Glamour

by Melody Carlson

  She shrugs, with her eyes still on the computer screen. “Okay.”

  “Are you working?”

  “Just checking the weather.”

  “How’s the hurricane doing?”

  “Hovering.”

  “Huh?”

  “Bruce can’t seem to make up his mind.” She closes her laptop then looks up at me. “So how was your day?”

  I sit on the chair across from her and pour out my story of how fantastic the Eco Show was. “And you know what, Fran, I actually enjoyed the whole thing. These designers are truly refreshing with their new ideas and eco designs. I think Alistair and I got a lot of good footage. There could be two or three episodes out of what we filmed.” I pause to catch my breath. “Of course, Helen might not want that many.”

  “Perhaps if they were interspersed with the others.”

  I nod eagerly. “And those episodes would appeal to a broader audience.”

  She makes a weary smile. “You’re sounding a bit commercial.”

  I frown. “Well, isn’t that how this works?”

  “Yes. But it’s different hearing it from you.”

  Now I feel frustrated, like no matter what I do, I’m wrong.

  “I’m sorry, Erin.” She sighs. “I didn’t mean to rain on you.”

  “No, that’s okay. I actually came back tonight thinking I was going to take some heat for missing the Taylor-Hasana show.”

  “Yes … I heard about that.”

  “Are you mad at me too?”

  She presses her lips together then shakes her head.

  “And just so you know, I’m tracking with tomorrow’s schedule. I know we’ve got the Britain’s Got Style show and the rest of the agenda.”

  “Good …” She pushes off the scarf that’s wound around her head, setting it beside her. Her pale, bald head reminds me again of what she’s actually dealing with.

  I lean forward, peering intently at her. “So, really, how are you?”

  She takes in a breath, slowly releasing it. “Not well.”

  “Not well … as in worse?”

  She nods, barely.

  “You need to go home, Fran. You need to go to your doctor.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “That reminds me. Helen returned my call, and I explained how you were under the weather and that my mom came out to lend a hand.”

  “I know …”

  “Did Helen call you?”

  “Yes … after she spoke to you.” Fran closes her eyes now and, pushing her laptop away from her, leans back into her pillows with a very tired sigh.

  “You need to rest.”

  “Yes.”

  “We can figure this out in the morning.”

  All I hear now is the sound of her breathing, but it’s not the relaxed, peaceful sound of someone resting comfortably. Instead it’s a bit jagged and I can tell she’s in pain. So I do something I’ve never done before. Not with her anyway. I begin to pray quietly, out loud. At first it feels extremely uncomfortable and slightly weird, but as I continue—pressing through the awkwardness—it becomes more natural. Or maybe it’s supernatural. I ask God to heal her … and help her … and show her what she should do … and to make the way for her to do it. Finally, I realize that her breathing sounds even and calm. She’s asleep.

  It’s only a little past nine, but it feels like everyone has gone to bed. However, I realize that’s probably only in these two rooms. The rest of the island is hopping and popping with after parties, dinners, and celebrations. I decide to take Rhiannon up on her invitation. I give her a call, and she sounds happy that I’m coming.

  Of course, I realize that means I need to dress, and that means I need to go to Paige’s room. I knock first, thinking there is no way she and Dylan would be in there this early in the evening. If they are, I will simply excuse my interruption, pick out an outfit, and leave as fast as possible. Fortunately, they aren’t there.

  So I go in and start picking through the dresses, finally settling on a Marc Jacobs number that’s made of a filmy lavender fabric with ruffles. I choose it partly because it looks cool and comfortable and partly because it reminds me a bit of Rhiannon’s designs. I pick out a pair of bronze metallic sandals and a little beaded evening bag by Michael Kors. I’m not sure what my sister would say, but I think I look fairly well put together. I touch up my makeup and hair then hurry down to the lobby and wait for a taxi.

  As I’m waiting, I notice some models ahead of me in the taxi line. Two of them are consoling another one who’s crying.

  I try not to stare, but I am reminded—again—of how these beautiful young women who look so confident and perfect strutting down the runways are real people too. They have problems and challenges just like the rest of us. But unlike some of us, they have to cover these things up as they do their jobs. Otherwise they would be unemployed.

  “Go ahead,” the brunette girl tells me. “You can take that taxi. We need to sort this out first.”

  I thank them, flash a smile, and get into the taxi. As I think about those three beautiful women, I wonder—was I seeing them through God’s eyes just now? Instead of my own?

  Chapter

  16

  The after party for the Eco Show is being held on Paradise Island, and when the taxi drops me off, I can tell this is a pretty swanky party. Not that I expected it to be less. But I suppose, since these designers are so green and eco-friendly, I didn’t expect it to be so lavish. Beautifully arranged tables hold an excess of gorgeous food, candles, and flowers. And everyone is dressed to the nines. I’m not sure what I thought this would be—maybe a beach party—but at least I’m dressed appropriately.

  As I walk through the sprawling grounds, I call Rhiannon to tell her that I’m here. Before long we meet up, get some food, and find a table far enough from the Reggae band that we can hear each other.

  “Your show was great,” I tell her as I fork into a grilled prawn.

  “Thanks, but compared to most of them, it was a small potato.” She laughs. “But, hey, at least it was my potato.”

  We discuss some of the other eco shows and which ones we liked best and why. “Being at the eco shows makes me a lot more interested in fashion,” I admit.

  “Oh, that’s right,” she says. “You’re the sister who’s not that into it.”

  I nod as I take a bite. “But hearing what you said today is making me reconsider some things.”

  “What I said?” she looks puzzled.

  “About trying to see things through God’s eyes.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She smiles. “Sorry, I’m a little fuzzy about our interview. I was so anxious about the show …”

  “I totally understand.”

  “It’s all gone by so fast.” She stretches her neck and lets out what sounds like a relieved sigh. “But I’ll be glad to go home.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “Early tomorrow, which might be a good thing, considering the storm that’s brewing out there. This is a great place to visit, but I don’t think I’d want to be stuck here if Hurricane Bruce turned into a bad one.”

  “Do you think that’s likely?”

  “Eliza seems convinced that it’s not going to hit here. She plans to stay on until next weekend. How about you?”

  “We’re staying until next Sunday too.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine.” She flashes her sunny smile.

  “You really are an optimist, aren’t you?” I tease.

  “My friends still call me Pollyanna sometimes.” Then she tells me a bit about her childhood, how her mother was a drug addict when she was young—how she went in and out of rehab, how she’d use their food money to buy drugs, and how she died from an overdose late last year. “To be honest, that was pretty tough. No one was calling me Pollyanna then.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. “Now that you mention it, I remember hearing about that when we were in New York last winter.”

  “Anyway, my point is, living like
that, I had to grow up fast. I was more like the parent with my mom. I was always über-worried about everything, always working, saving money, trying to make ends meet. It was really pretty pathetic.”

  “And yet you’re such a positive person. How is that?”

  “I didn’t find God until I was fifteen. But it was so amazing, so real, so exactly what I needed—that I grabbed on tight and decided to put all my trust in him.” She holds up her hands in a carefree way. “Basically … I believe that God is my daddy and he takes very good care of me. So, really, I don’t have anything to worry about, do I?”

  “Your faith is a lot stronger than mine,” I admit. I tell her about how my dad died and how maybe I’m still dealing with that on some levels. “It’s like I’m afraid that everyone is going to leave or hurt me … sooner or later.” Then I tell her about how my mom just got married. “Jon is a great guy, but it feels like my mom has left me.” Of course, then I have to explain how she actually just joined us here.

  “That’s so cool,” Rhiannon says. “It must be fun.”

  “You’d think.” I confess how I got on both my mom and sister’s bad side today. “All because I stayed too long at the Eco Show.”

  She chuckles. “I’m sure you can iron that one out.”

  Now, since I seem to be baring my soul to this girl, I even tell her about how I’m struggling over Paige’s relationship with Dylan. “Even my mom says I’m old-fashioned. I honestly don’t know what to think anymore.”

  She nods in a thoughtful way. “You know, I went through some of that myself. It wasn’t with a sister, but my friends at the Carter House were a lot like sisters. And some of them were making some pretty raunchy choices and doing things I totally did not agree with.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Sometimes I tried to talk to them, to tell them how I felt about what they were doing.” She laughs. “Sometimes they called me Preacher Girl. Sometimes they listened. Eventually I came to realize that they were going to do what they were going to do and there was nothing I could do to stop them. Well, except for one thing.” She holds a finger in the air. “I could pray.”

  “Right.”

  “I know, sometimes it doesn’t sound like much, Erin. But I’ve kept on praying for them. And I’ve watched all those girls over the last few years, and I have to say their lives have changed in some cool ways. Oh, not everyone. Not yet anyway. But I feel hopeful.”

  I hang with Rhiannon, meeting her friends and socializing until after midnight. The party is still going strong, but she says she’s going to call it a night. “Feel free to stay if you want,” she finally tells me, “but my flight is early and I’m pretty exhausted. I think I’ll head back to my hotel.”

  “I should too,” I tell her. “We’re doing Britain’s Got Style tomorrow morning and if I’m not in top form, my sister will probably have my head on a platter.”

  We share a taxi and I wish her a good flight as she’s dropped at her hotel. Then I check my phone for messages as I’m driven over to mine. Mostly I’m worried about Fran, and I’m relieved to see that there are no new messages. For me, at least for today, it seems that no news is good news. When I get to my room, I’m glad to see that both my mom and Fran seem to be sleeping soundly. As for my sister—and Dylan—I tell myself I don’t care. But then, remembering Rhiannon’s advice, I take it a step further and pray for both of them.

  When I wake up in the morning, I can hear the sound of water rushing and I realize that it must be Mom taking a shower. I almost forgot she was here. It’s only eight thirty, and I’m not too concerned since the schedule says we don’t need to leave the hotel for our first gig, Britain’s Got Style, until eleven.

  I check on Fran, who is sitting up in bed watching the Weather Channel with worried eyes.

  “What’s the news?” I ask as I sit in the chair by her bed.

  “Bruce appears to be heading our way.”

  “Really?” I peer curiously at the TV screen. “I’ve never been in a hurricane before. Should we be scared?”

  She turns off the TV and looks at me. “I am scared.”

  “Oh?”

  “Not of the hurricane—not exactly—but I am scared. I need to go home, Erin. As soon as possible.”

  “I know,” I say eagerly. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  “Can you book my flight?” she asks weakly. “Book it before Bruce gets here.”

  “When’s that supposed to be?”

  “They’re predicting this afternoon.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Then she tells me to get her purse and shows me which credit card to use.

  “Do you think you’ll be strong enough to fly?” I ask as I pull out the card.

  “I have to be.”

  First I try to book a flight online, but there is nothing for today. So I decide to start calling airlines and, after long waits, I’m told the same. Today is booked solid. Apparently a lot of people are trying to get off the island before Bruce arrives, and it’s standby only. “Bear in mind,” one man warns me in a British accent, “if the hurricane does come this way, there will be no flights going or coming for some time.”

  Feeing a bit frantic, I go back to my room, where Fran can’t hear me, and I try another tactic. “But I have someone here who is extremely ill,” I tell a Delta person. “She needs to get home to see her doctor.”

  “Is this a medical transport?”

  “I—uh—I don’t know.”

  The woman gives me another number to call and, feeling a bit hopeless and a lot desperate, I try. This time I explain the situation in detail, and after a wait I’m told that even if we want to book this flight, it will be dependent on the weather.

  “I understand,” I tell her. “But I had hoped to get her out of here before the weather becomes a problem.”

  “It is already a problem.”

  “Oh.”

  “We could get an air ambulance to Nassau before the hurricane hits and, depending on the location of the hurricane at that time, we could possibly get out.”

  “Possibly?”

  “I can’t guarantee it,” she says with exasperation. “I don’t have a crystal ball. And I certainly can’t control the weather.”

  “Right.”

  “This decision must be made quickly. And if you order an air ambulance from Miami to Nassau, you will be responsible for the bill whether or not you use our service.”

  “Even if the hurricane hits and she can’t get out?”

  “That’s correct.”

  I ask her how much this service costs and nearly fall over when she gives me the quote. I’m pretty sure a family of four could fly around the globe for that price. “Can I call you back?”

  “Of course, but every minute counts.”

  I’m just hanging up when my mom comes into the room, and her expression is not happy. “We have a problem,” she tells me grimly.

  “We have lots of problems,” I say quickly. “And I don’t have time for — ”

  “You’ll have to make time, Erin.”

  “Look, if it’s about yesterday, I’m sorry. I just got caught up—”

  “No, no—this isn’t about that. This is about Paige.”

  “Paige?”

  Mom lets out a frustrated sigh. “She is seriously hungover.”

  “Hungover?”

  “Yes. And we need to leave for Britain’s Got Style in an hour and a half.”

  “So, tell Paige to get un-hungover,” I say.

  “I wish it were that simple.” She shakes her head. “I think you’ll have to handle it for her, Erin.”

  “Me?” I frown. “Handle what?”

  “Britain’s Got Style.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Right. By myself? I’m no style critic. There’s no way I can stand in for her.”

  “Well, there’s no way she’s going to make it. Right now she’s in there throwing up.”

  “And what about Dylan in all t
his?” I demand. “Is he in there throwing up too? Or did he simply contribute to the delinquency of a minor?”

  “The legal drinking age is eighteen here, Erin.”

  For drama, I slap my forehead. “Oh, that’s right. Maybe that’s why they have Fashion Week here. Most of the models can be of legal drinking age.”

  “Point taken.” Mom is pacing now. “And if it makes you feel better, Dylan is actually fairly contrite.”

  “I assume Dylan just sat by while Paige got totally wasted last night?”

  “In her defense, they both said she didn’t have that much to drink. It’s just that she forgot to eat.”

  I ball my hands into fists and shake them in the air. “Isn’t it bad enough that we’ve got Fran over there, practically dying—and not because she partied too hard either—and then Paige pulls a stunt like this?”

  “How is Fran?”

  I quickly explain what I know about the impending hurricane and how I’m trying to set up a medical transport to get her out of here.

  “Isn’t that terribly expensive?”

  I nod. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “Is the show covering it?”

  “I have no idea, Mom. But I need to hurry and find out if Fran wants me to book it or not.”

  “Yes. Of course. Go and find out. I’ll check on Paige again.”

  “And here’s an idea,” I toss at her as I’m halfway through the doorway. “Tell Dylan to take some responsibility for what happened with Paige. And maybe he’d like to replace her as a judge for Britain’s Got Style.”

  Mom shakes her head. I hurry next door to find Fran with the Weather Channel on again, and I can tell by her expression that the news is not good. I quickly relay the information about the air ambulance and how we need to decide immediately. I mention what time it would get here and then drop the bombshell about how much it would cost. Her already pale face seems to get whiter.

  “But this is the kicker,” I say. “If the hurricane causes the air ambulance to be grounded in Nassau, you still have to pay. Even if they can’t get you out.”

  “Seriously?”

  “That’s what she told me. I only spoke to one medical transport service. I don’t know if they’re all like that. The woman did say there’s a possibility they can safely fly in and out—if we move fast on this.”