Chapter10
But this was a new day, no better than the day before but different. I was still hung over from the guilt of my actions. I was still replaying the events of yesterday and rehashing other options even though it was by now too late. Even as that thought took formation in my mind, the front doorbell rang. I got off my perch by the kitchen isle, and leaving my unfinished breakfast, I went to answer the door.
A familiar bouncer, massive in size, stood before me, and by his side was a lawyer. The black and white suit with the poker face was a dead giveaway. Ricky Lutton.
"Are you Ms. Claire Williams?"
"Yes."
"Owner of Claire's Consultancy?"
"Yes."
"I am Stephen Fry, Mr. Ricky Lutton's lawyer," said the man before me, holding out his hand.
I ignored it.
"I have some documents for you to sign. A copy has been sent last night to a Francis Bucannon of Andrews and Perkins. Francis contacted me this morning, saying that he had been appointed by you to handle this matter. He said he represented you and Erin. I took the liberty of confirming that for you. As you know, Mr. Ricky Lutton deemed this rather urgent, and as you were not responding to our phone calls—"
Just then, a car pulled to a screeching halt before my door, jerking our attention away to the newcomer. The door slammed, and the clicking heels on the pavement had my heart thudding in fear 'til its wearer cleared past Stephen's silhouette.
I sighed in relief, seeing that it was Erin's assistant. She marched past the bouncer and pushed past the lawyer. "Erin asked me to check on you. You were not answering your phone," she said pointedly.
I looked at Tracy, one of Erin's few assistants whom I actually liked. She was brusque to the point of rudeness and pushy beyond measures, but she was genuine. What you saw was what you got with her. Her slick silhouette only made her that much more interesting. I watched with hidden admiration that never failed to strike as I watched her do her thing and make Ricky's lawyer sweat for it.
"I am Tracy Stevens, and I represent Erin's harem of a modeling agency. We represent Claire Williams. Anything you have to say to her as to goes through me."
Seeing Tracy turn on Ricky's lackey made me smile.
"I am not here to—"
"Better yet, why don't you make an appointment like the regular people, and we'll see if we can fit you in," Tracy said boldly and moved to bodily crowd Stephen Fry out of the doorway. The bouncer he brought with him stepped up and stood his ground before Tracy. I saw the slightest smirk curve up the corner of his lips as the rustic blonde dropped a flirtatious wink at Tracy.
But it was too little too late, for Tracy had already herded them back the mere two paces needed. Now, she merely offered up the towering hulk a satisfied smirk as she slammed the door shut in his face.
The doorbell pealed a moment after, and persistent hammering followed.
"Care to tell me what that's about?" she asked, even as she made her way to my kitchen to rummage about my pantry, pulling out what looked to be the makings of a delicious sandwich. She slammed through cupboards and the fridge before settling to chop up some cooked meat and greens to toss into her sandwich.
She took a big bite that defied her petite frame and quirked a questioning brow at me.
I realized I had been rudely staring. I lifted a placating hand to indicate I would address her queries; then, I picked up the phone to call Francis, the lawyer Erin recommended. I couldn't turn to my usual lawyers since Janice was a client there as well, and I couldn't underestimate the reach of Janice's influence.
"Francis Bucannon? This is—"
"Claire! I have been expecting your call. I have just finished going through the contract Stephen Fry dropped off. I don't know what the urgency is, but as I was told to look it over, I did. I rang to confirm it with you, but there was no answering of your phone. The contract is conventional. There are no surprises in it. But are you sure you want to sell?"
I wasn't ready to answer his questions, so I said, "Thank you, Francis. That was just what I called to find out." Then, I said my goodbye and hung up on him. I realized I would owe him an apology. He didn't deserve my shoddy treatment, but in my present mental state, this was all I could manage.
"You want to talk about it?" Tracy offered quietly.
I looked up at her and realized that I did.
I told her everything. I went back as far as I could and sobbed the sorry tale out to her. Tracy listened, quietly munching away at her sandwich as she did. I could tell she thought this all to be as intriguing as your average soap opera.
"So, let me get this straight," she said finally, long after I had fallen silent. "What you're saying is that asshole out there actually holds the key to your freedom?"
I nodded my head hesitantly. With a roll of her eyes that told me in no uncertain terms what she thought about all this, Tracy hopped off her kitchen stool and marched toward the front door. I heard her open it, and she exchanged some words with Ricky's men, and then, she was strutting back to slam the heap of paper before me.
"Sign here, here, and here. Don't think it through; just do it," Tracy instructed firmly.
I stared up at her and felt instantly better. It took a load off, knowing she supported my actions—that she thought it a good idea too. I took the pen she placed in my hand and signed where she pointed. I read it through as I went and saw that things were more than in order. Ricky had included a generous value to his purchase. I didn't think I needed to work anymore.
I felt a burgeoning excitement clash with my ever-present guilt. This money was not really mine to take. It felt a little underhanded to cash in on the sale. It was as if I were benefiting on all fronts. My freedom from Janice and a cash bonus to boost. I did nothing to earn it. Signing off the last page, I decided to cash the check and pay Janice the greater portion. It was her efforts that gave Claire's Consultancy any worth at all. This was her money. I would keep enough to help me tide over if I failed miserably on the catwalk tonight.
I handed the sheaf of papers to Tracy and watched as she marched to the front door and passed it on to the waiting lawyer. Sending the men on their way, she shut the door and stated," Now, let's get you ready for tonight!"
****
It was a gothic scene of bedlam.
All hell had broken loose. Not only had Tracy and I been mobbed outside on our arrival by protesters, claiming the leather we would wear were a cruelty to animals. That we should evolve from slapping on skins of other species and don synthetic wear. I gathered a multi-million-dollar synthetic fabric manufacturer was behind this. It would be the perfect event to launch their product. The amount of spotlight turned to this event alone would light up their protest and offer of an alternative, enough to be seen from outer space.
I had spent most of earlier prepping for this night. Tracy had taken me to the regular beauty salon Erin's harem frequent, and I was put through the usual waxing, treading, and facial. I hadn't wanted any stress-induced breakouts, so I had insisted on a light herbal application. In a way, the afternoon had been ideal. After the wrought full night I'd had, this bout of combined activity and relaxation was just what I needed. I was scheduled to be at the venue at least a couple of hours earlier. The fittings had all been done prior, but hair and makeup would still take forever.
But I was here now, and my way in was blocked by the throng of protestors. I pushed my way through and kept up with Tracy's bold and intrusive strides as much as I could. Reaching the backdoor, Tracy flashed her access pass, and I dug out mine to do the same before the bouncer guarding the rear nodded his head and moved to let us in.
I knew Tracy had a couple of other Erin's girls to check up on, so I was not surprised when she flung me a short dismissive wave before disappearing off in the milieu. Head designers, assistant designers, shoe designers, set designers were just a few of the many that dashed past. Models were plentiful, dainty, and mostly distressed. With hair and makeup half done and clothing half-off, they resembled the finer porcelain figurines of bedlam, an apt appearance in line with the chaotic disruptions in and around the dressing area. I watched Tracy's bobbing head vanish out of sight then turned myself, to head off in the opposite direction. I knew my way about and headed straight for my allotted dressing area.
"There you are," huffed Rafael as he blew up beside me in a flurry of activity. "Hurry! You have to hurry. There has been a change in your attire. You need to try on the couture and let us see to its fit."
"What?" And just like that, my own hard-earned peace was overruled with turmoil. I joined in on the emotional chaos that was abuzz around me.
This was all I needed—a last-minute change in wardrobe. My couture had been ensemble and fitted over weeks prior to tonight. I didn't see how they could do any better in the time remaining, but I guessed they would surely try. I was hustled over to my changing room and told, in no uncertain terms, to strip.
I hated this part the most. Having to remove my clothing and strip down to my thong knickers in front of a heap of strangers was hardly inspiring. That half of these strangers were lightweights, weighing no more than a bag full of feathers, made the feat positively daunting. But then again, this brand of humiliation would certainly outdo any other possible in performing the catwalk on the bloody runway. Gritting my teeth, I did as I was bid.
I stood there while a bevy of assistance discussed the best possible approach to draping the couture over me. The heap of material looked horrendous. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought it the belongings of a goth-like clown. But I had been in the fashion industry long enough to know that if you wouldn't touch it, even if it was the last piece of cloth left on Earth, then what you were looking at was a sure winner.
I grunted in contemplating it and received a nudge, shoulder to shoulder, from Rafael. I could tell he wanted me to behave and was silently urging me to impatiently get on with it, so I did. The attire was swiftly fitted then removed altogether, and I promptly burrowed back into the temporary and undemanding shelter of my robe.
The bustle about me picked up a pace as the clock ticked on. The atmosphere grew tenser. I had spent the better part of prep time being refitted into a horrendous outfit. I was now sorely lacking in time for my hair and makeup. But I was in impeccable hands. Rafael managed to lure an additional set of hands to work with him on me and transforming my hair and face.
All too soon, I was back in the dressing area, removing my robe to don my first outfit. The simple two-piece, loose-flowing, black pants paired attractively with a wraparound white silk shirt. Matching accessories were being snapped onto my ear lobes and draped about my neck. I was plumped, prodded, and yes, even pinched. Not all present there were gay; then again, lesbians were not a scant few either. So, naturally some inappropriate contact was inevitable. I tried not to see or feel the possible groping. I even contemplated the possibility that some of it could well be innocent if careless touches. I was, after all, on a free-show/free-feel for all.
I stepped into my ridiculously high platforms to move in line, taking my place behind a line of shivering, under nourished, and high on nerves skinny models. I was to be one of the two plus-sized at this show. But I was in a state, so what should have normally reduced me to nerves failed miserably. Instead, when the path before me cleared, and the spotlight shone onto my face, I simply grimaced and grunted then proceeded without fuss or further prodding to strut my stuff down the runway.
I completed my turn without much ado then threw out a hip and struck a defiant pose. A hand placed on a curvaceous hip, I decided to take a moment to survey my audience. I spotted a few of the familiar within and then the burst of flash blinded me. So, I decided to move on. It was about then that disaster struck. With only two more changes left, it couldn't have happened at a more inopportune time. I glared at this horrid turn of the fates, even as I reached out to grab hold of the falling blonde on the approach toward me. I recognized her as a newbie, like me.
"Sorry!" I muttered for her ears only before I took matters into my hand and did ... the deed that would save our asses.
I spun her slighter and younger frame into a dip then stared at the soft pink lips that I would be shortly covering with my own. I contained my natural revulsion with a maturity I didn't know I possessed. Then, I swooped down to kiss her on the lips.
I had intended it to be as chaste as was possible, but my pliant accomplice turned clingy, and the next thing I knew, my gasp was turned into a full-blown open-mouthed kiss. I broke off with a glare that should have reduced her to ashes then turned that glare onto the suddenly uproarious crowd around us, slapping hard and clearly cheering us on. When an otherwise rigid-looking old lady actually tossed me a wink. I could have done murder right there and then.
But as it were, I merely tossed the leachy model back onto her scrawny twigs for legs and made for my exit with as much aplomb as I could muster, seething mad as I was.
"Oh my god," Rafael muttered quietly into my ear.
"Let's just get this shit over with," I muttered back through gritted teeth. I donned my next change and did my thing on stage. This ensemble was beautiful. It was the only piece I might have actually bought if, of course, I was a millionaire with all those millions to spare.
The floaty pantaloons were almost romantic-like, but I doubted my big-breasted look would come across as sweetly so. It didn't matter; my pleasure in my outfit helped me temper my anger to an acceptable level of rage and complete my walk with the required swagger. I then return amicably back to Rafael without any further mishaps. The increased flashes were, by now, merely irksome though I would have to rest my eyes later for sure.
If only we were accessorized with sunnies. I sighed heavily then followed Rafael's retreating form barking orders to his assistants as he went. The last ensemble—the dreaded couture—awaited me.
"Nice save!" Tracy complemented as I sat there in front of the dressing table, having my makeup changed ever so slightly but to a dramatized impact. My gray eyes, lined darker with kohl eyes, was given a smokier look to embellish my next change even more.
"It was not like I had a choice. It was either let her fall flat, catch her and let the audience know what was what, or do what I did," I muttered indignantly. It had been the right decision. What was the point of simply catching and up righting the damn blonde when everyone would know she tripped anyway? This way, they would think it was part of the show, and none would be the wiser. It was certainly entertainment anyhow.
"I would have let her fall," said Tracy maliciously. I smirked at that, knowing she wouldn't have. But I couldn't see her kissing her either ... or myself doing what I had done, for that matter. I must be under a greater strain than I realized. I shook my head at her.
"I think you're done," Tracy said, peering into my reflection in the mirror. I rolled my eyes at her. "I know I'm done, but I have to wait for Rafael to get that monstrosity in some wearable order."
Tracy looked to where I was pointing and shuddered in distaste. "Good luck with that," she murmured pityingly before heading off.
I sighed and went back to staring at myself glumly. I avoided looking at my blinking phone, knowing there were messages there that were very likely from Erin. I wasn't sure if he knew about the kiss yet, but I hated to think what he'd have to say about it. I had been stupid. I should have just let the damn girl fall...
"Fuck it! Claire! Get into this shit and get going," Rafael barked out an order that had me snapping into action. I dropped the light robe I had on and stepped into the appalling creation. I looked positively gothic. The assistant started to strap me in, pulling the corset ties ridiculously tight. My waist was now so tiny I had to stare at myself to see it. But then, the massive bosoms were of no help either, clearly distracting my efforts as it were. I glared at the image I presented, not happy with the goth-sex symbol image. If that was even a feasible comparison. Goths were rarely sex symbols, or were they? But then, how could they be? I mean, look at me! I honestly looked like I spent my time doing it with the dead and then the undead. Or both. Together.
I slipped on the blood-red stilettos and did my best to control the train that followed behind me in a sweeping fall of lace and dark leather. But the clock was ticking, and I wasn't afforded a practice run. Not in this at least. I took off for the makeshift ram with my litter of dressers cluttered around me, slipping on various ornamental pieces of what looked to be Egyptian designs in accessories. We made a procession of sorts, clearing the way through the dying bustle. Then, I was in position, standing to attention, with my back stiff straight, courtesy of the overly tight corset, to wait my turn up the ramp.
"Wait!"
The sharp call to halt came from the head designer for the collection I wore. I stood impatiently, already aching with the need to get the whole damn thing off and thinking dreamily of the long, hot, and soothing bath that awaited me after a night as crazy as this.
I waited, shifting my weight on my pin-sharp heels while the men convened to discuss something in the corner.
"Claire! You're going last," said the stage director. I glared at him," What? Why?"
"Behind the line. Now!"
I ignored the wails and grumbles that ensued around me from the other girls. But, by this time, I honestly didn't care. I just wanted this day to be over. I clenched my teeth to hold in my temper and made an effort not to stomp my way to the back of the line. I was faced with a death glare from Fiona, the original show stopper. It didn't do much for her.
Then, the line was moving, and with it, my temper, as the clothing I wore pinched into me from every side.
"Hold it," the director warned as I moved to follow Fiona out on stage. I grumbled under my breath but waited. I'd forgotten the last had to leave a gap between the rest. I'd also forgotten the last needed to escort the damn designer in a second lap.
Double damn!
At the nod of the director's head, I took the step that brought me up onto the catwalk. The runway was empty, giving me free access. The other models had convened over at this end of the makeshift ramp. They were stuck in various poses. I guess the aim was to appear provocative. It didn't strike me as such.
The girl I kissed actually dropped me a wink. I guess that might have been what set me off. I mean, you do a girl a good deed and save her career before it even started, and this was what you got in return. I suppose, in hindsight, it should not have bothered me as much as it did, but I just felt used. Not just by blondie, but by everybody—everyone here, ogling my person in this horrendous get-up.
My fury level rose a notch so that I was stalking across the catwalk and smoldering at every click of the cameras. I paused at the edge and placed my hands to grip my hips as I stuck that haughty model pose. The lights lit up like fireworks. My eyes watered from the impact. I tried to blink away the tears, but I couldn't help the reaction; it was natural in the wake of the flashing lights. Natural in the wake of all that has happened. I felt myself waver, so I straightened up from my pose and tightened my spine to stalk calmly back to make a slow turn then pose with the others while I waited for the designer to make his appearance.
An arm came about my waist. I struggled not to throw it off. Then, I saw it. Saw him. Erin. He was in the crowd and gesturing at me ... to smile?
I recalled then that lap with the designer required a beaming model by his side. Fuck! I couldn't be further from smiling even if Hell broke loose. I was doomed. I needed to smile. I made my frozen face stretch to what may be considered a grin. But a quick look at Erin told me it was merely a grimace. Well, it'll have to do. No one should be expected to smile in this get-up anyhow.
Then, we were off, the designer and myself, arm in arm, strolling along to the clapping and cheers of the audience. I felt my grimace change and a genuine smile emerge. I couldn't help it; the buoyant nature of a cheering crowd had its own magic. My face split in a wide grin that felt, in itself, unusual—surreal—after the emotional turmoil of the last few days. I found myself possibly getting a little hysterical, certainly laughing and clapping along with the crowd and then actually giving a tribute to the bloody designer. A good cheer really was magic. It made you do strange things.
I caught Erin's wide grinning face and knew he approved. That sealed in this false euphoria. I found myself floating back in it after our time was up, and we had to leave the stage. But it took that single step off the catwalk for it all to come crashing down.
For there, standing in front of me, was Janice.
I walked toward her then on past her, to my allotted changing area. I went immediately to the waiting assistants and raised my arms to enable access to remove my clothes and accessories. One by one, each adornment was painstakingly removed. I trembled in belated reaction—a combination from the earlier highs and the new lows that would come from Janice.
She paced to and fro, impatiently waiting for my assistants to be finished and be gone with this blasted fabrication. I kept my eyes averted, unwilling to face the venom in Janice's eyes.
The undressing took all about forever, but then, all too soon, it was gone, and along with it went the bevy of assistants filing out in an orderly line.
I stepped out of the red stilettos and picked up my robe to toss it about my shoulders. Then, I went to sit before the mirror. There was no way I was heading out in public with this much makeup or this ridiculously puffed hair.
I applied a healthy dose of makeup removal cream and started to patiently apply it all over my face. Then, I set about applying the clean facial puff to remove the lot, swiping it clean, feature by feature. It took a heap of puffs before the real me became remotely visible. But still, Janice remained silent. I was actually beginning to think she was a fiction of my imagination when she finally spoke. I had lifted a spray of water to dampen my hair so that I could comb the shit out of it.
"There. Now that you're back to being plain old Claire, we can sort this mess out. The diva you looked ridiculous. This is much better. I don't see why you need to model anyway. It's not as if you have any aptitude for it. Anyone can look the part with the heap of makeup you had on. But that is neither here nor there. With all the money you earned from selling me off to that... Well, I would have thought you'd retreat back into your cocoon of oblivion and leave modeling to the professionals."
I gaped at her, not sure if I were supposed to respond to that or simply process it. After the long day I'd had, this was all too much. I felt my eyes start to water. This time I simply allowed the tears to fall.
"That's right. Turn on the tap. You always were such a whiner." Janice scoffed at me before she moved to take the seat beside me. She stared into the mirror in front of her then picked up a brush to dab into the palate of foundation before us. I stared into the mirror at her reflection and watched her apply a touch-up skillfully. I didn't see why she bothered. She clearly didn't need it.
We sat there in silence. I, with my tears silently coursing down my heated cheeks, even as I admired her skillful strokes of the brush, and Janice, as always, oblivious to all but herself. It took me a moment, but I managed to get my weary emotions under some control.
"I needed to be free of you," I said simply. It was my only answer.
"We are related by blood, my dear." She shook her head at me pityingly. "I seriously doubt that by selling off the company that I set up for you, and that too for the mere pittance Ricky Luton offered, is going to liquefy that connection. We are sisters, and we will remain so. We are our only blood relations left. I just don't see how you could just throw it all away." Janice sighed heavily as if tired of explaining the simplest matter to a child. It was condescending, and it was so Janice.
"I didn't," I muttered under my breath in futile, knowing full well I had done just that. Hoped for just that. Cried for it even.
"Speak up. I can't hear your mumblings," Janice said impatiently.
"I said I didn't throw it away," I said simply.
"Well, if you think your actions have not caused a breach in our relationship, let me set you right. You most certainly have, so carelessly, tossed aside our—"
"You misunderstood. I meant, I didn't toss us away. I only sold you away," I bit out purposefully and in a surprisingly calm and controlled manner. Perhaps those few tears were all it took to revitalize the gumption. Or perhaps, it was just Janice's presence that served the same function. But whatever it was, I was riled up and roaring to go.
"You bitch." Her words were uttered with quiet menace.
I did not reply. I simply stared in growing fascination at our profile in the mirror. This was how we'd always been, but I was seeing a shift—a subtle but evident shift in power. The tensing of her eyes was a dead giveaway. She was more flustered than she was letting on. In fact, I would go so far to say she was on the brink...
The brush slid across the pale rose shade of blush, and then, she was applying it vigorously to her flawless complexion, enhancing the pink tinge already applied to her skin. The greater depth brought out the blues hues of her eyes and the lushness of her lips.
"You must have always had it in you to be this bitchy. You couldn't have grown a backbone overnight. Or was it Erin? Did being his whore give you newfound confide—"
She never got to finish that sentence, for my hand lifted, and I squirted the spray I still held in my hands right at her face. I stared at her profile in the mirror with a mixture of shock and glee. Her hair had dampened, and moisture smudged at her newly applied blush. The effect was nothing short of hilarious.