“The most beautiful woman in the world.”
“Big compliment coming from a bona fide supermodel.”
“By whose definition?” I can’t help the laughter that bursts out.
“Mine! Back in the days of Linda Evangelista and Paulina Porizkova, you would be. Things are only different now because of social media. You still have a huge following there. I don’t know if you look.”
Linda said once that she didn’t get out of bed for less than ten thousand dollars a day. She got both praise and backlash for it over the years. I wonder how her critics would feel if they knew how much the top-tier models make these days. Despite the smoke Juliet is blowing up my ass, I am not a top-tier model. Though, I made much more than ten thousand a day on many occasions. Truth is, most don’t make all that much. I was a hard worker, but so much of it has been luck.
“I don’t. Not at my own accounts, anyhow. I check his to try and keep track. It’s hard to sort what’s real and what’s for show, though.”
“I’m starting to think everything about him is phony,” she says.
“Mostly, it is,” I say. “But I don’t want to talk about him. Or how he frightens me too much to take my own money. Or that all my possessions are locked up in his stupid house.”
“It is a stupid house, isn’t it?” She giggles, the wine now kicking in.
“It looks like a Transformer,” I say through laughter. It was a big concrete monstrosity that Pierre loved only because it was designed by a famous architect and he liked to drop that tidbit, as if it made him a better person for living in it.
“Oh, God, it does!” She laughs harder, snorting a couple of times, which makes me laugh. “He’s so proud of it, but it’s like you’re bracing for it to lift off at any minute.”
“How can someone who takes such gorgeous photos have such horrible taste?” I ask the question about him, but it fits me too. If I were to Google my name, there would be pages and pages of beautiful pictures of me, but I ended up with the ugliest of men.
“I had a man like that, once,” she says. “Before I knew you, but back in New York. His name was Levi. That should have been all the sign I needed. I’ve never known a Levi that wasn’t an asshole. He was a textile merchant and could find the most amazing fabric, but I rarely saw him in anything but a tracksuit.”
“You don’t even wear jeans. How did you manage to date a guy in sweats?”
“What can I say? He had a great dick.”
“I miss that,” I say on a sigh. “Pierre was below average and quit caring about my needs years ago.”
“I wanted to murder him before that nugget of knowledge. But now, I want to make it a slow, agonizing death.”
Eight
Grady
“At the height of laughter, the universe is flung into a kaleidoscope of new possibilities.”
Jean Houston
Iagree with Juliet.
Though I’m not proud of it, I’ve been outside and can overhear their conversation. They didn’t notice me weeding the shit out of the neglected flower beds when they came out. I can’t help but hear them when they’re only ten feet away.
Not only do I agree that this Pierre dude is owed a painful death, I also agree that it could be “like that” between Lou and me.
Louisa.
Lou fits her better. Lou is less fragile and delicate than Louisa. She may still see herself as frail, but I see her resilience. It takes a brave woman to move away from everything and everyone you know. Especially with nothing.
Though, I don’t know if a fling with her would be harmless for either of us. Something tells me I could get attached. Addicted to her—her rare smile, the faint smell of honey that she always carries.
I couldn’t place it, at first. When Paige was home last weekend, she wanted toast with peanut butter and honey. As soon as we had the jar open, the image of Lou curled on my lap sprang to mind.
I’ve been sniffing that jar like a damned addict ever since. She’s left me little choice, keeping her distance as she has since she broke down in my arms. We’ve messaged back and forth. Her replies are back to only a few words. It’s understandable, only I had hoped we’d progressed past that. Crossed some imaginary hurdle that landed us into a world of friendship rather than just polite neighbors. A world in which she relies on me.
Instead, it’s my best childhood friend that gets to hang out with her.
