Beneath Beautiful

by Allison Rushby

  “It really is the prettiest thing,” Alys agreed. “And even better, people don't know about it. So I keep it a secret, and when they whine about the boring old Upper West Side I bring them here and show it off. I think it's much, much nicer than some grungy, cool thing where they never really clean the floor properly in the East Village.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “You always were a delightful snob. Even at school.” Cassie laughed, remembering Alys picking over many a boarding school meal, complaining dramatically that her palate would be “ruined forever”.

  “Ah, here he is!” Alys stood up and waved at someone. Cassie craned her neck to take a look, and was met with the approaching form of a guy of around their age who was tall, thin and pleasant looking, with large brown eyes and dark, cropped, super-curly hair. His clothes suggested he was an avid thrift-shopper, though it wasn't this that gave him his overall dishevelled appearance, but the fact that he seemed as if he hadn't been getting much sleep. As he walked toward them, Cassie noted he didn't seem entirely comfortable with his surroundings—it was as if he didn't quite trust himself not to break any of the china, even though it was housed safely on the walls. The other thing that she noticed, even before speaking to him, was that he had none of Cameron's presence, or confidence. But she then immediately felt bad for thinking this. She shouldn't compare two such different men. There were few people in this world whom had what Cameron had—male or female.

  “James, this is Cassie. Cassie, James,” Alys introduced the pair when James reached their table.

  Cassie took his outstretched hand. “How do you do?” she said automatically, and then felt the couple sitting at the next table glance at them.

  The threesome burst out laughing as James sat down. “I always forget how odd that sounds when you're not at home in England,” Cassie said.

  “I've given in,” Alys confessed, pulling in her chair. “I never say it anymore. It's just too embarrassing. I've gone native. These days I even do an automatic ‘you're welcome’.”

  “Shocking.” James shook his head. “Appalling, really.” He put on his best toffee-nosed accent.

  “Oh, stop it.” Alys swatted him on the arm.

  “So, James,” Cassie shifted in her seat, “Alys said you arrived yesterday. Are you here for a long time?”

  “I hope not. Just for one interview. That is, I don't have anything against New York; I've just been chasing this interview for a while now. How about you?” He caught her eye. He seemed slightly more at ease now he was seated and talking.

  Cassie adjusted her cutlery. “Oh, a few . . . meetings. That's all.” As their waitress began to hover, Cassie glanced at her menu.

  “Are we ready to order?” Alys asked, and Cassie told her and James to go first.

  After one last scan and everyone else's order taken, she was ready. “I'll have the lemon-ricotta toast, thanks. And a latte.”

  “That lemon-ricotta toast is divine. Definitely a good . . .” Alys started, but someone's phone beeped with a text.

  “Sorry, that's me,” James said. “I'd better check. Never know my luck, hey?” He pulled out his phone and read the message. “Seriously.” He shook his head in disbelief of what he read. As he shoved his phone back in his jeans, he sighed.

  “It's off again?” Alys said.

  James nodded. “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe.”

  Cassie looked between them as she took a sip of her iced water. “Your job interview's off?”

  James shook his head. “No, it's not a job interview I'm here for. I'm a journalist. It's to interview a star.” He waggled his fingers at this. “So far I've been to Paris, Barcelona, Frankfurt and London for this bloody interview.”

  Cassie frowned. “And you haven't gotten it?”

  “No.” James tapped his fingers on the table and looked at her with his brown eyes. “No, I have not.”

  No wonder he looked tired. “Sounds like your boss really wants that interview. Will you ever get it?” It sounded like a wild goose chase to Cassie. “I mean, is there any point to the whole expedition?”

  “That's how you get an interview with Cameron Callahan, apparently.” James shrugged.

  Her glass of water to her mouth once more, Cassie reminded herself not to choke as she slowly brought it back down to the table. James was interviewing Cameron Callahan? It was too much of a coincidence. Her eyes moved quickly from Alys to James and back again. Did Alys know something? But how? Had Jo called her?

  Perhaps Alys saw something in what she was thinking, because she turned to Cassie now. “When Cerys found out James was trying to get this interview, she thought James and I should meet up again, with me working at The Met and all. Though I'm afraid I don't tend to hang out with the artists the museum actually exhibits very much . . .”

  Cerys, Alys's older sister, was a journalist, and Cassie instantly saw how the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle fit together now. But still, what were the odds? She looked on silently as Alys continued, nodding at James. “I have heard that before about Cameron Callahan,” she said. “That you've literally got to hunt him down if you want an interview. I don't know why he's like that. I mean, you're not planning on saying horrible things, are you?”

  “No,” James said. “Not at all. It's just about being oh-so-rock star, I think. I mean, if he gave out interviews to everyone they wouldn't be so coveted, would they?”

  Cassie remained mute as the pair continued their conversation. Cameron didn't seem that elusive, or distant to her. Was that because he wanted something from her, rather than the other way around? Was he charming her in order to extract this sculpture out of her? After all, he'd stand to make a lot of money off any piece he made in the long run. Maybe she was being naïve. Maybe he wasn't interested in her at all, but in what she could provide for him—inspiration.

  “Cassie?”

  Cassie looked up from the spot she'd been staring at on the tabletop to find both Alys and James staring at her. “Sorry?”

  “I'm taking it you're not a fan?” Alys continued.

  “Oh!” Cassie replied. “Um . . . I don't know. I suppose I like some of his pieces that I've seen and others . . . well . . .”

  “Yes, exactly,” Alys piped up, animated now. “Some of his pieces really speak to me and others make me think what he'd really like to be doing is making porn. The truth is, I'm all over the place when it comes to Cameron Callahan.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Cassie said, weakly.

  “I'll third that,” James piped up. “Literally. As in, Frankfurt last month, Paris two weeks ago, and London last week. I'm determined to stick it out now he's on home soil. I really need this interview. If it comes to it, I'll take my holidays to wait things out so I get it.”

  “You're . . . determined then.” Cassie stared over at him.

  “Oh, yes. And, this time I'm not going to let anything stand in my way. Not even Cameron Callahan himself.”

  “So, did you like him?” Alys asked the moment James had left them on the street. “Did you?”

  Cassie gave Alys a look as they began the walk back to her apartment. “I liked my lemon-ricotta toast.”

  “Come on . . .” Alys nudged her with one arm.

  “This was a set-up all along, wasn't it?”

  Alys gave her a coy look in return. “Well, if I'd told you it was you wouldn't have come, would you?”

  Cassie barked a short laugh. “Hardly! Not after last time.” She referred to the last time Alys had tried to set her up with someone—a friend of Alys's boyfriend at the time. It had been one of the longest nights of her life, despite the fact that she'd somehow managed to run off home before dessert.

  “Are you ever going to forgive me for that? I've told you before—I didn't realise he was that bad.”

  “No. I'm never going to forgive you for that.”

  Alys stuck out her tongue. “But you did like him, didn't you? James, I mean? I think he's gorgeous. That hair and those eyes! He's a quarter Jamaican.”
<
br />   “Why don't you date him then, if he's so hot?” Cassie said.

  But Alys pulled a face. “I've known him forever. You must remember me talking about him in the past—he's one of Cerys's friends from university.”

  “Oh, right. Actually, I do remember,” Cassie said, suddenly placing James. Alys's sister Cerys had often had her older friends to stay during the holidays. Cassie vaguely remembered meeting James once before at Alys's house, in passing.

  Alys shuddered. “I couldn't go out with James. It would be like dating my brother.”

  Cassie gave her a look. “No it wouldn't. And, anyway, you don't have a brother.”

  “Ugh!” Alys cried out in frustration. “Why are you being so annoying? Just admit it. He's lovely. And the timing! He's fallen right into your lap at the perfect moment! He's just out of a two-year relationship,” she said, triumphantly. “And it was a mutual break-up.”

  Cassie groaned, knowing Alys wasn't going to let up anytime soon. The truth was, Cassie had thought James was good-looking, intelligent and funny, which would have usually been a lethal combination for her. But right now, her head was filled with Cameron Callahan. Both in the kind of way it had been ever since she’d first set eyes on him in Père Lachaise, and in the kind of way that she knew James was a dangerous person to be around indeed, especially if she wanted to steer clear of media attention. “Fine. He was really nice,” she finally told Alys.

  “Really nice? Really nice?” Alys retorted.

  Cassie shrugged.

  “He's perfect for you! I've been wanting to fix you up with him for simply ages. He's a writer, you're a writer . . .”

  “He's a journalist,” Cassie corrected her. “They're two very different things.”

  “Picky, picky.” Alys waved a hand.

  Cassie sighed. “Look, like I said, he was really nice. I thought he was funny. And smart, but . . .”

  “But?” Alys egged her on. “But what?”

  “Oh, I don't know.” Cassie checked her watch, her thoughts drifting to Cameron. Again. But, no. Enough. Cassie shook her head. “I have another hour and a half before I need to head to this meeting. Let's go shopping.”

  “Works for me,” Alys said, turning on her heel. “This way. I've been wanting to take you to New York Vintage ever since I first went in there months ago. You're going to die and go to heaven the minute you step inside the door.”

  Cassie handed the scribbled address to the taxi driver, who nodded and passed it back after reading it. “The meatpacking district,” he said, pulling out from the curb.

  This sounded ominous, but on arrival seemed to be a very normal looking street, apart from the ear-splitting building work going on across the road. “It's the new Whitney,” the taxi driver explained as Cassie paid the fare. “Feels like it will never be finished.”

  On exiting the cab directly outside the address she had been given, Cassie stood and stared up at the building before her. Its brickwork was painted white, and there were large silver numbers and a matching silver-barred high gate.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and pressed the buzzer, located on a silver panel just below a small, round inset camera. Even before she announced herself she was buzzed inside, the silver gate opening automatically with a click. It closed again behind her quite smartly and she was met with another door, made of thick glass this time, and another camera peering down at her from above. Security, it seemed, was tight at Casa Callahan.

  Just as quickly as the gate had, the glass door clicked open, and Cassie was granted access to a small, white vestibule with a single white door. The fact that there was no handle on the door instantly intrigued Cassie. It was as if the room were testing her. Or maybe Cameron was testing her? Just as she was wondering if either of those things were true, she heard voices talking directly behind the door. “It's fine. Cameron wants me to get it,” a woman's voice spoke, and the door opened soon afterward.

  “Cassie!” A small, young woman with a perfect black bob beamed at her, closing the door once more. “I'm Marianne, Cameron's assistant. It's lovely to finally meet you.” She held out her hand and Cassie shook it, realising the person before her was privy to everything that had been going on between her and Cameron since they had first met. Cassie tried to gauge Marianne's thoughts on this strange relationship of theirs from her expression. But if Marianne thought anything, she didn't show it. “You haven't visited us before, I understand?”

  “No,” Cassie said. “Never.”

  “Well, then. Ready to come inside?”

  “I . . . think so,” Cassie said, suddenly unsure. She was beginning to think Marianne would open the door once more and something approximating Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory would appear before her, complete with a running stream of who knew what? Strawberry lubricant, maybe?

  “Great,” Marianne said. “Cameron's expecting you. He's very excited to start work on this piece. He's practically spoken about nothing else lately.” With this, Marianne brought a small remote control out of her pocket, pressed a button, and the door opened wide. “After you,” she said to Cassie.

  Cassie managed around three steps into the all-white room with its huge void and glass walkway suspended above her before she stopped short, something startling her. “Oh . . .” she said, her hand shooting up to her chest. “I thought for a moment there . . .”

  “That she was real?” Marianne said, gesturing toward the sculpture. “Yes. Most people do. Her name's Monica. Cameron worked with her for around six months to get this piece just how he wanted it. She'll be part of the new exhibition, which is what Cameron would like you to sit for. I'm not entirely sure he has time, but then again, he rarely worries about things like that. Take a closer look. You can touch her if you like.”

  “Really?” Cassie said. There was something about the life-sized sculpture that begged for you to touch it. She—Monica —truly did seem real at first glance. Now, Cassie took the few more steps forward that she needed to begin circling the piece. As she did, she was astonished at how perfect it was. Monica sat upon a stool, her feet crossed demurely and her head turned outwards, tilted, staring at the door they had just entered from.

  What surprised Cassie most of all was that Monica was obese. Morbidly obese. Folds of flesh enveloped each other, fighting for space, beginning at her dimpled knees and swallowing the stool. They rippled upwards, her breasts cascading over the top of more waves of creamy white flesh. Finally, her head sat on top, her long, gold, wavy hair cascading down her back. Her mouth was full, with a perfect Cupid's bow, and her green eyes were large and set off with grey eye-shadow and mascara. “She's really beautiful. Like a pre-Raphaelite model.” Cassie shook her head as she completed the entire circle. “And the detail is amazing.” She stretched out her hand to touch a vein on Monica's neck. “Truly amazing. Her skin. It's almost . . .”

  “Luminescent?” Cameron called out from the walkway above. “Monica was one of a kind. Her skin . . . really, I've never seen anything like it before, and I doubt I will again.”

  “I really love her. It. Her.” Cassie wasn't sure what to say. She stared up at Cameron, entranced by both seeing him in his natural environment, and by the fact that she had not expected this of him—this morbidly obese sculpture. She hadn't realised he could be taken with other forms of beauty. Now she knew she was in danger of wanting him more than she already did.

  As she watched him above, she saw the difference immediately—Alys had been trying to entice her with James, the type of male she usually went for. James, she saw now, was lovely, but also nice and safe. Cameron, however, was the stuff of obsession and addiction. Jo had been right to be worried about her. This was a man who was the stuff of unknown tangents.

  As Cassie stared upwards, someone else appeared on the walkway—a woman. With her long, lean limbs and super-short cropped hair, she looked like she must be a dancer or something similar, especially with her tiny boy-leg stretch shorts and matching black crop top. “Ah,” Camero
n said, stretching an arm out toward her. “Freya. This is Cassie. Cassie, Freya.”

  “Hey.” Freya gave a short wave.

  “Um, hi,” Cassie replied, wondering who she was, and also hoping that Cameron wasn't expecting similar feats of . . . well, anything, really, from her body.

  “Cameron is finishing up a piece based on Freya,” Marianne explained.

  “Oh,” Cassie said. “That's nice.” It was all she could come up with in her overwhelmed state.

  “It's going to be amazing.” Freya nodded.

  “It is going to be amazing!” Cameron seconded this with a laugh. “Now, I just have something that needs about ten more minutes attention, if that's all right. Maybe you could get to know each other?” He glanced between Freya and Cassie.

  “Sure,” Freya said. “I'll meet you downstairs, and we'll grab a drink. It's okay, Marianne, I'll show Cassie the way.”

  “Thanks, Freya,” Marianne said. “If you need me, I'll be in my office. It's great to be working with you, Cassie.” She leaned in toward her slightly, turning her back to Cameron. “And by ten minutes he means half an hour, so take your time.”

  “I heard that,” Cameron called out. “I'll see you soon.”

  “Thanks,” Cassie replied, not really sure who she was saying it to. As Marianne and Cameron disappeared she focussed in on Freya, tripping lightly down the steel stairs. When she'd reached the bottom floor, she ran across the golden wood effortlessly, in the sort of way that Cassie knew her body never moved, and would never move. “Are you a dancer?” Cassie asked Freya when she stopped in front of her.

  “Used to be,” Freya said. “Modern. I'm a yoga instructor now.”

  Cassie nodded, then smiled. “As you can tell, I'm not.” She gestured up and down her body. “This is a physique made for writing.”

  Freya laughed. “That's funny. That's pretty much what Cameron told me—that his body is a body that's made for sculpting other bodies.”

  “That is funny.”