Me Tarzan, You Jane

by Camelia Miron Skiba

  “Merci, Bernard.” I return the gesture of air-kissing. His flamboyant, yellow skinny jeans combined with a snug neon green t-shirt, black leather jacket, and coral pink sunglass frames almost hurt my eyes. “How are you?”

  Bernard does one of those theatrical hand flips where his long, turquoise polished fingernails glide through the air. “Changing time zones kills me. One day in New York, three days in Paris and then back here in Cali. It’s hard on the body. Don’t understand how Madame V does it, but what do I know?” He sighs, placing the coffee holder on a small table. He takes a cup and assesses the room with scrunched brows. “Why doesn’t anybody pay attention to what I say? Madame V always wants her shoes and clothing set by the window. Why are the racks set up next to the door?”

  I’m used to Bernard starting conversations then taking off, returning to say a few words, and leaving again. It’s one of those things that never ends. He does his job and I do mine.

  Ella comes over, rubbing sleepy blue eyes, one doll under one armpit, the other dragged by the hand. Her blond hair is a crazy mass of curls. She’s not a morning person and everyone on set knows not to talk to her—there’d be no answer.

  “You wanna eat, sugar pea?”

  A headshake followed by a thumb stuck in her mouth is my cue.

  “You wanna wait for BieBie?”

  Nodding.

  “She’ll be here soon. You wanna change your jammies?”

  Headshake.

  “Okay. Mommy needs to finish setting up.” With a hug and a smooch Ella is on her way to wander around in her Disney Princess footed sleeper. She’s been part of Madame V’s—or BieBie as she calls her—photo sessions since before walking, knowing not to touch cords and how to dodge lights and cameras.

  I know Madame V has entered the room before I see her. For people that have never worked with her, she’s the perfect combination of Cruella De Vil, Sophia Loren, and Joan Rivers. The epitome of glamour, curves, and snark, Madame V creates a movement about the room similar to a state of petrification and awe.

  Her image triples in the mirrors on my table. She’s dressed from head to toe in red with only black leather gloves and a black cigarette holder as a punch of color. She stops, one palm resting on her curvy hip clad in a pencil skirt, not saying a word but pushing designer sunglasses down her nose, assessing, searching. Then she spots what, or better said, who she looks for and opens her arms.

  “Ma petite.”

  “BieBie,” Ella chirps coming to hug Madame V.

  And with that, the place returns to life again.

  Lana, the hairstylist, arranges her tools while Madame V and Ella are served breakfast, using expensive handcrafted plates and silverware, also delivered from Paris. I try not to laugh at the way Ella tries to imitate Madame V’s eating gestures, graceful and slow, not touching the silverware with her lips.

  “She’s adorable,” Madame V says later when she sits in the makeup chair, a flute with champagne in one hand and her empty cigarette holder in the other. This is one thing she gave up entirely—smoking—since I’ve been bringing Ella on set. We all are grateful for the little miracle, not having to smell as if we spent the day in a chimney.

  “I hope you have room in your trunk,” Madame V says, but I’m not sure if she addresses Lana or me. Keeping her eyes closed as I rub moisturizer on her dry skin, Madame V continues, “I brought Ella a few toys. I hope you don’t mind. Don’t bother bringing any of them to Paris, she’ll have plenty. Plus, she’ll spend a lot of time at my niece’s house with her girls.”

  My mouthing, “What is she talking about?” earns a shrug from Lana.

  “Bernard got first class tickets for you and Ella,” Madame V adds, unaware of my confusion. “Mon chauffeur will pick you up. I don’t care what you do with your time, I only care you come when I need you. Bernard will provide a schedule. Expenses, hotel, all other details, ask Bernard about.”

  “Will do,” I say in a neutral voice, my brain screaming, Paris? Paris? Paris? I know better than to express my bewilderment aloud. It’d only cause a scene where Bernard is shredded to pieces and the rest of the crew dismissed before the photo session even begins.

  “How much longer?” Bernard’s French accent really gets to me right now. With my mind’s hands I strangle him for not giving me the heads up about whatever trip Madame V has planned for me. I don’t do well with surprises.

  “Don’t you dare rush Jane,” Madame V says. “I’m ready when I’m ready.”

  I don’t offer an answer, letting him stew for now, focusing on applying foundation on Madame V’s face. Quick, short strokes, mix a few shades, then again quick, short strokes. Madame V peeks into the mirror and hums, which is usually a sign she likes it.

  “I’ll never understand why you use makeup, Viv. You’re gorgeous without it. You know that, don’t you?”

  I know this voice. Oh, dear Lord. Please. Wake me up.

  “Hey, beautiful.” Lucas kisses Lana loudly on her extended cheek. He slaps her butt, which earns him a wink and a grin. I’ve never seen her so alive. She usually doesn’t speak if she doesn’t have to but here she is beaming from one ear to the other, eyes on Lucas.

  I’m pretty sure I look stupid, jaw dropped and both hands up in the air, a brush in one hand, two jars in the other, but I’m in shock. Why is Lucas here? For a second I entertain the thought that maybe he won’t recognize me. With a constant cohort of women eager for his attention, it’s impossible for anyone to remember all of them, right?

  “Jane.” It’s the only word Lucas addresses me with, not looking my way, but rather devouring Madame V with his eyes. So much for not being remembered.

  “Mon amour.” Madame V extends a gracious hand. “I didn’t think you’d make it out of bed so early. Last night was exhausting.” She purrs when Lucas bows and first kisses her fully on the mouth then takes both her hands in his and kisses them slowly, lengthily, tenderly. He looks up at her with lover’s eyes, ecstasy transforming his handsome features.

  “How could I not when I know you’re doing this for us?” Lucas replies, releasing one of her hands and pushing a tendril of hair behind her ear.

  And I’m about to throw up in my mouth. There’s only so much hoax and sham this poor soul of mine can take at once. If there was a speck of sympathy—or whatever it was—I felt for Lucas at the conference in Phoenix, now I’m beyond annoyed. Not only does he allow any woman to rub on him, drool and fantasize over him, but he sells himself to cougars? For Pete’s sake, Madame V could be his mother, or worse—his grandmother.

  “BieBie, my dolls are asleep. Let’s pick your dress.” Ella caresses Madame V’s arm. She switched her jammies for a floral long-sleeved shirt and jeans, all by herself. My heart warms at the sight of her, pulling me out of my shock and disgust with Lucas.

  “Really? Are you ready for me?” Madame V gushes, pushing up straight in the chair, smiling down at Ella. “What color should I wear today, ma petite?”

  “Who’s this lovely young lady?” Crouched next to Ella, Lucas looks like a giant. Dark jeans stretch over his muscled thighs. I hear Lana sighing.

  It takes a lot of control not to grab my daughter and shelter her from Lucas. Take her away where he can’t even see her, let alone talk to her.

  “I’m not allowed to talk to strangers, mister.” Ella looks at me for approval.

  I nod and smile at her, but my smile fades at Madame V’s words, “He’s not a stranger, ma petite. He’s my friend and your mommy lets you talk to him. Right, Jane?”

  Chapter 8

  Lucas looks at me for the first time since entering the room, one eyebrow as cocked as his confidence.

  “Right,” I say between my teeth.

  “My name is Ella, Ella Rae Sulliban.” My daughter extends her chubby hand and looks at Lucas with that expression I know so well when someone piques her interest. Oh, no, not my daughter, too!

  Lucas takes her hand in his and kisses it, which earns him a giggle from Ella. “Oh, El
la, Ella Rae Sullivan, are you a princess?” He squints his eyes. “Or maybe a fairy? You look like one, you know? So beautiful! Where did you come from?”

  “From my mommy’s belly.” Ella points toward me then adds, “And what’s your name, mister?”

  There’s laugh behind Lucas’s covered mouth and I thank him silently for not laughing aloud at Ella’s innocent answer.

  “My name is Lucas, Lucas Oliver. Pleased to meet you, Ella, Ella Rae Sullivan.”

  Ella giggles. “No, it’s only Ella Rae Sulliban.” She raises one finger, “Not Ella, Ella Rae Sulliban.” Now there are two fingers up in the air right in front of Lucas’s face.

  “Isn’t she adorable?” Madame V gets up from the chair and kneels next to Lucas and Ella, even though I’m not done with her makeup, nor is Lana with the hairdo. “We should put photos of her in the magazine, what do you think?”

  Lucas straightens and hooks both hands in his front pockets, the faded blue V-neck shirt tight over his muscles. A playful smile breezes over his lips, but the smile doesn’t reach his kiwi-green eyes. Staring at me he says, “She doesn’t do photos.”

  “Oh, that’s such nonsense,” Madame V replies. Taking Ella by the hand she walks away and says, “You like being photographed, don’t you, ma petite? Let’s pick a dress now. What color do you like today?”

  I know Lucas’s reply is a cheap jab at my refusal to be photographed with him in Phoenix. Left with Lana and Lucas, I turn my back to them, moving jars and tools around the table, and putting away the ones I no longer need. I leave for the bathroom with the hope that when I return Lucas will be gone from my makeup table. Not only isn’t he gone, he sits in Madame V’s chair, with Lana nowhere in sight. Great. Just what I need. He holds a jar in one hand, rubbing some of the lotion on the back of his hand.

  “This smells good,” he says when he sees me.

  “Normal people don’t touch things that don’t belong to them.” I take it from his hand, put the lid back on and set it down on my table.

  “Got up on the wrong side of the bed, I take it?”

  “At least I got up in the right bed, my bed.” I immediately regret my words. Why would I say something like that? I’m mortified. My eyes fall on the special glue I bring for the fake lashes and I consider spreading it over my lips to seal my stupid mouth.

  “You have a daughter.”

  “Leave her alone. She’s out of your league.”

  “You’re married.” Lucas’s voice sounds accusatory.

  It’s not a question, so I don’t feel obligated to answer. I keep busy with my cell phone, reading emails I don’t understand and checking appointments I don’t recall scheduling.

  “You don’t wear a ring.”

  Instinctively I look at my left hand although I know there’s no wedding ring there, then I resume staring at my phone.

  “At least now I know why you didn’t call.” Lucas’s tone claims my attention. There’s bitterness mixed with . . . disappointment I’d say, and when I look at him, those emotions shadow his face like clouds over a mountain’s peak. If confusion is what he expects to get out of me, then mission accomplished. Then it dawns on me that my refusal to have lunch with him must’ve hurt his über-inflated ego.

  “That’s not why I didn’t call,” I mutter. “I threw your business card away.”

  “Ah,” he chuckles. “Afraid of temptation.”

  “No, genius. Not interested.”

  Ella returns with Madame V. She wears a stunning golden strapless dress, a jewel in itself. While the bustier is sequin embellished, the bottom is made of feathers.

  “What do you think?” Madame V poses like a true professional.

  “Fabulous.” Lucas kisses her hand then twirls her. “Magnificent.” Another twirl now in the other direction. “Breathtaking.”

  I can’t help but roll my eyes.

  Ella pulls at Lucas’s jeans. “Mister sir Lucas, I helped her pick it.”

  Lucas releases Madame V’s hand and crouches next to Ella. He doesn’t correct her and I make a mental note to explain to her later not to use mister and sir together. I resume applying makeup once Madame V is seated. Her dress gives me exactly what I needed to finish the color combination for the makeup.

  “You’re a true expert, Ella Rae, that’s a beautiful dress, ” Lucas says. “I might need help as well. You see, I need to be photographed with Viv and I don’t know what to wear.”

  Ella looks at him and then at Madame V, scrunching her sandy, thin brows before saying, “BieBie. A photo with you and BieBie.”

  “Yes, with BieBie,” Lucas nods.

  “But men don’t wear dresses. We don’t hab clothes for you.”

  “Actually we do. You see that rack over there?” Lucas points in the opposite direction from where we stand, “It’s all clothes for men. You wanna pick something for me?”

  Ella nods as Lucas stands. When she looks up at him, she tilts her head so far backward that for a second she’s losing her balance, almost falling on her butt. I reach for her, but Lucas is closer and steadies her then offers her his hand. Not hesitating one bit she takes it, although he must walk bent while her arm is stretched straight in the air.

  I can’t pay attention to what they do and finish Madame V’s makeup. I must focus on my task regardless of how I feel about Ella spending time with Lucas. Once again the man aggravates me—no doubt this time he does it intentionally. I told him to leave Ella alone and yet he asks her to help him pick clothes, which is as bogus as his smile. Who helps him dress usually, Santa Claus?

  Lana did a great job with Madame V’s hair and I’m pretty pleased with the makeup. I consider it a small victory given the fact that I dealt with a fake nose and cheekbones, botoxed lips, and skin stretched so far behind her ears, I’m sure the scars are braided at the back of her skull. Madame V walks onto the set and a camera clicks constantly.

  Before the first break, I get a hold of Bernard. I have a bone to pick with him. He’s in a hurry, but I don’t lose my grip on his leather jacket.

  “I was told I’m going to Paris.”

  “Oh, yes, about that.” Bernard clears his throat, “Anouk can’t work because of her upcoming wedding and you know, if Anouk can’t be there, it’s you. Madame V was invited by TF1 to host the New Year’s show. There’s also a photo shoot and a mega party. I got your ticket and Ella’s, a hotel room, and a nanny to watch her while you’re working. All expenses inclusive, plus a bonus of five thousand dollars.” Bernard rests a hand on my shoulder, “I have your back, mon amour.”

  My head spins at the amount of money. All-inclusive plus five thousand bucks? Having Ella with me and a nanny? Roaming Paris’ streets? How can I say no? I forgot to ask the timeframe but Bernard rushes away, called by one of the photographers.

  I retouch Madame V’s makeup when she changes for the next session and Lana pulls her hair up under a fedora hat. Then Madame V is back on set wearing black trousers, a white, man’s button-down shirt and black suspenders. She holds an empty golden frame halfway between Lucas’s face and his naked abs. I look for Ella, panicking that she’s seen Lucas wearing only pants, but she plays in her corner, her back to the room.

  To ensure she won’t see Lucas half-naked I go and face her, forcing her this way to not change positions. I breathe her in, loving the shampoo smell, peaches and sunscreen lotion. I can easily get drunk on her smell.

  “Having fun, sugar pea?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “We leave soon. You want to see Grams and Pete afterward?”

  “Can we first go with mister sir Lucas for ice cream?”

  I’m alert and panicking, but keep my voice neutral. “It’s only mister Lucas, not mister sir Lucas. The words mean the same, you don’t have to use both.”

  “Can he come with us?” My daughter asks again.

  “I’m sure he’s busy. Besides we don’t really know him very well, honey pea.”

  “He’s BieBie’s friend.”

  “Yes,
but he’s not our friend. To be one’s friend you must spend a lot of time together.”

  “He’s magic, you know?”

  My daughter is too young to understand how magic I think Lucas is. I have a mouthful and then some of words full of magic to describe him, but refrain from saying any, afraid once started I won’t stop.

  “Magic, you say?” Glancing over Ella’s head I see Lucas holding his shirt over his shoulder, the other hand in his black trousers’ front pocket, the valley between his chest muscles deep and tan. I roll my eyes.

  “Mm-hmm.” Ella keeps busy with her dolls, undressing them. “He pulled a coin out of his ear. Then he told me to try but I couldn’t and we lost the coin. He told me to blow ober his hand and ta-da, he found the coin in his sleebe.” Ella’s giggle is contagious and I find myself laughing at the funny faces she makes. I cradle her in my arms, and tickle her. She laughs, wriggling in my arms like play dough.

  “Look how magic this is,” I say. “I touch you and you laugh. Is this magic or what?”

  “You—are—magic—too,” Ella says between hiccups.

  The lights are finally turned off. I finish packing and take my trolleys to my trunk. Madame V’s limousine pulls up next to my car and the driver hands me the presents for Ella. I don’t have room for everything, even if I move things onto the passenger seat and next to Ella’s car seat.

  “Can you take the rest of them back?” Tiredness spikes my voice. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I don’t want a spoiled daughter. Christmas isn’t an excuse to go overboard with toys, regardless of how rich someone is. Madame V outdid herself once again.

  The driver breathes hard, his white shirt stressed over his oversized abdomen. “No can do, miss. Don’t wanna lose my job. I’ll bring them to your house later.”

  “What’s the matter?” Lucas joins us.

  “The presents don’t fit in,” the driver offers, scratching the top of his head then setting back his hat.

  “It’s okay.” I pull a business card out of my wallet and hand it to the driver. “Here’s my address, leave them at the door if I’m not home. Thanks.”