Super Model's Daughter
By Rachel S. Rentz
ONE
Ava Marx's skinny right hand held a half-full can of her favorite energy drink to giveher that serious extra boost she needed in the morning-Red Bull. While she and her best friend, Charlotte White, searched through what seemed like twelve thousand minis at Bloomingdale's for the upcoming Hollywood debut for Ava's mother's new fashion line, her stomach felt queasy. Being the famous supermodel, Summer Marx's daughter had its challenges. To her and Summer's fans, life seemed like just peaches and cream for her and her mother. But to Ava, life kind of sucked at times. Normally when her mother actually paid the least bit of attention to her, they were always attending super-star studded red carpet fiascos and whatnot. And every time she and her mom went out, the paparazzi always did a cover story on Summer. But did they ever think to mention Ava, her almost-famous fifteen-year-old daughter? No.
Charlotte held up a teal sparkling mini dress from some designer Ava had never even heard of named Pierre VonHugh. Probably a wannabe fashion extraordinaire, Ava thought, grimacing at the teal thing and Charlotte hastily settled it back down on its rack.
"I don't get why I have to follow my mom around everywhere," Ava groaned. "And honestly, as if the press even gives a crap about Summer's no-name daughter." She took a swig of Red Bull and examined a violet red mini that sported ruffles at the top along the no-sleeved seam. She tossed it behind all the other dresses on the rack, hiding the dress in its shame.
Charlotte rifled through more dresses as Ava stood there in the middle of the store, one hand on the hip of her distressed True Religion jeans-a special gift from her dad, Quentin Marx, a big-time business billionaire. Ava's cropped tee from the chic-but-surprisingly-cheap Delia's catalogue hung around her thin figure. The little orange owl with Harry Potter-like glasses on her tee looked perplexed looking at all the not red carpet-worthy dresses in front of it-as did Ava.
"I still think you should take this big debut as an opportunity to be ambitious! Become the person you were meant to be, Ava. And by that, I mean get some publicity! The cam will love you," Charlotte argued, throwing Ava a golden, shimmery mini. Ava was always secretly a little annoyed by Char's big-vocabulary talk and lectures about how she should keep on striving to be the best. Well, according to Ava, she was already the best and was never brought down to lower standards. At Bradley-Lloyd Prep, anyway.
BLP was the school every person in southern California dreamed of going to, but only a little amount of people actually could. People like Ava and Charlotte were part of that amount.
"Char, I get it, okay? But I've tried that, like, oh I don't know-fifty million times already? Honestly, if the camera loved me, then it'd be basking in my glory twenty-four-seven and not the fabulous Summer Marx's. Didn't you ever think about that, Char?" Ava said, then she took in deep yoga breaths just like her yoga instructor, Madelyn, had reminded her oh-so-many times to do when she was upset and needed to calm.
Ava was also trying to get out of the habit of calling a cab almost every day down to Adelaide's Pool & Spa just when she was stressed about school or getting Lyle Bronson's attention. Even though at her house (achem, excuse me, mansion-slash-castle-slash-Californian paradise) they'd had any kind of assistant they wanted, Adelaide's was the best way to steer; even if it did charge over one-hundred-fifteen bucks to her father's MasterCard a day. Sometimes a deep-tissue shiatsu massage was all a girl needed to be centered again.
Charlotte sighed in sympathy to her friend. "It must be awful, huh? We can go down to Adelaide's today. Will that help?"
Ava shook her head and took another sip of her ultimate-energy and replied, "No. I'm on spa-probation from five mud baths last week. How 'bout I just call Tillie, my fashion consultant? She can find me some amazing dresses, pronto." Tillie Moore had been the fashion specialist for Ava for almost four years. She'd know exactly how to handle a crisis like this.
She pulled out her BlackBerry and pressed 6 on her speed-dial. Immediately, Tillie picked up with a rushed, "Yes, Ava, dear?"
"Can't find a dress for Sunday's debut. I need something small and sexy," Ava said into the little thin phone.
Tillie breathed a huge sigh into the phone, making a loud noise that hurt Ava's tiny ears. She pulled her head away for a moment.
"Ava, you're still working on that thing? How hard is it to find a dress?" Tillie asked.
Ava scratched her red hair-covered scalp and rolled her hazel eyes. "Well, gold really doesn't go with red hair," Ava remarked, throwing Char a look that said, "Get that ugly golden piece of crap out of my sight before I call the cops for a fashion felony!"
"Okay? So don't choose anything gold," Tillie advised. "The first step to finding the right dress is figuring out the colors that look good, and the ones that don't." That's one thing that Ava really liked about Tillie; she was always one step ahead and she was quite the problem-solver.
"I know," Ava grumbled, sipping the last of her Red Bull before smashing the can with her fist. "But green is so out this season, but it looks good on me. But if I wear green, I'll look like a leprechaun that just got covered in Christmas tree puke lost on its way to a rainbow. I swear, if I don't find the perfect dress in less than two minutes, I'm gonna freak."
"Sweetness, I'll look everywhere I can. Aren't you at Bloomie's?"
Ava dropped her slender shoulders. "Yeah-and actually, we're not having much luck."
Tillie sighed again. Apparently, the Hollywood teenage life was a little too complicated for her to understand some times. Ava loved designer. Anything with a pricy tag and a notorious name was right for her. K-Mart? Kohl's? Old Navy? Never.
"Look, I know you love name-brand. But sometimes, all that matters is your style. If it's tight on you, it's right on you." That had always been Tillie's motto for Ava ever since their first fitting when they'd found out that Ava was definitely more stylin' in tight minis.
Ava smiled as if there were hope when she heard Tillie's saying. "Thanks. But you'll still drop by to help, right?"
"Always," Tillie replied with a smile, even though Ava couldn't see it. "Love you bunches. Mwah!" She blew a kiss into the phone and they both hung up.
A split-second later, as Charlotte was rummaging through dress after dress; a strange sight caught her mocha-brown eyes. Could it be? An original Dolce & Gabbana limited edition deep purple mini. Perfectly tight, perfectly chic, and perfectly Avadorable. They had both seen it in Teen Vogue, listed as part of the styles everyone would be talking about. And there it was, hanging right behind a brown Louis Vuitton knockoff spelled "Luis Vuitton" on the label and in front of another one of Pierre VonHugh's phony designs.
"Ava, you'll love me for this," Char mumbled, pulling the dress of the rack. It had dark purple and black roses along the top, and there were no straps. Its velvet material felt unreal in Charlotte's hands, like she never dreamt of even seeing such a design in person. Ava, on the other hand, looked at Dolce & Gabbana designs every day, practically. "I have found a legendary mini...and in your size!"
Instantly, Ava snatched the purple dress and hugged it to the orange owl. "Oh my godfather! You found it, finally! Thank you, Char, you're the best!" she squealed, taking her little legs and scampering off to a fitting room.
She threw off her True Religions and her Delia's tee and slid into the amazing Dolce & Gabbana beauty. Ava admired herself in the mirror and looked at the velvet that squeezed her slim stomach and murmured, "Avadorable! Perfectly Avadorable!" and took it off.
The perfect dress had finally been found after days of looking through her closet, her mom's closet, Char's closet, and even Plato's Closet. And it was official: Ava was buying the limited edition mini. The price tag read $450.00, but she was Ava Marx. All she had to do was pull out her magic MasterCard and watch it do all the work for her.
"Again, thank you, amazing BFF," Ava said at the register with Char. "You wouldn't believe how desperate I've been for a dress. I actually looked in a strip mall for something! I'll never make that mistake again. I have no clue how poor people handle all of that."
Charlotte smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "It was nothing. But obviously they had that thing hidden back there for a reason," she said. Ava cocked one perfect red eyebrow. "The dress, I mean. You don't just see those lying around every Bloomie's in California, do you?"
"Exactly," Ava smirked. "And I'll look amazing being the only one with it on Sunday night! Just imagine how jealous Tyra Banks will be when she sees this!" Ava was happy until she realized she'd have to go home to overly strict parents and a stupid puppy to look after. Tiffany, the little black and brown puppy, was a Christmas present that she got when she was thirteen that she didn't even ask for.
"Gotta go home to those parents," Ava said, standing on the sidewalk and sticking her hand out to hail a cab. "You know how it is...being famous."
"Definitely," Char agreed, raising her eyebrows. She knew the stress that Ava had to go through. Her father, Trent White, was a famous football player, and he was always way too caught up in sports to even spend time with her. And now he'd divorced Charlotte's mom. Her family was kind of falling apart.
A grimy yellow taxi approached the girls, stopping beside the sidewalk. Ava and Char piled in, plopping down in the backseats. The cabdriver had a little goatee and barely any hair. Hanging from his thin lips was a cigarette with toxic smoke drifting out of it. Ava sat back in her seat, trying to keep away from the man. After all, premature wrinkles and lung cancer would not look good on her modeling resume. Neither would it look good in general.
"Where to?" the cigarette man asked with a grunt, shifting his gaze to Ava and Char.
"Um, just drop us off at Palmleaf Apartments," Charlotte answered smartly. Telling a random cabdriver Ava Marx's address was not a very good idea, and not something an amazing BFF would do.
He nodded slightly and cranked up the taxi, the engine whirring alive as the car started. The thought of people driving got her excited about driving. She'd had her learners permit, but she was having her sweet sixteen in less than a month, and she could not wait to get that sleek black Lamborghini she'd had her eye on at the GMC car shop.
"I cannot wait to start driving," Charlotte said excitedly, as if she'd read Ava's mind and decided to bring up the subject. "And my birthday's only five months away. I'm getting really good, too. You?"
Ava smiled. "I was totally thinking the same thing," she said, keeping a tight clutch on the big bag that her Dolce & Gabbana was hung up neatly in. "My birthday's so soon! I'm so stoked for that Lamborghini already. Secretly, I think my dad bought it but is hiding it from me. He's been acting a little suspicious lately."
Charlotte scoffed jokingly. "Girl, you and I both know your dad. He's not nice enough to do that for you," she kidded, giggling with Ava.
"Probably," Ava agreed.
Char looked out the window at the busy streets and people rushing to get into stores and apartment buildings. When she saw paparazzi standing outside of Millions of Milkshakes, she got an idea. "Hey, Ava, we should play 'Spot the Celeb.'" Spot the Celeb was the game Ava and Charlotte had made up when they were only twelve and just getting used to being related to celebrities after meeting up at BLP noticing they had a lot in common.
"Okay," Ava smiled and pointed to herself. "Me! I have one point already, Char!"
They giggled, and then a loud, rough cough filled their ears, surprising them. "Are you Summer Marx's daughter? Redhead?"
Ava patted her hair and tightened her grip on the dress for who-knows-what. "Um, I, uh..."
"You are! Ya know, my cousin Reggie's a huge fan, and an editor of the magazine Us Weekly," the cabdriver said.
Ava's lips crept up into a twisted smile. She thought maybe this could be her moment. Her moment to get at least one little story in a big-time magazine. "Okay, keep talkin'."
"Well, do ya think you could get your mother to answer some questions for him?" the guy said, taking out the cigarette and lighting a new one.
Ava's grin faltered. Of course, it was Summer that everyone wanted. Even unknown Us Weekly editors named Reggie. "Um, I'm sorry, but we're not interested."
The man's face turned into a grim look. "That'll be fifty extra bucks then," he said, the cab coming to a halt. Ava looked out the window toward Palmleaf Apartments where Char lived, happy to be away from that random cabdriver who wanted to invade her mother's business for his cousin.
"Fine, whatever," Ava said, pulling out her Dooney & Burke wallet and taking out eighty bucks. "Here," she said to the driver sadly, handing him the wad of cash and opening the door to leave.
"Reggie and I'll get that story on your mom someday! You know, the one everyone's talking ab-" the driver started, but Char closed the door too early for him to finish.
Ava locked her arm with Char's and walked into the beautifully decorated apartment building together. Palm trees were everywhere in the building, which made the place very appropriately named. They took an elevator up to the top level, where Char's and her dad's penthouse was.
Ava couldn't help but wonder what the cabdriver was talking about before Charlotte shut the door. A story about her mother that everyone was talking about? How weird. Nothing out of the ordinary was happening with her mom lately. Right? But then again, her mom barely paid any attention to her, so naturally, Ava didn't pay much attention to her mom.
"Taking a cab is so expensive nowadays," Charlotte said as the elevator rode up. "I mean, eighty bucks just because you didn't want to share your private life with some dude? Wow! I cannot wait till we get matching Lamborghinis."
Ava didn't want to tell Charlotte that matching expensive Hollywood cars would be sort of tacky, plus Char was her best friend. And she'd just helped her choose the most perfect dress for her mother's clothing line debut. She couldn't just tell off her friend like that.
"Yeah, seriously," Ava said reluctantly. "And what was the cabdriver talking about? Some big story about my mom? There's nothing wrong with her."
Char shrugged her skinny shoulders. "Who knows? I wouldn't worry. You know how those skunk bags are. Once in OK! there was a story that said my dad was giving up football to be on Broadway. As if! People make up all kind of stuff for money."
"Sleazy skunk bags," Ava agreed as the elevator door popped open to the penthouse level. The girls walked down the hall till they came to a door marked "The Whites" in fancy, gold lettering.
Charlotte stuck her key in the door and opened it. The penthouse was huge-the loft was all black and white, with a strikingly white plush sofa and fuzzy pillows of black and white. One big, crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling that was filled with little spotlights. A clear coffee table was centered on a polar bear fur rug upon the clean white carpet. A huge, sixty-inch flat-screen television was placed on a black TV stand, with shelves connected to the sides bearing books, magazines, knick-knacks, and family photos before the parent-split.
"Ah...home sweet home," Charlotte said, stretching and dropping her body onto the plush sofa. "I love this couch." She smiled and closed her eyes as if she were dreaming of floating on fluffy designer clouds.
Ava giggled and sat down on the sofa with Char. "I can't stay long," she said. "My mom wants me home by eleven." She looked down at her Coach handbag and pulled out her BlackBerry. "And it's ten-forty-nine! Ugh! Gotta go, Char."
"'Kay," Char smiled and hugged her friend. "And find out what that story about your mom was. If it's fake, I'll kick the big butt of whoever made it up."
Ava laughed. "Okay, see ya." She waved goodbye and left the penthouse, taking the elevator down and walking outside again to hail another cab.
"Ah, look who it is," the cabdriver from before grumbled, driving up in his dirty yellow cab. "My little supermodel's daughter friend." A creepy smile was perched on his lips and another cigarette was placed in between them. "Need a lift?"
She nodded and got in the car. "Just take me to the Hollywood Hills," Ava said, still clutching the dress.
"Hm. No specific address?" he asked creepily, the smile not leaving his lips. Ava shook her head no. No way would she ever give the creepy cabdriver her address. Or more importantly, Summer Marx's address. "In case we meet again, it's Earl."
"Earl?" Ava repeated, buckling her seatbelt. "That's your name?"
He nodded with just one dip of his head. "Yes." Then he cranked up the cab, taking them on their way to the Hollywood Hills.
The queasy feeling from earlier at Bloomingdale's returned to her tiny stomach. She gulped hard, cursing herself for eating that breakfast burrito from Taco Bell. How had she become so low? Eating like a fat man like that.
She swallowed again and looked out at the moving palm trees zooming past her hazel eyes. She looked up at Earl, whose black eyes were locked on the hilly roads and turns of the Hills. He glanced into the mirror, looking at Ava, who looked back down at her manicure from Kool Nails Salon. She kept tightening her grip on the hanger of the new dress. She figured maybe it was because she didn't feel safe in a car with this...Earl. If that even was his name. She just felt like there was something odd about him.
Suddenly the cab jerked to an abrupt stop. "Get out," Earl said coldly, unlocking the doors.
Ava did as she was told, climbing out of the taxi and walking down the road. She could see her huge mansion-slash-castle-slash-Californian paradise from where she was standing in the road. Normally, the cab behind her that Earl was in would've whirred to life and driven away by then, but no sounds or movements were behind her. She tried to ignore the fact that Earl obviously hadn't left, and trotted down the road.
Luckily, since there were twists and turns in the Hills, she'd be out of Earl's sight. She didn't want a paparazzo's cousin stalking her from a dingy old cab. Then she suddenly realized: She hadn't paid for her second trip. Oh well, she thought, he's got eighty bucks from me. I think he's okay.
Ava opened the big French doors to her mansion thingy, and arrived in the silent, cold foyer of her home. A big, grand mahogany staircase greeted her coldly when she walked in. Her little cream-colored flats clacked against the marble floors as she called her mother's name.
"Hey, Mom! Mom? You home?" she called, making a left turn into a hallway. She walked into her mom's office without knocking. There was the supermodel, Summer Marx in the flesh, sipping something from Starbucks and eating one of their huge blueberry muffins. "Hey."
"Oh, hey, sweetie, I can't talk now. I'm waiting on a call from Tyra," Summer said, taking a bite of the low-carb muffin.
Ava's shoulders drooped. "I thought you might want to know that I found a dress for Sunday. You know, since it is your debut." She walked over to her mother's wooden hand-crafted desk and dropped the bagged and hung mini on it. "Take a look."
Summer sat up straight and slipped the dress carefully out of the bag. Once she laid her mint-green eyes on the mini, they widened in surprise, and a little bit of muffin fell out of her mouth when her jaw dropped. "Sweetie, how'd you find this?"
"Bloomie's never fails," Ava said proudly, realizing that that was true. Even though she'd go through tons of dresses and coats and shoes, et cetera there, she'd always find something fantastic. And this little something, happened to be legendary. It would and it should make headlines. FIFTEEN YEAR OLD BILLIONAIRE WEARS LIMITED EDITION DOLCE & GABBANA DRESS-HOW DID SHE GET HER HANDS ON IT?! OH WAIT, SHE'S SUMMER MARX'S DAUGHTER! SHE SHOULD BE A STAR JUST LIKE HER MOTHER!!!
She could almost see the papers and mags raving at her style and victorious smile. Then the dreams of her future suddenly stopped as she remembered what Earl was talking about in the cab. Ava cleared her throat and it pierced the utter silence between her and her mom. "Mom, is there something that I need to know about?"
Summer's strawberry-blond eyebrows creased in confusion. She released the muffin and sat back in her leather office chair. "No. Why?"
"Well, um, there was this cabdriver...who is cousins with an editor for Us Weekly. And he said that there was some big story about you that everyone was talking about," Ava admitted, not looking up at her mother. She didn't want to see the expression her mother was making-it was probably a concerned look, and one that Ava was very used to seeing every day.
Summer sighed and sipped her coffee. "Hon, I've told you not to listen to random people. You never know the truth, baby."
"And that's the problem! I never know the truth about my own mom, and that's just... weird. And it makes me feel like you don't care about me," Ava confessed, taking a step back from the desk and grabbing her mini.
Summer looked stunned that her daughter would say that. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead she just sat back in her chair and picked up her landline phone, dialing someone's number.
"Fine," Ava muttered, click-clacking out of the office and upstairs to her bedroom, just to find that dumb dog lying on her double bed, soaking up all the loveliness of her awesome Tempurpedic mattress.
Tiffany squirmed and let out a little bark as she ran to Ava. Ava scratched behind Tiffany's ear a little bit then poured some food in her food bowl out in the hall beside her bedroom.
"There," Ava grunted. "Now stay out of my room." She slammed the door to her huge bedroom, letting little tears roll down her makeup-slathered cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand as her BlackBerry bleeped from inside her Coach bag. She ran to it, hoping someone would make her feel a little better about her life. And it was the truth-being a celebrity's kid wasn't all fun and games. Having paparazzi trying to track you down twenty-four-seven, never being able to spend time with your parents, and never being able to go out in public with them without being trampled by cameramen sort of sucked.
The text was from Lyle, her crush who obviously had a crush on her too. What guy in school wouldn't? At Bradley-Lloyd Prep, if Ava or Char crushed on a guy, they'd always like them back. If not, Ava suggested Dr. Thorne, LA's best psychiatrist.
Hey. Call me.
Ava shook with giddiness as she speed-dialed 3 on her phone. 1 on her phone was her dad's office, and 2 on her phone was her mom's iPhone. That's why she rarely pressed those buttons.
"Hey, Ava," Lyle said on the other line. "I've been wanting to talk to you."
Ava smiled. "I wanted to talk to you too."
"I really like you...you know that, right?" he asked nervously.
Ava's pits almost exploded with anxiety sweat. She prayed her Secret anti-perspirant deodorant would keep its promise. "Of course, Lyle. I like you a lot, too."
"Well, I was hoping we could meet up tonight. You know, my brother's got a concert tonight, and well, I was hoping he could drop us off at Olive Garden, then maybe we could get some milkshakes. I really need to talk to you in person." Lyle's older brother was the famous heartthrob, Will Bronson, a guitar-playing indie-rocker who millions of girls the world over loved.
Ava's hazel eyes almost burst out of their sockets she was so excited. "Oh, sure! What time?"
"Um, I think eight. Cool?" he said nonchalantly, and Ava could already picture her and Lyle together on their first date, leaning in for their first kiss ever.
As if she needed to be more ambitious.
"Yeah. I'll see you then," Ava said coolly, then said a quick, "Bye."
Lyle did the same. "Bye." Then they both ended their conversation with the touch of an end button.
Ava's grin grew wider as she pranced around her room with happiness. "Oh my godfather! My first date with Lyle! Eeeep! Every girl in school will be so jealous! Well, not that they're not already."
She plopped down on her bed and rested the back of her head in her palms. She kept her smile plastered on and thought, Boy, maybe my life is all peaches and cream.