Better Red

by Tara Lain

  “Of course I was. The moment you told me he’s casting.” He took a mouthful of champagne.

  The waiter came over and asked about dinner. Brock told him they were expecting another guest, so the serving people added a place for Giuliana. Red kept trying not to stare, but watching the servers work was fascinating. The way they lined up the flatware and used separate linens to establish the place—he needed to remember those things when he got back to Mom and Pop’s.

  When the place was set, the wine guy brought another bottle of champagne and put it in the ice bucket. Red had already had more than a glass, so that second bottle looked dangerous—and delicious.

  The waiter served some little pastry things that he called a name Red had never heard. It sounded like amooze boosh. He said it was to tide them over until dinner, but it didn’t take up much space in Red’s stomach.

  A big, rough-looking guy with a full beard, who might have been masquerading in his suit since obviously his natural clothing was torn Levi’s and a sweatshirt, stopped at the table. “Hey, Brock. Antonio.” He nodded, but his eyes never left Red.

  “Junior.” Brock gave him a sly smile.

  “Who’s the face?”

  Red looked back and forth between Brock and this guy. When did I become a face?

  “Junior Fargo, may I present Red Ridley. Red’s in town checking out the agency and the business.”

  “Needs some shots?”

  “Have them.”

  Fargo frowned mightily. “Who?”

  “Strausberg.” Brock shrugged. “What can I say? He doesn’t mind working on zero notice.”

  “He’s not as busy as me.”

  “Maybe. But sometimes flexibility gets you an inside track.”

  Fargo kept staring at Red until Red said, “Uh, guys, I learned how to talk before I was two.”

  Fargo snorted. “And that was what? Ten years ago?”

  “Eleven.”

  Brock put a soothing hand on Red’s shoulder. “Sorry, Red, but when I’m your agent, I’ll do most of the talking for you, so I thought I should get some practice.” He flashed the charm.

  Fargo raised both brows. “Oh, so he’s not signed yet. That’s mighty interesting.” He stuck out a meaty paw. “Well, Red Ridley, my name’s Junior Fargo and I’m the best photographer in town. I’d love to do some good shots of you.”

  Red narrowed his eyes but shook the guy’s hand. “I like the ones I saw today.” What he hell. If Brock wanted to give this man a hard time, Red could do the same.

  Fargo dug a slightly grubby card from his breast pocket and handed it to Red. “Trust me. Nobody’ll ever do justice to that face but me.” He grinned and managed to be cute in a daddy bear kind of way. “Call me anytime.”

  He walked away, but Red couldn’t tell if he was leaving or going to another part of the restaurant.

  Brock leaned closer to Red. “The thing is, he’s right. He is the best photographer in town, but he knows it and he’s a pain in the ass. So, this is the best possible outcome. Now he’s salivating over you instead of the other way around.” He glanced past Red. “Here comes Giuliana.”

  Walking toward the table was a small white-haired man, so elegant he made everyone else in the room look tacky. His black suit gleamed against the white shirt and white tie, both the color of his hair, and he wore a coat over his shoulder like a cape. The dark tint on his black-rimmed glasses made it impossible to see his eyes, but Red could still feel the intensity of the man’s gaze on him.

  Brock rose, and more reluctantly, so did Coyoten. Red followed. Brock held out his hands. “Paolo. What a delight.”

  “Brock, my darling.” He kissed Brock on both cheeks, then extended a hand to Coyoten. “Antonio, ciao.” He whirled, which made the coat flare, and held out both hands toward Red. “And who is this lovely child?”

  “I’m Red Ridley, sir.”

  Giuliana cocked his head and extended a hand toward Red’s hair. “Red?”

  “Short for Redmond.”

  “Ah, lovely. So, you’re Brock’s newest and best.” It wasn’t a question.

  Brock said, “Red’s still considering his options, Paolo.”

  “Of which he has many, I’m sure.” Giuliana finally acknowledged the waiter who’d been standing behind the empty chair and sat in the seat. Then he leaned in to Red. “Where did Brock find you, my dear?”

  “I’m from a small town called Ever After, New York.”

  “Charming!” He laughed and waved a graceful hand. “Isn’t this ever after something you Americans use in romance novels?”

  “Yes. We say they lived happily ever after.”

  “Ah.” Giuliana slowly removed his tinted glasses, revealing eyes so pale they could have been ice cubes. Maybe that was why he wore dark lenses. Perhaps eyes that colorless couldn’t handle the light. He focused on Red’s face. “We must all see that you live happily ever after, yes?”

  Red smiled—to cover his hard swallow—and took another sip of champagne.

  His three companions started talking about the fashion industry and people they knew. Red wanted to listen and learn, but his eyes kept drifting around the room, studying the people, many of whom were studying him back. One man across the room staring at Red was big—not like Fargo, the lumbering photographer, but graceful and hunky—like Mark. Jeez, what would Mark think of this place and these people? Just the idea of big, beautiful Mark, kind, generous Mark among these peacocks and birds of paradise made Red cringe. Birds of prey, more like it. Every smile looked tinged with self-interest—or self-defense. There seemed to be an awful lot of beautiful, very young women and guys at those tables. Of course, they were probably looking at him the same way.

  I wish Mark were here—even though he’d hate it.

  “What do you think of that, Red?”

  “What?” The heat flamed his cheeks before his brain caught up. “Sorry. I was thinking about something else.”

  Giuliana gazed at Red. “Something other than how I’m going to change your life?” His plucked eyebrows rose. “If you can walk, of course.”

  Red stared at the architectural face. So far as Red knew, he’d been walking since he was about nine months old.

  Brock smiled. “We’ll bring Red to your studio tomorrow morning, Paolo.”

  “Excellent.”

  The food arrived and Red tried to stay more alert. Hell, it wasn’t every day he got lobster. Make that any day. But having his “life changed” the next morning at Giuliana’s studio if he could “walk” was more than distracting.

  The lobster managed to taste good even though Red kept wondering what he was expected to do the next morning. He’d certainly seen models with their pouty lips and sunken cheeks stomping down runways on TV, but that didn’t resemble any walking he’d ever done.

  By the time they’d discussed dessert and rejected it in favor of their waistlines—that decision didn’t include Red—but in truth his eyelids were getting heavy. It’d been a long day.

  When they got outside, Giuliana kissed both his cheeks and said he looked forward to seeing Red in the morning. Brock put Giuliana in a cab and waved him away.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Red said, “What am I supposed to do in the morning?”

  Brock stood on the curb and chuckled. "Impress the fucking hell out of Giuliana so he invites you to become the face of his new season. His muse." He stretched the last word out so his lips puckered.

  Red crossed his arms over his chest. “How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

  He waved a hand. “Don’t worry. When you get to the apartment, ask Elbey for a quick tutorial in walking. He’s quite good at it. Then tomorrow, we’ll give you a run through on the catwalk before we go to Giuliana’s. Show up at the office at eight. You’ve got this.”

  The doorman produced a magical cab and Brock ushered Red into it. Coyoten had vanished somewhere along the way and Red didn’t really mind, except that he had to ride in a cab with Brock—alone. Fondly, he wishe
d for Mr. Merlinson. Still, Brock gave an address to the driver that sounded like the one Red had been told to go to.

  On the short drive, Brock mostly regaled Red with a sightseeing monologue about the buildings they passed, except when they got to the address, he said, “Seventh floor. Elbey knows you’re coming.” And before Red could so much as breathe, Brock leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

  Holy shit.

  It wasn’t a passionate kiss. It so took Red by surprise, there was barely any tongue because his mouth was just a tiny bit open. But it was still lips—from a man who was supposed to maybe be his boss.

  He couldn’t think of anything to say or do, so he stumbled out of the cab and to the door of the building. For a second, he stared at the array of buttons beside names like some collection of hieroglyphics, until it sunk in that he needed to buzz Elbey to let him in. Well shit, he couldn’t remember Elbey’s last name? They’d said it when they first met, but now it was gone from Red’s brain. Red hadn’t heard the taxi pull away, but he was damned if he’d turn around and ask Brock. Of course, sleeping on the sidewalk in the middle of New York didn’t sound great either.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Red cocked his head and read the list of resident names on the building registry. Anderson, Antonello, Beller, Dobridge, Dayani—

  Red grinned. There in great big pink letters, almost like it was written in lipstick, was the word Elbey! Anastasia. Sighing in relief, Red hit the button.

  It only took a second before the glass door buzzed and Red pushed through into a small, neat lobby. Ahead was an elevator and to the side a staircase. Against the wall stood a desk with no one behind it, but a telephone sitting on it. Guess that’s what I do.

  Before he could pick up the receiver, a voice echoed down the stairs. “Yoo-hoo, Red. Up here.”

  Red followed the sound, stepped into the narrow stairwell, and looked up. Peering down at him was Elbey’s pretty face, the mane of blond hanging around their face. They grinned. “Hiiii. Come on up.”

  Red nodded and trotted up the stairs, with Elbey leaning over the rail on the floor landing, grinning. When Red got up there, Elbey threw their arms around him. “Glad you made it. You took those stairs like a pro.”

  “I do a lot of walking.”

  “Come on in.” Elbey, who lit up the hall in a flowing pink bathrobe and a pair of bunny slippers, grabbed Red’s arm and pulled him down a narrow hall where a door stood partway open.

  Red’s pulse sped up. Who or what was behind that door? What would a “model’s apartment” be like? Crazier than Elbey’s outfit?

  He crossed in front of Elbey to an open room with a small kitchenette on one side and a couple doors on the other. A large floral sectional couch stood in the middle of the room, generally facing a TV mounted on a big stand by the windows. Through the uncovered windows, Red could see—more uncovered windows in nearby buildings.

  Elbey was leaning against the counter that separated the little kitchen from the room, leaning on their hand watching Red.

  Red smiled. “Nice place.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How many roommates do you have?”

  “It varies. The place is mine. I mean, my name’s on the lease. BrandFace pays me to keep other models with me. Right now, I have one permanent—well, semi-permanent since you never know—person staying here, and miscellaneous transients, like you.” He turned toward one of the doors. “I put you in with me, if you don’t mind. I figured that’d be better than having to hang with someone you don’t know.”

  “Thanks.”

  Elbey led Red into a medium-sized bedroom with two single beds on opposite walls and a couple chest-of-drawers between. “Merlinson brought your stuff.” They pointed to the small bag on one of the beds while flopping on the other. That’s quite an outfit you’ve got on.”

  Red nodded and perched on the bed that appeared to be his. It had a nice multi-color cotton bedspread on it. “They put me in this for the photo shoot. Believe me, I could never own it.”

  “Marchelaine?”

  “I don’t know.” Red shrugged off the beautiful jacket and looked at the label. “Yep. Marchelaine.” Not that he knew who that was.

  Elbey pointed toward a door. “You can hang it in there. Feel free to get comfortable.”

  “Uh, before I do, Brock said I should get a lesson in how to walk from you.”

  “Oh, sure.” Elbey hopped up, sucked in their cheeks, thrust their hips forward, extended an arm with a limp wrist, and sashayed across the room.

  Red started to laugh but wasn’t sure if Elbey was kidding.

  Elbey turned dramatically. “Now that’s how not to walk.”

  Red wiped a hand over his forehead. “Whew. You had me worried there. I mean, my slippers are cats.”

  Elbey stared at Red for a second, then laughed. “I like you. I mean I can’t give most of these divas a lo-cal soda, but you seem like a real person.”

  Red stared at the extravagant hair, the wild kimono, and the slippers. Yes, his gran had taught him to be polite, but he burst out laughing anyway. He just couldn’t help it. “I-I’m sorry, I just—” He laughed more.

  Elbey planted their fists on their hips, raised a slim nose imperiously, then threw their head back and joined in.

  When he finally got control of himself, Red gasped out, “Seriously. Even though I’m laughing, I do think you’re a real person too.”

  “Thank you, darling. Now, the thing about walking. Here are a few basics.” They kicked off their bunnies, walked to the other end of the room, and turned. “Up. Up.”

  Red stood by the bed.

  “Put your jacket back on.”

  He did as asked.

  “It’s great that the suit fits you so well off the rack. That means you’re a perfect size for the designers. That’s as important, more actually, as your look.” They took a big breath and stood straighter. “Imagine a string is pulling you up to the ceiling through your head.”

  Red let himself stretch up. Funny how he noticed that he tended to sink his head between his shoulders. Yeah, probably trying to keep people from looking at his face.

  Elbey said, “Now step out with your right foot and cross slightly in front of your body, then do the same with your left.”

  Red did it. “Feels weird.”

  “Yes.” They looked at Red. “The thing is, the cross-over walk is more a female model’s style. Women’s clothes look better with that kind of walk. Designers don’t care as much about male models as long as they don’t walk like ducks, partly because they aren’t as critical, high-paid, or famous. But I strongly believe they’ll use you in female shows as well.”

  “Female?”

  “Umm, yes. It was a big thing back in the day when Andrea Pejic was still Andrej and she walked in both male and female shows. Now trans models are the big thing.”

  Red frowned. “I’m not trans.”

  “No, you’re androgynous and beautiful. I doubt that designers will be able to resist. And of course, gender neutral, nonbinary clothing is huge now.” They gazed at Red for a moment. “Let’s say I have a hunch developing a genderless walk would be great for you.”

  “Is that how you walk?”

  “In a sense. I have a unique, slightly flamboyant walk that goes with my style. Designers know I attract a bit more attention than some of them want in a model, but that’s me. No one who wants a model who fades into the background hires me. You’re something else altogether.”

  Red nodded. “Well sure. I mean I’ll never be as gorgeous as you.”

  An actual crease appeared between Elbey’s brows. “Are you having me on, or are you that ignorant?”

  Red fell back a step. Elbey was always so kind. “I don’t understand.”

  Elbey crossed their arms over their flat chest. “Darling, I’m an event. You’re a face, a brand, a muse.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  They grinned, popping ridiculously deep dimples in their
porcelain cheeks. “You will.” They stepped out again and walked the length of the room, one foot planting in front of the other so their hips moved more than most men’s did while walking. “Now you try it.”

  Heat seeped up Red’s face, but he walked to the end of the room and then faced Elbey. “Don’t laugh.” He stepped forward, crossing the foot more in front of himself than usual, his ankle turned and he staggered to the side, collapsing onto Elbey’s bed.

  Elbey pressed a hand against their mouth to try to hold the peals of laughter in. “And I was just going to say I wouldn’t dream of laughing.” When they managed to stop howling, they said, “Try again.”

  Red made it all the way across the room the second try but felt royally stupid.

  Elbey nodded. “Not bad actually. Your natural walk is more graceful than most dudes who stomp along with their knees pointing in opposite directions as if they’ve never met. Add just a little of what I showed you to your walk and you should be fine. So, follow along with me.”

  Red fell in behind Elbey and, after a few lengths of the room, felt a bit less like a klutz. Walk, walk, walk, stop, hold, turn, walk, walk, maybe turn again, exit. It seemed like they repeated it two hundred times. Probably twenty in real life. Of course, this wasn’t real life.

  About that. Since somewhere around the time he sat in front of Coyoten’s desk, Red had slid into a weird fantasy world where he only felt half-real. The feeling hadn’t abated, and the champagne had helped.

  Elbey collapsed dramatically on their bed. “Okay, you’ve got it. Time to sleep.”

  Red shook his head frantically. “Nooo, I need more practice.”

  “Don’t be silly, darling. You’re way ahead of many models who’re already commanding high hourlies. You need to sleep.”

  “Okay.” He unzipped his bag and pulled out his sleep pants, then carefully removed the suit coat and hung it in Elbey’s closet. Next, he pulled off the light sweater and folded it in his bag. That left him in the suit pants, which he really needed to hang up.

  Uhh. He wasn’t used to undressing in front of anyone. He glanced uncomfortably at Elbey who seemed oblivious, but the increase in silence made them look up. Elbey frowned. “Darling, here’s the thing. If you’re uncomfortable taking off your clothes in front of little nonbinary me, how will you feel surrounded by nude male and female models and fully dressed designers, dressers, and makeup people most of whom are gay? Get over it!” They waved a dramatic hand, stripping off their robe, leaving their super-slender body clad only in a pair of baby-blue bikini pants.