Summer Rental

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “What are you wearing for your big night tonight?” Julia asked, flouncing down onto the bed.

  Ellis pointed at the yellow floral sundress hanging on the outside of her closet door. “That.”

  “Really?” Julia got up and walked over to the closet. She fingered the cotton fabric, rubbing it between her fingers. She glanced at the label sewn into the inside of the dress. “Meh.”

  “What’s wrong?” Ellis asked anxiously. “Too low-cut? Too slutty?”

  “Slutty?” Julia asked with a hoot. “My first communion dress showed more skin than this rag. Don’t you have anything more … tantalizing?”

  Ellis’s bedroom door opened again and Dorie wandered in, dressed in her pajamas and eating a Popsicle. “What are we doing?” she asked, seating herself on the bed.

  “Trying to find something for Ellis to wear out to dinner with Ty that won’t make her look like June Cleaver,” Julia said. She brandished the yellow sundress. “This is what she had in mind.”

  “Meh,” Dorie said. And then, quickly, “Although Ellis does look nice in yellow.”

  “Nice is not how you want to look on a date with somebody like Ty Bazemore,” Julia said.

  “Well, no,” Dorie said.

  Ellis rolled her eyes. “How should I look, if not nice?”

  “Hot,” Julia said, without hesitation. “Mind-blowingly hot. Smoking hot. Right, Eudora?”

  “Oh yeah,” Dorie nodded vigorously. “What you said. Pardon the expression, sex on a stick.”

  “Easy for you two to say,” Ellis retorted. “You wake up in the morning looking hot, and just get better through the day. I wake up looking like … me. And Ty’s picking me up in an hour, and since we don’t have time for a whole-body makeover, I’ll settle for nice, if you don’t mind. Now you two run along and find something else to do.”

  “Fine,” Julia said, giving the sundress a dismissive flick with her index finger. “Suit yourself. Have a nice time tonight. Maybe you two kids can share a banana split after the putt-putt.”

  Dorie got up too. “Have a good time, sweetie,” she said, blowing Ellis an air kiss.

  The two friends were at the door when Ellis caved.

  “Okay,” she said. “I know I’m probably going to regret this, but what did you have in mind?”

  Julia and Dorie exchanged high fives. Julia opened Ellis’s door with an exaggerated flourish. “Follow me,” she said.

  * * *

  Dorie uncapped a frosted jar of moisturizer and applied it to Ellis’s face with feathery, practiced strokes.

  “Mmm,” Ellis said, her eyes closed. “What is this stuff?”

  “Fluide d’Agneau,” Julia said, tossing an armful of clothes onto the bed. “It’s supposed to be made out of the amniotic fluid of sheep raised by monks on shaded slopes of the Swiss Alps. Two hundred dollars an ounce. You believe that?”

  Ellis’s eyes flew open. “Good God!”

  “Relax,” Julia said. “The beauty editor at Self loaded me up with goodies from the sample closet the last time I was over there for a shoot.” She held up a short zebra-print skirt. “This?”

  “No animal prints,” Ellis said firmly.

  Julia nodded and tossed the skirt aside. She picked up a low-cut orange spandex tank dress that resembled a rubber band with shoulder straps. “Too short?”

  “Ellis is five inches shorter than you,” Dorie pointed out. “Tight is the issue here. That dress will only work if she wants him to jump her as soon as they get in the car.”

  Julia picked up and quickly discarded half a dozen more garments. Finally, she held up a flirty short skirt in black flower-sprigged chiffon. The hem of the skirt ended in a bias-cut ruffle. “Too girly?” she asked, holding the skirt at arm’s length.

  Ellis held her breath. She actually liked that skirt. A lot. But she knew if she made a fuss over it, Dorie and Julia would automatically nix it.

  “Not bad,” Dorie said. She took the skirt and held it up to Ellis. “It’s normal length on her. Don’t take this the wrong way, Julia, but you must look like a hoochie mama when you wear this thing.”

  “My legs are my best asset,” Julia said. “And Booker loves me in short skirts.”

  “Hmm,” Dorie said, peering at the skirt’s waistband. “I don’t see a label. Is this another magazine sample or something?”

  “Nope,” Julia said. “It’s mine.”

  “You mean you actually bought it with your own money?” Ellis asked.

  “No, I actually designed it and made it with my own hands,” Julia said.

  “No way!” Dorie said. “Really? I didn’t know you could sew.”

  “I fool around with it a little bit,” Julia said lightly. “Don’t you remember, in eighth grade, when you guys took French II, I took home ec instead? Sister Marguerite made me rip out my zipper, like, two hundred times while you guys were conjugating verbs.”

  “We took French, but I can just barely order bouillabaisse,” Ellis said. “And in the meantime, you’re making your own clothes?”

  “Not all the time,” Julia said. “When I get bored, or I get an idea, if I have the time, I’ll make something. I actually like the drawing part better than the sewing, because I can do that on planes or in a hotel room.”

  “Amazing,” Ellis said, turning to Dorie. “Did you know she could sew?”

  “She’s pretty good at secrets,” Dorie said. “It’s part of that whole witch thing. What kind of a top?” she asked, turning back to the skirt.

  “I have a cute white blouse,” Ellis started to say, knowing immediately that this was a misstep.

  Dorie wrinkled her nose. “No white. What do you wear that with, Julia?”

  Julia’s eyes lit up. “Wait. This will be genius.” She went to the battered wooden dresser and pulled out what looked like a scrap of black lace. “Ta-da!”

  “Okay,” Ellis said, eyeing the lace warily. “What do I wear over the bra?”

  “This is not a bra,” Julia said. “It’s a corset top. Just the hottest look this season. It’s a knockoff of a Gaultier. I wore it for a shoot in the Bahamas this past winter.” She held the top up against the skirt.

  “Yum!” Dorie said enthusiastically.

  “Nuh-uh,” Ellis said, defiantly crossing her arms over her terry cloth–clad breasts. “I am not going out on a first date wearing a bra for a blouse. No how, no way.”

  “You’re not listening, Ellis,” Julia said, trying to stay patient. “This is not the bra.”

  She went back to the dresser and brought out a pink lace push-up bra. “This is your bra.” She held it up in front of her own black tank top, and then placed the corset over it. “See? Two sets of straps. Very alluring.”

  “Oh yeah,” Dorie chimed in. “Adorable. You gotta wear it, Ellis.”

  “I don’t know,” Ellis said. “I’m already jumpy as hell. You guys wouldn’t understand. I haven’t dated, uh, in a really long time. I need to wear something that’s in my comfort zone. Maybe if this thing with Ty works out, I could wear this next time.”

  “Nuh-uh,” Julia said, holding her ground. “We’ve seen your comfort zone. Granny panties and cotton schmatas. Come on, Ellis, just try it on, okay?”

  “Yeah, Ellis,” Dorie said. “If you really, really hate it, you don’t have to wear it. Just try it on for me. Pretty please?”

  “Oh, all right,” Ellis said. She threw her robe onto the bed and grabbed for the bra. She glanced at the shell-pink satin label. “34C?” She looked over at Julia. “Since when are you a C cup?”

  Julia gave them a sheepish grin. She cupped her hands under her breasts. “Since last year,” she said. “Implants. The girls were starting to get a little droopy, so I had them hiked up and upsized.”

  “Really?” Dorie’s eyes were big as saucers. “I hadn’t even noticed. What was that like?”

  “No big thing. I couldn’t work for a couple weeks, ’til the swelling went down and they removed the drains.”

  “Drains
?” Ellis made a face. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”

  “It’s not supposed to be fun,” Julia said. “It’s business, that’s all. But the boob job wasn’t nearly as bad as when I had my nose done. Now that was a major pain. You should have seen the bruising. I looked like I’d been worked over with a baseball bat.”

  “Julia!” Ellis said. “I had no idea you’d had your nose done. And I’ve known you all your life.” She got up and stood inches away from Julia’s face, gingerly touching her nose. “You can’t even tell.”

  “That’s because I had the best plastic surgeon money could buy,” Julia said.

  “What was wrong with your old nose?” Dorie asked. “I mean, it couldn’t have been all that bad. You’ve been modeling since you were nineteen.”

  “Too ethnic,” Julia said. “I had the Capelli schnoz. And I gotta tell you, the first time my daddy saw me after the surgery, and figured out what I’d done, he was brokenhearted. It really hurt his feelings. But I told him it’s just business. When you’re in this business, your body and your face are your equipment. And you gotta take care of your equipment.”

  Dorie sat back down on the bed and leaned against a stack of pillows. “Julia, you keep talking about how you’re too old and your career is over. But I don’t get it. You’re more beautiful than ever. Your skin is great, your body is to die for. Who wouldn’t hire you?”

  Julia flashed Dorie a grateful smile. “You’re sweet, Eudora. But you don’t understand my world. I’m thirty-five. The girl on the cover of Elle this month is seventeen. She wears a size zero. If that. And don’t talk to me about Heidi Klum, because she is not the norm. Anyway, I was never Heidi Klum. I was Julia Capelli, who had a couple of lucky breaks and knocked around Europe and did some editorial and runway work. And now, well, that’s all winding down. I look good to you guys because you love me, and you don’t know any better. But it’s okay. Don’t worry about me. I’ll get it figured out. I always do, right?”

  Ellis had been concentrating on lacing up the black satin ribbons crisscrossing the corset top. She sucked in her breath and tied the ribbon in a double knot.

  “There is so much more to you than just your looks, Julia,” Ellis said. “You’re smart. Really smart. And don’t give me that crap about never going to college. I’m not talking about degrees. You know real stuff. You’ve traveled everywhere, you know art and books and music. You’ve met people! Look at me, I’ve got a degree in finance, but I spent nearly fifteen years locked up in a bank vault—and what did it get me? Fifteen years of hanging out with pencil pushers and bean counters. And now I don’t even have a job.”

  “And what about me?” Dorie put in. “I’m ten credit hours away from having a master’s degree in secondary education. I spend my days trying to pound sentence structure into teenage girls who could give a crap. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, and I love the girls, but a sanitation worker in Savannah makes more money than I do.”

  “But you have careers,” Julia said. “And you both have a piece of paper that says you’re smart. And I don’t. I’ll tell you the truth: If it weren’t for the money, which is very, very nice, I wouldn’t care if I never got another modeling job. I even told Booker that the other night. I am so over all of that. But modeling is all I know.”

  “No, it’s not,” Ellis said. “You know a lot about lots of stuff.” She picked up the black chiffon skirt and slipped it over her head, then turned with her back to Julia so that she’d zip it up. “What about this?” she said, turning and shaking her hips so that the flounce softly flared. “This skirt is amazing. I’d totally buy something like this, wouldn’t you, Dorie?”

  “If they made it in a maternity size,” Dorie said. “What about it, Julia, have you ever thought about designing clothes instead of modeling them?”

  Julia shrugged and waved her hand dismissively. “This is just something I like to mess with. Anyway, you don’t know how the industry works. You don’t just buy a bunch of sewing machines and call yourself a fashion designer.”

  “But you do know how it works,” Ellis pointed out. “You’ve been around the business since you were a kid. Come on, Julia. Tell the truth, if you could do anything at all with your life, what would it be?”

  “You mean when I grow up?” Julia snorted.

  “Yes,” Dorie said quietly. “Next week. Next year. What would you be?”

  “Hold that thought,” Ellis said, peering into the mirror on the back of Julia’s closet door. She held her arms out. “I can’t wear this, y’all. I’m sorry. But I feel naked in this rig.”

  “Here,” Julia said, thrusting a filmy black jacket in her direction. “Put this on. And quit being such a baby.”

  Ellis slid her arms into the jacket. It was a nearly sheer, cobwebby fabric, with tight-fitting sleeves that flared gently at the wrists. At least it covered her shoulders. She did a little pirouette. “You think?”

  “Absolutely,” Dorie said, applauding. “Perfection. You look amazing.” She turned to Julia. “And you, my friend, are a genius. So how are we going to put all that talent to work?”

  Julia took a deep breath. “Well … actually, the job I want isn’t in front of a camera. It’s behind it.”

  “You want to be a photographer?” Ellis asked. “I’ve never even seen you with a camera.”

  “Not a photographer, a stylist,” Julia said. “A photo stylist.”

  “Really?” Dorie asked, starting to apply makeup to Ellis. “What all does that entail?”

  “The stylist is the one who’s responsible for the look of a shoot,” Julia said. “She shops for all the props and accessories, fluffs everything and makes it pretty—whether it’s a modeling shoot, or a food or interiors piece. I’ve always loved to mess around with that kind of stuff.”

  Ellis lifted her face to allow Dorie to brush mascara onto her lashes. “So do it, already.”

  “I’d love to,” Julia said. “But it’s nearly impossible to break into. It’s really competitive. And unfortunately, with print magazines going out of business right and left, the job market sucks right now.”

  “Could Booker help you get a job as a photo stylist?” Dorie asked. She was lightly fluffing powder over Ellis’s cheeks.

  “Probably.”

  Julia leaned in to assess Dorie’s handiwork. She picked up a flat black compact and a long-handled brush and handed it to her. “Excellent. Now put some of this blusher across her cheekbones and contour it just along the edge of her jawline.”

  Dorie nodded and went to work. “Have you told Booker you want to be a photo stylist?”

  “Noooo,” Julia said, picking up a comb and going to work on Ellis’s hair. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. I’d probably have to get a job as a stylist’s assistant first.”

  “What does a stylist’s assistant do?” Ellis asked.

  “Grunt work,” Julia said. “You make the cappuccino runs, help load and unload the props and equipment, catalog and return the props to the stores where you bought or borrowed them. Nothing glamorous about it. And the pay is shit.”

  “And you told me Booker wants you to move back to the States and marry him,” Ellis added. “So tell me something, Julia Capelli. What’s your problem?”

  “I don’t know,” Julia admitted. “I wish I did.”

  Julia gathered Ellis’s thick straight hair in one hand and picked up a pair of scissors in the other. “Good Lord, Ellis,” she complained. “You’ve been wearing your hair—parted straight down the middle, down to your shoulders—like this since sixth grade. Talk about a rut.”

  Ellis looked up in alarm. “You are not going to make me change my hair. I can’t. I just can’t.”

  Dorie and Julia exchanged a look.

  “Ellie-Belly,” Dorie said plaintively. “Don’t you trust us?”

  “No,” Ellis said firmly, taking the scissors away from Julia. “I’ll wear the corset-thingy. I’ll wear the skirt. I’ll even wear this damned pink push-up bra tha
t is poking me in the ribs. But I am not letting her cut my hair. Not. Happening.”

  “All right,” Julia said, her expression clearly saying it was not all right. “I’ll do what I can. But at least let me try something new. Okay?”

  “No cutting,” Ellis said between her clenched teeth.

  “Wimp,” Julia muttered.

  “Bitch,” Ellis answered back. But she was grinning. And as Julia gathered her hair at the nape of her neck, twisted, and then expertly pinned it up, she blinked. Between the hair and the makeup, she looked like someone completely different. Like herself, but prettier.

  There was a polite tap at Julia’s bedroom door. The three of them turned to see Madison leaning into the room. Her face was pale beneath the bandage on her cheek, and ugly bruises had already blossomed on her elbow.

  “Wow,” Madison breathed. “Ellis, you look amazing.”

  “See?” Julia and Dorie cried in unison.

  “Hey, Dorie,” Maryn said. “I hate to bother you, but I’m wondering if I could borrow some more ibuprofen. My ankle’s kinda starting to throb.”

  “You poor thing,” Dorie said, getting up from the bed. “It’s in my room. I’ll get it and come right back.” As she passed her in the doorway, Dorie bent down to get a better look at Madison’s ankle. “It’s really swollen now,” she reported. “I’ve got an Ace bandage in my first aid kit. I’ll bring that too.” She gestured towards Julia’s bed. “Sit over there,” she ordered.

  “Oh no,” Madison demurred.

  “Sit!” Ellis repeated.

  Madison clearly looked uncomfortable perched on the edge of Julia’s bed. She looked around the room, and then back at Ellis. “Special occasion?” she asked.

  Ellis blushed. “Just a dinner date. But Julia and Dorie decided I needed an extreme makeover.”

  Madison nodded hesitantly at Julia. “Great job.”

  “Thank you,” Julia said, reluctant to accept the compliment.

  Ellis glanced at the clock on Julia’s bedside table. “Okay, are we done here? Because he’s picking me up in, like, ten minutes.”

  “What about shoes?” Julia asked. “I shudder to think what kind of shoes you’d planned to wear tonight.”