by Lisa Lace
“I keep falling over! Especially in flamingo pose.”
“It’s not called ‘flamingo pose,’ Lily! It’s Lord of the Dance.”
I stifle a giggle, but Chloe catches me and is the first to laugh.
“Hey, I don’t pick the names.” She taps me playfully in the shoulder with her fist.
I smile at her. Out here in the park, in her yoga pants and tight top, she seems in her element. She holds herself with grace and poise, her jet-black hair streaming in the sunlight.
I wish I looked like that. I don’t rate next to Chloe’s dark eyes and smooth brown skin—I’m boyish, petite, and flat-chested. With my shoulder-length dark blonde hair and freckles that come out the minute I go outside, I couldn’t be more ordinary.
We reach the soda stand, and Chloe buys us both a bottle. I take a deep swig and let my body relax. “Is our spot free?”
“It is!”
Our spot is beneath a leafy feather bush tree at the edge of the park. It is the perfect place to people-watch, looking out over the park with gravel paths twisting through the green, benches and soda stands, and water-fountains glistening in the sunlight. We can hear the strikes of a game going on nearby on the softball field.
We sit a while, catching up. “A busy class today,” I say. “Looks like business is picking up.”
“Tell me about it! I’ve had to create two new classes. It always gets like this when the sun comes out, but by Thanksgiving, nobody will be left. I’m going to make the most of it while it lasts. What about you? How’s work going?”
I shrug, and even though work is slow, I smile. “Oh, you know. I’m still working on that mural for the school, and I’ve recently started that commission for the sculpture.”
“Lily, that’s great! See, it’s taking off for you, too.”
I’m not too sure about that. When I chose the artist’s life, I knew times would be hard, but I never realized quite how much I’d have to stretch to make ends meet. I have my own apartment, though, and as long as I can cling to that, I’m satisfied. All a girl needs is her own little corner of the world to fill with dreams.
“How’s the family doing?” Chloe asks.
“Great! Naomi loves it in Tucson. Mom’s still getting used to it, but Dad made some golf buddies already. I think they’re settling in okay.”
“Shame they didn’t want to stick around here.”
“You know my mom. She goes wherever the grandkids are.”
Chloe pokes me in the stomach playfully. “Better pop one out, then.”
I giggle and push her away. “Need a man first. At least, I’ve been told that’s how it works.”
All of a sudden, Chloe gasps and starts to dig around inside her purse. I ask her what she’s remembered, but she holds a finger up over her shoulder to make me wait for it.
She pulls out a new edition of the New York Insider and holds it out in front of her with an excited expression. “Have you read this?”
“Sadly, no. I’m not up-to-date with what’s going on in New York. Why would I read that?”
I turn away to hide my face. Of course, I read the New York Insider. Anyone who went to our high school at the same time as Ethan Steele reads it. Everybody wants to talk about how they once knew the most famous self-made billionaire in America. I hate it when people do that.
Nobody knew him like I did.
“I haven’t read the latest edition. Is it about Ethan?”
“Duh! Who else?”
I recline against the grass pretending I could care less. “And?”
“And, page forty-one.” She pushes the magazine into my hand. “Read.”
I sit up slowly, leaning back against the tree trunk as I lazily flick to the center pages, acting as though my heart hasn’t picked up its pace at the mere mention of Ethan Steele.
There he is, on page forty-one. I stare at his image. I recognize him, but Ethan’s unfamiliar. I mean, where’s that boy who ran around this very park with no shoes on and paint in his hair? Where’s that dork with the mismatched socks?
I recognize the strong, chiseled jaw of my childhood sweetheart. Those are his ivy green eyes with the hazel flecks. His hair is the same sandy-blonde color it always was. But I don’t feel like I know the Ethan in this picture, the one with the intense, cold stare and stoic expression. How can this be the same boy who used to tickle me until I screamed with laughter and threw me into the pool? I can’t imagine this stranger ever laughing at anything. He looks like a stock photo of a businessman, not a real human being. Not my Ethan.
I read, then scoff at the article. “A dating app? Are you kidding me?”
“I know, right? Maybe it’s so he can meet even more upper-class model wannabes with fake asses.”
“According to this, the app is meant to match you with only one person.”
Chloe peers over my shoulder at Ethan’s photograph. “He hardly looks like the poster boy for true love.”
I sit back against the tree, and run my finger over Ethan’s glossed image, letting out a long, nostalgic breath. “He never used to be this cold.”
“I never knew the guy. He was a senior.”
“We grew up on the same street,” I tell her, although I know she’s heard this story before, probably a thousand times. “I remember how we used to be. We used to talk for hours. When I think of Ethan, I remember the dreamer who promised he’d travel the world with me. He used to spend all day painting at my side. He bought me my favorite set of watercolors.”
“That’s sweet.”
“I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the day of my high school graduation. When I opened that little tin, I thought I’d burst with love. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because everyone was telling me to go to college or go and get a ‘real job.’ They were all telling me that art isn’t a career. Not Ethan. He was buying me paint.” I smile at the memory. “He believed in me.”
Memories of Ethan are always bittersweet. I’ve never stopped loving him, but I’ve also never forgiven him for leaving the small town of Payson without saying goodbye. He simply left one day without a word. A handful of photographs and that old set of watercolors were all I had to remember him by. I’d scraped that palette dry years ago.
“You should try it!” Chloe encourages, sitting up and clapping her hands together with excitement.
“Try what?”
“This!” She prods at the magazine. “This app. Destiny. You should give it a go.”
I close the magazine, place it down on the grass, and make a face. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not into online dating.”
“You’re not into dating, period. Come on, Lily! When was the last time you let loose, huh? Somewhere out there is the perfect guy for you. Why not try and find him?”
I found him. And he left me. “I’m concentrating on work right now.”
“I’m sure you can find time for a date or two, Lily. Don’t be a chicken!”
“We both know I’m a disaster at dating.”
“This is true. All the more reason to try a new approach.” She picks up the magazine again, finds the article, and sits back to examine it once more. “Only one match. You should give it a go! If it sucks, it only sucks once. You’ve got nothing to lose.”
Truer words have never been spoken. All I have going on for me right now is the love of my cat, Biscuit, and a growing collection of romantic comedy DVDs.
I shrug. “All right. Maybe.”
Chloe grins. “We’ll find you a man at last.”
I think I’ve agreed, but my heart’s not in it. My heart has always been with him—Ethan Steele. I still don’t understand why he chose to leave without saying goodbye. Times were hard for him, but we’d always faced life together.
Chloe keeps talking, but my mind is eleven years in the past.
“You’re awfully quiet, Ethan. Is everything okay?”
He’s been sitting blan
k-eyed and silent on the windowsill for almost an hour, twirling a dry paintbrush between his fingers, not really with me at all.
“Huh?”
“What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t want to tell me. He doesn’t reply.
I join him on the windowsill, pulling myself up to his side, and tilt my head to look him in the eye. He’s staring at the ground.
Ethan’s almost seventeen, but recently, he’s been acting like he’s lived a thousand years. He’s disappearing in front of my eyes.
“Please, Ethan. Talk to me.”
“There’s a lot on my mind, Lily.”
“Your mom?”
“Don’t.”
He jumps down from the windowsill. I think he’s going to leave, but then he turns and holds out his hand. I take it, and he helps me down. He leads me outside.
We sit side by side on the porch step, looking out at the overgrown backyard. Ethan’s mom used to take pride in it before she got sick; now it’s filled with weeds.
“They say she’s not going to make it.”
I feel my heart splitting. It’s hard to draw in even a gasp. Ethan’s mother is like family to me, and Ethan is my whole world.
“Are you okay?”
“No. Not really.”
I hold onto his hand and squeeze. He puts his arm around me. We sit together, wondering what will happen.
I snap back to the present.
Chloe is coming to the end of some monologue I haven’t listened to. “I wonder what would have happened if he’d stayed in Arizona.”
“I ask myself that question every day.”
Ethan
By the time I return to the penthouse, it's eleven at night. The sky is dark, but the city is bright with lights. From my apartment, I look out over skyscrapers and tower blocks, a concrete jungle. Ever since I’ve lived in New York, I’ve looked upward every now and then, expecting to see stars. There are none. Only artificial LEDs blinking until dawn.
Sometimes, I don’t hate the memory of Arizona or its starry nights.
My ears are still buzzing with the noise of reporters swarming around me all day. Jennifer arranged a half-a-dozen promotions for Destiny, and now I’m completely drained from feigning interest for such a long time. Destiny might be a cash cow, but it’s nowhere near the deal the defense contract will be. Through every meeting and photo shoot, my mind ran over proposal ideas.
I can hear Lorina in the bedroom, and my jaw tightens. I press my fingers into my temples to try and ease my headache. Time to feign interest again.
“Eee-than!”
Lorina’s voice is shrill, like a gong going off in the center of my migraine. She waltzes into the room, looking like a cross between a princess and a call girl. She’s wearing the expensive black lingerie she begged me to buy her in Italy and dripping in diamonds. She’s draped in a sheer wraparound robe, the tie trailing along the marble behind her, her dark hair preened to perfection, hundreds of dollars of makeup carefully painted on her face.
I wonder if the elite teach their daughters that skimpy lace and jewels are the way to bag a billionaire. Once, coming home to a gorgeous, barely-dressed woman was exciting enough.
Now it’s just another role to play.
She strides toward me and doesn’t kiss me before she lays into me. In her manicured hands are dozens of magazines, which she thrusts toward me. Her sickly perfume fuels my migraine.
“Darling, have you seen these pictures?” She points at a centerfold photograph. “Look at your tie! It’s crooked. Does Jennifer let you go in front of the press like that? Honestly, it’s time you got rid of her.”
I feel my skin start to prickle with anger.
“And what’s wrong with your face? How many times have I told you to smile? You look like a serial killer.”
I say nothing, but pour a tumbler of whiskey from the crystal decanter that is never far from my armchair these days. I take off my tie and unbutton my collar.
“This one’s not bad, but Mom says you look too stern.”
“I’ve told you not to discuss my pictures with your mother.”
Lorina raises an eyebrow, then rolls her eyes like a sullen teenager. She leaves the magazines on my lap, and dolefully drags herself to the glass windows, standing half-naked in front of the city. As I watch her, I’m sure she’s striking poses. A new model in the industry, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s hoping a photographer will catch her “unawares,” candid in the penthouse.
“What else am I meant to discuss?” she complains. “While you’re out and about, having a wonderful time with all your business buddies and that awful PA, taking photos and showing off, I’m stuck here, bored out of my mind.”
I’m sick of hearing Lorina badmouth Jennifer. I’m tired of Lorina, period. Maybe I’ll ask Jennifer to set her up in an apartment somewhere else in the city. I’ll tell Lorina I want her to be closer to her mother because I care.
“That’s not my fault, Lorina. You can’t tell me there’s nothing for you to do in New York City. I remember you telling me that anyone who was anyone in the fashion world needed to be in New York. Arrange another photo shoot. Do some networking.”
I push the magazines disdainfully off my lap, and Lorina immediately slumps onto me. She wraps her arms around my neck and puts on that spoiled school-girl pout that was cute until I realized she had the attitude to match. She runs her foot up and down my leg, fixing me with a sultry stare.
When she speaks, her voice is childish and begging. “Ethan, darling, you said you were going to network for me, remember? You said you were going to drop my name to your friend with the label.”
“I did not say I was going to network for you, and I did drop your name to Paulo—not my friend, by the way. He’s a business acquaintance who I’ve met twice at charity events. He said your look wasn’t right for their brand.”
His precise words were, “Her ass isn’t big enough for glamour, and her face isn’t memorable enough for high fashion. She’s attractive, but not a model.”
Lorina scoffs and stamps her foot down. She pouts again and crosses her arms. “The girls he picks look like little boys. I’ve seen them. Tiny, ugly wraiths.”
I shrug. “I don’t do fashion, Lorina. What can I say?”
“What, then? I’m meant to only stay up here in your tower like fucking Rapunzel, while you live the high life?”
“You’ve been to my press conferences. Those bored you, too.” As soon as you realized the photographers weren’t interested in your picture.
“I came to New York to make it big, not to be your trophy girlfriend.”
“You’re welcome to leave.”
Lorina’s face falls, and she wraps herself around me again, pressing her scantily-clad body against my chest, and letting her robe fall open. She sulks. “Darling! Why would you say such a thing? You know I don’t mean it. I’m feeling a little lost right now, that’s all. Of course I don’t want to go. And you don’t want me to leave either, do you? We’re great together.”
It’s a daily charade. Lorina whines and whines until I lose my temper, and then she switches back to being sweeter-than-pie. I know she’s not scared of losing me. She’s terrified I might cut her off. As much as she likes to think she’s the crème de la crème, she’s only got this far on her mother’s former fame and fortune. Lorina has never done anything on her own, and I’m merely the latest fool to bankroll her fantasies.
“Maybe you should go back to Venice. Your mother must have more connections than I do.”
“Ethan, why are you so mean to me? Every time I’m upset, you say you’ll send me away. Is that all I am to you?”
I cast her a knowing glance. “And you love me for my personality, right?”
She scowls. “You’re deliberately making this hard.”
“The door’s over there.”
Lorina screws her face up in anger and storms away. “You’re impossible, Ethan! You think I’m a gold-digger, is that it? If you hate me s
o much, why am I here? What’s in it for you? Don’t act like I’m the only one playing the game. Fuck you.”
She enters the bedroom and slams the door behind her. Seconds later, the apartment is filled with the sound of loud, angsty trap music. I slouch down in my chair and take another swig of whiskey.
Every night, the same story. We’ve been a couple for a year now, ever since we were introduced at a charity gala. She’s lived with me for the last six months. The arrangement is mutually beneficial and full of equal resentment. We love only what we can do for one another. It’s far more business than romance.
That’s not to say we won’t end up fucking in the emperor-sized bed later and be photographed having brunch together in the morning; that’s the way it goes. When did my life become such a farce?
I stand with my whiskey and take up the spot where Lorina was posing. I look out over the city and remember another time.
I enter the room, and her face lights up. She runs to me and leaps at the last second, wrapping her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist, and showering me with kisses. Her pounce makes me stagger back a couple of steps, but I hold onto her. She smells like strawberries and cream.
She’s been painting, and she’s covered in orange spatters. It’s hard to tell which ones are freckles. Her blue eyes are beaming. She squeezes me with her whole body in a huge hug.
“I’ve missed you.”
“I was only gone a day.”
“I still missed you.”
I drink into the early hours of the morning, until I know I have to make amends before the photographers start up again when we go out.
I crawl into bed next to Lorina and wake her with kisses on her neck. I promise to take her shopping anywhere she wants the next day. I promise to put in a good word for her with a photographer I know. I promise to smile when they photograph us together.
She is satisfied and smiles. She curls up against me and falls asleep again.
I don’t sleep. I lie awake and think of the freckled girl I left behind.
Lily
