photo of Presley. I eyed myself in the mirror. Something was missing. Presley’s stylist had accessorized the dress with a gold chain belt, but I didn’t own a belt like that. Knowing I would have to compromise, I dumped out my jewelry box. Taking apart all my gold necklaces, then reattaching them together, I created my own chain belt. Removing a Hermès lock from one of my purses, I slid the lock onto the ends of the necklaces, attaching them to the other side once wrapped around my hips. I clapped in glee, smiling to myself, proud of my resourcefulness. I smoothed my hands down the sides of my torso. I had never been so slender in my entire life. Being stressed and never having time to eat was really starting to have its benefits! I turned to look at myself from behind and lifted the stripy skirt. My legs were teeny tiny! After twisting my hair into a tight knot, I grabbed a oversized Chanel croc tote and matching shades. With one more glance of approval in the mirror, I said out loud, “Thank you, Bella!”

  As I sped up La Cienega wearing borrowed accessories and Isabella’s clothes, my anxiety grew with each passing minute. Just before reaching the hotel, I pulled off to the side of the road, checking the mirror one last time. It was too much. On impulse, I pulled out the bun and shook loose my long red hair. I removed the makeshift belt from my waist and wrapped it around my wrist. Rolling into a parking spot adjacent to Cafe Med, I immediately spotted James waiting outside with his back to the elevated patio, handsome as ever in a vintage Doors T-shirt and dark jeans.

  James’s jaw dropped as he watched me shimmy my way through the slower moving pedestrians. When I got close enough, I pounced on him and threw both of my arms around his neck.

  He took a step backward. “You look . . . Wow! Holy . . . Lucy! You are Lucy, right?”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.”

  “You look fantastic!”

  “Thanks.” I smiled and blushed.

  “Hey—by the way, these are for you.” James turned around, taking his time picking something up from behind him. My mind raced . . . what could it be? Perhaps an article in the school paper about successful alumni? Some hokey Seattle souvenir?

  James did an about-face, however I couldn’t see his face because it was obstructed by a massive bouquet of purple hydrangeas and white roses.

 
“Those . . . are for me?” I was thrown off, suffice it to say. Now I was really blushing.

  “I thought the hydrangea would remind you of home . . . and the roses were my own special touch. Do you like them?”

  “They are absolutely beautiful . . . I love them.” I pressed my face toward the center of the blooms and took in a deep breath, not because I was particularly interested to see what the arrangement smelled like but because I felt like it was what you were supposed to do upon receiving flowers.

  “You didn’t say anything about the last flowers I sent, so I wasn’t sure if you got them or if it just wasn’t your thing . . . But I thought, what girl doesn’t love flowers, right? I’m sure you’ve just been busy. . . .” I hid my blushed face in the bouquet, silently mouthing, Oh my God! That arrangement was not from Jax. J stood for James. I felt so stupid. I should have known.

  “They smell like heaven. Of course I love flowers! Thank you, times two!” I smiled nervously. “Ready to have lunch?”

  “What? You don’t want to do lunch anymore?” James snarked. While following my lead into the restaurant, he briefly put his hand at the small of my back, which made me nervously shudder and widen my eyes.

  We both giggled, albeit for different reasons, as we hovered over the hostess podium. I grabbed James’s arm and gestured with my head. He looked over to see what I was gesturing to and recognized a glammed-up Joan Rivers dining with an equally enhanced friend. Both women were dressed and bejeweled to the nines and had identical permanent expressions of surprise on their plastic-surgeoned faces. Naturally, James and I slowed down to eavesdrop.

  The comedienne was first to speak. “Priscilla, you look absolutely marvelous. That suit is to die for. Is it de la Renta? It’s simply fabulous.”