by Toby Neal
“Well, you should be okay until your twenties,” she comments. “Take off the clothes, get into this robe.”
“Oh, I thought I’d have clothes on for the pictures.” I immediately think of the bruises blooming all over my torso and thighs.
“We start out in bathing suit, so we can get a full picture of your body. Here you go.” She hands me a tiny black bikini. I don’t have a choice and I don’t want to explain the situation to her. I figure the bruises will tell their own tale and the photographer can choose to take the pictures or not. I go behind a screen and get into the suit.
From the other side of the screen I hear a light tenor voice. “Pearl? I’m Chad Wicke.”
I get into the robe they provided and belt it hastily, coming out.
“Hi.” I shake his hand. Chad looks like a cliché fashion photographer to me: slight build, shag haircut, purple shirt, Converse tennis shoes paired with striped trousers.
“Come with me. We’re doing the basic audition shoot, so that will include a full body series, some with clothes, and a series of head shots. We just use a black background and light you, see what happens. Bring your clothes bag. For the sake of time, we’ll have you change in the photo booth.”
I bring the bag and follow him into a door marked Studio 1. Chad points to a corner filled with light glaring from huge bulbs on stands. The background is a black drape and a single metal stool awaits. I feel my heart rate pick up, my palms prickle. I’m intimidated.
“Over there on the stool,” Chad says, already absorbed in doing something with a bank of cameras. He punches the On button on a boom box, and the room fills with Madonna singing something naughty.
I think about what Francine said about seducing the camera, but I’m not ready to be exposed yet. I drop the robe, walk into brilliance that hits me like a wall of heat, and sit on the stool.
Only I don’t just sit. I balance myself right in the middle of the small metal seat, drawing my legs up under my chin. I wrap my arms around them, resting my chin on my knees. I can feel my hair tumble down around me, a curtain of creamy curls.
I’m delaying the moment Chad sees my bruises as long as possible.
He turns and lifts his camera, grinning. “Shy girl. I like it. Open those eyes wide, Pearl. You look amazing, like a bird on a branch.”
Between his reassuring, enthusiastic commentary and Madonna’s crooning, I find myself relaxing. I even think of Magnus Thorne kissing me, and I lick my lip and give the camera some sexy.
“Okay, good. Now it’s time to show me everything, Pearl.”
The moment of truth.
I uncoil from my pose on the stool and step in front of it, splaying my legs wide, thrusting my hips forward as I arch my back, resting my elbows on the stool.
“Holy crap! What happened to you?” Chad exclaims, but his camera never stops clicking. I glare at him defiantly, my head thrown back as I look down my black and blue body into that clicking eye.
“I got mugged two nights ago,” I say. “Boston is a great town.”
“I love the attitude, Pearl. You’ve got nothing to hide, you did nothing wrong, and that’s what your body is telling me. You’re a survivor.”
“I’m a survivor,” I repeat. I feel my eyes fill. I move back behind the stool and change my pose to demure. My eyes are shiny with tears as I let the camera see all the feelings that I’ve been hiding, fleeing, sedating. Shame, fear, grief.
“Okay. Now give me some more of that sexy attitude. I liked how you started in that pose on the stool with nothing but your face speaking, and that was before I saw how amazing your body is, how you already know how to use it to express yourself.”
Chad may be a mousy little fashionista, but he knows his business. I feel myself morph into the seductress I know I can be, turned sideways with my butt raised and legs straight out, leaning on the stool and looking at the camera, imagining Magnus. He’s walking toward me, about to kiss me. I can almost feel it, and the chemistry crackles in the air like static electricity.
“Okay,” Chad finally says. “Great. Now get some clothes on, your black outfit is fine. We’ll see how clothes hang on you.”
“Not that well. I tend to fill out clothes rather than have them hang,” I say ruefully, but go through some more changes and shots with the outfits thrown on over the bikini.
Finally, it’s head shots, and this is where Chad’s genius shows up again.
“I am going to tell you a feeling. And I want you to shut your eyes, and feel the feeling. Then open your eyes, and show it to me.”
He’s moved in closer, has some of the lights dimmed, uses a shiny umbrella on the side to do something soft with the light.
“Anger,” he says. I don’t have to dig very deep for this one. I open my eyes and feel the feeling suffuse me, tightening my face and shooting fiercely out of my eyes.
“Sorrow,” he says.
I don’t have far to go for this one either. Tears actually leak out of my eyes and I feel them catch on my lips.
“Joy. Lust. Anticipation. Nervousness. Excitement. Contentment. Pride. Jealousy. Gratitude.”
I’m exhausted when he finally lets me off the stool. “Go get a bottle of water, use the bathroom, and you can crash for a few on that couch.” He points, all the while looking at his camera as if he can’t take his eyes off it. “I think we have a few useful images for Melissa to look at. I’m going to process.”
He disappears.
I glug down the water bottle, take a pee in the small closet-like bathroom, and collapse on the couch. No one told me modeling was such hard work.
Chapter 9
I’ve somehow fallen asleep when Chad comes and wakes me up with a shake on the shoulder.
“Time to come meet Melissa. I put together some quick contact sheets for her; she has them already. Can I get you anything?”
My stomach grumbles and I realize I haven’t eaten since breakfast, but during the clothing section of the shoot, Chad has already told me I have to lose fifteen pounds, minimum, for any kind of work in this field.
“No thanks.”
He hears the rumble of my tummy and grins. “Just cut back and you’ll peel this baby fat right off.”
I’m back in my basic black and I follow him down the dimly-lit hall with its spotlights on magazine covers—probably all Melissa models. I drag my feet, but seconds later Chad is opening the door with the glamorous name on it.
The first thing I see is Brandon sitting in a chair in front of the desk, and my face breaks into a big smile of relief as I see him. Then my gaze goes to the imposing figure behind the desk.
She doesn’t look like a battleax, but she doesn’t look like a pushover either. Her hair is a soft gold pageboy and she’s wearing a plum-colored suit with a spray of lily of the valley in the lapel pocket. Her eyes are huge, heavily made-up, and the same shade as Brandon’s, a changeable light hazel. She smiles. “Welcome to the Melissa Agency, Pearl. My son has been telling me about you.”
I notice the swath of contact sheets spread across the desk’s pristine surface but keep myself from glancing at them with an effort as I cross the room and extend my hand to her. “Thanks so much for giving me this chance, Ms. Forbes.”
“Melissa, please. Sit.” She points to the chair next to Brandon. There’s no room for Chad to sit, but he’s come to stand at Melissa’s shoulder. He hasn’t taken his eyes off the proof sheets.
“Look at the range, Melissa. I was pulling stuff out of her she didn’t know was there.”
“I see, Chad. And yes, we all know you’re the best portrait photographer ever, and that’s why you work for me.” She rolls her eyes a little at the enthusiastic young man.
“Can I see?” I ask hesitantly. Brandon reaches over and squeezes my hand reassuringly as I lean forward.
Melissa pushes the sheet with my body shots on it toward me. I wince at the sight. The bruises are vicious-looking in black and white, a patchwork of violence stippled across my ribs, hips, thighs and stomach. The
photo of my defiant pose is strangely beautiful and disturbing.
Melissa taps it. “This is genius, Chad.”
“It was all Pearl.” He smiles at me. “I just told her to show me everything, and she did.”
I hang my head and feel my neck heating up. “I didn’t know whether to tell you first or not. I decided just showing was better.”
“Just showing is always better,” Melissa says. “That’s what I like about these test photos. You’re common enough looking, quite frankly. We have busty blondes up the wazoo around here. But you know how to act, too, and that’s what we need for magazine work. Quite frankly, you’re too heavy for runway or even catalog, but I can see you doing specialty magazine work. I’d like you to come back and we’ll develop a full portfolio.”
She turned to Brandon. “Good eye, son. There’s hope for you yet.”
“I aim to please, Melissa,” he said coolly. “But give it up. I’m not taking over the business.”
She flaps a hand. “Give it time. Now take this young lady home.” Melissa shook an admonishing finger at me. “You need to lose fifteen to twenty pounds by the time we do the portfolio shoot. You have two weeks.”
“What? Two weeks?” I’m appalled. I know how hard it is to get weight off. The time frame seems ridiculous.
“Talk to the other girls. They’re full of tips.” Melissa flicks her fingers. We’re dismissed.
Brandon squeezes my hand again and Chad leads the way out of the office, his face lit with excitement.
“You’re the first no-background model we’ve discovered in ages,” he says. “I can’t wait to do your portfolio shoot.”
Out in the hall he admonishes me the same way Melissa did. “You have to take that weight off. It’s rounding out your cheeks and filling in where there should be shadows. You have a chance at this if you can work hard and follow directions. No partying—it wrecks your skin.”
“Yes, master,” I quip, and Chad laughs. Brandon is strangely quiet. As we get on the elevator, I feel a surge of excitement.
“This could be what I’m meant to be doing after high school!” I exclaim as the elevator doors shut. “Thanks so much for setting this up for me.” And because I’m happy, and grateful, I kiss him, leaning up to plant my lips square on his.
I don’t expect the kiss to get hot so fast, but Brandon’s arms come around me and draw me up close, one arm wrapped around my waist. The other hand comes up to cup my jaw, and he angles my face to get better access to my mouth.
He tastes like mint, and smells of something expensive, and I love how deliciously solid and strong he feels. I sense a wonder in our exploration that feels good but not edgy and almost scary, like when I kissed Magnus. I feel glowy and good as the elevator doors open and he lets me go reluctantly.
“What time is it?” I ask, a little lightheaded from the kiss and no food.
“Five o’clock.”
“Crap! I have a therapy appointment at six. Can we grab a drive-through bite and you drop me off? I’ll see if Rafe or Ruby can pick me up.”
“Sure.” He walks me to the garage and when we get into the Mercedes, he takes my hand again. “I’m wondering if I should have brought you here. It’s going to complicate things.”
“How so?”
“Because I want to date you. And I never date models.” He reaches over and hooks me to him by the back of the neck for another long kiss.
“Think of me as the girl from the park that you rescued,” I say, when I’m back in my seat and buckled up. “Besides I’m not a model yet.”
“But you will be,” he says, brow knit darkly. “I haven’t seen such good proofs in a long time.”
I ignore that. “What was that your mother was saying about getting into the business?”
He navigates the garage and back onto the busy avenue, heading for a nearby Burger King drive-through. I decide this is my last fast food for the next two weeks, but I’m already drooling at the thought of the burger.
“Melissa wants me to take over when she retires. I want to be an engineer.”
“You have to do what feels right to you,” I said. “But maybe there’s some way you can do both. After all, you rescued me. And solved your math problem.”
He grins at me. “I have to remember you’re only eighteen and in high school. You’re pretty mature for your age.”
“Age is just a number. I haven’t been young for a long time,” I say, and feel the truth of that weighing down my bones.
Chapter 10
Dr. Rosenfeld smells faintly of patchouli as she welcomes me into the office. “Good to see you again, Pearl.”
“Likewise.” I feel myself still glowing from the photo shoot and Brandon’s kiss. “I’ve had a lot going on. I think the question that I need answered about what to do next might be answered.”
I filled her in on the meeting at the modeling agency. She smiled. “So you felt energized by this?”
“Not at the time. Believe it or not, I fell asleep as soon as Chad was done taking the photos. I had no idea it was so exhausting. But later, after the meeting with Melissa...” I trailed off, not wanting to tell her I’d kissed Brandon. I didn’t want to get into any of my stuff with guys with her.
“Tell me more about this young man who rescued you and brought you to the agency.” It’s like she’s psychic, and I narrow my eyes.
“He’s nice. He’s gone above and beyond.”
She leans forward. Her sharp brown eyes could be described as “twinkling.” Today the socks she’s wearing under her Birkenstocks are purple, and I fix my gaze on them.
“Come on, Pearl. I wasn’t born yesterday. This guy likes you. Do you like him?”
I look up at her. “I do, yeah. He took me to the park where the attack happened yesterday.” I grind to a halt, remembering what happened at the park. What it sparked.
“And?”
“It was his idea. He thought it would be good for us both to go back there in the cold hard light of day.” I stop again, feeling myself struggle. I don’t want to tell her what happened. But to get my brother-in-law’s money’s worth, I need to. “I got really sick when I saw the place. Actually retched in the bushes. It was so embarrassing.”
“What did Brandon do?”
“He patted my back. Walked me home. It made me realize what a big risk he took, trying to rescue me in the dark. Who knows if the mugger was armed? And yet he drove him off.”
“So you were feeling grateful.”
I thought about that blur of a walk home, how all I wanted to do was get high. “No, actually. I felt sick, and terrible. And I wanted to get high. I couldn’t get away from Brandon fast enough.”
A long silence as she waited for me to tell her more. I opened the drawing tablet on the coffee table in front of me and began drawing a picture.
“Tell me what happened next,” she prompted softly.
I continued with my picture. It was a green hill, with a rainbow coming out of a cloud, and a house with a wide veranda nestled against the hill. The turquoise water of a bay sparkled in front of the house.
Home.
Saint Thomas.
“I said goodbye to Brandon, and found my sister’s housekeeping money and went to the park to get high. But someone stopped me. A guy from the twelve-step meeting. He distracted me, took me for a ride on his motorcycle; brought me home. It worked. I didn’t use for one more day.” I told her how I’d shared about the attack in the meeting, how much better it made me feel.
She nodded. “This is all good, but I think there are things you aren’t telling me. If you’re going to get the most out of therapy, you have to be totally honest.”
“What if you tell Rafe and Ruby?”
“You have total confidentiality, unless you threaten to hurt yourself or others. Drugs, sex, criminal activity—it’s all protected. I could lose my license if I told anyone.”
I let this sink in. “Okay. Maybe you can help me with the memories that are making me want to
use. I can’t tell them at a meeting.” I feel my eyes prickle. “I had sex with my boyfriend for the first time at a Christmas party two years ago. I don’t remember it.” I tell her the memory I had with Brandon at the bushes in the park. “I think I had a rufie or something. It was Connor who had sex with me, but I don’t even know because from then on, Keenan, his brother, acted like I’d slept with him, too. They told me what a great lay I was the next day. I didn’t remember anything but Connor handing me a drink in a red cup.”
“But you stayed with him after that?”
I nod. “Him, and Keenan, too. They—I don’t know how to explain it. I felt like it was my fault. I’d let them sleep with me. Once it had happened it was too late, I wasn’t a virgin anymore. And I grew up religious, so I figured. . .” I couldn’t put into words the feelings of shame and dirtiness, the sense that I’d brought it on myself.
“You were date raped. By brothers. That’s not right, Pearl.”
It sounds bad when said like that.
“Well. It got worse,” I say. “Connor is a mechanic, but he also sold drugs. He... got me into it.”
“How do you feel about him?”
I shut my eyes. I remember Connor’s lithely-muscled café-latte body. Remember his dark eyes boring into mine. Keenan, two years younger, is just as gorgeous. The memory of the two of them with their hands on me still lights me up, and I shiver.
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
“Okay. I felt about him how I felt about the drugs he gave me. I craved them. Both of them.” I put my face down in my hands, feeling shame sweep through me in a wave. I just want to forget, to feel better. To be anywhere but here, facing what I’ve been fleeing.
And that isn’t even the worst of it.
“Pearl. Listen to me.” Dr. Rosenfeld says. I raise my eyes. They’re open too wide and feel dry. I keep thinking of the woman at the park with the knitting bag.
“You were what? Sixteen? And how old were these boys?”
“Connor is twenty-two and Keenan is twenty.”
“So first you are raped…”