Jenny Lopez Has a Bad Week

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘Hey, Sadie,’ I slipped my cell back in my purse and went back in for the kill. ‘If we’re not going to the show, you want to go out and get some ice cream or something? It must be a real long time since you did some damage to a pint of Häagen-Dazs.’

  ‘Ice cream?’ She opened one eye.

  ‘Yeah, like we could go crazy.’ The fish had taken the bait. ‘Dulce de leche, Belgian chocolate, strawberry cheesecake, whatever you want. We have all day right? It’s not like you’re going to be getting back into a swimsuit any time soon.’

  ‘I guess,’ she sat up. ‘But, I don’t know if I … dairy? Really?’

  ‘No point being a civilian if you can’t enjoy it.’ I slapped the bed. ‘Up and at ’em. Let’s get those skinny jeans on you before they don’t fit you any more.’

  For a lazy-assed supermodel, Sadie sure could turn herself around pretty quick. The promise of ice cream and a life off the runway had her in a shirt, shoes and the tightest pair of jeans I’d ever seen within fifteen minutes. Old habits died hard, though, and she couldn’t resist a swipe of mascara and slick of lip gloss. Sickeningly, that was all she needed to look incredible.

  ‘So where are we going?’ she asked, grabbing a Chanel 2.55 from the dressing table. The holy grail of handbags, it transcended purse status. It was the dream. ‘I’m ready.’

  I took one look at her perfectly flat stomach and smiled. She thought she was ready? Sadie Nixon might be a pro on the modelling circuit, but when it came to putting away ice cream, she was an amateur in my world.

  ‘We’re going to the most ironically named ice-cream parlour in all of New York.’ I opened the door with a flourish. I had just remembered how much I liked a challenge. ‘Serendipity awaits.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  I wasn’t sure what I enjoyed the most. The epic sense of self-satisfaction I got from luring Sadie out of her hotel room, or the look on driver Chris’s face when we hopped back into the town car and ordered him to drive us to 60th and Lex. Sadie sat quietly, her long legs curled up around her, almond eyes still fixed on the screen of her phone. I didn’t have the details, but I figured we were still in the first twenty-four hours of the break-up. These were the most dangerous hours, when she was most likely to call him or throw a brick through his window or get on a plane and fly to another country. These were just a few examples of short-term break-up behaviour I could think of. The brick through the window was me.

  ‘Won’t be long.’ I stuck my head through the passenger window once we’d pulled up outside the restaurant and gave Chris a wink. ‘I’ve got this.’

  ‘You’ve got something,’ he replied, tipping his hat down over his eyes. ‘And it’s bigger balls than me.’

  That was more like it, a compliment I could work with.

  Sadie sat awkwardly at the tiny table inside the miniature ice-cream parlour, curled around a small table. She played awkwardly with her ponytail. Even with her hair in its ratty, post-bath state, she still looked great. It was enough to make a girl turn to frozen dairy goodness. Which was pretty convenient, given where we were.

  ‘No one’s looking at me,’ she said after a waiter slammed two glasses of water on our table, dropped a couple of menus and walked away. The place wasn’t known for its service. ‘People always look at me.’

  ‘I don’t want to upset you, honey,’ I browsed the sweet treats on offer. ‘But you’re not the tastiest thing in here.’ I pushed a menu towards her. ‘What do you want?’

  The natural response to that question from a newly retired, recently rejected supermodel was, of course, ‘everything’. But Sadie didn’t bite. Her eyes didn’t grow as round as saucers, she didn’t unfasten the top button of her jeans and yell ‘bring it on’. Instead she blanched slightly and turned the menu away.

  ‘I just want a Diet Coke,’ she said. ‘And maybe we could split something.’

  Ah-ha.

  ‘Sure.’ I made the internationally recognized ‘we’re ready to order’ face at the surly waiter and began stage two of my campaign. ‘Can we get a Diet Coke, a frozen peppermint hot chocolate and the banana split? … So, tell me everything.’

  She didn’t take much convincing, I found celebs rarely did. It was a weird thing they all had in common. People wanted to be around them, they wanted to get in their good graces, but they didn’t really care to listen to anything they had to say. Hence, they became dicks. I didn’t think I’d enjoy being surrounded by lackeys who hung on my every word but never really cared about a single thing I had to say. As soon as someone showed an interest in actually taking time out for a real conversation, famous people usually jumped at the chance, models especially. I figured that’s why so many were in therapy: it was an hour a week where someone had to listen to them.

  ‘We’ve been dating for a few months.’ She examined her nail beds while she spoke. A sure sign she was serious. ‘We met at some party. He was so hot. We did shots for like, ever, and ended up back at his place.’

  It was the most romantic story I’d ever heard.

  ‘What was the party?’ I asked with feigned innocence.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Where was it?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  This shouldn’t really be too tough. We were working on some pretty shaky foundations. If this were true love, she would remember every last second of meeting this guy, whether she wanted to or not.

  ‘So you hooked up at the party and then what happened?’ I watched for our order winging its way down from the kitchen. I really wanted to get to the balls of the break-up before we moved onto stage three.

  ‘We were inseparable.’ She smiled at the memories. ‘We didn’t leave his apartment for a couple of days, but then he got in heaps of trouble with his coach so he had to leave. I’d never felt that way before.’

  ‘How old are you, Sadie?’ I sipped my water. A good therapist gets all the basics before delivering her verdict.

  ‘Twenty-six,’ she moaned. ‘I know, I’m so old. I’m practically ancient. I have what, two years left in me? And then it’ll be nothing but Ann Taylor Loft and wrinkle creams. That’s why I thought marrying a baseball player now was a good idea.’

  ‘He asked you to marry him?’ I was fighting every urge in my body to leap across the table and punch her in the face. No, this was a good challenge. I needed this. If I could win this one, I could do anything.

  ‘Not as such,’ she admitted. ‘He said, you know, some other stuff about … us. And I figured that meant we were for ever.’

  The blush in her cheeks suggested these were not words that could be repeated in a church whilst wearing a white dress.

  ‘So, this guy who you were with for a couple of months and met at a party you can’t remember and told you you’re dumb and he doesn’t respect you,’ I was paraphrasing, ‘he’s your soulmate?’

  She at least had the decency to look embarrassed when she nodded.

  ‘Then sure, you should totally retire.’ With perfect timing, our ice cream and frozen hot chocolate were set on the table in front of us. As in, the entire table. I had never, ever in my life seen something as obscene as that banana split. It looked like angels and unicorns and baby Jesus had spent all of Christmas creating it and then had the Care Bears sprinkle glitter on top. Even I baulked a little, but this was no time for weak hearts. Or stomachs. There was a plan at stake. And it was already past eleven; I didn’t have time to waste.

  ‘Yeah, you should definitely retire.’ I took up my spoon and dove straight into the piles of ice cream, whipped cream, hot fudge sauce and, presumably, banana. ‘You should totally give it all up and prove to him you’re not just some dumb model.’

  ‘I’m not dumb.’ She sounded indignant as she picked up her own spoon and looked at it, confused. ‘I got into a couple of good colleges. I couldn’t go but I was accepted.’

  ‘Sure you were,’ I nodded, merrily munching away on caramelized nuts.

  ‘I was!’ She poked at the edge of the whi
pped cream with trepidation. ‘I coulda gone to Wesleyan but I chose modelling. I’m not dumb.’

  ‘Wesleyan is a pretty great school.’ And this was a pretty amazing banana split. I made a mental note to carry out more of my schemes here. ‘You must really have loved modelling back then.’

  ‘I still love it,’ she said, putting down the spoon and sipping her Diet Coke instead. ‘People think it’s lame but I love it. I get to travel, I meet a ton of interesting people and I love fashion. When I retire, I’m going to start a high-end ethical clothing line. I’ve been talking to The Olsen twins about it.’

  ‘Then you’d better get Mary-Kate on the line,’ I gave her a beaming smile. ‘Today’s the day!’

  ‘Yeah.’

  And enter stage three.

  ‘I’m so glad we met,’ I went on. ‘I love meeting people when they’re about to make huge life changes. It’s inspiring. And I’m sure this Bry guy will totally take everything back when he hears you’ve quit modelling.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Quit it all. For good.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Because he’ll totally respect what kind of a sacrifice that will be for you. I mean, you gave up Wesleyan for modelling, the fact that you’d give modelling up for him – wow.’

  I happily carried on eating my way to an early grave while Sadie bent the straw in her soda every which way from Sunday.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ Once I was feeling suitably sick, I looked up.

  She shrugged.

  ‘Do you think he would give up baseball for you?’

  Her eyes widened for a moment and then her face fell.

  ‘You think I’m dumb too.’ She picked up her spoon again and grabbed a huge spoonful of ice cream. ‘I am so fucking dumb.’

  ‘You’re not dumb,’ I said gently. Were we reaching a breakthrough?

  ‘Yes I am.’ She stared at the ice cream as it began to drop off the spoon. ‘I mean, I’m not. I know you’re just reverse-psychologying me. I know I have this amazing life. I get to model for a living and it’s a really good living. I’m not one of those girls living eight to a studio eking out a living doing region runway shows.’

  ‘And you know how to correctly use the word “eking”,’ I congratulated her. ‘What were you going to study at Wesleyan?’

  ‘English,’ she almost smiled. ‘But I really did choose modelling over college. And I really do love Bry. Did. Do.’

  ‘Really really?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s way easier to get through life as a model by acting like a bitch,’ Sadie said. ‘People expect it and it’s not like you’re ever in one spot longer than a couple of days. I don’t get attached if people don’t like me.’

  Even though I was pretty sure I was about to puke, I took a sip of the frozen hot chocolate. ‘So you’re not a bitch?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, I’m kind of a bitch,’ she managed a full smile that time. I recognized it from a lipstick commercial. ‘Life imitating art and everything. But I did love him. I’ve never really had a boyfriend, never really had time. The last couple of months were crazy. He paid attention to me, he was sweet to me. I thought he cared.’

  ‘We’ve all fallen for it, sweetie.’ I didn’t care to elaborate that I had been a victim less than twenty-four hours earlier. ‘But anyone who said the things he said to you isn’t worth it. You can’t throw away such an amazing career for this guy.’

  Sadie looked up at me and set the spoon back in the bowl.

  ‘I don’t want to be alone,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so lonely.’

  I took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘What started the row? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  The smiled faded to a bittersweet shadow of its former self. ‘I told him I loved him,’ she said. ‘Can you imagine that being your reaction? Someone tells you that they love you and so you immediately turn on every single aspect of their personality?’

  ‘They’re not all like that,’ I said. ‘Guys. I mean, some are, there’s totally more than one, but there are a few that are pretty OK.’

  I looked at my watch. It was eleven thirty. Half an hour to get down to The Union and save Erin’s ass.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ I set my spoon down, officially nauseous enough for one day.

  ‘Kick his ass,’ she said immediately. ‘Tell the entire sports world he has a tiny penis.’

  ‘All this and more is possible,’ I signalled for the check. ‘But not right away. Can I assume retirement is off the table?’

  ‘You can,’ she nodded and pointed at the ice-cream sundae. ‘So please get that thing the hell away from me.’

  ‘And can I assume you’re gonna want to haul ass down to the Boyd & Norrell show?’

  ‘Oh shit, what time is it?’ She looked at her phone to check on the time and made a face at the screensaver. ‘Let’s go.’

  I ignored the fact that she’d stood up to leave without a second thought about the check and remembered that, despite my miraculous breakthrough, the girl was still a model. And she had said she was kind of a bitch.

  Self-awareness was an important step on the path of self-discovery. As was picking up the check sometimes.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Boyd & Norrell show was a huge success. Sadie’s hair, not so much, but it didn’t seem to matter too much to Erin. The look on her face when we arrived was pure shock. It was a whole three minutes before twelve, the first time in recorded history that Sadie Nixon had arrived at an event before the scheduled time. I was feeling pretty good about myself.

  ‘I don’t know how you did it.’ Erin crept up behind me, arms folded, headset attached to her ear. ‘But colour me amazed. You want to come and work for me full time? Some of the girls could use a kick in the ass.’

  ‘Can we talk about it next week?’ I asked, watching Sadie transform from sulky dumpee to runway goddess. From the way she was batting away hangers-on, it seemed I had used up all of her good temper points for the day. ‘When my brain has settled back in?’

  ‘Sure.’ She pressed her hand on my shoulder, professional Erin’s version of a hug. ‘Whenever you want.’

  I was just about to make a hasty exit when I heard Sadie yell across the room.

  ‘Hey, reverse-psychology girl!’

  She’d forgotten my name already. Regardless, I paused and watched her run over, two make-up artists and a hair stylist attached to her.

  ‘Hey, you’re leaving?’

  ‘I am,’ I confirmed. ‘I have someone coming over to my place to check out a room I’m renting.’

  ‘Well, uh … ’ She shook off the beauty team and watched them run cowering into a corner. She lowered her voice and leaned in towards me. ‘Thanks. What was your name again?’

  ‘Jenny.’ I leaned in for a half-hug and she sort of melted against me. Even if she was a clear foot taller than me in heels. ‘Just remember, guys usually aren’t worth destroying hotel rooms over.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ she sort of smiled. ‘I trashed that place, huh?’

  Good grief.

  ‘I won’t be booking in for a relaxing weekend anytime soon.’ I saluted my new ‘friend’ and stepped back. ‘Now go model the shit out of those clothes.’

  This time when she smiled, it lit up her whole face, making her eyes glow. Now that expression I’d only seen on her iPhone. Hopefully she’d be able to translate it into a cosmetics campaign very soon.

  After the utter chaos of Sadie’s hotel room, my apartment looked like a sanctuary. Sure, there were a couple of dishes that needed doing and, absolutely, the floor needed sweeping, but I just didn’t care. I was exhausted. Sigge the Stud had texted to say he’d be over at seven. It was a weird time to view an apartment, but I figured he was Norwegian or Swedish or whatever and maybe it was like Spain where they did everything late at night. Thank god I didn’t have a date. Ha. I poked my head around the door of the spare room and, satisfied that I would happily rent it if I were a giant male model who needed somewhere to lay my head
, I ventured back into the living room and vaulted myself over the couch.

  My jeans were still damp, not a pleasant sensation, but I was too tired to care. It was a while since I’d played Dr Jenny and I was exhausted. Model number one taken care of, a little siesta and then I’d deal with model number two. And then maybe I’d hang out with three of my favourite friends: Ben, Jerry and Papa John. The perfect Friday night in New York City.

  For a shocking change, I slept way too long and woke up cold and uncomfortable to the sound of my ringing phone. I’d set the air-con way too high and my jeans had physically attached themselves to my ass while they dried. I knew I should have ordered pyjama jeans.

  ‘Hey, it’s me, are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine, Angie,’ I yawned into the handset. What time was it? ‘Just taking a nap.’

  ‘Oh, shit, sorry.’ A professional dozer herself, Angie had always respected someone who could sleep. ‘Just checking in on the model thing.’

  ‘She was a pussycat,’ I lied. ‘One day with me and she’s a new woman. What happened after I left last night?’

  ‘Truth or more flattering alternative?’ she asked.

  ‘Truth.’

  ‘Craig asked where you’d gone, I told him you’d left because he’s a total knob-head and he went home with one of the barmaids.’

  ‘I missed out on a keeper.’ I rubbed smudged mascara carefully from underneath my eyes. ‘I’ve got to go, Sigge is coming to look at the room and he strikes me as the on-time type. Call you tomorrow?’

  ‘Sigge the hand model?’

  ‘He’s not a hand model.’ Although he totally could be a hand model for all I knew.

  ‘I googled his name, it means Victory Bear.’

  ‘Bye, Angie.’