Mandy Makes Her Mark

by Ruby Laska

  Lark’s scowl deepened. “Deirdre thinks you’ll do,” he muttered.

  “Actually, what I said was that you have lovely presence,” Deirdre said brightly. She was famously kind, a favorite among the models, and Mandy was grateful even if she was lying. “And I’m sure the gowns will work just fine.”

  One of the assistants made a derisive snort, then tried to cover it up with a coughing fit. Mandy didn’t blame them; they were the ones who’d be taking up hems and clothes-pinning garments, to give the impression that the gowns fit perfectly. Only in this crazy world would Mandy, who was the same size as the average American woman, be considered “plus” sized.

  After another few moments of glowering, Lark crumpled the coffee cup he was holding and threw it on the sand. “Fine. Every minute we stand here is wasting time. Let’s get started. And do not mess this up for me, Ms. Leif.”

  He stomped off toward the manor, leaving the rest of them staring at each other.

  “Well,” Deirdre said, clapping her hands together and forcing a smile. “Shall we begin?”

  #

  By the third change of clothes, Mandy had ceased feeling self-conscious. She knew modeling was challenging and exhausting; she’d been on dozens of shoots and watched her sister and the other models at work. But as she peeled off a fuchsia two-piece gown with a peplum and a deep slit in the skirt, she ruefully acknowledged that she’d never truly understood the strain of working the dozens of poses and putting her face through the many expressions until she found the one that Deirdre was looking for.

  A pin had stabbed her in the waist as she pirouetted. Sylvie had stepped on her instep, leaving a gash with her pointed stiletto. And every time Tad offered her his arm, she experienced a head rush that had as much to do with the fact that she didn’t dare eat anything, as it did with the effort it took not to think about what they had been doing together mere hours before.

  The whole exercise seemed to amuse him. Mandy had peeked in the cabana that had been designated his changing room. Because he’d change only once or twice over the course of the day, he was mostly just lounging in a canvas chair, reading a paperback novel and drinking one Dr. Pepper after another.

  By contrast, the cabana that Mandy shared with Sylvie was jammed with dresses and shoes and accessories. During each change, all four of them—Mandy and Sylvie and both assistants—jammed into the small space. Irons, steamers, and sewing machines were plugged in and ready to go, and Mandy quickly learned to keep her mouth shut and her limbs loose, ready to be stuffed or sewn or slid into each change of clothing. Sylvie gave her more than one “I told you so” look, but had the grace not to say anything out loud.

  In the makeup tent, Mandy learned how much the girls went through for the sake of beauty. The false eyelashes made her eyes feel heavy. The tweezing of a few spare eyebrow hairs hurt badly enough to make her squeak. Her hair was yanked and blown out and curled and straightened and twisted and pinned, until her scalp felt like little more than a pincushion. Throughout, Sylvie sat with her eyes closed and a Zen-like expression on her face, humming tunelessly.

  If Mandy survived this day, she would have some apologizing to do.

  “So,” Sylvie said, as the assistants zipped them into emerald-green gowns with plunging wrap bodices. What seemed like an entire roll of tape had been used to strategically arrange Mandy’s breasts in the décolletage, and it tickled fiercely. “What’s with you and Tad?”

  “What do you mean?” Mandy demanded, faking confusion and wondering how the heck Sylvie had guessed.

  “You two haven’t said one word to each other. You’re both pretending that the other one isn’t even here. Except every time you turn around, he can’t take his eyes off you.”

  “He…can’t?” Surprise blossomed into hope inside Mandy.

  “Yeah. Way I figure it, he’s afraid you’re going to shank him. Because of Luna.”

  “Oh.” Mandy’s romantic fantasy withered and died. “There’s nothing to worry about. Luna’s a big girl, she can take care of her own love life.”

  “I just thought you’d take her side. You always do, even when she’s being a total hag.”

  “I don’t think she’s all that upset, actually,” Mandy said carefully.

  “Maybe not now, but I caught them arguing in the break room, didn’t know I was there. She accused him of seeing someone else, he denied it, she yelled, he did that stupid strong and silent act, you know…”

  They’d argued? Did Luna care more than she was letting on? “What exactly did she say?”

  “I think she was accusing him of seeing someone else. She was telling him to at least look like he still cared about her when they were in public.”

  “Oh,” Mandy said slowly. What if there had been someone else? Maybe several someone elses? Which would make Tad a serial womanizer, and her…just another woman in a series.

  Mandy was shocked at how much the notion hurt. After all, she hadn’t exactly asked questions before kissing Tad on the beach, before allowing him to carry her to his room, to ravish her mere steps from the door. But what had she been thinking? That it was nothing more than a road-trip hookup, a couple of lonely people taking advantage of an opportunity?

  And now she’d not only jeopardized a working relationship, but she had endangered her relationship with Luna. Her priorities needed to shift, and fast. Any hopes Mandy’d had for an ongoing relationship with Tad—or even a do-over of the night before—splintered like shattered glass. Now she had to focus on damage control.

  “Well, I’m sure Luna’s over it,” she said breezily, turning away so that Sylvie wouldn’t notice the tremor in her voice. “And as for me and Tad, well, I’m just trying to focus on the task at hand, considering this is my first ever modeling gig. And he…he’s probably got enough names queued up in his phone to last him well into old age, even if he never dates the same woman twice.”

  Sylvie laughed. “That’s true. Women can’t get enough of him. It’s that scowling thing he does.”

  “Do you, um…have you…” Mandy fumbled, afraid to know the answer.

  “Me? Heck no, I have a policy against working that hard for a man. I prefer to be adored.”

  “I adore you,” Deirdre said sweetly, stepping into the cabana. “But if we’re going to get through all these gowns, we need to hurry it up.”

  As Mandy allowed herself to be zipped, pinned, and tucked into a shimmering lilac number with a portrait collar, she tried hard to pretend not to be relieved that Sylvie, at least, was immune to Tad’s charms.

  It didn’t matter. No matter how many beautiful women found it in themselves to resist Tad, there would always be dozens more ready to take on the challenge. And how could Mandy ever compete?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  By six o’clock Mandy was utterly exhausted. Back in her bungalow, she scrubbed off every last trace of makeup and stood under the shower until all the product was finally rinsed from her hair. She toweled off, dressed in a shapeless tank top and a pair of yoga pants, and collapsed on the bed.

  She had planned to stay there all night, but by sunset her hunger pangs had stolen any chance she had at sleep. She had subsisted on model fare all day, eating what Sylvie ate: a plate of sliced fruit midmorning, and half a chicken breast slivered and sprinkled over a mound of arugula and drizzled with lemon juice in the afternoon. Sylvie had claimed to be stuffed, but Mandy was accustomed to much sturdier meals.

  She paused in front of the mirror, only to discover that her hair had dried in an asymmetric frizz, lifting up of its own accord on one side. After a couple of attempts to tame it with a comb, Mandy gave up and wet it down, securing it with a barrette. Her cheeks were pink from the vigorous scrubbing, and the net effect was that she looked about twelve.

  Why anyone thought she could pull off the modeling stand-in was a mystery. Even now, Deirdre was probably going through her proofs, cursing herself for going along with the crazy plan. And Lark! What would he say when he saw how his precious
gowns looked on her? On the arm of Tad or standing next to Sylvie, she probably looked like a potato wrapped in pastel foil. Jayde might have been the same size as Mandy, but she was also statuesque and graceful and her curves looked alluring and inviting, as though they had been lovingly sculpted by Renoir. Staring at her reflection, Mandy knew that she looked like she was headed to the drug store for toilet paper, rather than off for a romantic rendezvous. And Lark had emphasized romance: he wanted his advertising campaign to convince women that the gowns would elevate a special occasion into an unforgettable one.

  Unforgettable. The word played in Mandy’s mind as she walked the path to Palmetto Manor, the resort’s historic main building that housed the restaurant and bar as well as reception. What had Mandy ever done that was unforgettable? It seemed to her that most of her accomplishments had been anything but. Not just being the third-best oboe player in high school, but all her bit parts in drama club, sitting on the bench on the JV softball team, and her string of unexciting marketing jobs after college. Forgettable, all of it. Mandy was a forgettable woman who dated forgettable men and wore forgettable clothes and watched forgettable television and –

  The restaurant’s side door opened just as Mandy was reaching for the handle and a couple came out, laughing and holding hands, oblivious to her staggering out of the way. The door had scraped her bare toes, and she jumped around in pain as the couple strolled down the moonlit path. She wasn’t just unforgettable, she was unnoticeable. Maybe she would simply fade into the background of the Lark photos, just a jewel toned blur behind the dazzling Sylvie and Tad.

  “May I help you?” the silver-haired bartender murmured from across a cozy room, where he was polishing a crystal goblet. Too late Mandy realized that she’d wandered into the bar instead of the restaurant.

  “Oh – I’m sorry, my mistake. I was hoping to order some food to take back to my room.”

  “You can do that here, if you like,” the bartender said kindly. “You’re welcome to look over a menu and wait here for your meal to be prepared. Or I can have it delivered to your bungalow. Though to be honest, it’s a slow night, and I could use the company.”

  He gave her an encouraging smile. It was true; there were only a few other customers in the bar, couples tucked into romantic banquettes or seated at cozy tables. Mandy hesitated. If the bartender remembered the scene they had made the prior evening, he was too polite to mention it.

  “If I recall, you didn’t care for the scotch,” he said encouragingly. “But maybe you’d like another Dr. Pepper.”

  “White wine,” Mandy said, making a snap decision. “Fill ‘er up.”

  “Long day?” He asked, pouring straw-gold wine into a pretty crystal glass and pushing it across the bar to her.

  “You could say that. I worked all day.”

  “Ah. Most people come to Cupid Island to relax. Perhaps you could stay a few days after your work is done, and enjoy yourself. They’re forecasting nothing but blue skies.”

  Mandy laughed shortly. “I’m from L.A. Despite the fact that it rained all week, sunshine isn’t generally what I’m lacking.”

  “Well, what is, then? What’s missing in your life, Miss Leif?”

  Mandy gaped. “How do you know my name?”

  A man slid into the barstool next to hers. Tad – holding a white box tied with string, which he set down on the bar. “The usual, Edward.”

  The bartender nodded and got back to work. Mandy tried to conceal her frustration. After all, she’d come here hoping to get her food and get back to her bungalow with as little interaction as possible.

  “Hello, Tad,” she sighed bleakly as Edward slid a glass of Dr. Pepper in front of Tad and left to take care of his other customers. “You’re looking…the same.”

  It was true: he looked every bit as burnished and chiseled and alluring as he had when Deirdre wrapped the final shots of the day. Instead of a tuxedo he was wearing jeans and a fitted gray T-shirt, but the elegant, aloof confidence he projected was undiminished.

  “And you’re looking…” Tad paused, and sipped at his drink while looking her up and down, taking his time finding his words.

  Mandy blushed, wishing she’d taken the time for at least a bit of lip gloss and a few minutes with a blow dryer. As well as pants that stayed up with something other than elastic. “I just got out of the shower,” she said defensively.

  “Ah,” Tad said. Mandy hoped that whatever adjective he had chosen to describe her would remain blessedly unvoiced. “Hungry,” he added. “You look hungry, and I have a doggy bag. The fried chicken is amazing. How about it?”

  Mandy blinked. “You had fried chicken for dinner?”

  “Yeah, and potato salad and these amazing corn biscuits and–”

  “How do you do that?”

  Tad blinked, his feathery long lashes casting shadows on his enviable cheekbones. “Do what?”

  She was about to launch into a tirade about how unfair it was that the women in the agency subsisted on broth and grapefruits while Tad apparently ate like a longshoreman, when he reached out and touched the corner of her mouth, lightly, his fingertip tracing along her lower lip. Shivers of sensation thrummed through her traitorous body, which apparently hadn’t gotten the memo that last night was a terrible idea.

  “You had a bit of something stuck there,” Tad murmured. “Come out to the rose garden with me. There’s a bench. I saved you a drumstick.”

  “I can’t eat a drumstick. And you shouldn’t either.”

  “Deirdre gave me tomorrow off. She said she has all she needs from me, it’s just you and Sylvie.”

  He tossed a few bills on the bar and grabbed their drinks, the white box tucked under his arm.

  “I can’t—I’m not—”

  “Rose garden. Moonlight. Me,” Tad said gently but firmly, taking her arm and helping her up from the barstool.

  “A splendid idea.” Edward had materialized near them, wiping at the bar with a crisp white towel. “The David Austens are spectacular this year. And the fragrance, well, it really is extraordinary. Not to be missed.”

  Was it her imagination, or had the bartender winked at her? Mandy tried to sputter her objections, but Tad had already escorted her halfway to the door. She hurried to keep up with him as they exited out into the breezy night. The air had cooled, and strings of tiny lights lit the palm trees lining the walkway to the rose garden.

  “Give me back my drink,” Mandy said.

  “As soon as we sit down,” Tad said mildly, leading her to a curved bench piled with cushions. He sat near the middle, forcing her to choose which side to sit uncomfortably close to him. Instead she put her hands on her hips and glared. Stalking off in the other direction was her best next move, but the aroma of fried chicken was rising tantalizingly from the box.

  Besides, this was becoming a matter of principle. Tad was back in character, his expression somewhere between bored and contemptuous. What was he thinking – that she’d come running for a repeat of last night? Hadn’t he found a more suitable waitress or maid or hotel guest yet, someone beautiful and uncomplicated and appropriately impressed by him?

  “Last night was—it was a mistake.”

  “Really?” His smile slid toward amusement. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually. All day. There was that one dress you had on—that dark blue one with the short skirt—“

  “Don’t.”

  It came out more harshly than Mandy intended, and Tad’s smile slipped a little. When he spoke again, the slick edge was missing from his voice. “Don’t what?” he asked quietly.

  “Don’t waste your moves on me. Don’t try so hard. Don’t—seduce me.” Mandy blushed furiously, grateful for the dim lighting. “I know you’re getting over Luna. Rebounding. Marking time. Whatever. I just don’t want to be part of it.”

  “That’s what you think, Amanda? Really?”

  Mandy just nodded dumbly, struck speechless by his use of her name again. Her real name. And also by the way
he was looking at her, the usual hollowness in his gaze replaced by something entirely different: sadness, and longing, and regret.

  “So last night…when you said my name, when you held me afterward, when you wrapped yourself around me in your sleep—that was all what…one mistake after another?”

  His words had taken on a bitterness that cut through Mandy, despite her steeling herself for this conversation. She hadn’t expected it to go well. She just hadn’t expected it to go like this.

  “It didn’t mean anything,” she said uncertainly. “We were just…two people in the same place at the same time. You know. I’m sure you’re used to these casual, um, encounters, and maybe it’s even healthy, now that you’re going through a breakup, to get over her and everything—” Mandy couldn’t even bear to say her sister’s name—“but I don’t generally, um. Well, hardly ever, actually. At least, not like this.”

  “’This’ being…”

  So he was going to force her to say it. “Casual,” she tried, clearing her throat over the knot that seemed to have formed. “Meaningless.”

  “That’s what it was for you?”

  He sounded hurt. Tad Eckholm, who’d twice graced the cover of Men’s Health and had caused a minor traffic mishap when he stepped in front of a group of tourists from Missouri, had hurt feelings.

  He’d probably never heard ‘no’ before, Mandy realized. Well, it was about time! Most people had to accept rejection as one of the thousands of minor indignities of life – along with a few wrinkles and extra pounds, along with being ignored by clerks and snubbed by waiters. But Tad never had to go through these things. Luna was the same way. They were like exotic mythical creatures, unfamiliar with the ways of mere mortals.

  “Yes,” Mandy said crisply, sitting up straighter and pulling her leg away from Tad’s to make sure they didn’t accidentally touch. “Meaningless.”