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by Veronica Chambers

  What was I thinking? He had the number-one video in the country, and two of those video dancers could fit into one pair of my jeans. And the line about the junk in my trunk? What he meant was that I was fat. I was just junk.

  Leslie had warned me about this. She had said to be careful, that a lot of guys would want to get with me just to say that they had. When Kevin was driving his Lexus truck through Times Square, did he want to nod at the billboard and say, “Oh yeah, that chick, I hooked her.”

  Thank God, I didn’t kiss him.

  Thank God, I didn’t kiss him.

  Thank God, I didn’t kiss him.

  I was racing across campus, desperate to get home so I could get into full cry mode: Bedhead pajamas, rum raisin ice cream, daytime television on mute. I could barely see through the glaze of tears that were ready to fall, which is why I wasn’t looking where I was going. Which is how I bumped right into Brian.

  “Hey, Bee,” he said, like we were long lost friends.

  Oh God.

  “I’ve been meaning to call you,” he said.

  If I had run into Brian just twenty-four hours earlier, I would’ve told him where to step off. The thing is, crushing on Kevin made me sort of forget that the whole reason I wanted to be a model was to get Brian back. But it wasn’t twenty-four hours ago; it was now. And just like Justin Timberlake in the video for “SexyBack,” Brian was back in my life. And he brought all of his sexiness with him.

  18

  Bee’s Boyfriend Is Back

  I woke up the next day happier than I’d been in such a long time. Brian and I were back together! How cool was that? I know he’d been a bit of a jerk, but so what? We all make mistakes. Brian had apologized to me profusely, all throughout dinner last night and then on a moonlit walk to Central Park. He told me that he didn’t even care that I was modeling, that he didn’t need some stupid magazine to tell him that I was beautiful, he’d fallen in love with me the first moment he saw me.

  “Do you remember that day?” he asked me.

  I nodded; how could I ever forget?

  “I was so scared to ask you out,” he said as we walked down Broadway to Columbus Circle.

  We got to the circle, and Brian did the most romantic thing. He hired one of those horse-drawn carriages that cost like $50 an hour and he took me for a ride around the park.

  “I think I was scared our entire relationship. I knew you were the one, but I was afraid to commit. That’s why I freaked out over Thanksgiving.”

  Just then my cell phone started to ring. I looked at the number. Kevin. I pushed the reject button and the call went straight to voice mail.

  “Do you need to get that?” Brian asked.

  “Nope,” I answered.

  Ten minutes later, the phone rang again. Kevin.

  “Someone’s trying to get ahold of you,” Brian said.

  “No one important,” I assured him. Then I switched my phone off, turned to Brian, and kissed him good night before hopping in a cab. I was beaming the whole way home.

  I know it probably seems like I jumped right back into Brian’s arms. He was my first love, and I hoped, all confusing feelings with Kevin aside, that Brian would be my only love.

  The next morning, in my apartment, I turned on my phone. Three missed calls from Kevin but no messages. What did I tell you? He’s as fake as a $25 Louis Vuitton purse from Chinatown.

  There was also a message from Chela: I see you made dean’s list. Congratulations, girl. I’m up there too. I know things have been hectic with us, but call me. We’ll celebrate.

  Chela. The whole time I was with Brian the night before, she hadn’t crossed my mind. But how could I have forgotten? He was the whole reason that I’d met Chela in the first place. She went out with him before I did. He’d broken her heart too. Lyin’ Brian, she’d called him. I couldn’t get back with him and keep my friendship with Chela too.

  The way I saw it, I had three choices. I could

  1. Come clean with Chela and lose her friendship entirely.

  2. Try to keep her and Brian separated and pray that sometime before I married him, I’d find the courage to tell her and she would forgive him—and me.

  3. Lie to Chela and tell her that I was seeing Kevin, hence using the nonexistent superstar boyfriend as an excuse for my frequent absences.

  I decided to go with door number three. I called Chela back.

  “Hey, girl, nice job on the dean’s list,” she said.

  “Thanks, C. That physics final nearly did me in.”

  “But you aced it, right?”

  “Professor Trotter gave me an A-minus.”

  “Nice. So I take it you were hanging out with DJ Smooth and Sexy last night.”

  “Something like that,” I said. FYI, if you ever need to ask me a question, ask me in person. I can’t lie to your face, but I can lie my butt off over the phone.

  “So when do I get to meet Mr. Top of the Charts? Are you officially dating now?”

  “Um, well . . .”

  “Oh, don’t tell me he doesn’t want to meet your commoner friends. You can’t go out with a guy like that, Bee.”

  “It’s not that,” I said. “It’s just that he keeps these crazy hours. He’s in the studio all night, then he sleeps all day. I’m lucky if I can meet him for breakfast, which for him is like three in the afternoon.”

  “That’s cool. But you tell him I want to meet him. I’ll let the chucklehead know what a Bronx girl will do if he messes with my friend.”

  That’s the thing about Chela. She always, always has my back. And in exchange for her kindness, I was lying to her.

  “Thanks, chica,” I said.

  “You’d do the same for me, right?” she said. “You’d show Alejandro how those Philly girls roll if he broke my heart.”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  And I hung up the phone feeling like an absolute jerk. I could just see my future nuptials now:

  “Lyin’ Brian, do you take this woman, Bogus Bee, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  The next day I had a photo shoot for face cream. It was my first beauty shoot, “just head and shoulders,” Leslie said. I was getting ready to leave my apartment when Brian called.

  “Hey, baby,” he said.

  “Hey, yourself. I gotta run.”

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

  “I’ve got a shoot downtown.”

  “A photo shoot?”

  “Yep.”

  I was still following Leslie’s rule and was always early for my call time. I looked at my watch. I had to go.

  “I want to come with you,” Brian said. “I’ve never seen a professional shoot before.”

  I thought about it for a second. People had friends stop by shoots all the time. It was probably no big deal to take him with me. It’s not like there wouldn’t be a dozen people running all over the place.

  “Okay,” I said, looking at my watch. “Let me give you the address and I’ll meet you down there.”

  “No way, we’ll go together,” Brian said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Waiting ten minutes would still get me at the call early. So I said okay, then hung up.

  Half an hour later, when Brian arrived, I was bouncing off the walls.

  “Let’s go,” I said, turning my face when he leaned in to kiss me.

  “Don’t be mad; it’s just that I thought I should shower and shave. You never know, they might want to shoot us together, the hot young couple in love.”

  This made me a little uncomfortable; no one was going to be taking Brian’s picture. But why not? He was good looking. Was I turning into a model bitch?

  I introduced myself to the photographer, a guy named Oscar Perez that I’d never worked with before.

  “You have beautiful skin,” he said, touching my face. “Today will be easy.”

  “Hey, hands off my woman,” Brian said, making a joke.

  “Oscar, this is my boyfriend, Brian.”

 
A flash of concern, or something a lot like it, crossed Oscar’s eyes. But then he smiled and shook Brian’s hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Why don’t you take a seat while we get Bee into hair and makeup.”

  Andy and Syreeta were both there, waiting for me.

  “Slept in, huh, girlfriend?” Andy said, nodding to Brian, who was following Oscar’s assistants around and playing with different lighting equipment.

  I took a seat in the chair. Syreeta said, “You should get changed first.”

  “What am I wearing?” I asked. “It’s a beauty shot, right?”

  Syreeta handed me a white cotton sarong with Velcro across the top.

  “Your gown, madam.”

  “Cool,” I said, stripping down in front of them. One thing about being a model is that you can’t be shy. There are too many people around to get weird about changing rooms, and none of them are paying attention to you anyway.

  I was just about to take my bra off when Brian poked his head into the makeup room.

  “You know, I was thinking maybe you could do some sort of benefit show for Amnesty International,” Brian said.

  I have no problem using my model powers for good, but I was in the middle of a job.

  “Brian,” I said, as sweetly as I could manage. “Can you wait for me outside?”

  “No problem,” he said, walking away.

  “This is why you don’t bring your boyfriend to a photo shoot, sweetie,” Andy said.

  “Is he doing something wrong?”

  “No, he’s just in the way, ruining the vibe.”

  I took a deep breath. “The vibe is cool,” I said. “Let’s do this.”

  Andy gave me this off-the-hook weave, with big loose curls. Syreeta gave me beautiful, flawless, golden skin. I sat on a box while Oscar used an 8 × 10 camera to pull in close on my face, neck, and shoulders. A manicurist had done my nails in a pale pink, and Oscar encouraged me to bring my hands gracefully into the shot as well.

  For the first hour, everything was fine. Then Brian started to act up again. He stood next to Oscar saying the stupidest things like, “Do you recycle your film canisters? I think the PVC of all that plastic is probably pretty major. Maybe you can approach the magazines you work for about going zero, reducing the environmental impact of your shoots by planting a certain number of trees for every shoot that you do. I know some people at Go Zero; I could hook you up.”

  Oscar looked miserable, but Brian kept talking. “I mean, you seem like a smart guy; do you really want to leave such a big carbon footprint with what’s supposed to be your art?”

  I tried to gesture to him to stop, but it’s hard to be subtle when you’re wearing a cotton towel, you’re surrounded by klieg lights, and there are half a dozen photo assistants, stylists, and art directors watching your every move. But Brian kept going on about the environment, global warming, the time he had dinner with Al Gore, and Leonardo DiCaprio. Finally Oscar said, “Hey, man, I’m going to have to ask you to go.”

  Brian was livid. “You’re kicking me out? Do you not know that this is my girlfriend? There would be no photo shoot without Bee.”

  That whooshing sound you just heard? It was of all the air being sucked out of my lungs. In other words, I was horrified.

  “Brian, I’ll meet you later,” I said quietly.

  “Okay, baby,” he said, making a big show of coming over onto the seamless backdrop for the photo shoot and tongue kissing me in front of everyone, even though I was in full makeup.

  “I will see you later, sexy,” he said. “And make sure you get some lunch. Don’t let these people try to starve you. I know how this industry is.”

  And on that note, he left.

  Oscar stepped behind the camera, looked at me through the lens, then said, “Your makeup is ruined. We’ll have to do it all again. Let’s continue after lunch. I’ll see everyone in forty-five.”

  Syreeta handed me a bathrobe, a big fluffy robe like the kind they have in really nice hotels. I walked over to the catering table, grabbed a plateful of pasta salad and two brownies (I know, I know), and then found a quiet corner to sit by myself.

  I was midway through my second brownie when I heard Leslie’s voice.

  “Just because they’re only shooting you from the neck up doesn’t mean you can eat like there’s no tomorrow,” she said.

  I looked up and there was my super-agent, catching me in some very un-supe-like behavior. She looked gorgeous. But you’ve heard me talk about Leslie. Gorgeous is a given. If she ever looks like crap, you’ll hear it on CNN.

  “Am I in trouble?” I asked, confident that Oscar must’ve called her.

  “For what?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I said, relieved.

  “I mean, you don’t get ‘in trouble’ because your friend comes to the photo shoot and disrupts a multi-million-dollar ad campaign.”

  Oscar had called her.

  “There’s a reason we don’t bring boyfriends and girlfriends to shoots, Bee.”

  “But the stylists and hair and makeup have people drop by all the time.”

  Leslie shook her head. “Those are industry friends. People in the business who know how to behave.”

  “I got it.”

  “So who was that guy?”

  “My boyfriend,” I said.

  She looked puzzled. “DJ Go Drop Dead?”

  I shook my head. “I was . . . hanging out with Kevin. But this is my real boyfriend, the guy I was dating before I became a model.”

  “The one who dropped you right before Thanksgiving?”

  Had I even mentioned Brian to Leslie? The woman had a memory like a steel trap.

  “We got back together,” I said.

  “After you had a billboard in Times Square and were on the Today show.”

  “Technically, yes.”

  Leslie gave me a hug. “Be careful, Bee.”

  “That’s what you said about the rapper.”

  “That’s what I have to say about all the men in your life now that you’re famous. You’re seventeen years old, and when you’re a hot young model, it’s even harder to know who to trust.”

  I picked up one of the Polaroids that Oscar had taken to test the light. Who was the girl in the photographs? The one who smiled like she had all the answers. I wanted to be her.

  19

  Bee-sieged

  Two weeks later, I had lunch with Leslie at the Four Seasons, which is like something out of a movie. Doormen in top hats. Flower arrangements bigger than a person. Super-swank.

  I know she’s my agent and all the models say that agents are supposed to be semi-evil. But Leslie had a sweet side too. Don’t get me wrong—she could be gangsta. Nobody negotiated harder than she did, but she was also cool. Like the big sister I never had. Or rather the older, British, size-two 2 sister I never had.

  I ordered the soup and salad. Leslie ordered the same.

  “Well, Bee, I’ve got some good news and some bad news. What do you want to hear first?”

  “Good news, always,” I said, resisting the urge to gobble on the warm bread at the table.

  “Should I have them take away the bread?” Leslie asked, reading my mind or my stomach.

  “Yes, please,” I said.

  Leslie gestured for the waiter, and he came and took the bread away.

  “The good news, Les,” I said.

  “The good news is that Mattel wants to do a Barbie doll in your image. They’re going to call her Bee. She’s going to be Barbie’s plus-size cousin.”

  “Get out!” I screeched.

  “I’m not going anywhere without my fifteen percent,” Leslie said, cracking a very typical agent joke.

  I sat there for a second in shock. My own Bee doll. Of all the things I ever imagined when I began modeling, this was the one thing that had never crossed my mind.

  “How did this happen? Are they doing all the Baby Phat girls?”

  “Nope,” Leslie said. “Just you. In some ways, we have your paren
ts to thank. Mattel really likes that your name is Bee. Apparently, some exec at Mattel saw you on the Today show a while back and thought, This could be Barbie’s cousin, Bee. Then she saw your ‘Sweet 16’ editorial in Teen Vogue and she loved seeing you in all those frothy prom dresses. It made her think that her initial instinct, that you could be a fashion doll, was spot-on. They have an artist working on some prototypes and sketches. I’ll have them messengered over to you.”

  For once, everything was right in my world. My grades had slipped a little from first semester, but as my adviser kept telling me, a few Cs never ever hurt anybody. Not even when that person was premed. Brian and I had gotten back together, and because I was so busy with work, Chela hadn’t found out. If I wasn’t working, I still met her on Friday nights to go salsa dancing at the Copa. I just never mentioned Brian. And if Brian asked what I was doing on Friday night, I told him I was working. I believe the Latin phrase for this is lying out of both sides of mouthus.

  “This is amazing,” I said, for once telling the absolute truth. “One day when I have a little girl, I can give her a Bee doll to play with.”

  “Are you kidding?” Leslie said. “My daughter’s already put in an order for twelve. She wants to give them as a birthday gift to every girl in her class.”

  I started to cry. I just couldn’t believe it. “You said there was some bad news,” I said.

  Leslie handed me a pack of tissues. “The licensing agreement at Mattel is ironclad. You’re going to make a flat fee for this doll, but there’s no royalties.”

  I dabbed my eyes. “That’s the bad news? I don’t care about royalties.”

  “Well, I do,” Leslie said, flashing her super-evil agent grin. “When I saw your contract, I nearly shed a few tears myself.”

  The next day, I was hanging out with Brian when a messenger arrived. The package was from Mattel. I put it on my desk to open later, in private. As much as I was psyched about having a Bee doll, I was kind of shy about talking about it in front of Brian. The modeling stuff brought out a weird side of him. On the one hand, he decried the whole fashion industry as “shallow, superficial, and out of touch with the real issues in the world.” At the same time, he seemed to want to be all in it. It was confusing.