Halfway Perfect

by Julie Cross

  He must have seen the potential for concession on my face because he steps closer and his hand slides up my arm. “All I want is to give you the same chance you had before everything got screwed up. Five years ago, you were Elana, and I don’t think your time is up yet. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

  Turning him down this time is a little easier than I thought it would be. I’m not sure why, but I don’t feel as small as I did last week. “I already told you, Wes, I’m okay. Just let it go. I have.”

  There’s a hint of that old storm in his eyes. It could easily be mistaken for passion. He grips my arm tighter.

  “Eve?” Janessa says, appearing on the step of the RV.

  Oh God.

  Wes releases my arm and leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “It was good to see you again, Evie. I’m glad you’re doing well. Let me know if you change your mind about those calls I mentioned making earlier.”

  He gives Janessa a quick nod and then he’s gone. I turn to face my new boss. She lifts her hands up, like she’s completely exasperated.

  “I’m trying to help you here, Eve, but whatever that was”—she points in the direction Wes exited from—“it’s not helping everyone see you as my assistant and not a new rumor to spread.”

  “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  She stares at me for a long moment and then says, “Good.”

  • • •

  October 10, 6:30 p.m.

  “So what was Janessa like the rest of the day? Did she seem pissed off?” Steph asks while we’re in the dining hall trying to make something healthy out of dorm food.

  “No, she was totally normal, like it didn’t even happen,” I say with a sigh. I’ve been pushing food around my plate for thirty minutes and haven’t taken more than two bites. An old habit already reemerging at the first sign of stress.

  “Do you think he’ll keep showing up the rest of the week?” Steph asks.

  “If he does, I’ll deal with it. Today was better than the first time and maybe tomorrow, if it happens, it’ll be even easier.”

  “You’re not thinking of letting him help you model again, are you?”

  I shake my head. “I think it’s a lot more complicated than Wes is letting on. He doesn’t even rep girls anymore.”

  “Promise me you won’t let yourself end up alone with him again?” Steph says. “I’m seriously worried about that guy.”

  “I promise.” I stare at my salad and rice and draw in a deep breath before shoving in a few bites, swallowing, but hardly chewing. “Just three more days. Three more days.”

  “Assuming you survive the week, Friday we are going to celebrate at the frat house again—” I groan and she narrows her eyes at me. I’ve been to a few frat parties with Steph already and was completely unimpressed. “This party is going to be much better than the last, I promise. It’s that annual live music for charity ordeal.”

  I perk up a little. “I’ve heard of this and it did sound pretty awesome.”

  Steph folds her hands over the table and stares at me. “I think you need to have some new experiences, meet some new guys. Promise me, when you finish on Friday, we’ll go to that party, get crazy drunk, and find you a random guy to hook up with.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not going to hook up with someone I meet on Friday. That’s so not me. Maybe I’ll give a guy my number or have an intelligent, mutually enjoyable conversation.” Like the ones I have with Alex. I think it, but I try not to let myself absorb it. Although, the twenty-minute discussion we had this afternoon on superpowers gained via radioactive spills versus radioactive spiders was far from intelligent and far from relevant to anything we were doing. But it beats some frat boy going on about losing an intramural football game and not caring if I ever got in a word in.

  “Fine,” she concedes. “One kiss. Just find one guy to kiss and consider it symbolic for you turning over a new leaf, deal?”

  “Deal,” I say after a long pause. It’s a reasonable compromise and might even be fun. And if I have a few more days like today, I’ll welcome the getting drunk part on Friday.

  My phone goes off, vibrating against the whole table. Steph leans in and reads it. “Calvin Klein? You don’t actually know—”

  “Seriously? Um, no, I don’t.” I snatch the phone off the table and laugh at her. My heart flutters a little before I answer it. “Hey…what’s up?”

  “I have a question for you,” Alex says, like it’s so normal for him to be calling me.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at a party with your costar?” Thank God for that party, because it created some afternoon gossip during the shoot today that distracted everyone from me and my Wes drama.

  Steph has already pushed her tray aside, leaning on her elbows to listen in. I’m starting to realize more and more every day that my roommate is a complete straight shooter; she doesn’t hide anything. We’re even more opposite than I realized.

  “The party’s not until later,” Alex says. “And you’re not supposed to answer a question with a question.”

  “Okay, what’s your question?”

  “How do you feel about dog walking?”

  Um, what? “Personally or in general?”

  “Personally,” he says. “The reason I’m asking is, I know this guy and he lives near Columbia and needs someone to walk his dog a couple of times a week and you said you needed a job.”

  This isn’t even close to what I’d expected him to say, so it takes me several seconds to catch on and Alex eventually prompts me again. “Eve?”

  “Yeah, dogs. Love dogs. I want to have a hundred someday.”

  Alex laughs. “I don’t really care if you like dogs, so no need to impress me. Do you want the job?”

  “Yes, totally.”

  “Okay then, I’ll pass your email along to my…friend,” Alex says.

  “Who is this guy?” I ask, though I really don’t care. A job is a job and I need one. Badly.

  “Oh, you know, just another rich kid on the Upper West Side living on Mom and Dad’s money. He dabbled with designing. I walked in his show a few months ago, not my proudest moment. Hopefully the fact that I’m helping you out will be enough to put a stop to any inquiries.”

  And yeah, I’m curious but I’d never seek out the evidence because it just feels like an unspoken agreement between the two of us ever since Alex said that he never believes that tabloid shit. “My lips are sealed.”

  “Cool,” he says. “John will email you soon. He’s a little strange and mildly obsessed with me, so consider yourself warned.”

  “Isn’t everyone obsessed with you?”

  Steph’s mouth opens like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t.

  “If only that were true,” Alex laughs. “Then I wouldn’t have to work, and I’d be off climbing Everest.”

  “Why would you be climbing Everest?” The words are out of my mouth before I remember him saying something about the indoor climbing wall and how he wants to try something outside soon.

  “No reason,” he says quickly. “I just mean, I’d be doing whatever I wanted.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll be sure not to tell John that I’m, in fact, your number one fan.”

  “A catfight would break out, and you’d be back to your financial crisis.”

  I laugh. “Thanks, Alex. I really appreciate this.”

  “No problem,” he says. “I have one more question. What were you and Elana talking about today? That was way too much French for me to follow.”

  I glance at Stephanie and decide to hold off on that talk. “Um, I’ll text you later with that information, okay?”

  “Sure. See you tomorrow, Eve.”

  I hang up and Steph returns to eating her dinner, but only for a minute before she starts drilling me.

  “So, Alex…the guy you suppo
sedly only gave your number to so he’d join your 5K team,” she teases. “Have you been running together and I missed it?”

  I shrug. “He’s nice. That’s all.”

  Except I’m not 100 percent sure that’s true.

  Chapter 12: Alex

  October 10, 8:30 p.m.

  EVE: $300/wk to walk a dog! Is he insane?!

  I laugh at Eve’s text, glad John contacted her so quickly. I’m not sure what will be required of me as a return favor, and frankly I’m a little scared, but hearing the relief in her voice on the phone earlier made it worth it. I don’t know what the fuck is going on with her and Wes, but based on how shaken she looked the rest of the day, I can only assume it wasn’t a friendly chat to catch up. Could he still be that pissed at her after all this time? Even though things are going great for him, career-wise.

  Man, last time I asked John for a favor, more specifically for World Series tickets, I ended up in his apartment trying on some weird-ass punk version of a Scottish kilt, knee socks included, and a vest with no shirt underneath. I wouldn’t let him take any pictures though. But still, I’m pretty much scarred for life.

  ME: Yes, he’s insane. But its pennies to him.

  The car pulls up to Elana’s agency apartment, and I stow my phone away and jump out to open the door for her. She walks out alone, wearing half a dress. Or at least it looks like half is missing. It’s blue and black, of course, matching my black shirt and blue tie that Wes sent over for me to wear tonight.

  Elana looks pretty nervous, even stumbles a little in her heels.

  “Hey,” I say. “Nice dress.”

  She smiles at me as I open the door for her. “Thank you. I really don’t like it, to be frank. I feel like if I bend to pick up something, it will break open.”

  I laugh and slide in beside her. “The photographers will love that.” Her eyes widen, and I can tell I’ve made her more nervous. “If you drop something, I’ll pick it up for you. How’s that sound?”

  “Thank you.”

  My phone buzzes again, and I pull it out to read Eve’s reply text.

  EVE: John just asked me if I’ve ever dressed a dog before! Wtf?

  I glance at Elana who’s watching me carefully and then I think about all the people that might be looking over my shoulder, reading “Eve Nowakowski” on my phone. I quickly delete her name and then hesitate before saving her number with a secret nickname…Harvard.

  ME: Jamiroquai only wears designer clothes. She’s never naked.

  HARVARD: The dog’s name is Jamiroquai?

  ME: Yep. After the singer. Virtual insanity. Canned Heat.

  HARVARD: Oh boy…what did u have to wear in that show? I can’t even imagine.

  ME: No you can’t. I still need therapy.

  HARVARD: Are you ignoring your date?

  ME: Maybe. We’re in the car.

  HARVARD: Pay attention to her for a while and then I’ll tell you what you wanted to know earlier.

  ME: Deal.

  I tuck my phone away and sit in silence for a minute, twiddling my thumbs. “So, Eve’s French is really good, huh? Mine’s terrible.”

  “Yes,” Elana nods. “She’s very nice. I don’t believe anything they say about her.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. This girl doesn’t beat around the bush. “Really?”

  Elana angles her body to face me, giving me a clear view of way too much skin in the front. I force my eyes up.

  “The agency claimed she was going to rehab, but if a model goes to drug rehab the reports always say, oh she has exhaustion and is dehydrated.” She waves a hand around as if mimicking Hugo during one of his gossip sessions. “If they say drugs, it means they’re hiding something much worse.”

  “What’s worse than drug addiction?”

  I stop thinking about it because Eve is slowly becoming more Harvard and less Eve Castle and I don’t want that to change.

  “I don’t know,” Elana says slowly, every word laced with her thick French accent. “She looks even more beautiful now, doesn’t she?”

  I’m not sure how to respond to that since Elana is my fake girlfriend and all, and honestly, I haven’t seen many pictures of Eve from her time in the spotlight. “She looks…healthier,” I say finally.

  Elana nods, her dark eyes staring into mine. “I can’t wait until I’m an actress. I’ll eat bread every day and gain fifteen pounds. Maybe I’ll even have curves. I love curves on women.”

  Me too. At least we have one thing in common.

  “Actress, huh?” I say, hiding a smile. She’s confident in the way a five-year-old is telling you she wants to be an astronaut. Like it’s so easy, it’s already a done deal. I think my sister Katie still secretly wants to be a pop star, though she won’t say it anymore now that her Hannah Montana phase is long behind her.

  Katie who has been giving me hell via text message about the US Weekly article. Worse than my parents even. She wants to know every detail about Elana and our relationship. I hate lying to her.

  I flip through the family text messages I’ve acquired and ignored throughout the day.

  KATIE: I can’t believe Elana has that Prada bag! Do they pay her to walk around with it?

  BRAD: Hey little bro, they’re gonna get the French chick some implants before she does Victoria’s Secret, right? Let me know asap. We’ve got a bet going at the bar tonight.

  MOM: You look bigger. You’re not taking steroids like that Twilight werewolf boy, are you? Dr. Weinstein just told me they have long-term side effects. Call me right now!

  JARED: Don’t worry, I calmed Mom down. Told her if you were taking roids you’d actually be able to grow some facial hair. She’s fine now.

  KATIE: Think I could pull off a belly button ring? This girl in my gym class says she can do it for me.

  I feel my blood boil and I quickly type in a response to that last text.

  ME: Great idea. Enjoy the Hepatitis C and the staph infection.

  KATIE: Okay, okay. It was just an idea.

  I shake my head and stuff my phone away. I can deal with the rest of them later.

  “Yes,” Elana says, reminding me that I had just asked her a question about the actress thing. “And singer. I’ve studied dance some too, so Broadway is a possibility.”

  Right. And I’m going to climb Everest.

  We’ve arrived at the apartment building where the party is being held. I turn to Elana before the driver opens the door. “You’re okay with this, right? There’s photographers and…it’s not real…I don’t want it to be real. You understand that?”

  I had to ask. What if she does get attached? She’s fourteen. Isn’t she supposed to get crushes on idiot older boys? Better someone else than me.

  Her face turns completely serious and she says, “Yes, and no offense to you, Alex, but I would never be interested in a boy who agrees to something like this.”

  I should be offended. But coming from this girl, it just makes me laugh. She’s not a complete naive princess. “If that’s true, then promise you won’t date any models, because they’d all probably agree to something like this. Even the girls.”

  She smiles at me as the door opens, and already I see cameras flashing. “I promise.”

  I feel about 10 percent better when we step out of the car. I’m comfortable enough to rest my hand on the small of her back and look like a couple. We pose for a few photos and one photographer shouts at us, “What about the language barrier? Do you speak French, Alex? How are you communicating?”

  I give my best smirk. “Her English is way better than my French. Hell, her English might be better than my English.”

  Elana smiles but looks incredibly shy and not willing to speak up. We head inside, refusing any more questions.

  With Elana wearing those heels, we’re exactly the same height. But she almost looks taller
because her legs go on forever. Eve’s legs look like that too. (Yes, I’ve checked out Eve’s legs. I am a dude.) In build, Elana is basically a dark-skinned version of Eve. Eve’s freckles and the small strands of curly hair that slip out of her messy bun make her a little more like the girl next door, whereas Elana’s bone structure and facial features are sharper and more intense.

  There are no photographers inside the party, but we do get a few heads turning our way after entering. I’m holding Elana’s hand now, but she seems to be a little steadier in her heels and less nervous.

  A waiter approaches us with a tray of champagne glasses. Elana picks one up right away. I follow her movement even though I’m not a champagne kind of guy.

  Everything about this party is stuffy and formal. I hate it after only two minutes. We make our way around the large main room in this penthouse apartment, stopping to talk and shake hands with various industry people. Elana does a great job, kissing everyone on both cheeks and giving me lots of sideways glances that could be deemed as romantic. I guess. After nearly an hour of this (though it feels like six hours), we end up separated. I’m leaning against a black grand piano, downing a vodka club when I get another text from Eve.

  HARVARD: How’s the party?

  ME: *snore* please tell me you are at a much cooler party. I can live vicariously through you.

  HARVARD: Sorry. I’m alone with my calculus book. We’ve been together for hours. Barely pulling a C in this class. Math is my greatest weakness.

  ME: Can’t you just find some college boy/math geek to seduce into free tutoring?

  HARVARD: You watch too much TV. And clearly overestimate my ability to seduce anyone.

  ME: Come on. It’s not that hard. You were a model.

  HARVARD: I took direction very well. On my own=Epic fail.

  ME: Ok. Tell me the big secret with Elana.

  HARVARD: It’s not big. She’s worried about the rest of the week. So far it’s been pretty tame and since it’s CK…you know…