by Ava Harrison
“Hi,” I huff into the phone as I open the door to my apartment. Placing my bag down, I move into my living room. “I guess you heard the news.” There is no hiding the groan in my voice.
“Yes, I did.” My stomach sinks at the cool detachment in her words. “I’m going to give it to you straight. I can no longer book you on high profile jobs. The only thing you’ll be able to get is catalog work, not high-end couture.”
“But you don’t rep catalog models.” Please don’t cut me loose. Please say you’ll make an exception for me.
“No, I don’t,” she says with finality, and that’s when I realize the other shoe has officially dropped. Helen no longer believes in me.
I’m not good enough.
Maybe I never was . . .
Jobless.
Worthless.
Not good enough.
The words are a heavy burden on me. Casting a shadow that crushes my ribs, making it hard to breathe.
What the hell am I going to do now?
Technically, I don’t need the money to live, but if I’m not a model, who am I?
Modeling was never about money for me. It was about pride. Being good at something. It was about my self-worth. I thought I’d be able to be healthy and be successful, but I was wrong.
Now what? This is the second time in my life I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. I want to be strong but the need to drown myself in a haze of booze and drugs is overpowering.
I reach for my phone.
Me: I wish you were here. I need to go out!
Lindsey: Really?
Me: Yeah! My life is over.
Lindsey: Over-dramatic much?
Me: I was fired.
Lindsey: Fired from what gig?
Me: All gigs. I’m no longer a model.
Lindsey: I’m sure it’s not that bad.
Me: No it’s worse. I have no prospect. Nothing.
Lindsey: Meet me in London. Crash at my place. I know a few agencies and photographers here. I’ll put out some feelers.
Me: You’d do that?
Lindsey: Sure thing, Chica! It’s boring here without you.
This will be a perfect way to distract myself.
“Drink up, bitches,” Lindsey, my loud and boisterous friend, calls across the table, handing me our third shot of Patrón.
It’s been a week since I was let go from the photo shoot, and every day has been the same foggy mirage. Wake, nurse a hangover, begin drinking again, and then off to the clubs. Every damn day. The only positive? I haven’t succumbed entirely to my old habits. My body is still cocaine free—which is a small miracle these days, but I won’t allow myself to go there.
No. I can’t.
Still, I can’t help but to eye the liquid sitting in my hand, knowing full well I should put it down. Knowing that this isn’t supposed to be my life anymore. I gave this up, and I’ve tried my hardest for the past two years to not fall back into these habits. But Giorgio’s words ring in my ear even a week later, I need to lose weight in order to model, but that comes with a price. The only way for me to lose weight in that short of time is to forget the promise I made to myself. I have to be weak. And it kills me a little inside to even consider it.
I’ll have to sell my soul to get another agent.
“Liv, bottoms up. What are you waiting for?” Lindsey quirks her left eyebrow up at me in question.
This is the first time we’ve been together in months. Lindsey had a fight with her parents and hopped a plane to Europe. It’s funny how she didn’t skip a beat the second I texted her. She doesn’t even care that we haven’t spoken since she went abroad. Wherever the party is, Lindsey follows. She has no intentions of changing that anytime soon. Heir to an oil empire, she wants for nothing but attention. Her life comes with no stipulations or requirements other than age and the death of her parents. The thought of aging kills Lindsey, but parents dying doesn’t faze her. She counts down the days.
We each have our own story as to why we got into the party life. For her, it was a lack of attention. Her parents were never around to stop her. For me, it was the opposite. My parents were pretty much the most perfect parents ever. It’s exhausting how perfect they are.
Making myself that perfect is also exhausting.
But that’s not why I started down this path. It wasn’t until modeling that I was introduced to all these vices. I was never skinny enough. Never pretty enough. Never enough.
“Seriously, Olivia, I’m bored. Are you going to drink or should we call it a night?”
Lindsey’s annoyed tone has me snapping my attention back to her. Her arms are lifted in the air, her face scrunched. Not good enough for her time. A cold knot forms in my stomach at the thought. Mustering all the energy I have, I shake off the feelings threatening to wreak havoc to my night.
“Cheers,” I say, lifting my shot in the air to her and the rest of our friends who have gathered around us to also take a shot. With a tip of the glass, the liquid burns my throat as it goes down. I want to cough, but I hold it in. I don’t want to appear weak in front of these people. I call them my friends, but they’re not. The second I’m no longer fun, they’ll find something better to do. It’s exactly why I haven’t spoken to Lindsey since she moved to London. She doesn’t care about me. This life is full of nothing but fake people, and in my circle, she’s the queen.
“That’s my girl,” she squeals. “Who wants another?” Lindsey asks, not really caring. She’s already bouncing her way back up to the bar. I scowl at her back.
“You okay?” the girl Lindsey introduced to me earlier tonight named Amelia says. Her voice is a little above a whisper. There’s sincerity in her voice that I’m not used to in this world. A sincerity that reminds me of home. Of my sisters. It makes my heart squeeze in my chest.
Looking at Amelia, she reminds me so much of myself before I became engulfed in this world. She looks so innocent like a young calf about to be slaughtered. She’s new to this group. I wish I were brave enough to tell her to run, that these people will only ruin her, but I don’t say those things.
“I’m good. Are you having fun?” I change the topic back to her, not having any desire to talk about everything that’s hanging over me right now.
“Yeah. Sure. I guess.” She bites her lip before continuing. “I’m not really into clubbing.”
My head tilts. “How did you meet Lindsey?” My curiosity is piqued. This girl doesn’t seem at all like the type Lindsey would hang out with.
“I’m Lindsey’s cousin. I’m here visiting for the summer.”
I nod. It makes sense now. Poor girl. “She’ll have you hopping all over the globe, chasing one party after another.”
Amelia grunts. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I hate this.” She sits back in her chair. Her cheeks draw in as her skin pales. She’s looking a bit green like she might throw up.
“If you don’t want to be here, you could always go home,” I suggest. If it were me, I would.
Lie.
“Right. Like she’ll allow that.” She exhales a long breath, her shoulders sinking forward. “If I go home, my uncle will put me on the first flight back to Indiana and I’d rather be anywhere but there.”
There’s a story there, but I won’t press. Whatever it is, she’s clearly running from it. It’s her business, and if I’m honest, I don’t want to start getting personal as I have a mountain of things I for sure don’t want to talk about.
“Why are you here?” Her question catches me off guard.
“I haven’t seen Lindsey in a while, and I needed to let loose.”
Her brow rises. Not buying what I’m selling. “You don’t seem to like Lindsey all too much.”
Am I that transparent? Clearly, I am or Amelia is very perceptive. I need to do a better job at hiding my feelings or I’ll find myself alone. I already lost so many friends when my career tanked. Lindsey is one of the only reminding friends I have left, I can’t afford to lose her too. But with the al
cohol coursing through my veins, it seems impossible to rein in my true feelings.
“I like her just fine. I’m not in the mood tonight.” Looking off in the opposite direction, I try to distance myself from this conversation. This is not the time or place nor do I know Amelia well enough to disclose my feelings. Lucky for me, Lindsey returns in the nick of time, sauntering back over to us with a hand full of shots.
“Here you go. Patrón number two,” she calls out. We take the small glasses in our hands.
“That would be number four,” Amelia corrects, causing her to receive Lindsey’s glare.
“I don’t care. Take the shot,” Lindsey orders, no room for objections.
Amelia and I both do as we’re told, lifting the shot to our mouths and slamming them home. Liquid fire burns my throat. Like battery acid, it leaves an imprint even after all the fluid has been consumed. That is not tequila.
What the fuck?
Shaking my head back and forth, I try to rush the horrible sensation to pass. Lindsey’s cackle is heard over the booming bass of the DJ.
“What was that?” Amelia asks between gags.
“Absinthe,” Lindsey replies with a shrug. “The hot bartender let me sneak him a bottle.” She lifts her chin in acknowledgment to the man behind the bar.
My jaw tightens at her words, every muscle in my back becoming rigid. “Why the hell would you do that? You know that shit makes me stupid,” I hiss.
Lindsey tips her lips up into her signature smirk. She doesn’t care. She only cares about herself. “Yeah, well, you needed to lighten up. This is a step in the right direction. Here take this.” She hands me a full glass of clear liquid. I stare at it intently. “Chill out. It’s only vodka.”
I hate her. I hate this scene.
So why are you here?
I’m here because these people will help me forget my pathetic life for a little while. Is your life really that bad? A family who loves you . . .
But you’re not good enough.
You’re not like them.
You can’t go back.
My lips start to move, trying to fire back, but the way Lindsey’s eyes widen marginally has me shutting my mouth before I speak. She smiles at that, knowing she won. With an audible sigh, I try again, but this time my words are lost in my mouth.
Out of nowhere Lindsey grabs my free hand and pulls me to follow her. When we move a few feet through the crowd, I see that our friend Murphy is leaning down in a far booth in the corner. He’s about to take a bump of coke. He bends lower, trying to be discreet, but there’s no mistaking what he’s doing, the bronze key lifting up to meet his nostril. A part of me wants to beg him to give me a taste too.
But I don’t.
Instead I down my drink in one gulp, staving off the hunger that always grows when I see it.
He looks back up, and his eyes lock with Lindsey. His face splits in a sinister smile as he lifts his hand and points for us to come over.
Shit.
“Come on, let’s sit at his table.”
“Do we have to?” I mumble so low there’s no way she can hear me over the boom of the bass. The temptation will be too much to bear. But I have no choice. Lindsey is already pulling me over.
Within an hour, Lindsey and I are drunk. Very drunk, and we’re dancing on the bench of the banquette in the club.
“God, I love having you here. This is so fun. I can always count on you to come around and have fun, even if you’re a brat at first.”
I want to object and say I’m not a brat, but truth be told, I’m too drunk to care. “Things are never dull when you’re around.” Lindsey grins. “Come on. Let’s do some more shots.”
The rest of the night is a blur. I decide to drink everything Lindsey puts in front of me, and at some point, everything becomes a hazy mess.
Eventually my vision goes black.
The next morning, I awake with the same terrible headache I had the day before. A loud, pained croak escapes my lips. The need for coffee is very real. When I’m seated at the table about to take my first sip of the much-needed caffeine, Lindsey comes in the room laughing. She slams a magazine down on the table. “When you come to town you go big. I’ll give you that.”
I look down to see my face gracing the cover of the Expositor. It’s a sister division of the tabloid Exposé in the United States.
Exposed: The Oil Heiress is at again.
Lindsey Walker was spotted last night dancing on tables with her favorite gal pal Olivia Miller.
If the name sounds familiar, it should. Miller got herself in a heap load of trouble a few years back.
These two together can only mean bad things . . .
We can’t wait to report.
The picture has me cringing. The way my dress pulls against my torso, shows every ripple of my body but not in a good way. My jaw looks flat. Not my best angle. And to make it even worse, I look like I’m high as a kite. I’m not, but that’s not how it looks. There’s picture after picture of me chugging shots, and I’m instantly sick to my stomach.
In my head, I can hear Bennett’s words.
Search for the best light.
Never angle that way. It makes you look fat.
You don’t need to drink that. It will only make you gain weight.
“Oh, come on, Olivia. It’s not that bad. We’ve all made the Expositor.” She absently picks at her nails. “It means you’re back in the game,” she exclaims. “We need to celebrate.” She skips off.
My head falls to my hands, ashamed. I set out to forget, but I didn’t want to end up back in the tabloids. One of the things I’ve prided myself on the past couple of years is restoring my name. This crowd will tarnish my reputation quickly. The fact that Helen was even willing to take a chance on me after my fall from grace was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. She saw something in me that I didn’t. But that was twenty pounds ago. Back when I was in the best shape of my life. Bones sticking out and all.
But now, with this cover, everyone will think I’m back to my old ways on top of the fact that my body is no longer what it was . . . yeah, I’ve definitely put the nail in my coffin.
I knew my modeling days were probably over before I came to London, but there was still that little sliver of hope that maybe, somehow, I’d figure out a way to come back. But not after this. There’s no way.
It’s over. It really truly is over this time. I’ve no idea what I’m going to do. I’m going to have to go home with my tail tucked between my legs and face my family, which I’ve avoided for a long time. As supportive as they were my whole life, modeling was nothing they could stand behind. To them, it was beneath us.
Not that they can say anything. My shenanigans are just some on the long list of the indiscretions of the Miller family. When I was little, my father was never around, and when my mom finally told him to get out, he started an affair, which resulted in a half-sister, Lynn. We didn’t find out about her until my third year in college. Lynn carried on a lengthy affair with her teacher, but now they’re together. Happy.
Then there’s my sister Bridget. We share both parents, but you’d never be able to tell. She’s much more like Lynn than me. Perfect. Beautiful. They seemed to have inherited all of our father’s good genes. I got the reject ones. The ones that made his marriage fail.
The drinking. The partying. The sex.
Yeah, I was destined to be a mess. Regardless, I always wanted something different. I wanted to make my family proud. I’m not smart like my surgeon father, or incredibly outgoing like my sisters and mother, but I hoped that superficially I could shine. And I did. For a while.
There is no saving my career now. I’m not even sure I should bother going to the meeting Lindsey set up for me tonight with her contacts. Why bother? No. I at least have to try.
“Lindsey,” I yell.
“Yeah?” She pokes her head around the corner.
“I have that meeting tonight, so I won’t be able to hang out. I’m also going to pack up and tr
y to get out of here tomorrow. So, I probably won’t see you before I leave.”
“Oh?” She raises her brow.
“I’ll call you if I’m back in town.”
She frowns and then disappears again. I sound like an ungrateful bitch. She did help me, but I just can’t be here right now. I need to at least try to make plans for my future. I know I can’t do that here partying with Lindsey.
Maybe I’ll get lucky and this agent will like me. Maybe someone will believe in me again and my life doesn’t have to be like this anymore.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I begin to pace back and forth, my fist clenching and unclenching. How the hell did this happen? “You had me fly all the way out here just so you could tell me that you sold it out from underneath me?”
“Spencer, mate, calm down. It wasn’t mine to sell. You know that.” He lets out an anxious cough before pulling at his hair as he searches for a way to defuse the situation.
I’m not having it, though.
“Bullshit,” I seethe, and he flinches at the sound of my voice. “You were supposed to have everything ready to go for me when I got here. You know I’m more than good for the funds.”
“It’s not about that. The buyer offered more and Randall accepted.” Henry runs his hand back through his graying hair.
“What happened to a man’s word? You told me he wasn’t looking to sell, but he’d sell to us for the price we negotiated. What the hell happened?”
“He changed his mind. A better offer came around.” Henry shrugs wearily.
“Fuck this. I’ll bury him.”
“This is business, Spencer. It’s not personal. Let’s not get carried away. I told you there were a lot of offers once the news got out.”
“You know I would’ve matched anything.”
“Funny, that’s exactly what the new buyer said.” He sighs. “In fact, he promised to outbid anything that you did by at least a mil.”
I scoff. Who the hell would do that? If I’m being honest, I wouldn’t have paid much more than my offer.
As if reading my mind, Henry adds, “You didn’t want this land that bad anyway or this deal would’ve been done months ago.”