Model Fantasy

by Abby Gordon

“All finished, sir?” The attendant was back. “We’re making final preparations for take off.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” He nodded, handing her the mug. To his surprise, he realized his headache was nearly gone. “Your wife teach you that trick?”

  Nelson nodded sagely.

  “She can’t handle taking pills so she does everything she can to avoid them. She literally has to force them down her throat to get them down.” He grimaced. “When she actually does take one, I know she’s in pain.”

  “And you wish you were feeling it instead of her?” Grant asked quietly. Francine had said she had trouble swallowing pills because of her gag reflex. It was one reason she did the quarterly birth control shots.

  “Sure do,” the older man nodded. “The hardest part was watching her give birth.” He shuddered at the memory. “I don’t know how the hell women do it.”

  “How many children do you have?” And why the hell did the image of Francine with a swollen stomach come to mind? Of her smiling down at the curve that held his child? Why did the thought her lifting a light, fuzzy-haired infant to her breast make him ache for something he’d told himself he didn’t want? “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Four, would you believe it?” He grinned. “She had four of my children. Last one came so damn quick we barely made it to the hospital. They got her on the gurney and, boom.” He snapped his fingers. “Right there in the emergency room doorway. The nurses were telling her not to push and my wife, who charges us all a quarter a swear word, swore a blue streak. She told the nurses what they could do with themselves, but she was having the baby right then and there and they could go to hell for all she cared.” Nelson laughed. “Oh, lord, but she was so embarrassed later when I teased her about it. Come to think of it,” he mused. “I don’t think she knew what half those words meant, but she sure knew how to string them together.”

  “Women are a lot stronger than men,” Grant commented. “I don’t think I could handle even half of what they go through. Especially those damn high heels.”

  “You got that right, son. And yet, when they complain about it, and you tell them not to wear them…”

  “They’ll say ‘but they’re so cute, or they go with the outfit.’” Grant nodded. “My cousin Heather does that.”

  “Exactly,” Nelson agreed, then sighed as he smiled. “I’d do anything for her, though. She could tell me the sky was green and the grass was blue and I’d believe her. And our kids? She could say ‘jump’ and they’d be fifteen feet off the ground before they thought to ask which way she wanted them to go.”

  “Must be one helluva woman.”

  “The best. I thank God every day I get to wake up with her in my arms.” Nelson smiled in deep satisfaction. “You find a woman like that, son, you don’t let her go. You hold onto her with everything you’ve got.”

  Grant felt a stab in his heart. Shit. This man had just put to words what he’d been feeling since the day before. He hadn’t wanted to believe he could feel so much for a woman in so short a time. She hadn’t even tried to charm him. She’d just been herself and wiggled her sweet self into his heart.

  Last night he’d lowered himself to looking her up on the internet and found that Kevin MacLauren was the only man she’d been seen with out in public. And the man had cheated on her with another model. Grant looked up Delilah and studied the delicate features and the wide green eyes. Having been with Francine he couldn’t see any other woman holding a candle to her in the sexy category. Had he really treated her much better than MacLauren? Yes, he’d been clear the entire time that it was just sex. He could tell himself that the rest of his life if he wanted to. He hadn’t cheated on her but he’d left her alone in bed, knowing that would hurt her. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d known that if he hadn’t left immediately then he’d still be under the covers with her.

  And it hadn’t just been sex. Francine was sensitive, caring, and feisty. She’d had warmth, intelligence for all her embarrassment about not graduating from high school, and loyalty to her friends despite his anger.

  In short order, he’d had his perfect woman and walked away from her.

  “What if you did?” he whispered. “What if you walked away from the most perfect woman for you that you’ve ever met?”

  “Hunt her down and make sure she knows you’ll never make a dumbass mistake like that again,” advised Nelson. “And always make sure you apologize first. Doesn’t matter if you screwed it up or it was a mutual mistake. You be the man and own up to it.” Leaning back, he waggled his finger at Grant. “Trust me. Women have memories like elephants. My wife and I have gotten into some knock-down, drag-out arguments and she can pull up things I screwed up thirty years ago and have me apologizing all over again.” He winked. “Of course, the make-up sex is hotter than anything in the world. I think we’ve set off the smoke alarm a couple times.”

  Grant grinned.

  “I think I’ll take your advice, Mr. Nelson,” he murmured. “After I disconnect the smoke alarm.”

  Nelson chuckled.

  “You do that, son. You do that.”

  ****

  Tuesday afternoon, Francine sashayed down the runway. Pausing at the end, she thrust her left hip out, put her left hand on it, and raised her right hand with the label for the flavored water positioned for the cameras. Smiling at the center camera, she purred.

  “Under hot lights, you need something cool and refreshing to satisfy your thirst.” She smiled. “Four calories and a vitamin B-complex to help you get through the most stressful of days. Rush flavored water hits the spot like nothing else in the world.”

  Tilting her head back, she drank deeply.

  “Oh, now that’s perfect.” She sighed and looked at the camera. “Feel the Rush.”

  “Cut!” yelled the director. The extras behind her looked at him, waiting expectantly. He glanced at the lead motion photographer and the still cameraman. Beaming, they both gave a thumbs up. “That was good, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve got a wrap!”

  There were cheers throughout the studio. Francine relaxed and grinned. Sliding out of the four-inch heels, she hopped to the floor and padded over to the director.

  “Good to go, Stan?”

  “Honey, that was perfect!” he grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Two fricking takes and you nailed it! Love you, babe. I just absolutely love you! Gerry,” he turned to his barely-into-his-twenties assistant. “Try to get Francine in all our shoots from now on. Maybe she can teach others how to film a commercial inside an hour. I’ll take her over that reality star bitch any day of the week.”

  “You got it, boss,” nodded Gerry, winking at Francine. As Stan headed over to the two cameramen, he sighed happily. “Thank God for you,” he told her. “Last shoot a couple weeks ago? We had some temperamental diva making all sorts of demands. She wasn’t happy with anything and it took us four days to get enough for one thirty second commercial.”

  “You’re kidding,” Francine frowned.

  He shook his head.

  “Some people just believe their own publicity, I guess,” she shrugged. “I’m too damn grateful I don’t have to do a nine-to-five job or something. If people want to pay me to walk down a runway in their clothes or talk to a camera for fifteen seconds, I’ll do it. Within reason, of course,” she grinned. “Some things I draw the line at.”

  “Hey, is it true some of those porn magazines have offered you millions to pose nude?” he asked eagerly.

  “Yeah.” She nodded, finishing off the bottle. “That is over that line. Some things I just won’t do.” She looked around. “Where’s the recycling bin?”

  Francine headed off toward the dressing room, dropping her bottle in the bin as she passed. Carefully removing the designer dress, she hung it up and pulled on her own tee. Her cell phone rang and she pulled it from the compartment of her large bag.

  “Hello?”

  “Baby, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you!”


  “Kevin, don’t even pull that on me!” She shook her head. “I saw you with her! I heard you! You proposed to me three weeks ago! I come back and find you…”

  “Well, maybe if you had been a real woman, I wouldn’t have needed someone else—”

  “Wait a minute! It is not my fault that you cheated on me. And as for my being a real woman, I don’t think you’re a real man. You never tried to take care of my physical needs and not once did you ever ask how I felt about something.”

  “You fucking bitch!” he snarled. “You stuck-up, pretentious little farm girl! You have no fucking idea who you’re dealing with. You get your ass over to my apartment right now or—”

  “No! It’s over, Kevin. I don’t want anything to do with you. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

  With a snarl, she snapped the phone closed and threw it at her bag. It bounced off the wall and fell to the floor. Shaking, she picked it up and put it where it belonged. Sitting on the narrow bench, she buried her face in her hands. And where did she belong?

  She desperately wanted to be with Master. She had felt whole with him, safe, protected, wanted, and desired. And respected. While he demanded her submission sexually, he’d respected her opinions. He’d listened to her. Even when she’d become irrational during their argument about Brody, Lily, and Rose.

  She put her hand over her stomach. She could just imagine being pregnant with his child. And his reaction? Closing her eyes, she rested her head back against the wall. He’d never said what he would do if she became pregnant. If for some reason the shot failed and she became pregnant would he realize it was his?

  She had no way of contacting him, but would he realize it was his and reach out to her? She wanted to believe he would contact her, that he would want some sort of relationship. She wanted to believe he would want a relationship with his child. And her. But she didn’t know. And she wanted him to contact her without a child involved. Then she would know he wanted her.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Just a second,” she answered quietly. Reaching for her jeans, she pulled them on. She opened the door. “Yes, Gerry?”

  Sitting back down, she slipped her feet into her boots and tugged them on.

  “You left your jacket out there,” he said softly, handing it to her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, smoothing her hand over the soft leather. “You heard that?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” He nodded. “You don’t deserve to be treated that way. You deserve someone who’ll treat you right and never hurt you. On purpose at least,” he amended. “Men do stupid things, but cheating on a woman just isn’t right. Don’t take him back.”

  “I’m not going to,” she said in a low firm voice. “Thank you, Gerry.” She raised watery eyes to him. “I appreciate your kindness. I hope you find a woman who deserves you.”

  Slinging her hobo bag over her shoulder, she left the studio. Gerry leaned against the wall and sighed.

  ****

  The jazz theme echoed from the phone and Francine groaned. Stretching out her hand, she grabbed it off the nightstand. The clock told her it was four-thirty.

  “Jasmine, I realize you’re just going to bed, but…”

  “You haven’t heard?” came the breathless voice. “Shit, it’s all over the clubs!”

  “What are you talking about? Jazzy, what did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything! You did!”

  Francine bolted upright. Oh, shit, her brain froze. Someone had found out about that fantasy day.

  “Me? What? What did I do?” she managed to ask, praying she was wrong.

  “Word is all over the place that Kevin MacLauren caught you doing cocaine in his apartment and threw you out.”

  “What?” she shrieked. “I’ve never done drugs in my life!”

  “And Delilah is saying you tried to get her to do it with you.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Francine trembled in rage. “I came home from Fiji and found the two of them in bed together! I left and checked into the Franklin. I came home Sunday and threw everything of his into the trash.”

  “That’s not what everyone’s hearing,” Jasmine told her. “And, Frannie, it’s hit the press. It’s all over the tabloids and the internet.”

  “Oh, my God,” breathed Francine. “It’s all a lie. Everyone knows that. I can’t even take an aspirin, for cryin’ out loud! People know me. It’s ridiculous that anyone can believe that shit!”

  “I’m just telling you what I’m hearing.” Jasmine paused and a door closed. “Okay, I’m back in my place. I called Heather as soon as I found out. She’ll know what to do. Heather?” Her voice called out for her roommate. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “Jasmine, there shouldn’t be anything to figure out! I’ve never done drugs! I caught the two of them literally in the act and…”

  “There’s more.”

  “More?” Francine gasped. “What more? How could there be more?”

  “Kevin’s saying you were spying for a competitor and took all the money from your joint account.”

  “What? What competitor? We never had a joint account! How? What…” She closed her eyes as her entire body trembled. “I don’t believe this. Jazzy, I… I—”

  “Heather!” Jasmine yelled. “She’s hyperventilating.”

  “Well, I don’t blame her one bit,” the calm voice replied. “Give me the phone.”

  There was hushed whispering and then Heather’s voice came on the phone. “Francine, it’s Heather. You don’t worry about a thing. My cousin, Bronson Franklin, is a lawyer. I’ve already called and left messages for him on his cell and at his office. He specializes in dealing with assholes like Kevin. You get some more sleep…”

  “Sleep?” Francine gasped. “How am I supposed to get back to sleep after this?”

  “I know, sweetie,” she soothed. “As soon as Bronson gets back to me, I’ll call you and take you to his office. Now, the best defense is a frontal attack, or something like that,” she said. “You are going to continue your normal routine.”

  “Okay.” Francine stared at the painting between her closet and bathroom doors. “I don’t have anything today except to get groceries. I was going to go to the gym, but…”

  “And you’ll go to a club with us tomorrow,” Heather told her. “And on Friday, you’ll go to my grandmother’s charity ball for breast cancer research. The girls and I will be with you every step of the way—”

  “No,” Francine shook her head frantically. “Not the charity ball! Kevin will be there!”

  “Good,” Heather said stubbornly. “You are not going to hide from him. You’re going to hold your head up and dare him to repeat such trash to your face.”

  “Heather, he’s your cousin.”

  “Only by a strange, cruel twist of fate. It’s proof that God has a sense of humor,” she replied. “Really, Keith is the only one of my cousins on that side of the family I have any use for. Well, maybe Penny if she used her brain,” she muttered.

  “Heather, I can’t go to the charity—”

  “Yes, you will,” she insisted. “Now, you do have a gown, right?”

  “Yes, fairy godmother,” Francine sighed. When Heather got like this it was like being steamrolled. And Francine didn’t have the energy to argue with her, or come up with anything else to counter what Kevin had done. “I can’t believe this.”

  “I know,” sighed the other woman in sympathy. “But we’ll take care of him.”

  After an hour on her treadmill, another hour pushing her body with weights, she started doing yoga. All she managed to accomplish was to exhaust her body, while leaving her mind spinning at what she knew was happening.

  After a long hot shower, Francine pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee. She nibbled on some fruit and dared to turn the TV on. As she’d thought, the story was everywhere. More lurid and horrible than Jasmine or Heather had said. Snapping the set off, she tossed the remote back into its basket a
nd tried to settle down with a book. Jane Austen had always been able to transport her to another world, but today the machinations of husband-seeking sisters didn’t do anything but remind her of what she was going through.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said to her empty apartment. “I’m tired of hiding.”

  Putting on her boots, heavy coat and gloves, she grabbed her purse and headed for the corner market. Three paparazzi were waiting for her on the sidewalk. A feeling of dread knotted her stomach. Quickening her stride, she whisked through the store getting her produce, yogurt, and milk. As she reached the cereal aisle, there was a commotion outside. She nearly dropped the box in her hand. The front window was blocked by the crowds outside.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “This isn’t happening.”

  As she reached the cash register, the owner and manager appeared at her side.

  “We’ll make sure you get home, Francine,” he said quietly.

  “You know why they’re here?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “My daughter called a few minutes ago. It’s all right. The people in the neighborhood know you better than that. We’ll take care of you.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Jack, maybe we better take her through the back,” the manager suggested.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’m not hiding. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “You heard the lady, Will.”

  It was a madhouse scramble walking the half block to her brownstone. A couple of teenage boys came to help the grocer and manager protect her. The doorman had seen the crowd and called two other staff members to hold the press back as she reached them. Safely inside her home, she put the food away and called Heather.

  “Maybe I should just hide?” she suggested. “They were like piranha just when I went to the grocery store!”

  “I saw,” Heather told her. “No quitting, Francine.”

  “I might not have a choice,” she said bitterly. “My agent, Priscilla Adams, left a voice mail. She said the cosmetic company was considering dropping me and the soda company wasn’t sure if they would air or print the work we did yesterday.”