Jill straightened, remembering how excited she had been to find the space. While the rest of the class had headed for the lush green spaces of Central Park or to the gritty industrial tunnels of the subway, Jill had wanted something different. Even after the others had finished shooting and returned to the studio to develop, Jill hadn’t found a place that spoke to her. When she finally did, her imagination sparked, and she worked straight through. Fueled by the euphoria of purpose and creativity, she finished a week-long assignment in record time. Finding that space and turning in the finished photograph was the happiest she’d ever been.
“Interesting composition,” Mrs. Brockhurst murmured.
“The space inside the warehouse was absolutely amazing. It’s a pre-war building so the windows are floor to ceiling, but the wind comes from the naval yards, bringing smoke. The soot on the windows filters the sunlight in the most amazing way. And the floors,” Jill gushed, unable to contain her excitement, “the floors are original hardwood, warped and scuffed from almost a century of use. The woodgrain is beautifully layered, and the texture shows up with the right exposure. The brick walls are old and crumbling but the color of the brick is warm, and it absorbs the sunlight—that almost never happens.” She breathed, then paused, suddenly aware of the flush on her face and the juvenile excitement in her voice. She pressed her lips closed and lowered her gaze, embarrassed by her enthusiasm. It was one thing to be excited in front of other students, but this was a job interview and she wanted to be taken seriously.
After taking a minute to compose herself, she raised her gaze. To her surprise, she was met with smiles from both Libby and her grandmother.
“Please, go on,” Mrs. Brockhurst said, gesturing. “Genuine enthusiasm for one’s work is refreshing and should be treated as the gift it is.”
Encouraged, Jill steadied herself and continued. “The image you’re looking at now is one of a pair I shot that day. There’s another that I like even better. It’s on the next page. May I show you?”
“Yes, please do.”
Jill’s favorite shot from that warehouse was honestly breathtaking. She’d taken it at a perfect moment, the elusive golden hour that comes just before dusk, when sunlight melts into honey tones and everything is bathed in magic. And just like magic, those moments were fleeting and you had to be ready for them. On that day, Jill’s model had assumed the fading light meant they’d finished work for the day, so she’d relaxed her pose. In a completely unguarded moment, she’d buried her face in her bouquet, breathing in the scent of pink peonies, and the joy she’d experienced was reflected in her expression. Jill had been there to catch it.
“You can see here that I softened the brick hardscape by filling the space with delicate stephanotis flowers and a tumble of variegated ivy. I draped a sheer curtain panel across the broken window—see how the fabric billows in the breeze from the river? Do you see how the ivory material picks up the colors in the foliage and even the lighter shades of grout between the bricks? Here and here?” Jill pointed, then realized she’d been explaining amateur photography to one of the state’s greatest art patrons, exactly the thing she’d told herself she wouldn’t do. Her face flushed again as she drew her hand away from the print.
“You’ve quite an eye,” Mrs. Brockhurst commented.
“Thank you.” Jill’s heart thumped in response. She might just get this job after all, and what a prize that would be! What a coup for her budding career. “What I imagine for Libby is something similar. Her hair color would be striking against the warm brick, but instead of an afternoon shot, I’d like to set up early in the morning. The sun rising over the river will wash everything in shades of pink and would pick up her skin tone. Libby’s bridal portrait will be beautiful and completely original.”
Jill was encouraged by Mrs. Brockhurst’s thoughtful examination of the photograph. She followed the older woman’s gaze as it swept the image, and when she noticed that Mrs. Brockhurst lingered on the same elements that Jill liked, she took it as a good sign. What if Mrs. Brockhurst took an interest in Jill’s work? That might lead to other opportunities, and wouldn’t that be wonderful?
Then, to her horror, Jill realized that Mrs. Brockhurst had noticed the very thing that Jill had hoped she wouldn’t. A mistake. During the shoot, Jill had laid down old bedsheets to protect the bride’s white gown, but she’d misjudged the amount of dust and grime that had accumulated on the floor from years of disuse, and a simple cotton bedsheet hadn’t been nearly enough protection. If she’d gone back for something sturdier, she’d have missed the light—and her opportunity—so she’d decided to press on. After the shoot, there were a few smudges on the hem of the dress where it had dragged on the floor, and on the cuff of the sleeve where the model had placed her hand on the hardwood to steady herself. Blemishes in the otherwise perfect photograph were unprofessional. They were easy enough to digitally remove, but Jill hadn’t noticed that she’d included the wrong prints until this morning. By then, it was too late to fix them.
She cringed at the sight of Mrs. Brockhurst’s fingertip resting on the smudge.
The mistake.
“The dress is fine—the dry-cleaners got the dust off,” Jill offered, unnerved as she sensed Libby stiffening beside her.
Mrs. Brockhurst shifted her attention from the portfolio and lifted her gaze to Jill. “How much do you know about my granddaughter’s wedding?”
“Libby’s told me a little bit about it,” Jill answered, deliberately vague. Jill knew almost everything about the Brockhurst wedding. Everybody did. “I know both the ceremony and reception will be held in New York.”
“It’s more complicated than that, I’m afraid. I’ve allowed things to get quite out of hand. Libby is my only grandchild, you see. Regretfully, she bears the burden of family obligation. I’ve lost count of the number of guests we’ve invited, and truthfully, I’m not entirely sure that I know all of them.” The diamonds on her wedding set flashed in the sunlight as she swept her words from the air. She straightened, her blue eyes sharp. “Libby’s wedding gown has been in the Brockhurst family for more than one hundred years—has she mentioned that?”
“No, she hasn’t.”
“It’s been altered of course, temporarily, to fit Libby, but the gown is an heirloom. Five generations of Brockhurst women have been married in that dress and it cannot be replaced.”
“I’ll bring something more substantial than bedsheets this time, and of course I’ll pay for dry-cleaning afterward,” Jill blurted, even as she felt her opportunity slipping away.
“My dear, one does not ‘dry clean’ a dress this old,” Mrs. Brockhurst sighed. “I’m truly sorry but I’m afraid my answer is no.”
Libby shifted in her seat, prepared to object, but her grandmother quieted her with a single glance.
“You have quite an eye, you really do,” Mrs. Brockhurst continued, turning her attention back to Jill. “But it cannot start here. There’s too much at stake. I wish you well, Mrs. Goodman.”
“I understand.” Jill pushed herself to her feet. “Thank you for your time.”
Two
It was a short drive from the Brockhurst home to the shops on the Village Green, but Jill barely remembered it. The disappointment was heartbreaking, and Jill wasn’t sure she could cope with it. There was one person who knew how hard she’d worked for this chance, one person who would understand her disappointment.
Jill pulled into a parking space and found her cell phone. She dialed the number, and as she waited for the call to connect, she adjusted the air-conditioning vent to blow cool air on her face. The tweed jacket she’d chosen had been a mistake—the whole interview had been a mistake. She should have removed the photograph from her portfolio the second she noticed the smudge. Including it was sloppy and unprofessional, not the impression she wanted to give. She yanked off her jacket and tossed it aside.
Ellie answered Jill’s call almost before it had a chance to ring. “It’s about time you called,” she kidded, her fa
miliar New Jersey accent as thick as ever. “You were there so long I thought you’d moved in. So tell me: how’d it go?”
Jill and Ellie had been best friends since fifth grade, ever since Ellie had rescued Jill from a series of horrifying packed lunches consisting of iceberg lettuce and rice crackers. When Jill turned eleven, Jill’s mother had decided that if Jill were ever to attract the right boy’s attention, she needed to lose weight. Every day began with a trip to the bathroom scale and her mother’s disappointing sigh. One day, Ellie claimed a seat on the bench next to Jill, unwrapped her lunch and offered Jill half. The gesture almost made Jill weep and they’d been nigh on inseparable ever since.
“The meeting with Mrs. Brockhurst? Not great.” Jill relayed the details as she waved the car behind her away. “I knew I shouldn’t have included that picture, El, but honestly, it’s my favorite. I didn’t notice that I’d included the wrong print until this morning, and by then I didn’t have time to fix it. I guess I was hoping she wouldn’t notice.”
“Still a great picture, Jilly.”
“Thanks. I liked it too.”
“Listen, you want to meet for coffee? I’ve got some time before I have to leave.”
As one of the coordinators for the family at the Brockhurst compound in East Hampton, Ellie was expected in Long Island for training.
“What’s the guest count up to now?” Jill asked, remembering an update she’d read in the newspaper. “Two hundred people?”
“Two twenty-five as of this morning. I don’t know where they’re going to put everybody.” Ellie sighed. “And get this: they want servers to call the guests by name and memorize food and drink preferences too.”
“It’s a ton of work, Ellie—”
“I’ll say.”
“But,” Jill continued, “I have complete faith in you. Imagine how great this will look on your résumé?”
After graduating high school, Ellie had gone straight to work. First as a server for a catering company, then as a team leader, then a supervisor. She had a talent for organization and an eye for detail, and promotions came quickly. Her dream was to start her own events company, and of course Jill wanted to help. She slipped Ellie’s business card to Marc’s friends’ wives, who always seemed to be hosting a party or event. But when Marc had found out, he was livid, reminding Jill again that her friends and his associates would always be separate.
“Yeah, sure it will,” Ellie agreed. “Anyway, what about coffee?”
“I can’t,” Jill said as she switched off the engine. “Marc’s party is tonight, and I still have a few errands to run.”
“Yeah, of course.” Ellie’s tone cooled, something only Jill would have noticed. But she did and it made her uneasy.
Jill’s oldest and best friend and Jill’s new husband had never warmed to each other. Back when Jill and Marc started dating, Ellie had accused Marc of coming on too strong. She didn’t like that he expected Jill to fit into his world yet made no effort to fit into hers. Once, Ellie had hinted that she thought Marc might still be married while dating Jill, but the resulting argument was so fierce that she’d never mentioned it again. For his part, Marc accused Ellie of being crass and uninterested in bettering herself. He mocked her accent, made fun of the way she dressed, and he cringed every time she laughed. Jill refused to examine the fact that she and Ellie had practically grown up together and acted the same way until a few years ago. Until Marc took an interest in her.
“Hey—how about dinner when you get back?” Jill’s heart sank at Ellie’s dull acceptance of her second-place status in Jill’s life. “Cheeseburgers and fries at Ruby Jacks?” Jill urged. “I’ll meet you there at eight?”
Ellie snorted and all at once the tension between them was broken. “Better make it six, fancy girl. Some of us have day jobs.”
“Deal.” Knowing Ellie didn’t have much money, Jill almost offered to pay, but that would mean poking another sore spot between them. So she didn’t.
Jill’s circumstances had improved since her marriage to Marc three years ago. She’d moved from sharing a dank apartment in a sketchy neighborhood with four other roommates to an 8,000-square-foot home in a posh neighborhood in Summit, New Jersey. Marc had been generous with credit cards and a clothing allowance, and he found ways to help her spend it. It was almost too good to be true that Jill would never again have to forage through clearance racks at Old Navy or scour the bins at Goodwill when she needed something to wear. However, despite her best efforts to remain in touch, many of her friendships had fallen away. Ellie was the only one left, and Jill had started to notice the threads connecting them were beginning to fray.
Three
Jill paid the lot attendant for her parking space and made her way to the shops. A tear in Marc’s tuxedo had needed to be rewoven before the party, and Jill had paid a rush fee to ensure it would be ready. Marc was anxious to have it back so that would be her first stop. After the tailor’s, it was on to the jewelry story to pick up Marc’s watch. Finally, to the dry-cleaner for her own dress, a red backless number that required an extra month of spin classes and weeks of nothing but lettuce and rice crackers just to zip it up.
Jill rounded the corner, feeling her mood lift. She loved shopping and the Village Green was one of her favorite places to go. The streets were quiet, and sturdy oak trees cast the road in dappled shade. Despite the warm September days, the nights had cooled, and the leaves were just beginning to change. Bright spots of orange and yellow spattered the trees on the avenue, providing a preview of the glorious fall color to come.
As Jill turned the corner from the parking lot onto the wide sidewalk on the main road, she happened to remember a comment Ellie made once, about how all the women in Jill’s world looked the same. Scanning the shoppers ahead of her now, Jill wondered if her friend had a point. Most of the women here did look the same, wearing tennis whites or black leggings, with their blonde hair pulled back in slick ponytails. Their casual appearance gave the impression they’d come from the tennis court or the yoga studio. But it was their jewelry that gave them away: diamond stud earrings as big as acorns and wedding sets so polished that they practically glowed in the sunlight. These women wore expensive jewelry with a casual disregard that Jill had never understood.
Between the tailor’s and the jeweler’s was an authentic Italian deli. As Jill approached the open door of the shop, she was greeted with the unmistakable scent of real deli: spicy garlic and crusty bread, fresh parm, and marinated olives. She’d ventured inside once or twice when Marc was out of town, and the subs were the best she’d ever had. She paused for a moment to breathe it in and remember exactly the sandwich she’d ordered—salami and provolone with sautéed peppers and onions, dripping with olive oil and vinegar and dusted with oregano and red pepper flakes. Jill’s stomach rumbled just thinking about it.
But now wasn’t the time, so she kept walking.
Marc’s birthday party was tonight, and she had a dress to get into. Months of hard work and deprivation wasn’t going to be wasted on one deli sub.
The jeweler buzzed her in, and Jill approached the counter, feeling the deep pile carpet underfoot and the chill of air conditioning on her skin.
An older man emerged from the back office. “Mrs. Goodman, how nice to see you.”
“Thank you, Joseph. It’s nice to see you too.” It still made Jill uncomfortable, addressing an older person by their first name. Aunt Sarah would have been horrified, but Marc said retail workers expected it. So she did.
“You’ve come to pick up Mr. Goodman’s watch?”
“I have. Did you have any trouble with the inscription?”
Months before his birthday, Marc had picked out a watch for himself and tasked Jill with “running out to get it.” But the watch was in demand and impossible to buy. Marc had placed himself on half a dozen waiting lists around the country, and his impatience grew as his birthday approached. So it was serendipitous that the little jewelry story in the Village Green telephon
ed to say they had secured one. Marc had texted the words he wanted engraved and asked Jill to pick it up in time for his party. She’d balked at the price—the watch cost more than the entirety of Jill’s student loans—but Marc had insisted, and he’d always been sure of what he wanted. Who was she to deny him on his birthday?
“Trouble? Not at all,” the man said smoothly as he offered her a chance to examine his work before wrapping it up.
The truth was that Jill had forgotten what inscription Marc had ordered, she’d been so busy with her portfolio and the Brockhurst interview. Even so, she nodded when she saw it and thanked the jeweler for his time.
On her way home, Jill chose a scenic route, through the leafy streets of the older neighborhoods in Summit, though it meant a longer drive. Traces of fall emerged here and there. In a few weeks, the canopy that shaded the neighborhood would be awash in deep red, bright orange, and golden yellow, and the afternoon sunlight filtering through would be bright pops of color. Maybe she could come back with her camera, photographing whatever looked interesting and adding the best images to her growing portfolio.
But she didn’t have time.
Jill might not have a paying job, as Ellie pointed out, but that didn’t mean she was any less busy.
Too soon she came to the stoplight that marked the boundary between the older neighborhood and the development Marc had created, and the effect was still jarring. She remembered what the land had looked like before Marc developed it, and if she were honest, she had preferred it before. Marc had ordered bulldozers to raze old growth trees and dump trucks to fill in the duck pond. They’d brought in heavy machinery to scrap away the topsoil and laid down ugly gray gravel and parked construction trailers where flowers once grew. Neighbors hated it and threatened to sue. As a peace offering, Marc had promised to plant new trees, double the number his company had removed, and that seemed to satisfy them. But three years later, the seedlings he’d planted still required regular watering, and Jill suspected it would be decades before they grew tall enough to cast shade.
The Girl I Used to Be: A gripping and emotional page-turner Page 2