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Chapter 8
CROSS
Ashriek that just about split my eardrums erupted from beneath the canopy of Joey’s stroller. He was going through a phase, as the baby sitter explained to me, where he was “finding his voice.”
And from the sound of it, he had a pretty damn loud one, and he was doing a good job of finding it. I rolled his carriage across the sidewalk out of the way of pedestrian traffic to peer under the cover that kept the sun off his face. I had to take a moment to make sure all was well in his world. When your kid sounds like someone’s cutting his arm off with a dull knife, and everyone around turns to stare like you’re the monster who might be doing it, you tend to check in.
But Joey was fine. In fact, he was better than fine. When he saw my face, he emitted another shriek, followed by the cutest damn smile I’d ever seen in my life.
How could I be so in love with another human being?
It was just the two of us, Joey and me. We’d lost his mom when he was just a few months old. We were kind of raising each other. Although Joey would not know that for quite a while. No, for now, for all he knew, I was a freaking god. As long as he was fed and had his diapers changed, I pretty much was god to him. He was blissfully unaware of my worries about being a competent single parent, serving as a good example, saving money for his college, and the myriad of other items I tried to keep in line on a day-to-day basis.
In fact, it was because of Joey that I was heading to a photo shoot for an ad for Forest’s latest collection—the same one my buddies and I had modeled a few days previous in his Fashion Week show.
“Silvana, we’re here,” I called into the intercom on the outside of the sitter’s building. The door buzzed loudly, and I bounced Joey up the front stoop and into the lobby where I called the elevator for the second floor.
“Ah, it’s my little Jose,” Silvana purred, wearing a well-worn apron, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She grabbed my guy out of his stroller and planted kisses all over his fat little face. He giggled, and all was right in my world. I slipped back out, and neither of them even noticed.
My next stop was the photo studio in Chelsea where all the magic would happen. I’d been there many a time doing catalogue and other modeling gigs, so I knew the drill inside and out. It wasn’t the most exciting work, but it paid well and let me work on my mystery novel when there was downtime. And at a photo shoot, there was lots of downtime.
I wouldn’t have minded spending all my days spinning yarns, but modeling paid the bills and then some. The choice was a no-brainer as soon as my wife and I had Joey. And now that the kid had only one parent, it was more important than ever to build up a nest egg to protect him in case, god forbid, anything ever happened to me.
“Hi, you’re Cross Granville, right?”
Well, damn. If it wasn’t the very attractive blonde from the fashion show who we guys had just been talking about. Wait ‘til she found out that not one, but four dudes—who happened to be friends—liked her. She’d be thrown for a loop, no doubt—they always were at first. But if she came around, it could be a win-win for everyone.
“Yes, I’m Cross. And you’re Kealy, right?”
Her head snapped up from her list, or whatever it was she was looking at, and a blush ran across her face.
“Um, yes. Yes, I’m Kealy.”
She couldn’t be that surprised I knew her name. Could she? I mean, a pretty girl like that was noticed all the time. Of course her admirers would ask her name.
I extended my hand to put her at ease.
“I’m not a stalker, I swear. I just know your name from Forest’s shows.” I added my best non-stalker grin.
And it worked. Her hand relaxed into mine, and she smiled a damn gorgeous smile. The guys had said she had the coolest green eyes, and they weren’t kidding. That was the first time I’d seen her up close enough to have a conversation with her, and if there was one thing I promised myself, it wouldn’t be the last.
“Why don’t you head over there, Cross? Muse will show you what you’re wearing and then will get you to makeup. Hey, any particular music you’d like to hear?”
Usually, I was kind of particular about the music played during a shoot, if I were given a choice in the matter. But not that day.
“Why don’t you choose, Kealy? I’d like to hear what you like,” I said.
And don’t you know, she blushed again. Damn, I liked that.
“Okay. I’ll choose. Thanks, I never get to pick,” she said, heading over to the stereo to get Pandora going.
When I was next up in line for the shoot, I still had some waiting to do but I couldn’t sit and relax—the clothes they had me in had been steamed to perfection, and then pinned so they appeared to fit me perfectly. One wrong move, and the whole production team would have to start over. And I’d be in the doghouse.
So I decided to chat up my pretty new friend.
“So, Kealy, which do you enjoy more, fashion shows or photo shoots?” I asked her. Lame question, but I’d never been too good at small talk.
“Oh, definitely the shows. I mean, they are a ton of work, but they’re over pretty fast.” She looked around to make sure no one was in earshot and lowered her voice. “These shoots take forever, sometimes.”
I nodded. “I feel the same way. That’s why I bring my laptop. When there’s a chunk of time, I’ll sit down and do a little writing.”
She looked me up and down. “Well, you’d better not sit down right now, or someone will be coming for your head.”
I laughed. “I know, I wouldn’t dare mess up the perfection that is this ensemble,” I said, gesturing over my clothes.
When the shoot was finally over—and by the way, I’d not been able to sit down long enough to write a word of my story, but what are you gonna do?—I took my sweet time getting back into my civvies.
“Hey, Kealy, need any help packing up?” I asked, when I was dressed in my street clothes and had wiped off my makeup.
She looked at me as if I’d just asked her if she was from outer space, which was really no surprise. The models were usually the first to hightail it out of the place once their part of a shoot was over. If she were to do this sort of work until the day she died, she’d probably never get asked that question again, not by a model, anyway. In fact, she was probably going to think I was a psycho stalker. If she didn’t already.
“Um, no, I think I’ve got it under control. I’ve got my coworker, Muse, over there,” she said, gesturing with her chin.
“Well, if you’re sure, then I’ll head out,” I said.
“It was a good shoot. Thank you for coming. I’ll see you next time.”
Her coworker, the odd little guy wearing a bowtie, was headed in our direction. I wanted to make my move before he cockblocked me.
“Say, Kealy, my friends and I are having a party this weekend. It would be great if you could join us. I think you already know Marlon and Shane. Probably Rand, too.”
She nodded. “Yes, I do know them. But, um, I have a lot of work to do this weekend.”
“Oh, c’mon. You have to take a break at some point. Bring one of your friends. Bring Mr. Bowtie over there,” I said, pointing.
“Yeah, I won’t be bringing him,” she mumbled.
