“I am not upset,” Debbie corrects primly into the phone. I can hear my dad grumbling something about “family”, “waste of time”, and “priorities” in the background. Sounds like the same old bullshit.
“I’ll admit I wanted to hear all about your job coming up, but these things happen. Where exactly is it again?”
I blink, stunned by Debbie’s eagerness to engage with me.
“U-uh,” I stutter. “It’s in Bali. There’s a big storm coming next week, so they had to move the dates up.”
“That’s too bad. It’s a group shoot, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” I answer. “Me and three other models. I’m modeling the plus-size options, obviously.”
She laughs, and I’m still at a loss for words.
“Plus-size or not, I know you’ll be the prettiest one there. You really have a way with the camera.”
“Thank you,” I reply quietly. With each exchange, I’m realizing I may have misjudged Debbie. She might be carrying more than her share of my baggage with my dad.
“Do you know any of the other girls?”
“No,” I say through a smile. “I wish. Sometimes there’s no chemistry with the other women in group shots. But I’ve worked with Pierre before.”
“Pierre?”
“The photographer,” I clarify. “He shot a piece I was in forHarper’s Bazaara couple years ago.”
“The one with the purple gown?” she asks.
I gape in silence before answering.
“Uh…yeah. Listen, Debbie. I think maybe I owe you an apology.”
“Oh, stop that,” she says dismissively, but I insist.
“No, I do. I don’t think I’ve given you a fair shot, starting with the fact that I don’t even have your number. I’m sorry for holding you at arm’s length.”
She chuckles lightly.
“You have been a bit hard to get to know. But it’s not like I don’t understand.” The line goes quiet, and when she comes back, she’s practically whispering.
“I hear some of the things your father says about your job; I don’t agree. You’re a real-life celebrity!” she balks, startling a laugh from me. “I’ve told him many times that if he doesn’t straighten up and appreciate you for who you are, he’s going to lose you.We’regoing to lose you.”
A lump grows in my throat, making it hard to swallow. I wouldn’t have guessed she cared either way. My dad’s other wives didn’t. My mother certainly didn’t.
“How about this?” I suggest brightly, steering the conversation into safer territory. “When I get back, you and I can grab lunch and talk. No Thanksgiving dinner or forced family portraits, or whatever else Dad had planned. Just lunch and maybe a cocktail.”
She laughs again.
“It’s a deal. Hopefully, we can work up to dinner with the whole family?” she pushes.
I relent with a grin.
“I definitely owe you that. I want to get to know Aaron and Matthew too.”
After a few more minutes of pleasantries, we disconnect. Me and my dad’s shit won’t get settled overnight, but it’s also not Debbie’s fault. Or her kids’. It’s time I gave her a real chance.
“Lift your chin? Not straight ahead, but towards the pier? That’s it.”
After intermittent showers delayed the equipment setup, we’re finally in position; me, leaning back against a smooth rock and Deanna, partially in the water with the waves lapping at her calves. I’m in paradise, modeling in what might be my last big shoot, and all I can think about is my call with Damon yesterday.
