Black Butterfly

by Sienna Mynx

“Hey you, what’s up?”

  “I’m surprised you’re home so soon?”

  Trish let go one of her girlish giggles. “Me too. Todd had a photo shoot with some agency, and I have some deadlines I have to complete. I came home to get my paints and I’ll be back at his loft. Hey, why don’t you come over? I’ll be there alone until he’s done. I can make us lunch.”

  “Not sure when I’ll get out of here today.”

  “Everything good with you?” Trish asked.

  “Actually I have news. I um, well Nolen asked me to move in, and I told him I will. I mean temporarily.

  We’re trying to figure out our relationship. So… I figured I’d give you the chance to have a bed instead of the sofa. Oh and I’ll pay my rent, my share, no problem.”

  “Wow Syd? Move in? You sure? It’s a big step.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Sydney scratched her brow. If her father knew the path she was on now he’d banish her from his heart forever. “I’m not overthinking this one Trish. I just think it’s right for me, now.”

  “Todd wants me to come over more often so I guess we’ll be kinda doing the same. Kind of.”

  “Cool. Um, you can tell Portia for me. She can call my cell number, let me give it to you.”

  “I see it on the caller ID. I’ll tell her.”

  “Bye.”

  “Love you Syd.”

  “Love you too.”

  Sydney tucked the phone in her pocket. She pulled open the doors to the studio and headed for the elevator to take her to the practice hall. Madame Gustav had given them an early practice call. When she first returned or practice she feared another run-in with Xenia. But Juanita told her that Xenia was away meeting with her attorneys. She hadn’t seen her all week.

  Grateful for the reprieve, Sydney had envisioned another great practice with more fresh routines to learn. She hadn’t seen Xenia since the party, but she knew that the next time their paths crossed, it would be explosive.

  The elevator doors parted and Sydney walked out. She passed two dancers on the side of the wall, sharing a forbidden cigarette. Madame Gustav had made it clear that she would not train dancers who poisoned their bodies with liquor or cigarettes. Everyone knew that a drink here and there may be unavoidable, but smoking was the ultimate taboo.

  The girls snickered, then glared. She had never seen such envy and disdain from them. She greeted them with her usual “hey,” but they remained silent.

  In the dark, narrow corridor, her new friend, Bet, ignored her greeting and turned to walk away.

  Sydney hurried to catch up with her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh please, as if you care. I don’t have time for this!” the once-friendly brunette snapped, quickening her pace to put distance between them.

  Dumbfounded, Sydney watched her leave. The few dancers in the hallway smirked knowingly, as if they shared a secret that she wasn’t privy to.

  “There you are, Ms. Thang!” Juanita said, coming down the hall with a magazine in his hand. He wore a salmon turtleneck with pink wide-legged pants that flared so fully that he looked as if he wore a skirt. “Ms.

  Juanita’s got a bone to pick with you, honey!” he snapped, shoving her into the rehearsal room and closing the door.

  Sydney dropped her backpack, her heart sinking. “What is it?”

  “What is it? You lying little heifer! Didn’t I tell you to trust me? Now you’ve got all these bitches in here in a tizzy! Here, honey, page fifty-six. Check it out!” He shoved the magazine at her.

  Sydney recognized it as one of the tabloids that Portia read religiously. She thumbed through the pages full of celebrity photos with a growing sense of dread.

  Amid a cluster of photos of the charity gala, was a picture of Sydney and Nolen with Trish and Todd.

  The caption read: “Heiress and friends join the party. L to R: Nolen Adams, Sydney Allen, Patricia Hesser (heiress to the Hesser ketchup fortune), and renowned photographer Todd Ellison wined and dined all evening. The two couples were frequently spotted together during the weekend and seemed extremely cozy. Do we have a love match for the elusive Nolen Adams at last?”

  “Shit!” Sydney cursed, closing the magazine.

  Juan looked at her expectantly. “That was some coming-out party! You walk around here pretending you barely know the man, but you show up at a charity event on his arm, hanging out with some ketchup queen.”

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen!” Sydney said, running her hand through her hair nervously.

  “Exactly what did you think would happen, honey? Everyone in here is whining that you got the part because of that golden dick you’re riding!”

  “That’s a lie!” Sydney shouted.

  “Well, honey, when Glenda the Mean Bitch arrives, your ass is grass!”

  “She already knows,” Sydney mumbled as she turned away.

  Juan raised an eyebrow. “She does?”

  “Yes, she does!”

  “Interesting. Looks like I’m behind on the news, girl. I’d have thought she’d toss you out if—wait, she can’t, can she? Your boyfriend owns the tart!”

  “Can you give me a moment? I need to call him and tell him what’s going on.”

  “Fine, honey, but remember, Ms. Juanita is your friend. ’Cause the way you’re headed, I’m going to be the only friend you’ve got here!” He started to leave, then turned back to look at her, frowning. “I can help you deal with these fishes, but you’ve got to trust me, diva.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” she mumbled, reaching into her backpack for her pink cell phone.

  Juanita walked out, slamming the door.

  Sydney closed her eyes. She put her left hand to her head to still the pounding in her skull. She felt a headache coming on. She never truly understood the ramifications of exposure. How did she truly think she could pull this off?

  “Bravo! Bravo Zenter Stage!” Madame Gustav clapped behind her. She thought she was alone. With a cold sense of dread she opened her eyes and fixed them on the small woman she had come to admire. “Zo, you’ve done it I zee.”

  “Madame I can explain.”

  “Don’t. No need. Here I thought you cared for the dance. It zeems you care for fame. And you want it this way? It’z what you wanted, yes?”

  “To be a star, yes. But not this way. No.”

  Madame dropped her hands to her hips. “Do you know what dizapoints me de most?” Sydney held her tongue.

  “You are talented Zenter Stage. Extremely. Now you will never be able to zay zo. It will always be dat.” She pointed at the magazine. “Nuthing but dat man and his money dat dey will remember.”

  “I can fix this. I won’t let this interfere with the rehearsals. I swear it. And I will work my ass off to prove myself to you. As I’ve always done. This is a gossip rag, nothing more. I will prove myself, I have Madame. Don’t give up on me now. Please.”

  Madame shook her head in disgust. “We shall zee.”

  The models stepped out of the cab, heading for their shopping spree. Wearing the sunglasses she’d borrowed from another model, Portia looked like a California dream in a white halter top that revealed her pierced navel and a long, white linen skirt that swayed around her hips when she moved.

  Working for the agency, she’d had her pick of the cutest designer gear and had been allowed to keep most of it. She pushed up the shades, which captured her long spiral curls, pulling them away from her face like a headband.

  “Girl, Fred Segal is where all the celebrities shop,” her new friend Marva grinned. “We can go to the Beverly Center afterward.”

  Marva stood six-foot-two, a Nigerian beauty with coal-black skin and a smoothly shaved head. Her features were sharp and distinctive, and her slanted, almond-shaped eyes gave her an exotic fresh look. Portia liked her a lot. Marva plugged Portia into the L.A. crowd. Last night she’d gotten Portia into an exclusive party at the Viper Room.

  Inside Fred Segal, she saw another model flipping through a tabloid magazine. Portia smiled a
t her.

  “Can I read it when you’re done?”

  The model shrugged and handed it to her. Portia thanked her and tucked it into her straw bag. She’d read it when they stopped for lunch. Right now she wanted to celebrity hunt. Something told her that today was her lucky day.

  “Nolen, it’s everywhere!” Sydney cried out in a panic-stricken voice.

  “What’s everywhere?”

  “Us! That photo of us! It’s in all the society and gossip rags. They even identified Trish by her real name.

  Now Madame is angry, and Bet isn’t speaking to me. It’s a disaster.” Nolen frowned. “You knew—”

  “This isn’t good. Everybody’s treating me like some kind of leper! Like I’m in the play because of you. I can’t lose Madame’s respect. I won’t.”

  “That’s nonsense.” Nolen sat forward. Truthfully he had no time for this. He had a meeting with his attorneys. The Feds wanted to question him. They were buying him time while they did damage control. But he hadn’t shared those troubles with Sydney.

  “Well, it’s happening!” She sounded as if she were on the verge of tears.

  “We can handle this.”

  “God, I hope so.”

  “It’ll blow over soon. Just leave early, and wait for me at the penthouse. We’ll fly out immediately to Westmore. You have the weekend off right?”

  “I’ve got to warn Trish. She didn’t want people to know who she was, and this’ll upset her.”

  “Trish had to know that her picture would show up, Sydney,” Nolen said with a twinge of irritation.

  “She’s my friend, and she needs to be warned,” Sydney snapped. “Where does he live? She said she was headed back over there.”

  Sensing that she was in no mood to debate, he gave her Todd’s address. “When you’re done, come to me,” he said. “I’m leaving here soon, ok?”

  “Ok.”

  “See you soon.”

  “How in the hell did you get us into the Ivy?” Portia gushed, looking over at one actress, then another.

  Marva shrugged. “I used to sleep with the hostess.”

  Portia giggled, remembering that Marva was a lesbian. “Oh, cool.” The other models had been angry because they’d wanted to come to the Ivy as well, but Marva could get only one friend in, and she’d chosen Portia. Now she sat at the small table on the outdoor patio with the paparazzi damn near hanging from the trees.

  “Excuse me while I speak to Salvador,” Marva said, pointing at a high-fashion photographer that Portia had heard of.

  “Can you introduce me?”

  Marva smiled at her. “Maybe another time.”

  Portia frowned. Models didn’t keep other models in their sphere when they worked photographers.

  Trying not to take the snub personally, she reached into her bag and pulled out the magazine. Thumbing through the pictures aimlessly, she stopped at the headline about a charity event. She was curious to see whether anyone she knew had attended.

  Rage overcame her. The photo of her two best friends on the arm of that asshole, Todd Ellison, stared her in the face. Trish being identified as some heiress sent her into a tailspin.

  Portia tried to breathe, but couldn’t.

  Marva returned to the table to find Portia gripping the magazine tightly. “What on earth is wrong with you?” she asked. “You’re as pale as a ghost!”

  “I need you to cover for me!” Portia said, pushing the magazine back into her bag.

  “Cover for you?”

  “I have to catch the red-eye back to New York. I’ll call the agency as soon as I get back to the hotel. Just try to keep my spot on the shoot. Tell D’Andre it was a family emergency.”

  “Are you crazy? You’re going to just leave?”

  Portia blinked at the question. Thinking of Todd Ellison wining and dining her Trish and that bitch Sydney setting her up for it made her seethe with anger.

  “I’ve got to go,” she snapped. “Do what you can!” Ignoring Marva’s bewildered stare, she rushed out, determined to get back to New York and set everyone straight.

  Trish heard a knock on the door and put down her paintbrush. Todd had already called to say that he would be working late to make up for the photo shoot he’d blown off to take her to the Hamptons. Even therapy had been postponed until next week.

  “Who is it?”

  “Sydney.”

  Trish unlocked the door and greeted her friend with a smile. “Hey, didn’t know you knew where to find me.”

  “Have you seen this?” Sydney asked abruptly, passing Trish a magazine.

  Trish closed the door and flipped through the pages. She stopped when she reached the photo of the four of them at the gala. “Oh, God, no.”

  “Oh, yes, and now everybody hates me.”

  “Hates you for what?”

  “The play—the dancers all think that Nolen paid for me to be in the play.”

  “Sydney, come on. Don’t you think you’re exaggerating?” Trish tossed the magazine into the trash.

  Sydney paused. “What about you? Your identity is in that magazine. You wouldn’t even apply for a freaking job because you wanted to keep your identity secret. What now?” Trish stared at her. “The moment Muffy spotted me, my identity was revealed, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not that scared seventeen-year-old kid anymore. Besides, Todd will protect me.”

  “Protect you from what?”

  “From my family, of course. They can’t get to me, and I know that now.”

  “I’m sorry for coming here in a panic,” Sydney said, putting her hands to her head. “Maybe I’m overreacting. I knew my involvement with Nolen would come out. I just didn’t want it to affect the show.” Trish walked over to her. “Then, don’t let it, Sydney. You don’t need the approval of those dancers, just the love and support of the people who believe in you. I’m your biggest fan. You could sleep with a thousand Nolen Adams’, and it wouldn’t diminish your talent in my eyes one iota.” Sydney smiled. “I’m so lucky to have you for a friend. I love you so much.”

  “I love you too, sweetie!”

  Sydney glanced around the loft and saw Trish’s easel and paints. “Well, I have to leave. Nolen’s taking me to Westmore to meet his family. Madame cancelled the rest of the practice this afternoon. She’s a bit pissed at me.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “Not really. What could I say Trish? I did what they whisper about, I slept with the executive producer.

  It’s all so cliché. I won’t make any excuses. I just need to find a way to own up to this. I need to get out of here this weekend and clear my head. It’s going to be tough.”

  “Give me your cell number again,” Trish said, walking to the kitchen to get a pen and paper. “I left it at the apartment.”

  Sydney followed her and wrote down the number. “Call me if you need me,” she said.

  “I will,” Trish said. “I promise.”

  Later -

  The driver carried out their bags when Sydney walked through the door. She walked straight to Nolen and put her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. “I’m so sorry for my freak out moment earlier. You were right. I shouldn’t have overreacted, but I feel much better now.” Nolen raised his eyebrows. “What brought about this change?”

  “Trish, of course. She has a way of keeping things in perspective.”

  “So she wasn’t upset?”

  “Nope!”

  “Good,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I’m anxious to get you away from here for a few days to let it all blow over. Let’s go!”

  Sydney grabbed his hand, pulling him to the door. “Yes. Let’s go!” Trish had barely begun to paint when she heard another knock at the door. Figuring that Sydney had suffered another panic attack, she flung the door open. “Sydney, you really need to calm—” she began, breaking off as she saw her mother standing in the doorway with her blond hair neatly tucked into a bun. Her pearl earrings matched the expensive strand around her neck. Their eyes l
ocked, and Trish’s throat went dry.

  “Hello, Patricia,” her mother said, smiling sweetly.

  Trish tried to slam the door, but her mother raised a manicured hand to stop her. Pushing the door aside, she looked at her daughter with an expression that was both relieved and pleading. “Patricia, please.”

  “Get away!” Trish shouted, backing up. “I don’t want to see you! I have nothing to say to you!” Carol Hesser ignored her daughter’s pleas and walked inside closing the door. “I’ve been worried sick about you. I thought you were dead, for God’s sake. How could you disappear on us like that? Never mind. I’m so happy that I found you.”

  She stumbled toward Trish, who caught a whiff of scotch. Realizing that her mother was slightly inebriated, she shouted, “Get out! I’ll call the police!” A wave of panic swept over her. “Oh, God! Is Daddy with you?”

  “No, darling, he doesn’t know I’m here. It’s Mama. I had Henry drive me here. Two hour drive just for you baby. I’ve come to take you home.”

  Trish put a hand to her mouth. She knew all too well about her mother’s love. It was only a matter of time before he found out that she was here. She needed to call Todd. They’d stand up to her parents together.

  Quickly she hurried to the kitchen, but her mother grabbed her arm. “Patricia, listen to me, please.” Trish snatched away, pushing her mother back. “Don’t touch me! Get out!” The two of them began to struggle again and Carol brought Trish down with her on the floor. Backing away on her hands with her hair falling in her face, she struggled to rise.

  Carol began to cry. “Sweetheart, I’ve been so worried about you. I’ve looked for you!”

  “That’s a lie!”

  “No, listen to me! It’s different now. Daddy and I are different people now. We love you.” Trish found the strength to stand. “Liar! I won’t listen to you, and I’ll kill myself before I leave with you!

  Do you hear me? I hate you! I hate you!”

  Carol looked stunned and clasped her pearl necklace. “Patricia, you don’t mean that.”

  “I do, damn it! Why did you come here? Did he send you?”

  Carol shook her head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I should have protected you. I’ll never forgive—”