“Defiant. I like the sound of that,” she exclaims. “What do you have in mind?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. All my ideas have been silly. Like, not vacuuming the carpet for a day, or leaving the toilet lid up. I don’t know how to justliveanymore.”
Juliet stills, staring at me with tears pooling in her big blue eyes.
“Don’t do that. If you cry, I’m going to cry. I’ve done enough of that.”
“That fucking shit-eating asshat gave you crap for things like that?” She sounds…wounded. I don’t want pity, but I love that she’s hurt on my behalf.
“Verbally, yes. He has a lot of rules. It was best to follow along because the more upset he got, the more violent he got,” I admit. “But we’re not going there. Today is Fuck Pierre St. Germain’s Rules Day. Officially.”
“Can every day be Fuck Pierre St. Germain’s Rules Day? Officially?”
“I like the sound ofthat.”
“Okay, first, we call Luke. Then, we call Luke’s guy. Then, we figure out how to rebel,” she confirms.
It takes a few hours, but David, Luke’s friend, has the process rolling. Essentially, he’s able to move my money with a system of what he calls decoys. Admittedly, I was confused by the process, since it’s so far outside of my knowledge of finance. Luke spoke very highly of David, though, and I trust that.
Growing up, our family financial status was never discussed, but I was aware that we didn’t have much. Or, at least, didn’t spend much. For all I know, my parents squirreled money into a nest egg.
Investing and saving wasn’t anything I learned. Before I started dating Pierre, all my money sat in a regular checking and savings account. I was irresponsible. Spending ridiculous amounts of money on frivolous things. Shopping sprees, lavish vacations, jewelry that I didn’t even like but was emblazoned with the hottest designer name.
I felt like I had to. As if the industry required me to be a model, even in my off time. Even when I wasn’t being paid. I never gave myself downtime, which got very expensive. Not to mention, exhausting.
Pierre was the one who pushed me to hire an accountant and financial advisor. I hired his. Only for it to be one more way I’ve been tied to my tormentor. Controlled by my abuser. The more ties there are, the harder it is to free myself from them.
When David agreed to help me, he offered to do it without a fee. I refused. He fought me on it until he started pulling my accounts up.
The one good thing that came from my relationship with Pierre is that he paid all the bills. My money was for my own incidentals and entertainment, what little of that there was. My accounts have blossomed in the three years since moving them to a knowledgeable advisor.
David says, within forty-eight hours, I’ll have my financial freedom back. From there, I’ll have to learn how to stand on my own two feet again.
Juliet rolled her eyes when I said I’d be paying her rent for the time I’m in Stowaway. She didn’t argue, though; I think she understands how important it is for me to accomplish every step. She eagerly agreed to go with me to shop for a new car and clothes that fit me. Not designer. Not luxury. Practical.
“Have you thought more about work?”
“Some,” I admit. “I should, at least, call Carolyn. She’s been emailing.” My agent is great at what she does, yet extremely business-oriented. Complaints about anything that happens outside of the studio or on set aren’t something she entertains. I don’t expect her to be sympathetic to my cause.
“Have you emailed back?”
“A couple of times to let her know that I’m safe but not ready to discuss anything else,” I admit. “I’m going to need something to occupy my time, soon, though.”
“Do you want to go back to modeling? Nothing says you have to.”
I’ve thought about this a lot since fleeing Los Angeles. If I could choose anything to do with my life, what would it be? Modeling wasn’t something I dreamed of as a child growing up in rural Arkansas. The thing is, I don’t remember dreaming of a job. My daydreams were filled with imaginary faceless people to love and who loved me back. People who nurtured a loving spouse, playful and happy children.
But never what I did daily to earn a living.
“I miss the work itself. I don’t miss the lifestyle,” I finally tell her. “I’m not sure I know how to have one without the other.”
“Being out of Los Angeles or New York would help,” she says. “Or even Paris and Milan. Luke has made it work staying in Portland, so nothing says you couldn’t do something similar.”
Juliet makes a good point. Most models live in the bigger fashion cities because it’s more convenient. Especially when starting out and running to go-see after go-see every day. Those days are over for me, though. They have been for a while, now.
“I don’t have to work as much, either,” I say.
“No, you don’t. You can afford to be picky. Only work when and where and with who you’re comfortable with.”
