Four weeks later, I’d served Susie, now my modelling agent, a croque monsieur and the rest was history . . .
Why am I looking back all the time? I asked myself as I retrieved my cell to listen to the rest of my messages. And why do I keep thinking about Pa . . .?
‘Mitch . . . Pa . . .’ I muttered as I waited for the voicemail to spill its beans. ‘They’re gone, Electra, along with Amy as of today, and you just have to move on.’
‘My dearest Electra! How are you? I am back in New York again . . . What are you doing tonight? Fancy sharing a bottle of Cristal and some chow mein dans ton lit avec moi? I’m yearning for you. Give me a call back as soon as you can.’
Despite my low mood, I couldn’t help but smile. Zed Eszu was an enigma in my life. He was hugely wealthy, well connected and – despite his lack of height and the fact that he wasn’t my usual type at all – incredible in bed; we’d been hooking up regularly for three years. It had all stopped when I had gotten serious with Mitch, but I’d reinstated him a few weeks ago and there was no doubt he’d given my ego the boost it had needed.
Were we in love? It was a total no, for me anyway, but we ran with the same crowd in New York and, best of all, when we were alone together we spoke in French. Like Mitch, he wasn’t impressed by who I was, which was rare these days, and somehow comforting.
I stared at the phone, debating whether to ignore Zed and follow Susie’s instructions for an early night, or whether to call him and enjoy some company. It was a no-brainer, so I called Zed and told him to come on over. While I was waiting for him, I took a shower then dressed in my favourite silk kimono, which had been designed especially for me by an up-and-coming Japanese atelier. I then drank what felt like a gallon of water to counteract any drinking or bad stuff I might do when he arrived.
The concierge phone beeped to announce Zed’s presence and I told them to send him right up. He arrived at my door with a giant bouquet of my favourite white roses and the promised bottle of Cristal champagne.
‘Bonsoir, ma belle Electra,’ he said in his strange clipped French as he unloaded the flowers and champagne and kissed me on both cheeks. ‘Comment tu va?’
‘I’m good,’ I answered as I eyed the champagne greedily. ‘Shall I open it?’
‘I think that is my job. Can I take my jacket off first?’
‘Of course.’
‘But before that,’ he said, dipping into his jacket pocket and handing me a velvet box. ‘I saw this and thought of you.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, sitting down on the couch and tucking my irritatingly long legs underneath me as I stared at the box in my hands like an excited child. Zed often bought me presents; ironically, given his vast wealth, they were rarely flashy, but always something thoughtful and interesting. I lifted the lid and saw a ring nestling inside. The stone was oval-shaped and of a soft buttery-yellow hue.
‘It is amber,’ he said as he watched me studying the way it caught the light of the chandelier above us. ‘Try it on.’
‘Which finger should I put it on?’ I teased as I looked up at him.
‘Whichever you prefer, ma chère, but if I was going to make you my wife, I think I might do a little better than that. I am sure that you know your Greek namesake has an association with amber.’
‘Really? No, I don’t.’ I watched him as he popped the cork on the champagne. ‘Like what?’
‘Well, the Greek word for amber was “electron”, and legend has it that the sun’s rays were trapped within the stone. A Greek philosopher noticed that if two pieces were rubbed together, they created friction, which created an energy . . . Your name couldn’t suit you better,’ he smiled as he placed a glass of champagne in front of me.
‘Are you saying I create friction?’ I smiled back. ‘The question is, did I grow into my name, or did it grow into me? Santé.’
‘Santé.’ We clinked our glasses and he sat down next to me.
‘Um . . .’
‘You are thinking to yourself, did I bring another gift?’
‘Yup.’
‘Then look underneath the lining of the box.’
I did so, and sure enough, tucked underneath the slim slice of velvet that had held the ring was a small plastic packet.
‘Thanks, Zed,’ I said as I pulled the packet open, then dipped a finger into its contents like a child with a honey pot and rubbed some on my gums.
‘Good, eh?’ he asked as I tipped a little out onto the table, detached the short straw from the packet and took up a noseful.
‘Mmm, very,’ I agreed. ‘Want some?’
‘You know I don’t. So, how have you been?’
‘Oh . . . okay.’
‘You do not sound sure, Electra, and you look tired.’
‘It’s been busy,’ I said as I took a large gulp of my champagne. ‘I was on a shoot in Fiji last week and I’m flying to Paris next week.’
‘Maybe you need to slow down a little. Take a break.’
‘Says the guy who told me he spends more nights sleeping on his private jet than he does in his bed,’ I teased him.
‘Then maybe we should both slow down. Can I tempt you to a week on my yacht? It’s moored in St Lucia for the next couple of months before I have it sailed to the Med for the summer.’
‘I wish,’ I sighed. ‘I have a packed schedule until June.’
‘June then. We can sail around the Greek islands.’
‘Maybe,’ I shrugged, not taking him seriously. He often discussed plans when we were together that never came to anything, and more to the point, nor would I want them to. Zed was just great for a night’s company and some physical action, but any more than that and he’d begin to irritate me with his fastidiousness and unbelievable arrogance.
The concierge phone beeped again and Zed stood up to answer it. ‘Send it up immediately, thank you.’ He poured us both some more champagne. ‘We are having Chinese and I promise you, it will be the best chow mein you have ever tasted,’ he smiled. ‘So how are your sisters?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been too busy lately to call them. Ally did have a baby, though – a little boy. She’s named him Bear, which is really cute. Come to think of it, I’m meant to be seeing them all in June back at Atlantis; we’re taking Pa’s boat out to the Greek islands to lay a wreath where Ally thinks his coffin was dropped into the sea. Your dad was found on a beach close by, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, but like you, I do not want to think of my father’s death because it upsets me,’ Zed replied sharply. ‘I only think to the future.’
‘I know, but it is a coincidence—’
The buzzer rang and Zed went to answer the door.
‘Now, Electra,’ he said as he carried two boxes through to the kitchen. ‘Come and help me with these.’
I arrived home from the shoot the following day, took a hot shower and got into bed with a vodka. I felt utterly wrecked – anyone who thought models just floated around in pretty clothes and got paid a fortune for it should try a day being me. A four a.m. start, with six changes of hair, clothes and make-up in a freezing warehouse somewhere downtown was not easy. I never complained publicly – I mean, I was hardly working in a sweatshop in China and I got paid a ton for doing it – but everyone had their own reality and occasionally, even if it was a first-world problem, people were allowed to complain to themselves, weren’t they?
Enjoying feeling warm for the first time that day, I lay back on my pillows and checked my voicemails. Rebekah, Susie’s PA, had left me four, telling me she’d emailed across some résumés of suitable PAs and that I should look at them as soon as I could. I was scrolling through them on my laptop when my cell rang and I saw it was Rebekah again.
‘I’m looking at them right now,’ I said before she could speak.
‘Great, thanks, Electra. I was actually calling because there’s a girl I think would be the perfect fit for you, but she’s been offered another position and has to give her answer by tomorrow. Would it be okay if she swung by early
evening and you two had a chat?’
‘I’ve just got in from the Vanity Fair shoot, Rebekah, and—’
‘I really think you should see her, Electra. She comes with great references. She used to work as PA to Bardin and you know how difficult he is. I mean,’ Rebekah continued hurriedly, ‘that she’s used to working under pressure for high-profile fashion clients. Can I send her round?’
‘Okay,’ I sighed, not wanting to sound as ‘difficult’ as she obviously thought I was.
‘Great, I’ll tell her. I know she’ll be thrilled – she’s one of your biggest fans.’
‘Right. Good. Tell her to come by at six.’
Promptly at six, the concierge phone beeped to indicate that my guest had arrived.
‘Send her up,’ I said wearily. I wasn’t looking forward to this – since Susie had suggested I needed help organising my life, I’d seen a stream of eager young women arrive, full of enthusiasm, only to leave weeks later.
‘Am I difficult?’ I asked my reflection in the mirror as I made sure I didn’t have anything stuck between my teeth. ‘Maybe. But it’s nothing new, is it?’ I added as I finished off my vodka then smoothed down my hair. Stefano, my hair stylist, had only recently braided it tightly against my scalp in order to stitch in long extensions. My whole head always ached after a new weave had been put in.
There was a knock and I went to answer the door, wondering what was waiting for me on the other side of it. Whatever I’d been expecting, it was certainly not the small, trim figure dressed in a plain brown suit with a skirt that fell at an unfashionable length to just below her knees. My eyes wandered down to her feet, which were enclosed in a pair of what Ma would call ‘sensible’ brown brogues. The most surprising thing about her was that she was wearing a headscarf wrapped tightly across her forehead and around her neck. I saw that she had an exquisite face: tiny nose, high cheekbones, full pink lips and a clear latte-coloured complexion.
‘Hello.’ She smiled at me and her lovely deep brown eyes lit up as she did so. ‘My name is Mariam Kazemi, and I am very pleased to meet you, Miss D’Aplièse.’
I loved the tone of her voice – in fact, if it was for sale, I’d buy it because it was deep and modulated, pouring gently like honey from her throat.
‘Hi, Mariam, come in.’
‘Thank you.’
As I took long strides towards the couch, Mariam Kazemi took her time. She paused to look at the expensive splashes and squiggles on canvas and I could just tell from her expression that she thought as much of them as I did.
‘They’re not mine, they’re the landlord’s choice,’ I felt inexplicably bound to explain. ‘Can I get you anything? Water, coffee, tea – something stronger?’
‘Oh no, I don’t drink. I mean, I do, but not alcohol. I’d love some water if it’s not too much trouble.’
‘Sure,’ I said as I changed direction and headed for the kitchen. I was just pulling a bottle of Evian out of the refrigerator when she appeared beside me.
‘I would have thought you had staff to do that kind of thing?’
‘I have a maid, but it’s just little ol’ me here most of the time. Here.’ I handed her the water then she walked to the window and gazed out of it.
‘You’re a long way up.’
‘I am, yes,’ I said, realising I was completely blindsided by this woman, who exuded calm like a perfume and seemed totally unimpressed by meeting me, or by the grand apartment I lived in. Normally, possible candidates were bouncing off the walls with excitement and promises.
‘Shall we go sit down?’ I suggested.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘So,’ I said when we were settled in the living room, ‘I hear you worked for Bardin?’
‘I did, yes.’
‘Why did you leave?’
‘I’ve been offered a position that might suit me better.’
‘Not because he was difficult?’
‘Oh no,’ Mariam chuckled. ‘He wasn’t difficult at all, but he recently moved back to Paris full-time and I am still based here. We remain the best of friends.’
‘Good. Well, that’s great. So, why are you interested in working for me?’
‘Because I’ve always admired your work.’
Wow, I thought. It isn’t often I hear someone calling my job ‘work’.
‘Thanks.’
‘It is a real gift to be able to create a personality that complements the products one is advertising, I think.’
I watched as she opened her plain brown satchel, which was definitely more ‘school’ than it was ‘designer’, and handed me her résumé.
‘I guessed you wouldn’t have had time to glance through it before I arrived.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ I agreed as I skimmed the details of her life, which were unusually brief and to the point. ‘So you didn’t go to college?’
‘No, my family didn’t have the funds. Or more truthfully’ – one of her small delicate hands reached towards her face and a finger rubbed her nose – ‘they probably did, but there are six of us and it wouldn’t have been fair on the rest if I’d have gone and the others couldn’t.’
‘I’m one of six too! And I didn’t go to college or university.’
‘Well, we have something in common at least.’
‘I was the youngest.’
‘And I am the eldest,’ Mariam smiled.
‘You’re twenty-six?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then we’re the same age,’ I said, for some unknown reason feeling pleased to find parallels with this unusual human being. ‘So what did you do when you left school?’
‘I worked in a florist’s during the day and went to business school at night. I can obtain a copy of my qualification certificate if you need it. I’m fully computer literate, can produce spreadsheets and my typing is . . . well, I’m not sure of the exact speed actually, but it’s fast.’
‘That’s not really one of the main requirements and neither are spreadsheets. My accountant looks after all the financials.’
‘Oh, but they can be very useful in an organisational role too. I could plan in detail your entire month for you at a glance.’
‘If you did that, I think I might run away,’ I joked. ‘I go on a day-to-day basis. It’s the only way I can cope.’
‘I completely understand, Miss D’Aplièse, but it’s my job to organise beyond that. With Bardin, I even had a spreadsheet for his dry cleaning and we’d work out what he’d wear to each event, right down to the colour of his socks – which were often deliberately mismatched.’ Mariam let out a small giggle and I joined her.
‘You say he’s a nice person?’
‘He is wonderful, yes.’
Whether he was or he wasn’t, this girl had integrity. So many times I’d had prospective PAs dishing the dirt to me on former employers. Maybe they thought it was cool to explain in depth why they’d left, but I just thought of the fact that it could be me they were talking about in the future.
‘Before you ask, I am very discreet.’ Mariam had obviously read my mind. ‘I have often found the stories that circulate about celebrities in our business to be untrue. It’s interesting . . .’
‘What?’
‘No, it’s nothing.’
‘Please, say it.’
‘Well, I find it fascinating that so much of the world craves fame, yet in my experience, it often brings only misery. People believe that it will grant them the right to do or be anything they choose, but in fact they lose the most precious commodity we humans have, and that is their freedom. Your freedom,’ she added.
I looked at her in surprise. I got the feeling that, despite everything I had, she felt sorry for me. Not in a patronising way, but sympathetic and warm.
‘Yup, I’ve lost my freedom. In fact,’ I declared to this total stranger, ‘I’m beyond paranoid that someone will see me doing the simplest thing and twist it into a story to sell more of their newspapers.’
‘It is not a good way to
live, Miss D’Aplièse.’ Mariam shook her head solemnly. ‘Now, I am afraid I must go. I swore to my mother I would babysit my little brother while she and Papa go out.’
‘Right. This babysitting . . . I mean, is it a regular thing you do?’
‘Oh no, not at all, which is why it is important I am there on time tonight. It is Mama’s birthday, you see, and the family joke is that the last time Papa took her out to dinner was when he proposed to her twenty-eight years ago! I understand that if you employ me, you will need me twenty-four hours a day.’
‘And that there will be a lot of overseas travel?’
‘Yes, that is no problem. I have no romantic commitments either. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .’ She stood up. ‘It has been a pleasure to meet you, Miss D’Aplièse, even if we do not end up working together.’
I watched her as she turned and walked towards the door. Even in her ugly clothes, she had a natural grace and what a photographer would call a ‘presence’. Despite the fact that the interview had been about fifteen minutes flat and I hadn’t asked her a tenth of the questions I should have done, I really, really wanted Mariam Kazemi and her wonderful sense of calm in my life.
‘Listen, if I offer you the role now, would you consider taking it? I mean,’ I said as I jumped off the couch to follow her to the door, ‘I know you’ve been offered another position and need to answer by tomorrow.’
She paused for a few moments, then turned to face me and smiled. ‘Why, of course I would consider it. I think you are a lovely person, with a good soul.’
‘When can you start?’
‘Next week, if you wish.’
‘Done!’ I put out my hand towards her, and after only a couple of seconds’ hesitation, she offered me hers.
‘Done,’ she repeated. ‘Now I really must go.’
‘Of course.’
She opened the door and I followed her to the elevator. ‘You already know the package, but I’ll have Rebekah write up a formal offer of employment and bike it to you in the morning.’
The Sun Sister Page 2