by Kim Baldwin
Isabel grinned and set down her juice. “At your service. Within two blocks. Whatcha need? Aspirin?”
“And one of those instant cold packs.” She reached for her wallet, but Isabel was already up and jogging away again.
“Got it,” she hollered back over her shoulder.
What’s your story, Isabel Sterling? Everyone had a motive. Everyone. And sooner or later, it always made itself known. All she had to do was wait.
It wasn’t long before Isabel rematerialized with aspirin and a cold pack. “Shall I leave you alone now to battle your headache in peace?” she asked as she handed over her purchases and reached for her juice.
“Thanks, and no. Not necessary. Sit,” Kash said as she popped three of the aspirin. “So why don’t you want to be a cover girl?”
Isabel shrugged as she settled back on the bench. “It’s not my thing.”
“You don’t strike me as the shy type.” She activated the cold pack and held it against the back of her neck. It was hard to really relax and hold it there at the same time, but she knew it would help her hangover.
“Here, let me,” Isabel offered.
Her hand rested on Kash’s, and Kash slipped hers out and accepted the help. Elbows on her knees, she let the cold penetrate. “Oh, yeah. That’s better.”
Isabel had been keenly aware of the brief touch of their hands, and she was conscious now of the close proximity of their bodies. Kash had on black jeans and a snug black T-shirt that allowed a glimpse of the lean musculature of her back, shoulders, and upper arms. God, Kash, you really have a nice body. No wonder all the women throw themselves at you. “I hope you had enough fun getting this way that it was worth it.” Isabel spoke with more humor than reproach.
“What does fun ever have to do with it? Don’t change the subject,” Kash said. “So if you’re not shy, why don’t you want to be in the magazine? Most women would consider it their big chance at fame.”
“Well, I guess I’m not most women. Or perhaps just not like most of the women you know.”
Kash had heard that line before. Women always wanted to be different. Special. They thought they could ask for anything then. Perhaps Isabel’s approach wasn’t that unique after all. What do you really want? “What is it about the attention that bothers you?” she pressed.
Isabel considered her answer for a while. “I simply have no desire to be recognized everywhere I go. I’ve never craved fame. It’s even less appealing since the press conference. I can’t imagine living the life you lead.”
“It can get tedious with the paparazzi,” Kash agreed, then paused. “That must sound odd coming from me.”
“Oh, not at all. The only thing you have in common with them are the tools of your trade.”
Coming from Isabel, the remark sounded sincere, and Kash mentally thanked her for it. Perhaps it had been true early on. But she thought again of what Dix had said and how far she had strayed from her once-noble career objectives. Perhaps she had more in common with the paparazzi than she was willing to admit.
“You shouldn’t have such a bad time from here on.” She sat up and took the ice bag from Isabel. “Thanks.” Her head felt a lot better. “The press conference was worse than it should have been because I was there. The tabloid guys can get twenty grand or better if they catch me doing something really stupid, and it’s rare for me to appear at a press conference where they can shout questions at me. Of course, they got real interested in you when you took a header.”
Isabel grimaced.
“But as long as you don’t do anything similar, you’ll just have to endure a few months of being recognized, once the magazine comes out,” Kash said. “And you’ll probably get some interview offers afterward. So be careful of which ones you take. And remember, the more money they offer, the worse they’ll make it for you—that’s usually the case, anyway.”
“Well, I don’t intend to do anything I don’t absolutely have to do to fulfill my obligations to the magazine,” Isabel declared.
We’ll see. Even those rare birds who claim not to want celebrity status succumb when it falls in their lap. “Fame does have its advantages at times,” Kash said.
“I imagine it does. Like getting the Errol Flynn Suite whenever you visit Paris?”
Kash rubbed at her eyes. “Yes, there’s that, among other things.”
Isabel sat back against the bench and crossed her legs. “Why did you give us your suite? I’m curious.”
“Eh, not a big deal.” She waved off the gesture as insignificant. “I’ve seen that view and thought the two of you might appreciate the extra room.” She hoped that a mention of the second bedroom might prompt a response from Isabel that would clarify her relationship with Gillian, but Isabel failed to take the bait.
“Well, it was incredibly sweet. Thanks.”
Sweet? Now that’s a new one. Kash chuckled. Not for a minute would she ever believe such a thing, and she knew it was probably only a line, but she had to admit that it felt nice to imagine someone might think that of her. “‘Sweet’ isn’t a word that people often apply to me.”
“No?”
“No.”
“How do your friends describe you, then?” Isabel sipped her juice.
The question demanded more honest introspection than Kash was willing to offer someone she barely knew. Too often, when she had volunteered any kind of personal information to a woman, her words appeared verbatim later in some tabloid or blog, often out of context. “That would be for them to say.”
She knew how Miranda would probably describe her, since she wasn’t shy about offering her blunt assessment of Kash whenever she needed a good smack to the side of the head. Guarded and controlling. She heard those two descriptives a lot, from her and others. And detached, because she didn’t wear her emotions on her sleeve or volunteer a lot of what went on inside her.
Arrogant was another one that was becoming more popular, and she could see its validity. She hadn’t always been so. But once she was able to have who and what she wanted with the snap of her fingers, she had never been reluctant to spell out her desires. Arrogance was the scar that frequent and easy acquiescence had left.
“If I’m being presumptuous, forgive me. I’ll leave you to recover from your hangover in peace,” Isabel said, getting to her feet. “I still have a lot of Paris to see. So I’ll meet you at the hotel at two?”
“Yes, at two,” Kash said. “And thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
As she watched Isabel jog toward the hotel, Kash slightly regretted having been her usual abrupt self. Outwardly, Isabel had been nothing but friendly and thoughtful. And she seemed sincere and genuinely self-effacing. Could she be for real? Long ago, Kash had dared think that someone might be nice to her and show interest merely because they liked her. But it had been a long time since she’d allowed herself the luxury of that delusion.
*
“So that outfit says you, huh?” Kash eyed Isabel’s choice of attire for their first photo shoot. She might have expected the ensemble, which was well suited for Isabel’s no-frills, natural look: low-waisted, faded blue jeans, sandals, and a loose-fitting pale yellow blouse. The blouse wasn’t particularly stylish—in fact, it was a bit faded, which suggested it was a favorite garment at least a few years old. Still, it brought out the highlights of Isabel’s long, honey blond hair, which shone like wheat in the summer sun.
“My lucky shirt,” Isabel explained, following Kash’s gaze. “And I’m in these jeans almost seven days a week. Is it okay?”
“It’ll be fine,” Kash said. “I’ll shoot you in your own stuff before the makeover. Afterward we’ll put you in your new wardrobe. I’ll be doing mostly full-body shots, but some close-ups, too. Try to have fun. Move around, change your expressions, and don’t be afraid to act silly.”
“Isabel? Silly?” Gillian stifled a laugh. “She’d need at least a couple of drinks for that. Best you can hope for here is relaxed.”
Isabel punc
hed her in the arm. “Big help you are.”
Since Miranda had challenged Kash to take more than the typical shots of the Eiffel Tower, she ignored the predictable snapshot that every tourist took—the one of a smiling vacationer standing on the terrace of the Palais de Chaillot with the tower as a dramatic backdrop.
Instead, she had Alain set up her equipment on the first stage of the tower, 189 feet in the air, and she photographed Isabel from angles that would utilize the brown girders of the superstructure and the scenery below to provide context.
There was one drawback to her plan. On this sunny July afternoon, a growing legion of tourists decided it was much more fun to watch them than to sightsee.
“Sorry, no autographs,” she repeated ad nauseam as the gutsiest of the bunch thrust pens and assorted writing surfaces her way—Eiffel Tower programs, ticket stubs, Paris guidebooks, slips of paper. To the most persistent she added a slightly annoyed, “Hey, some respect, please. I’m trying to work here,” which rarely made much of a difference. Gillian and Alain did their best to act as makeshift barricades, keeping an area clear around both her and her subject, but it was an impossible task.
Isabel watched a steady stream of people approach Kash, some shy and others incredibly forward, a few even positioning themselves in front of her camera so that she couldn’t ignore them. She couldn’t hear everything that was said, but Kash’s body language and clipped tone plainly said she wanted to be left alone. I would hate to have that kind of a life, not able to be out in public without people staring at me all the time and interrupting whatever I’m doing.
“Okay, Isabel.” Kash’s exasperation became increasingly evident. “Let’s try to wrap this up, can we please? I need you to give me something to work with here. Move a little. I have fifty frames with the exact same forced smile and rigid posture. Hell, I’d even settle for your perky morning self.”
To Kash’s surprise, Isabel grinned and responded with a whimsical series of poses and facial expressions that soon had most of the onlookers laughing and cheering. Not only did Kash get some good photos, but since the autograph hounds were diverted she was able to finish the job with a relative measure of peace.
“For someone who doesn’t like attention and cameras, you sure got over it fast,” Kash remarked once they were underway to their next stop. “That was like someone flipped a switch.”
“Please don’t use one that’s going to make me seem goofy,” Isabel pleaded. “I know I overdid it on some.”
“Overdid it?” Gillian said. “I’d have thought you were on something if I didn’t know you better. Gotta give you props, Izzy. Way to loosen up. What the hell happened?”
“Well…” Isabel ran her hand through her hair. She wasn’t entirely sure what had come over her. “You’re always telling me to go with the moment…” The first part was directed at Gillian, the next at Kash. “And I saw how the crowd was getting on your nerves, so I thought you might welcome a distraction.” Also, the sillier she got, the bigger the grin on Kash’s face had become. She liked that—a lot—but wasn’t about to admit it.
For real? Kash’s cynical nature was beginning to crack. More and more, she realized that Isabel was refreshingly genuine.
“Like I said, the more I see of fame, the less I want to be on that cover. You sure there’s no way out?”
“Not a chance, I’m afraid. It’s what we’re all here for.”
Isabel sighed and stared out of the window. “Ah, well. Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
Kash studied her face in profile for subtle signs of guile or pretense. There were none. You’re full of surprises, Isabel. Nice surprises.
*
They had three more setups that day for the magazine—at Notre Dame and the Louvre, then the Arc de Triomphe after nightfall.
`While Alain and Kash unpacked and set up the equipment, Isabel and Gillian enjoyed the spectacular view from the top of the famous arch. They were seemingly at the center of a brilliant star, with twelve streaming avenues of white and red light radiating outward. They faced the brightest and most vibrant of the streams—the famed Champs Elysées, whose wide pedestrian walks were densely crowded on this warm summer night.
“I know we have all these other great places ahead of us, but it’s going to be hard to leave Paris.” Isabel folded her arms across her chest and hugged herself. “As often as I’ve dreamed about seeing all this, it’s so much more beautiful than I imagined. No offense, Gill—but it’s a shame I can’t share the most romantic place on earth with that special someone, you know?”
“Maybe you can’t spend it with that special someone,” Gillian replied, “but tonight I will definitely increase your chances of finding some romance in Paris.”
The day before, Isabel had kept them to a tight schedule, with a full day of sightseeing followed by dinner and shopping in the Marais district, then a boat ride on the Seine. Now it was Gillian’s turn to pick how they spent their evening. “I don’t know about finding romance,” she said, “but I’m game for whatever you want to do.”
“Cool,” Gillian said. “Then prepare your tummy for Greek food. Alain told me about a great place near the club I want to try. Want to see if Kash wants to come along?”
“If you like. But I bet she’ll say no. She’s evidently got her own entertainment opportunities, from what I saw this morning.”
“What happened?”
“While I was out for my run I stumbled upon her in a park near the hotel. She was slumped on a bench, and in the same kind of shape you were the morning after Connie and Shelley’s engagement party. How long did it take you to recover from that all-night orgy of sex and alcohol?”
“Ouch.” Gillian winced. “Hey! Maybe we should ask Kash where to go after we eat.”
No, let’s not, Isabel immediately concluded, but didn’t say it aloud. It was pure gut reaction, and she knew it had to do with the way Kash had leered at her in the park. Certainly women had looked at her that way before—sexually appreciative and interested—but the attraction was rarely mutual.
This time it had definitely been mutual. Her shiver of excitement at Kash’s overt ogling had surprised her, as did her wish that it would happen again. But it hadn’t all afternoon, much to her disappointment.
A passing moment and nothing more, I guess. And it’s not like it could lead to anything, anyway. She can have anyone she wants. Besides, Gillian’s going after her. Best I stop thinking about her that way.
As much as she tried to talk herself out of her attraction, though, so far she was losing the battle. Which is why I want to steer clear of Kash’s favorite nightclubs, she admitted to herself. Maybe it was silly, but she didn’t want to go somewhere where she might see Kash with someone else. That didn’t sound like much fun at all.
“They’re about ready for me,” she said, pushing off from the ledge to make her way to where Kash had set her camera. Isabel could see she intended to use the distant Eiffel Tower, now a mere string of lights against the darkness, as the backdrop.
How ironic. The photo shoots today hadn’t been unpleasant, which she had expected after her experience in Kash’s studio in Manhattan. Quite the contrary.
Since Kash had fueled her attraction this morning, she had been very much appreciating the opportunity to do nothing but watch her work, and she couldn’t ask for a better front-row seat than being her model.
“Ready, Isabel?” Kash gestured toward the place she wanted her to stand.
“Yes, ready.” She got into position.
“You’ve been doing great all afternoon,” Kash said encouragingly as she raised her camera. “Keep it up and we’ll be done in no time.”
And then you can get back to wherever you were last night. For an instant, Isabel was tempted to be less than perfect with her poses in order to prolong the shoot. Yeah, that’s really mature. Get over it.
Kash zoomed in on Isabel’s face and brought the image into focus. In her years photographing people through the detached a
nd extreme close-up view she achieved with her camera, she’d become adept at reading expressions. Now and then, she’d see something in someone’s eyes or smile that intrigued her—some spark or hint of mischief she couldn’t quite decipher. Usually she let it pass.
But today, she’d caught Isabel watching with a cryptic smile, like she had on right now, and she wondered what was behind it. What is it you want? Who are you hiding that you think the camera might reveal? And she was equally curious about the change that had come over Isabel. She’d been stiff and nervous during their first shoot back in Manhattan, but something had finally made her relax and even enjoy their sessions.
“Can I ask you a question without interrupting what you’re doing?” Gillian’s voice was so near behind her Kash knew not to step back.
“Sure,” she responded, as she continued to click.
Hell, Isabel thought. Here it comes.
“We’re going to a Greek place in Pigalle for dinner,” Gillian said. “And then out for a night on the town. I thought you might have some suggestions about where to go?”
“Depends on what you’re in the mood for,” Kash responded. Click. Click.
“Let’s see…hot women, good music, dancing, drinks, and fun.”
Kash paused long enough to acknowledge her.
“And you’re welcome to come with us, of course,” Gillian added with a seductive purr. “Maybe I can get a dance with you?”
Kash smiled. Spending time with Isabel and Gillian was a much more pleasant option than another night getting drunk on the balcony. She knew it was stupid to go out to a club. Someone would almost certainly recognize her and probably try to photograph her in some compromising position once she had a drink or two. Wind up on yet another tabloid cover.
But every time she warned herself to stay away from such places, her loneliness drove her back into temptation. Screw Dix. I’m not going to let him or anyone else dictate where I go and what I do.
