by Julie Cross
“Oh come on, don’t bullshit me. I left before Christmas dinner. Mom’s obsessed with Christmas dinner.”
“Jared told them about Elana and Eve,” Brad says. “They needed to know, and you can be pissed off if you want, but it was stupid not to tell them.”
I should be furious, but after everything that happened at home the past few days, I trust Jared. “How’d they take it?”
Brad cracks up. “I think Dad’s secretly relieved that you’re not gay.”
This gets me to laugh again. I totally called that one. “And Katie?”
“She knew something was up when you left early, but Jared just told her not to believe everything she reads online.”
“Thanks, Brad, seriously. I think I was on the verge of doing something really stupid.”
“And don’t get me wrong,” Brad adds. “I didn’t say you shouldn’t ever consider killing that fucker. Just say the word, and Jared and I will be there to back you up. You gotta plan that shit, you know? Cover your tracks, remove the forensic evidence…”
Now that sounds like my brother. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
After I get off the phone with Brad, I take a quick shower, reluctantly washing off the scent of Eve still lingering on my skin—her fruity lotion, her Chapstick. It felt so good to be that close to her again, but Brad’s right. It was a bad idea. I need to prove to her that I’m not Wes Danes. That I’m here in whatever form she wants me to be.
Before I fall asleep, I set my alarm to wake me up in a couple of hours so that I can get this damn breakup over with as soon as possible.
Chapter 44: Eve
December 26, 8:30 a.m.
I’m tapping my fingers on the cold surface of the desk. My legs are shaking and my eyes are glued to the open door, waiting for Wes to appear. It’s exactly eight thirty and he’s never late. Ever.
I don’t know what Alex did after he left last night. I hope he was too shocked and too disappointed and overwhelmed to do anything. But the way he looked at me last night, like he was willing to take this big giant leap regardless of the consequences, makes me think a confrontation is possible. As in he might have shown up at Wes’s place at three in the morning to… to what? I don’t really know.
Before my cell phone turns to eight thirty-one, I spot Wes coming down the hall, his peacoat and scarf perfectly in place, dress shoes shiny, and dark jeans carefully broken in. He grins when he sees me, showing no signs of having had an intense middle-of-the-night visit from Alex Evans. I hold my breath as he sets his leather bag on the desk and takes the seat across from me. I’ve already gotten coffee for both of us from the shop down the street.
He lifts his cup and takes a sip. “Thanks, Evie.”
“So I just wanted to say”—I take a deep breath, forcing out the anxious and desperate vibe from my voice—“I wanted to say thanks for everything you’ve done for me so far.”
He meets my gaze intently. He slowly removes a folder from his briefcase, spreading several photos out across the table. “These are your new portfolio pictures. I’d say they turned out pretty amazing.”
My gaze travels from Wes to the pictures lying on the table. Wes arranged this shoot, and I haven’t even signed with the agency yet. He probably paid for it out of his own pocket, which is why all the pictures are natural, no wild clothes or extravagant hair and makeup.
My face looks hollow and my arms way too skinny. I can’t believe I’ve become this. I mean, the pictures are amazing, don’t get me wrong, but knowing what it took to get me to look that thin, I feel like the world’s biggest sellout. I know for a fact there are plenty of female models who can eat normally and still look like that on their own, but I’ve had to take extreme measures to fit this mold, and my immune system is shot. I’m weak and fatigued. I’m not exercising as much as I used to for fear of the muscle showing too much.
“I sent these out to some of my contacts,” Wes says. “An editor at Cosmo said you look amazing and she loved the concept, having you look natural and stripped bare, like a fresh start.”
“Right,” I say bitterly. “After my time in the crack den and then rehab.”
“Everyone loves a good comeback story.” Wes shrugs. “Having said that, I’ve confirmed a gig with Cosmo and a few other jobs, but first—”
“I need to sign with the agency,” I say, relieved that we are getting to this today like I’d hoped. The money has got to start coming in soon if I want to have enough to cover next year’s tuition. Maybe I can work like crazy this summer too, when I won’t have classes. And won’t be in Paris, I can’t help thinking. I wanted that scholarship as much for the educational opportunity this summer as I did for the tuition money.
I spend nearly an hour down the hall with an intern, filling out paperwork before I’m allowed to return to Wes’s office. I peek in his door to make sure he’s not in another meeting before sitting across from him again. “So, Cosmo, huh?”
He nods. “Yes. It’s a very grown-up job. Think you can handle it?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Good. In that case, you’re all set.”
Wes retrieves my coat from the back of his office door and holds it out for me to put my arms through. When I do, he turns me around and we’re practically nose to nose. My heart is already speeding up. His eyes are so intense and full of emotion. I search my thoughts for something to say that will lead to my polite departure.
“Thanks again, Wes,” I mumble. “I really appreciate you helping with the photos and all.”
He sucks in a breath. “As much as it goes against my nature to admit this,” he says, “there's not much that I wouldn’t do for you, Evie. Sometimes I wish that weren’t true.”
Sometimes I wish I could 100 percent stop loving you.
I close my eyes and think about Alex last night, what he almost said to me. I had to stop him because those words are so powerful in a way that’s scary and dangerous, and I knew if he’d said it, I would have lost all my resolve to take the logical path.
“You and Alex,” Wes says finally. “It’s over, right?”
A huge pain moves through my chest and stomach as I force myself to say the words out loud. “Yeah. It’s over.” I ended it by screaming at him to leave. The scene was so familiar to me in a way that made it easy to get rid of him. Now, I’m struggling with the aftermath.
Wes’s hands are on my arms and he leans forward, barely pressing his mouth to mine. He pulls away before I can stop him or even process it, but tears spring to my eyes anyway.
This isn’t the man I want close to me. For the longest time, especially in the six great weeks I had with Alex, I think secretly I thought that guys like Alex—boyish, fun, and never too serious—would be the only ones I’d ever be brave enough to date after being with Wes, a very self-reliant man. But last night, when Alex showed up, looking like he’d spent forever coming up with a plan and a solution and the certainty on his face, in his words—he was a man.
And I’m afraid of that particular man for completely different reasons.
Wes releases me and steps back, his eyes moving up and down my body. “Someone like him could never be right for you, Evie. You need a strong guy who can handle your ups and downs, be straight with you. He’s lost without an adviser, and sometimes you are too. It would have never worked.”
I bite back the words and the tears, reminding myself that I need to be on Wes’s good side. “Probably not.”
Wes opens the door for me and tells me to call him if I want to get together or talk. I walk away as quickly as possible, not able to breathe until I’m hit with the late December air.
Truth is, Wes is probably right about one thing. Alex and I wouldn’t have worked. Alex deserves stability and sanity and someone who will allow him to take that leap of faith and say I love you. Somewhere there’s a girl who’s about to give up on the idea of love. Maybe she’s bee
n burned a few times, or maybe she’s intelligent and can’t seem to meet any guys who can hold a decent conversation. She’s okay with who she is but somewhat unconvinced that there’s a soul mate for her. And just when she’s decided being single is perfectly fine, she’ll be on the subway or in Starbucks getting a latte on a Sunday morning when she has time to actually notice the world around her and Alex Evans will pick up the wallet or cell phone she drops and hand it to her. Their eyes will meet; he’ll look familiar to her, so she’ll say, “Where do I know you from?”
And he’ll give her one of his classic sheepish grins and say, “Probably that big billboard in Times Square, the guy wearing the…uh…half-pair of neon micro-polka-dot underwear.” And after a reveal like that, who wouldn’t want to ask this guy some more questions and then maybe sit down at a table and talk about climbing walls and running 5K races, because after all, it is Sunday and she doesn’t have anything better to do and neither does he. At first she’ll expect shallowness but be both surprised and intrigued by Alex’s self-deprecating humor and under-the-surface humility. And then the carefully concealed intelligence will emerge on Alex’s end when she mentions her art history class. Alex will describe seeing the painting up close in Paris last summer. He’ll crack a joke about how it looks like children got into their mother’s makeup, but she won’t be fooled. She’ll see that he saw more to it than that but doesn’t feel the need to show off. The rest is just a beautiful success story to be told many, many times over at friends’ houses, and possibly their wedding.
Alex Evans deserves nothing less than a perfect moment like that. With my million pounds of baggage, I can’t give him that.
Chapter 45: Alex
December 26, 10:30 a.m.
I dive for the phone the second I hear the first notes of my ringtone. I’ve been waiting for what seemed like forever for Wes to return my call. I block out everything I’ve learned in the past twelve hours and focus on the goal at hand.
“I need to break up with Elana,” I blurt out after the short greetings are finished.
“You need to break up with Elana,” he repeats, calm and slow.
“Yes.”
There’s a long pause, and then he says, “Okay. I’ll take care of it.”
My brain is rushing to catch up. “Okay?”
“That’s what I said, Alex.” I hear him sigh. “I’ve been biding my time, coming up with the best plan, ever since the fragrance shoot when it was obvious your chemistry had started going downhill.”
“So, I’m out of that job, right? They’ll reshoot with a new model?”
“I doubt it.”
Wait, what? “Then why couldn’t we break up sooner?” I’m pissed now and trying to get a grip on my anger, afraid all the other stuff I shoved down will quickly resurface.
“A breakup story is a lot easier to digest and accept than a fake relationship story,” Wes says, almost sounding bored with this conversation. I’m practically having heart palpitations. “You needed to put the weeks in first. That’s just common sense. And then if you appear perfect and happy for too long, people start making assumptions that maybe it’s manufactured. Besides, doesn’t everyone fall in love with their first costar? And it lasts until the box office buzz dies down.”
“So we’re breaking up?” I repeat just to be clear.
“I’ll have the story to the press by this afternoon. Check tomorrow morning’s tabloids.”
“Great.” Since I’m afraid to move on to other topics with Wes, I hang up quickly and grab the first thing in my reach (a tennis shoe) and wing it at the back of my bedroom door, pretending the door is Wes.
“Dude? What the hell?” Landon, one of my roommates, shouts from the other side.
I let out a breath, trying to slow my pulse as I open the door, deciding to let the story break right here, right now. “Sorry, I just got dumped.”
Landon’s carting a bowl of cereal, his mouth half full, but he gives me a sympathetic look and says, “Sorry, man, that sucks,” before walking to his room. We don’t do the roommate thing like Eve and Stephanie.
Eve.
I want to call her so bad, but I know without a doubt it’s crucial I stay far away from her right now so no one has the opportunity to jump to conclusions about Eve being the reason I spilt with Elana. If there was ever a best time to exhibit a high level of self-control and avoid any and all contact with Eve Nowakowski, it would be right now. I can’t screw up what little she’s managed to scrounge together of her life.
Right now, I need to think of something proactive to do. I need to keep my distance from Wes (so I don’t kill him), and from Eve (so I don’t screw up her life even more) and all I want to do is find a way to get through to her.
There’s a copy of Seventeen magazine in the stack of mail on my desk and just seeing the cover reminds me of something and then I’m diving for my laptop, whipping it open, and stretching out on my stomach across the bed. Action via computer isn’t much better than action via phone, but there’s something I need to see.
The first time I Googled Eve Castle, at the Seventeen shoot ironically, I remember seeing one search result that wasn’t about her abrupt departure from modeling. It had been a “before” story for Seventeen.
It takes me no time at all to find the same search result and luckily the interview has been archived and is online.
A ONE-ON-ONE WITH TEEN MODEL SENSATION EVE CASTLE
…She’s only fifteen years old but already she’s managed to snag the attention of designers like Prada, Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren…Seventeen editor Jillian Martin sat down to talk to the young star about how she got started and what she’s experienced so far in the world of fashion…Jillian even talked her into sharing some of her photos from her summer in Europe and Seventeen was so impressed we’ve included them in this issue along with Eve Castle’s candid and enlightening responses.
JM: So what’s it like to be Eve Castle? Are you a normal fifteen-year-old? Or is that just what you’re supposed to say?
EC: That’s exactly what I was told to say. You’ve got that right. Unfortunately, I’ve never really been normal so now’s probably not the time to start.
JM: What do you mean, you haven’t been normal? You were an outsider?
EC: I guess you could call it that…I was too tall to be the girl all the boys liked, too skinny to fit into the latest Aeropostale jeans, not that I could afford them…a little too smart to be cool…and my teeth were crooked but braces were too expensive.
JM: Your teeth? Really? They look fine to me.
EC: That’s because I did the Invisalign thing at the recommendation of the agency that signed me at the open calls in Chicago. They covered it upfront and then took it out of my early checks in installments. My teeth were pretty bad. I had a huge overbite.
JM: Well, you could have kept it a secret and we’d never have known. Why the open reveal?
EC: I didn’t sign a contract saying I’d keep it quiet, so I’m not violating anything, but I’ve seen so many blog comments about me with girls going on about how perfect I am and how they’ll never make it as a model because they aren’t perfect. Well…I’m not either. I spent years not smiling because I was so self-conscious about my teeth, and add that to me almost never wanting to stand up straight and reveal my full height and you’ve got a pretty awkward girl.
JM: I think many of our young readers will probably throw a party after hearing that you aren’t perfect. Kudos to you for admitting it. What do you hope to gain from modeling? What have you gained so far?
EC: Until I went to Chicago, I’d never been out of Indiana…actually, I’d been to Kentucky a few times…and Central Illinois. But in the last year or so, I’ve been to New York City, obviously…also Brazil, Mexico, Canada, Florida, France, Italy, England…I studied in Europe all summer taking language immersion classes. My French is now fluent. I took art co
urses and photography, not to mention learning about all the cultures. I’ve met dozens of famous designers and eaten some amazing food all over the world…and wine. I got to drink all the wine I wanted in Europe and it’s completely legal.
JM: That’s incredible, and you’ve acquired quite a résumé thus far. Are you worried about it ending someday? Being the outcast once again? It’s a pretty unforgiving and relentlessly critical industry.
EC: I think everyone is using everyone in the fashion world. It’s not personal, it’s business, right? You have to be able to handle that. My goal is to book the best jobs I can, get as much money saved up as possible, travel at every opportunity I’m given, and keep up with my school work so that I can get into a good college.
JM: College, huh? So that will be the end of the road for you?
EC: Or the beginning, depends on how you look at it. And I’m not sure if I’ll keep working while I’m in college. That depends on where I get in and whether I’m over the hill yet.
JM: I heard a rumor that you’ve already taken your SATs and got a pretty good score…2100, I believe? That’s in the 90th percentile, or at least that’s what my research revealed.
EC: I did. And I’m going to take them again soon, study some more, and try to do a little better, maybe the 95th percentile.
JM: What advice would you offer to young girls wanting to follow in your footsteps? Maybe wanting to reap the travel and educational benefits as you have?
EC: Honestly, if you’re not even out of high school yet and if you have a good family and a happy enough home, I’d say find another way to travel the world and learn things. One of the reasons I can handle the criticism of the industry and the diets and the body image issues is because I’ve never really gotten to be a child. I came already prepared for the brutal adult world. If you come into this expecting to be treated differently because you’re only fourteen or fifteen, then you’re going to get eaten alive. And I think it’s a bunch of crap when people call it child abuse. We all get fair and equal treatment in this industry, and by that I mean we’re all treated like models. Regardless of age. So if you aren’t ready to be treated like a model, if you’re okay with being a kid for a little while longer, then that’s exactly what you should do.
