“You sound like a Wikipedia entry.”
Nicola laughed. “Where do you think I looked her up?”
“It sounds like it will be really spooky and moody,” Holly said. “Where are you filming?”
“Prague.” Nicola was so excited about that, she could hardly stand it. She hadn’t been to Europe in years, and she’d never been to Prague—but lately, with everything that had happened, she’d been feeling like she needed a change of scenery.
As opposed to being a change of scenery.
“That sounds wonderful,” Holly said wistfully. “I hear it’s really beautiful there.”
“I can’t wait!”
“And is there a Mr. Radcliffe?”
“They’re talking Colin Firth.”
Holly groaned. “Are you kidding me? I want your life!”
Nicola laughed. “Well, you’re certainly welcome to come along! Filming begins in mid-November.”
“I can’t leave the gallery.”
But Nicola knew Holly didn’t want to leave the gallery. Despite the fact that she occasionally got caught in a rut, Holly was most content when she was just being a homebody. Even their trip an hour north to Camp Catoctin had clearly taken her out of her comfort zone.
“The offer stands,” Nicola told her, and she meant it. “Anytime.”
After they hung up, Nicola went to her powder room and looked at her image in the mirror. It was something she hadn’t done much lately because she was always afraid of what she’d see. She’d attached so much baggage to every image this mirror had ever held that it almost didn’t matter what it showed her anymore. She was going to feel weird about it.
Surprisingly that wasn’t the case this time.
The face that looked back at her wasn’t that of the girl she’d been when she and Holly had met, and it wasn’t the eager young actress who had won the role in Duet. It certainly wasn’t the generic Hollywood Barbie face it had been a couple of months ago, thank God.
Instead it was, as they said, the face she’d earned.
She’d come by the lines honestly, both the laugh lines and the frown lines. And she wasn’t sure she’d do anything in her life to change them or make them go away, even the bad stuff. The crying she’d done over lousy boyfriends, lost jobs, and anything else in her past had all led her to who she was now, and all that angst had gone into the sincerity of her performances.
The laugh lines were something to be proud of. As Vivi always said, Anyone who’s smiled enough in their life to have laugh lines really has something to smile about. It was typical Vivi sugar talk, but it was true. Nicola had never appreciated it more than she did today.
Her eyes were her father’s. She’d see him every time she looked in the mirror for the rest of her life. Her cheekbones and her hair were from her mother. Even when her hair eventually grew threaded with gray, it would be the same as her mother’s was today. It made her warm inside to realize how much personal history she carried with her everywhere, every day.
And how that personal history had led her to where she was now—on the edge of an exciting new chapter in her life—and everywhere she would go in the future.
She would never take it for granted again.
Holly was glad for Nicola; she really was.
But at the same time, she envied Nicola’s glamorous life, even while she didn’t want it for herself full-time. It would be nice to get up and go someplace totally different, and be someone completely different, for a few months at a time, then land safely back in your own life.
Holly had been safely in her own life for so long now that she didn’t know how to do anything else.
Granted, she’d broken her cycle with Randy. And there had been some personal reward in getting that ring—well, the chain—back for Lexi Henderson, particularly since she had climbed the tree herself instead of waiting below for Nicola to do it.
Actually, she thought, that was a good metaphor for their relationship. Holly had always been the grounded one, while Nicola was the one reaching for the stars. It had been cool to be the one up in the air for once.
But even that was compelled by trying to right a wrong, and it had done so, even if it wasn’t in the way she’d anticipated. She’d done it for Lexi and because it was her moral obligation as well.
If it had been just for herself, would she ever have done something so risky?
In the end, it had benefited Holly financially—Lexi had agreed to sell her Jordan paintings to the Macomb Gallery—yet she was still unfulfilled.
It was one thing to realize she’d felt bad about herself almost all her life, based primarily on how guys acted toward her, but realizing it didn’t simply erase years of flagging self-esteem.
She didn’t really understand the idea in psychology that once you realize what’s at the root of your problem, the problem goes away.
She had to do something.
Something drastic.
Something life-changing that she couldn’t undo.
And she knew just what it was.
This was a secret she would keep to her grave.
She couldn’t tell anyone—anyone—about this. Ever.
What would they think? Every person who knew her would be shocked. Most of them would probably think she’d lost her mind. Some of them might even be concerned enough to make her seek help.
But Holly was absolutely sure she wasn’t making a mistake.
She wound her car through the woodsy curves of Seven Locks Road, watching the street signs as her headlights flashed onto them. Carteret Road. English Way. Dwight Drive. Cindy Lane. She swallowed hard, knowing she was getting closer to her destination and that she was about to do something she wouldn’t be able to undo.
She didn’t care. Or, rather, she couldn’t care. She could no longer afford to care about what was right or wrong or, especially, what other people would think.
This was her emancipation.
Tonight she would become a different person.
She turned onto River Road, then almost immediately saw the remote little country lane that she was looking for.
She slowed down and put on the high beams.
I can do this, she said to herself.
Her mouth was dry. Her heart pounded. Her hands were cold and clammy, and though she couldn’t see them in the dark, she knew she was clutching the wheel so tightly that they were like ghost hands.
Then she got to the house.
She put the car in Park, took the keys out of the ignition, and waited in the dark for a moment, willing herself to do this, to go through with it.
It would be so easy to start up the car again and floor it out of there. She was only a few miles from Starbucks. If she wanted to, in ten minutes she could be sitting in the homey familiarity of the coffee shop, sipping a hot chocolate and relaxing in the knowledge that no one had anything on her, that she could not be blackmailed.
Of course, worry about blackmail was pretty far-fetched.
For one thing, no one would probably ever know it was her.
Her phone rang, startling her so much, she shouted. She pawed through her purse, looking for it, and flipped open the phone. “Hello?” she asked breathlessly.
“So Willand’s rep called and said the contracts are wrong,” Lacey said. “He said they were offering only a twenty-percent commission now.”
Holly sank back against her seat, grateful for the moment of normalcy. “I don’t remember talking to him about that.”
“Does that mean you don’t remember or you know you didn’t?”
“It means . . .” She put a hand to her chest. Her heart was still beating a mile a minute. “I don’t remember. He could be right.”
“That’s less of a commission than we take on anyone else.”
“I know, but he pulls in a lot of revenue, and it’s going to be more now that he’s a part of that garden festival thing down in Disney World next spring.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
�
�Fix the contracts. I’ll initial them tonight, and we can messenger them to him tomorrow.”
“Oookay.” Lacey sounded dubious. “But I hope no one else gets wind of how easy it is to talk down your commission.”
“It’s not easy,” Holly snapped. “I’ve just got other things on my mind.”
“Not that jerk again!”
Not again. Still.
And not just that jerk, but every jerk she’d ever dealt with. Every jerk who had ever made her feel subpar or unworthy or fat or desperate or ugly.
Randy symbolized them all, of course. But not for long.
Things were about to change.
“Look, I can’t talk about it right now. I have something to do. But I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Hang on, Holly. I don’t like the way you sound. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Holly gave a short humorless laugh. Her nerves were taking over. “Yes, I’m sure. Go out, Lacey. Have a good time. I’ll see you later.”
“All right, but you know you can talk to me if you need to, right? Like, about anything.”
Holly nodded, alone in the dark. “Yes, I do. And I appreciate it. Leave the contracts out, and I’ll initial them later on.”
“Fine, fine. Call me later if you want to meet for a drink or something.”
“Will do.” But she wouldn’t.
She clipped the phone shut, put it in her purse, and shoved her purse under the seat. She wasn’t going to need it tonight.
She got out and hit the lock button on her fob. Even though she was just a few yards off River Road, the woods were thick and silent, except for the light song of crickets. Fireflies floated deep in the thicket, on and off, and she had a vague memory of playing Ghost in the Graveyard in her parents’ backyard when she was a child.
It was a comforting thought, and she decided to hold on to it.
She walked across the dirt driveway and to the door of the little house in the woods. With one final deep breath, she raised a shaking hand, hesitated, then pounded on the door.
Nothing.
He had to be here.
She knocked again.
This time she heard footsteps approaching on the other side of the door and a voice saying, “Come on in, then.” Then the door opened and he stood there. “I thought you might not be coming.”
She opened her arms. “I’m here.”
“Excellent. I’m so glad. Come right this way.” He led her down a hall, then stopped in front of a closet full of clothes, mannequin parts, musical instruments, and other props. “You can change in there, then come on into the back room when you’re ready.”
She wondered if this was what it felt like to be Jenna Jameson or one of those other porn actresses.
Barely noticing how ragged her breath was, she slipped out of the cotton dress she’d worn and into one of the robes he had hanging there. She wondered for a moment if she could get away with leaving her underpants on, but that was stupid. He’d make her take them off anyway.
It was what she was here for. She needed to get used to that fact right now or else leave.
But there was no way she was leaving.
She’d come this far; she was going to see this through.
She pushed open the door and walked back out into the hallway, taking tentative steps in the direction he’d indicated.
This was terrifying.
She’d never been so scared in her entire life.
What if he saw her shaking? Would he make her leave?
One thing she knew was that she absolutely, positively could not afford to blow this. Somehow, and it no longer mattered how, she’d gotten it into her head that this was her last chance.
It was her only chance.
“There you are! Come on now. Right over there, on the stage. That’s right. I hope the lights aren’t too hot for you. I have a fan if you want, but we have to use it carefully.”
“It’s fine,” she said, her voice gravelly. She cleared her throat. “I think I prefer it warm anyway.”
He nodded. “Very well. It’s entirely up to you, Holly. So . . . whenever you’re ready.” He sat down and watched her expectantly.
She swallowed and heard the gulping sound herself.
One . . .
She untied the belt on the thin silk robe.
Two . . .
She pulled it off her shoulders, trying to breathe, trying to keep from falling down, trying to keep from screaming or crying or running away.
Three.
The robe dropped to the floor.
And . . . it wasn’t so bad.
“Now, if you’ll just lie back on the chaise, sort of on your right hip only leaning back slightly,” Guy said, gesturing with his pastel stick like an orchestra leader.
She got on the chaise. The crushed velvet fabric was warm. It was soothing, kind of like lying on a heated massage table. She followed his instructions, moving her arm like this, her left leg like that, her chin up higher, her eyes half-closed.
It didn’t take long for her to fully understand and believe that she was a prop, no more or less sexual to the artist than the bicycle tire she’d seen in the room when she was changing.
“Make sure you let me know when you need a break,” Guy said, studying her ankles as he spoke.
She could feel his gaze there like it was a spotlight.
“I could just work all night and my models often complain that I forget to offer them breaks. So what I say to them, and to you, is that I’m not psychic. If you need to stand up, stretch, use the facilities, or get a cookie, just give me a few moments’ notice, all right?” The entire time he spoke, he didn’t look her in the eye. His gaze moved over her and his hand moved rapidly over the canvas. He was sketching her in umber first, she knew. It was a technique she’d seen before. As soon as he’d finished the first draft, so to speak, she could move, but not until then.
What was interesting was that she didn’t feel the need to move. All her impulses—to run away, to go home, to make up an excuse for never coming back and doing this—disappeared like smoke the moment she’d dropped the robe.
Just as she’d hoped, so did her self-consciousness.
And, despite the fact that the only person viewing her now was clearly doing so in a piece-by-piece manner, perceiving her one shadow and one curve at a time, for the first time in her life, she felt truly beautiful.
And free.
Thin, Rich, Pretty Page 29