by Chloe Plume
“So...Madison…” My mom began the dinner conversation, and I feared the worst. She didn’t really like Madison or anything that reminded her of what Duncan had before her. Pretty much anything that reminded her of Alina.
And I could see why. Shit, Madison’s mom used to be quite the looker. There was still a few framed pictures of her scattered around the house, which my mom stuffed in drawers out of view since Duncan wouldn’t let her throw them out. It was hard to believe the two were related: Madison, with her tangled hair and clumsy, awkward body, and Alina, glowing like the definition of beautiful from every picture with her glossy hair and piercing eyes. Though, come to think of it, Madison was starting to look a lot more like her mother. She wasn’t the same beanpole I used to poke fun at back in the day.
Shit, things change so fast.
“So…Madison, are you planning on staying the whole summer?” My mom was fishing for trouble. She made it extremely evident that she didn’t want Madison around. Same old.
Madison dabbed her lips with a white napkin and I couldn’t help but notice she was wearing lip-gloss. I’d never seen Maddy with lip-gloss. It was so unlike her to care about that stuff, especially when she was just hanging around in the house. And she’d taken a shower, which probably meant she put it on just for dinner.
“Well, I’m going to be working for KR Group until August, when I’m leaving for Stanford,” Madison responded.
Duncan raised his beer. “To my girl! Always knew you were a genius.” He motioned with his other hand that we should all join him and everyone clanked their glasses and bottles together in mandatory celebration. “I’m so damn proud.”
Charlene wrinkled her nose. “Yes, well, that’s all very good. But I meant, are you planning to stay here the whole time?” She turned to Duncan. “I mean, with Zayde needing space to recuperate and…well, isn’t KR Group up near Studio City? It might be waaay more convenient for Madison to get an apartment and enjoy her independence for the summer.”
“Madison has a lot to do before the semester starts, Charlene,” Duncan noted. “I’m not going to have her juggling housing as well.”
“Well, it’s not like it’s a demanding job, Duncan. I mean, they owe you a favor over there. I’m sure they won’t push Madison too hard.”
“No, Charlene.” Duncan grew impatient. “It’s a real job with real responsibilities. Madison needs this kind of exposure if she’s going to help me at Pierce Media after Stanford.”
I dragged a few pieces of steak across the plate, coating them in Duncan’s homemade sauce, and washed them down with a few sips of beer.
Damn! That’s a good steak!
One thing I missed about this place, maybe the only thing, was this steak. The tension between my mom and Madison wasn’t bad either, entertainment-wise.
Though the funny part was that Madison was sitting there, demure and shit, while everyone was throwing around assumptions about her. She didn’t seem too interested about any of it. Kind of felt sorry for her.
Eh.
I shrugged. None of my concern. Kind of surprised me though, that Madison the egghead was going to step out of Stanford and roll back down to LA to work in an industry with some of the most vapid morons and deceitful fakers in the world.
Well, we all do what we have to.
I’d be matching whiny vocals with maximum synth-saturation dance track crap. And she’d be working for her Dad. Why’d we do it? Guilt? Gratitude? Probably a little bit of both.
We all do it.
Damn, I was getting too philosophical.
Chapter 5
Madison
Well, there they go again.
It’s like I wasn’t even part of the conversation. Well, I knew my dad wanted me home for the summer, and that’s where I’d stay. He cared about me. I knew that. But the way he always assumed I’d step in to work with him at his business—I mean, we’d never even discussed an alternative. I’d mentioned the possibility of volunteering abroad and taking some time to decide what I really wanted to do. He said I could do more good once I had money and connections. Then he said he needed me to keep the business in the family, protect his legacy.
How could I say no? My dad had given me everything. And I knew it’s what my mom would have wanted. She owed my father everything, and I knew he’d never love anyone as much as he loved her.
She’d grown up an orphan in Romania at a time when child abandonment was rampant. She used to tell me about it all the time: little villages of street children, competing for every spare coin or scrap of food or unsuspecting person of means with loose pockets. Ceausescu’s Romania had been a time of intense poverty, illegal abortions, and infants literally dropped in dumpsters.
And my mom escaped it. She found a way to get out, first to Austria and then to the United States, with an organization that promised to find her work once she got to New York. Of course, things weren’t what they seemed and she found herself in a human trafficking operation. Somehow, she ran out and made her way in New York, learning enough English to get a job with a temp agency.
And that’s where she met my dad, who had an office in NY. He told me he could barely breathe the moment he set eyes on her. She told me he proposed when they went on vacation in the Caribbean. Or more specifically, a dolphin proposed. Yes, a freaking dolphin. He made a box out of a small buoy and hired a trained dolphin to swim up to her and there it was: “Will You Marry Me (Sorry, Not The Dolphin)” written on it, and of course she opened it to find a gorgeous ring, with enough fire and brilliance to match her own.
That was the thing. My dad talked about how ungainly and uncoordinated my mom was when he first met her. “Oh, Alina was all over the place,” he used to say, telling the story of how they’d met. “She’d be shaking, nervous and clumsy and beautiful as she tried to figure everything out on the fly. But I began to notice that when everyone left, she’d stay, working hard to learn everything she’d lied about on her resume. She didn’t even know how to type, but she figured it out fast, working harder than anyone in the damn office.”
I couldn’t believe he was talking about the same person. Alina, the supermodel who’d graced the cover of several top fashion magazines in her day. Alina, whose bold gaze transfixed men and women alike, beaming from the glossy pages of one editorial after another. Alina, my mother.
I couldn’t imagine anything other than her supernatural poise and angelic beauty. It really was like my dad said: she wasn’t meant for this world. She was everything I wasn’t.
She froze a room when she walked in. Everyone would just stare and fumble over themselves to be in her presence. And who could blame them? She made everyone feel good just by being near them. Her perfect smile, glowing skin, emerald green eyes, hair that cascaded like sheets of heavy silk…
I used to ask her “what does it feel like when everyone loves you?” And she would say “It’s not love, you have to understand, and to me it’s like you can never get out of the rain and so you get used to it, but it’s never comfortable. It feels so much better when one person truly knows you and loves you. Then it’s like you are warm and the sun is on your skin.”
I wonder if that’s what Zayde felt like. Since childhood, he’d always been on display with commercials and then a hit kids show. After Sound Play, he’d grown into a veritable sensation. Every girl in high school had a poster of him. And now…
I mean look at him.
I stole a quick glance in his direction.
He’s gorgeous.
Zayde had the perfect build, muscled but lean. His facial structure was just unfair: high cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, piercing eyes and a razor sharp jawline. Since he’d taken off on his own and started hitting the gym regularly, he’d become an international sex symbol. It was hard to imagine a girl who wouldn’t melt at the sight of him.
So it’s okay.
I had to cut myself some slack. It was only natural that I’d appreciate his undeniable physical perfection. But, I knew w
hat he was—the worst sort of guy.
Though, I have to say, I always secretly admired his nonchalance. The ease with which he moved through life was inspiring. I could never do that. Maybe it was because he was rich and famous. But I was always jealous of his “I don’t give a shit” attitude. He breezed through life’s worries and concerns with an impenetrable shield of confidence…like water off a duck’s back. I wished I had that kind of Teflon charisma. But I let everything seep in, down to the core. “You’re so sensitive Maddy,” he’d joked years ago. “Mad Maddy—just chill out.” Maybe he was right.
Then again.
He used to make me feel like shit. It was so easy for him to do that as well. He and his L.A. posse would ridicule my “East Coast” sensibilities, which just meant they’d tease me about everything from my conservative clothing to my obliviousness when it came to anything hip or trending in popular culture. I always felt like an outsider when I visited from school, which is probably why I spent so much time in the gardens reading.
And of course, even when my high school friends visited, it was like we were all in Zayde’s world. I couldn’t have one conversation, one minute with them, that didn’t center on Zayde, when they could see him—preferably shirtless—and an endless litany of questions: “What does he like to do?” “Where does he eat?” “What kind of music does he listen to?” “What movies does he like?” “Boxers or Briefs?”
The Zayde effect ruined countless sleepovers. One time, I was so excited to spend a whole week with my former best friend from boarding school. She flew all the way from Boston and I was looking forward to showing her all the sights. I mapped out every single place we should visit, together with itineraries and a list of places we should eat. I had the whole week figured out.
Of course, she wasn’t interested once she heard Zayde would be stopping by. She spent the whole freaking week obsessing about him. Then, when he came by for a family meal, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. When I woke up in the middle of the night to find she wasn’t in my room, I already knew. She wandered back in, positively giddy. “OMG…I can’t believe it. ZAYDEN KNIGHT!”
Girls threw themselves at him. It seemed like the more of douche he became, the more ass he got. I have to admit, sometimes I was jealous. I was jealous of the attention he got and I was jealous of the girls who caught his attention. They were all so damn pretty. Perfect hair, perfect manicures and pedicures, dolled up with perfect makeup just to catch his eye. I told myself they were all bimbos and he was an asshole. It was easier that way.
“And, honestly, why the hell is Zayde staying here when he should be apologizing and taking responsibility, not hiding away like a child.”
My father had turned the conversation to another topic. My mind always wandered when people started talking about me—like a defense mechanism. I finally snapped back to the present as the critical spotlight shifted to Zayde.
“Charlene, he really has to cut this shit out and grow up.”
Chapter 6
Zayde
Oh boy, here it comes.
“Zayde should have stayed with Sound Play in the first place.”
“Zayde wasn’t meant to be a part of something like that forever, Duncan, you know that. He’s great on his own. He outgrew them.”
“In a year? In a year Charlene? Do you know how much this whole thing cost me?”
Well, now they’re at it again. Talking about someone like they’re not even there. Except now that someone’s me.
I glanced at Maddy. She was listening attentively like this all interested her oh so very much. It’s always entertaining when you’re not in the spotlight.
“Zayde’s a star!” my mom shouted.
Well that never gets any less embarrassing.
“Yeah, okay,” Duncan snorted. “Let’s not forget how stars are made, though, okay. Let’s not forget that he”—Duncan pointed at me accusingly—“was still wiping snot off his face when Pierce Media put them all together and launched endless campaigns, filling every venue and getting their songs on every radio station. We spent millions making Sound Play. And Zayde leaves right when we’re finally making that money back.”
“Duncan, you know Zayde’s better off on his own. It’s a long term move.”
“No, I don’t. Because, as a favor to you, I marketed his solo act and right when he’s starting to make the company money—bam, again, he does something to fuck it up.”
“Zayde’s under a lot of stress…” My mom kept rushing to my defense.
I began to tune them out. I knew this would happen. And the truth is, I deserved it. I made my own choices, and it was my fault if they made me miserable.
As Duncan and my Mom argued, I turned my attention to Maddy. It always helped to have something nice to look at. What’s wrong with me? Never in a million years did I think Maddy would qualify as something nice to look at. I mean, she was always so damn plain and boring and pretty much a boner killer. But, shit, I couldn’t help if my pants were getting tighter just looking at her now.
She was still the same Maddy: frizzy hair and unflattering clothing. So what was it? One thing for certain, she’d filled out nicely. She couldn’t even hide behind that boxy blouse. Her tits were pushing against the thin material so deliciously… I had to adjust my jeans to free up some space.
Damn.
The fact that she wore the same crappy clothing and was so oblivious to the appeal of her newfound curves just made it even hotter. Most girls made every effort to show off what they had. Madison was doing everything to hide it. But it was no use. And every time I looked at her, it was like I was discovering something else. I loved it.
I wondered about her lips. She always had nice lips. But, now, finally, those juicy pillowy things—I adjusted my jeans under the table, yet again—finally she’d thrown on some lip gloss, and you could really see how good it would feel to brush up against those…kiss them.
And more, much more.
Wait?
I wondered why she was—well, relative to the usual—done up. Was it on purpose? Was she thinking I’d be checking her out during dinner? Was I being played?
Why all of a sudden did she seem so damn sexy? Maybe it was to get back at me. Revenge for all the years I ignored her.
Nah, you paranoid Hollywood jackass.
This is Madison Pierce, Maddy… You’re just getting so jaded that anything different is going to seem appealing. It’s a dirty trick your mind is playing.
Dirty was right. I couldn’t help but start thinking about those lips and those breasts. My mind started wandering, contemplating the exact shape and feel of those tits. She must have seen I was looking, staring really. It was pretty obvious.
Suddenly, I could hear Duncan, flustered and done arguing, directing his attention to me: “Zayde, I’m only saying this once.”
I snapped back from staring at Madison and found myself face to face with a thoroughly pissed off Duncan. “Yeah?” was all I said.
“If you ever do anything even remotely like this again. Anything to shake the belief that you’re the perfect wholesome musical entertainment for everyone’s 12 year old daughter. And I mean anything. If I see so much as a tabloid picture of you buying a cigarette, I swear, Pierce Media will drop you, your agent will drop you; well, let me put it this way: the industry will drop you, I’ll make sure of it.”
Before I could catch myself, I blurted out, “Fuck you Duncan,” and jumped out of my seat. “I’m tired of everyone trying to control every damn part of my life!”
“Oh, yeah, life’s so hard Zayde,” Duncan yelled back at me.
“Look at what you did Duncan!” my mom chimed in, also shouting at the top of her lungs. “This was supposed to be a calming experience for Zayde!”
The only person who wasn’t shouting was quiet, pensive Madison. Sitting there, head down, staring at her food. Not fitting in.
As usual.
But I loved it. She wasn’t like the rest of us. Assholes with our p
riorities completely out of whack.
But who am I kidding.
That’s who I was. And would always be.
Just then the doorbell rang and it gave me an excuse to storm out of the kitchen. I yanked the heavy ass front door open to find Sarah, Jonathan’s assistant, standing there like a lost puppy. At least she had my new phone.
Sarah was cute, but not quite hot. She tried to follow every single trend, even when it didn’t work for her. She had bangs for example. They looked awful.
She looked up at me through shrouds of artificial looking hair and said, “So, Zayde, you want to go another round?”
That’s right. I’d fucked her. At the agency’s stupid holiday charity event. In the coatroom. Yes, the damn coatroom. It was all so obvious…and boring.
“Yeah, no thanks Sarah.”
“Oh come on Zayde. I’ll be very”—and of course she began to run her hands over my chest—“good to you…”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s be great to have a story to tell. I’m pretty sure Jonathan’s jerking it daily thinking about the last one you told him after the holiday party.”
“What are you talking about Zayde?”
“Wow. Sarah, let’s not pretend you don’t fuck him for those $1200 shoes you’re wearing and that he’s not a weirdo who gets off on bagging the same girls as his celebrity clients.”
“You’re an asshole Zayde!” Sarah shoved me back against the door and swiped her hair angrily to the side. It fell right back over her eyes.
Bangs.
“Not as much of an asshole as Jonathan.”
Eh, fuck, I know I’m crossing the line but I’m pissed off.
“You think you’re his special snowflake,” I continued. “Come on Sarah, grow up. This whole industry is full of shit, the people are full of shit—I mean, you’re full of shit…”
I pulled my old cell phone out of my pocket and threw it on the ground. I stepped on it, crushing it, giving it a few kicks from the heel.