by Lulu Pratt
Chapter 7
POPPY
I HELD UP another plain outfit in front of the mirror, then discarded it on the bed in anger.
“Who does he think he is?!” I shouted into my cell phone.
On the other end, April sighed. “Don’t worry about it, Poppy, he’s not worth your time.”
I groaned. It was so like April to be logical when all I wanted was to huff and puff. “I know he’s not,” I replied, “but we’re gonna be stuck together for an entire week.”
“With nobody else?” she asked, and I thought I detected a worrying hint of hopefulness in her voice. Whose side was she on?!
“No, there are gonna be Regency models there. So me, Finn ‘Cooler Than Thou’ Maguire and a couple of supermodels. What could go wrong?” I asked, sarcasm thick in my tone.
I began to idiot check my room for tubes of make-up and petty cash – I was prone to forgetfulness, and anxiety only made that worse. I’d probably do three more rounds of the same check before I called it quits. Okay, and maybe a fourth in the morning.
As I did my normal scan, April opined, “Maybe you just need to give him a chance.”
“Guys like that get plenty of chances,” I balked. “From bosses, from friends. From women, most of all. He doesn’t need another from me, and frankly I doubt that he wants one. I’m sure my good opinion isn’t of foremost import for that playboy.”
I could hear her mounting frustration over the phone. Her tell was a quick little sigh, one so small it was almost imperceptible to the casual listener. But for me, when I heard that breath, I knew I’d gotten to April’s last nerve.
“Poppy,” she said, her tone firm and mothering. “We’ve been talking about Finn for about half an hour. Don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, this is about more than you hating him? Maybe this is about you having… other sorts of feelings for him.”
I guffawed. Was she insane? “Yeah, right–”
“I’m serious. And, for the record, he’s not wrong. You are too trusting. You always have been. It’s a wonderful quality, one I admire to no end, but in your industry, well, a pretty young girl like you has to be careful. You’re my sister, I don’t want you to get hurt. So for gosh sake, don’t get so wrapped up in shooting the messenger that you forget the dang message. Okay?”
She paused her mini-sermon, waiting for me to say something.
Maybe April was right. Maybe Finn was, in his own weird way, just trying to look out for me…
No, I thought, instantly nixing this rose-colored take of what was a pretty black and white scene. He was just trying to irk me. He couldn’t possibly have good motives.
“Why are men so confusing?” I moaned to April.
She tsked. “I dunno, Poppy. I’ve always thought so, but then, I’m not exactly trying to jump their bones.”
I laughed. “Neither am I!”
“Sure,” she snickered. “Keep telling yourself that. Anyways, I’ve gotta go. Did you pack that black bikini?”
“No, April, I didn’t know I’d be–”
“Going on the trip, right, right, I remember. Well, go buy yourself something cute.”
“That’d be wasteful,” I replied. “Just for one trip.”
“It’s not wasteful to treat yourself every now and then,” she reminded me. “Even pastors have to open their pocketbooks once in a while. Besides, you’ve worked hard. And you’re gonna be vlogging the whole week, I’m guessing, so you need to have some great looks. Consider it a business investment.”
Ugh, this was so not what I wanted to talk about. Though, in fairness, I was sure she didn’t want to hear any more about Finn.
“Go buy yourself a bikini,” April instructed. “At the very least. It’d be a crime to go to a tropical destination and not even get in the water.”
“Fiiiine.” Stupid April and her stupid right-ness. Okay, I take that back, she’s not stupid just… sometimes I wish she wasn’t so smart.
She wasn’t done. “And stop finding things that could go wrong. You’re going to the freaking Caribbean. Just smile and say your prayers.”
“Okay, okay.” Why did she always have to be right?
“I love you, but Cindy’s calling. Go shop. That’s an order from your sister and your pastor.”
“Love you too.”
April clicked off, leaving me in a quagmire. Was it okay to spend a little money on clothes, in the name of my channel? Though my ‘brand’ – and my real life personality – was humble and cheap, a few well-meaning viewers had been leaving comments about the state of my dress for some time now. I’d been blissfully ignoring it, but maybe April had a point.
I paced the room for a few minutes, eating a complimentary Kit-Kat from the snack bar, before at last deciding that, yes, just one or two new things were in order. After all, I’d only planned on being in New York for about three days. At bare minimum, I needed to go buy some sunscreen.
With that, I slid my purse over my shoulder, grabbed my room key and left my room.
After a quick consultation with the concierge, I decided I should go to a boutique about two miles away, one of few in the city that stocked plus size clothes in shop, and the only one that stocked exclusively plus size. It sounded like a mini heaven. Maybe I could vlog about this, I thought. That would at least justify whatever I purchase.
I’d already made peace. Now, it was time to shop.
I hailed a cab, and after a good deal of afternoon traffic, arrived at The Thicket. The windows were tinted, and the sign was a small, subtle neon pink. This was probably the coolest thing I’d ever stumbled into.
Opening the door, I called out, “Hi, ya’ll open?”
A fellow fat chick popped her head up from behind the counter, her green curls bobbing.
“Oh my God, you’re stunning,” she shrieked. “I love you, come in.”
I giggled at this welcome, and strode inside with a bit more confidence.
The store was as chic inside as it was outside – walls of subtle neon accents on top of baby pink wallpaper and rows and rows of silver hanging racks.
“So, welcome to my shop,” she said, emerging from behind the counter in a banging matching skirt and crop top get up. “What can we do for you today?”
I bit my lip. “I need, err, a week’s worth of clothing for the Caribbean. And I leave tomorrow. Is that doable? Plus, can I vlog this for my YouTube channel?”
Her eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands together. “Oh honey, we’re gonna have fun.”
Two hours later, I walked out of The Thicket with three enormous bags on each arm and an hour’s worth of material to edit into a vlog. With Mimi’s help, I’d found more stunning clothes in an afternoon than I’d found in years of online shopping. I felt like a whole new woman, and had the wardrobe to prove it – dresses, skirts, shorts, even a handful of swimsuits. Frankly, I’d probably purchased enough for a whole month in the sun.
She’d also talked me into buying a few items that I’d call ‘daring.’ They showed definite skin, and pushed me out of my comfort zone. But Mimi had insisted that I looked fabulous, just fabulous, and I had to admit I’d never seen myself like that. It was… invigorating.
But will Finn like it? I thought, before immediately squashing my inner voice. It didn’t matter if he liked the new stuff. Though if it didn’t matter, I wondered why I’d asked myself the same question every time I tried on a new article of clothing.
I smiled all the way back.
When I arrived at the hotel, I began to tackle the problem of packing my purchases into my same old suitcase. As I stuffed one piece after another into my beat-up duffel, I pulled out a tissue paper-wrapped parcel from the bottom of one of the shopping bags. On it was a note, with words scrawled in pen:
I threw in a few free goodies because you were such a gem. Enjoy, and have fun – xo M
“Aw,” I murmured, touched by Mimi’s gesture. I ripped open the paper, and a bundle of lace and straps fell out. I took the bundle in my finge
rs and began to pull it apart.
My eyes bulged out of my head as I realized just exactly what kind of ‘goodies’ we were talking about – Mimi had given me several pieces of high-end lingerie, ranging from demure to ragingly sexy. My split second accounting showed a corset, garters, matching sets and a thing or two I didn’t even have the vocabulary for.
“Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.”
I didn’t need a mirror to know my cheeks were flaming red. Why on earth had she given me so much lingerie? I mean, it was nice of her, of course, but what the heck was I gonna do with all this?
My mind was ready with an answer. I bet Finn would like to see you in those.
“Shut up!” I cried out, before realizing the voice was just in my head.
I’m not sure what made me decide to throw the lingerie in the suitcase. Probably just because it’d be a shame to leave it behind – or at least, that’s what I told myself. It’d be impolite to abandon it here, my mind reasoned. Disrespectful, even.
Yes. Right. Of course. And after all of Mimi’s help, I would never disrespect her.
So yeah. I packed the lingerie. Sue me.
That night, I worked on the vlog about the shopping trip and gushed about Mimi and her wonderful shop. I didn’t mention her gift as I was too embarrassed to show the beautiful lingerie.
Chapter 8
POPPY
THE NEXT morning, I set my alarm for five, even though the flight was at ten. I’m an early riser. Plus, my anxiety was off the charts, which meant I’d barely snuck in an hour of solid sleep.
What was I so nervous about? Well, for one, New York had been my first big solo trip up north. I’d traveled in an RV around the country for family reunions and camping trips with my family, but that was about it. And now I was going to be leaving the country. It was a good thing my daddy was so big on taking extreme preparation measures – it bordered on survivalism, if you ask me – he’d insisted that I have a passport for ‘emergency’ reasons, and had told me to take it to NYC. I’d have to stop mocking him for all his efforts, which would be a real challenge.
Besides international travel, it was also my first big shoot for a magazine, and second feature. And it was for the September issue of BeYou Magazine! My lucky stars were innumerable.
And third… third… I’d be with Finn for a week. He made my whole body tight, like I was suddenly aware of every muscle working in unison beneath my skin. He made me flush. He made me, um, a little damp. Oh man, did I just admit that? Shoot. Gotta watch my tongue.
By five-thirty, I’d eaten some yogurt and granola, made a pot of piping hot tea – coffee was too rough for me – and taken a shower. I’d also begun my make-up routine, which could take anywhere from five minutes to two hours, depending on how imaginative I was feeling or how much time I had. Today was closer to a one-hour day – guess my creative sparks were just flying. By seven, I slipped into my travel outfit – a cotton maxi dress with a V-neck – not too low, don’t worry – and intricate interlocking chain patterns all over it. One of my new purchases from Mimi, and I had to admit, a bit of a stunner and decided to do a bit of social media housekeeping.
The BeYou driver insisted on picking me up at eight. I didn’t know much about plane travel, but this didn’t seem like nearly enough time to get through customs and reach the plane. I told BeYou as much when they sent me the confirmation, but I was waved off and told not to worry.
Turns out they were right.
Because we weren’t flying commercial. We were flying private.
We reached the airport, and I discovered it was about one-twentieth the size of the airport I’d flown into, and way, way cleaner. My car pulled directly onto the tarmac, and I was greeted by an enormous, sleek jet.
“Why are they flying me private?” I whispered to myself.
The driver, overhearing the question, replied with a grin, “It’s not cuz of you, sweetheart, it’s cuz of the models.”
Oh, yeah, that made more sense. Little old me was happy to fly commercial. Heck, I was happy to fly, period.
I got out of the car and gave the driver a big tip after he unloaded my bag. He seemed surprised, not only by the tip, but that I’d only packed a single suitcase. I thought my packing had been overzealous, but apparently, I was on the light side for this crowd.
A flight attendant greeted me at the mouth of the plane as men behind me swirled around, whisking away my bag. With a friendly smile, she led me inside, and I was struck by the buttery caramel seats with gilded finishings, the tortoiseshell divider to the back, which was probably the bathroom, and the overall sense of immense opulence. How had my little country butt ended up here?
The flight attendant politely informed me that I was running early – it was nine-forty-five – so I settled into one of the couch seats, because hey, how often do you get to sit on a couch in a plane, and picked up a magazine from the slew they had sitting in a nearby armrest. I flipped through the pages, realizing that I was now living the life I thought belonged only to these glossy pages.
But I didn’t get through more than the first column, because two minutes later, Finn boarded the plane.
“Poppy,” he said, by way of gruff greeting. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Even though we were going on a tropical vacation – err, business trip, rather – he was still in his apparently signature all-black.
“Where’s your tropical shirt?” I asked, not bothering to conceal my judgment.
“Left it back in 1982,” he replied before dropping down next to me on the couch.
“Hey!”
He rolled his neck back, spreading his legs with abandon. “Yes?”
“Get your own seat,” I insisted. “There’s plenty of room.” I gestured to the enormous, private plane around us.
“Oh, Poppy, Poppy, Poppy. You haven’t traveled with models before.” His eyes shot to the ceiling with exasperation. “As a rule of thumb, they each need two seats, one for their bodies, one for their travel bags. Best us two not piss ‘em off this early. We’re not much better than the hired help.”
“You’re lying.” It was so outrageous, there was no way it was true. Besides, I got the distinct sense he’d say just about anything to get closer to me. Or perhaps that’s what I wanted to sense.
“You think so?” he inquired, his tone a little delighted. “Right then, go take your own seat. See what happens.” He crossed his arms behind his head and smirked, as if eager for the show.
I simmered. Was he just messing with my head? Or was he actually trying to give me real advice, as April had suggested? I debated the point back and forth for a moment, and he never took his eyes off me, appearing to enjoy watching me squirm.
“Fine,” I said at last. “We can share the couch. But don’t think that means I like you.”
I’d decided that it was better safe than sorry. I didn’t know bunkum about models, and it seemed at least plausible that they’d need twice the seat for half the body size.
“Oh, I’m in no danger of thinking that, lass,” Finn murmured in reply. “Not yet, anyways. I’ll grow on you, though, like a stubborn moss.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest in a protective defense from his smooth charm.
For a moment, he looked as though he might take me up on this offer, but then the models boarded the plane.
Now, I’m rarely self-conscious about my size. In fact, I think I’m happier as a fat girl than I’d be as a skinny girl. But then, I also don’t spend much time around supermodels.
These chicks were unreal. They were all at least five-eleven, maybe taller, with cheekbones that could cut glass and protruding clavicles. Their legs seemed to stretch on into infinity, and their skin was so good that I’d need to get the names of their products or try to hack their dang DNA. They were, in a word, fabulous. And despite myself, I felt a pinch of jealousy.
“Christ,” Finn muttered next to me, his shoulders tensing as the models dispersed their b
ags to the staff.
“Language,” I hissed. Then my gossipy church lady instincts kicked in, and despite myself, I asked, “Is something wrong?”
He rolled his eyes at my insistence on decorous language, but answered honestly. “I didn’t know one of them – Chrissy – would be on this shoot.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
He laughed a tight, strangled laugh. “Just wait.”
I wanted to know more, but the models were taking their seats and sure enough, using two per girl. They introduced themselves in passing. There was Bebe and Kareen, who waved quick, friendly hellos. Process of elimination led me to deduce that the third one, the one who didn’t say hello, was Chrissy. Probably thinks I know who she is, I figured, and doesn’t wanna bother introducing herself. My mama would’ve smacked some manners into her, I’ll tell you that much.
Before the plane had even taken off, Bebe and Kareen applied sheet masks and copious amounts of lotion, then plugged in headphones and immediately shut their eyes. I guess traveling the world is exhausting. Chrissy slinked into her seat, feet up on the chair. She looked antsy, and was busily trying not to bite her fingernails.
“How long is the flight?” I asked Finn, who had pulled out a slim novel from his back pocket and was opening its pages.
“‘Bout four, four and a half hours.” His tone was one of blasé boredom, that of a man who’d been around the world and decided there wasn’t much to it.
“Okay. Thanks.”
Something about my reply made him grin, but he turned back to his book, trying to keep the smile under wraps.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
He shook his head, and kept his eyes astutely trained to the pages. “You.”
“May I ask why?”
“You may. I may not answer.”
My barrage of questions was interrupted by the plane’s motors kicking into gear. This was it – we were taking off. I clutched the armrest on my right hand side.
“Bad flyer?” he asked politely.
“New one.”
“Oh, the worst kind,” he replied. “Well, if you want to hold my hand–”