Through the Lens

by K. K. Allen

  I cringe. “I don’t know, Faye. I might teach classes of twenty at a time, but hosting a show with someone else doesn’t seem like something that would work. What if they can’t be counted on?”

  “You have some trust issues, don’t you, Desmond Blake?” The way she’s searching me with her eyes sends warning flags to my brain.

  “Oh no. You’re not digging into my psyche for show content. I want approval over every episode.”

  “Desmond, I get it. This is your baby, your one true passion in life.” The way she dismisses all of the above like she’s heard it a million times grates on me hard. “Just look at my track record if you’re having any doubts. I would never make you look bad. That simply doesn’t benefit me.”

  She rests a hand on my knee, and I have to stop myself from slipping it off and walking away.

  “I hate to break this to you, Desmond, but as hot as you are, it’s just not original enough. Hot guy in an apron? Great. But it’s been done before. Our audience is smarter than that.”

  “I didn’t agree to this to be some sex symbol. Edible Desire deserves the recognition. It’s about the food, the charities we support, the people who rely on our services. It was never about a hot guy in an apron.”

  “Yes, I know that. But every show needs a hook. Sure, you’ll get some great buzz straight off the bat, but the network is looking for something with lasting power, something original. Our audience craves relatability, and having a cohost who resembles one of your students is just the spark we need, especially if we can find someone you have chemistry with. Someone like Maggie.”

  My double take gives me whiplash as my eyes grow wide. Not only did she just crush my well-inflated ego, but she thinks someone like Maggie would be great cohost? Faye is out of her damn mind. “Nope. No way. Maggie is off limits.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s impossible. How? Let me count the ways. she’s stubborn, she lacks motivation, she’s unreliable. I’m telling you, she’s only working for me right now as a favor to a friend. I don’t need a cohost, Faye.”

  “Why are you being so difficult about this? What’s wrong with bringing in someone who can get your kitchen the recognition it deserves? If you don’t want that person to be Maggie, fine. But let me put out an emergency casting call to at least try it out before you completely nix the idea.”

  I sigh, feeling like I’ve pushed this too far. “And if we don’t like anyone who shows up for auditions?”

  “Then I start brainstorming another plan. Just give this idea a chance. I’ll have a lineup of interested women outside your front door on Monday morning, and we’ll go from there.”

  Jeez, Faye wasn’t joking when she said that she likes to move fast.

  “Fine. But whoever we choose has to be someone I get along with,” I point out. “In addition, it has to be someone who can actually cook.” That’s another reason why Maggie would make an awful cohost.

  Faye cringes. “You didn’t see what I saw today, Desmond. I think our pitch should be that your cohost is a total novice, someone a little resistant. Just think about it. If we play up the comedy and sexual tension aspect of it all, the network will eat it up. I could not stop laughing today at you trying to keep your professionalism, and Maggie resisting your every effort. Trust me on this. You want a show? I need that special something, that zest, and I think this is it.”

  I cringe, still not buying the whole concept. “So we’re really doing this? We’re really finding someone to cohost the show with me?”

  Faye’s smile spreads. “Give me some space in the kitchen on Monday afternoon, and it’s game on. Just think. As soon as we find her, we’ll be that much closer to shooting the pilot. Congratulations, Desmond. Your dreams are about to come true, and it looks like you have Maggie Stevens to thank.”

  Well, shit.

  TAKE III

  FUTURE AND PAST

  “Those who see the world through the lens of love are the true visionaries.” — Bryant McGill

  14

  Building Wings

  Maggie

  One day at my new job, and I think I can call it a success. Desmond and I didn’t kill each other. I pretty much have the registration system down. And I even assisted him at his cooking station. The guy might even owe me a raise after that one, especially since he left me to clean up the mess in the kitchen all on my own to hang out with that Faye woman.

  After I clean the kitchen, I lock up and wait at the curb for the movers to arrive with all the things Monica is donating to me. To my surprise, she joins them on the ride over and helps me get my new place in decent shape for the cubbyhole that it is.

  So far, I have a bed, some curtains, dishes, nearly new cookware, a love seat, and a dresser. When Monica starts to hang some decor from her last apartment “to add some personality to the place,” I refuse. Minimal decor is quite all right with me. Anything more than that, and I’ll be responsible for removing it when I finally get a place of my own.

  “It’s temporary,” I remind her as I hand her a glass of wine.

  She pushes out her lips in an exaggerated pout. “You’re not planning to move back to LA, are you? I know you’re still trying to find your footing here, but I kind of like having you around.”

  I laugh and wave my arms around, gesturing to my new apartment. “You like having me around so much, you kicked me out and forced me to live here. Thanks, sis.”

  She shrugs. “Just consider me the momma bird kicking the baby bird out of the nest. You’re welcome.” She takes a sip of her wine and lets out a heavy sigh. “Speaking of momma bird, is she still hounding you about leaving LA?”

  “Yeah. She isn’t happy about it, that’s for sure. But I can’t keep living her dream when it makes me so unhappy.”

  Monica is silent for a few beats as she swirls her wine. “When did you realize you didn’t love modeling anymore? I mean, I knew you were growing apart from it years ago, but you never did tell me why.”

  I sigh and play with the stem of my wine glass. “I think over time, I just started to realize that I loved it for all the wrong reasons.” My face heats with the admission, but I keep going anyway. It feels good to air the truth after the years of lies I’ve been telling myself and everyone else. “In part, I loved that I made Mom so proud. I loved the clothes, the attention. Men were always asking me out, and the money was good enough to afford an apartment in downtown LA. I didn’t really have any worries, but I also never thought about the future, of what my life would be like when I grew tired of the noise, you know?”

  Monica glues her sad eyes to mine. “I get it, Mags. But what about acting? You still want to do that, right? I mean, you’re still talking to that agent.”

  I swirl my wine glass around as I heavily debate how much I should tell my little sister. I’ve spent years protecting her from the harsh world. But then I remember that I don’t need to do that anymore. “Um, to be honest, I don’t really have an agent.”

  Monica’s mouth falls open, and I cringe as I continue with my admission.

  “I don’t want to act either, M. I thought I did, but…” I bite down on my lip, hoping that will be enough information.

  “What changed?” she presses.

  Memories of Regis Malone bombard my thoughts, and I shudder at the last mental image I have of him. “There was this producer in LA. He wanted to meet me to discuss a role, so I met up with him at a bar. He’d seen me in some commercials and sold me on this new soap opera he was producing. Well, he was so interested that he ended up coming to New York for that disastrous runway event. He said he was going to bring his casting director and meet me the very next day.”

  I shake my head, trying to alleviate the crippling humiliation I still feel over the entire ordeal. Even though Monica is my sister and the most understanding person in the world, I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about my experience with the soap opera producer.

  “So what happened?”

  I take out my phone a
nd find the video app on which my literal fall from grace will live on forever. All I have to do is search for the words “runway fall New York,” and it’s the first video that pops up. It has over two million views. I sigh and hand the phone to my sister. I watch her reactions instead of the video because I can’t bring myself to ever watch it again.

  Her free hand flies to her mouth, and her audible gasp can be heard above the gasp of the crowd’s, a sound that will never escape my memory. Her eyes shoot to mine, a mixture of emotions flooding them. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

  I shrug. “You were going through so much when I got to town. I wanted to help you, not add to your stress.”

  “You’ve always done that.” She says the words accusingly, like I betrayed her in some way. “You’ve always put my feelings before your own. I wish you would have talked to me about this, Mags. We could have helped each other.”

  I nod. “I know that, but I was embarrassed too. Embarrassed, and confused, and angry. I think I needed some time to distance myself from it all. Talking about it might not have helped, but it’s helping now.”

  Monica’s eyes swell with tears as she hands me back my phone. “So then what about this Regis guy? Don’t tell me he didn’t want to audition you after that.”

  I swallow, knowing this will be the hardest confession of all. “I didn’t think he would want to, but I woke up the next day to a message from him, wanting me to meet him to talk about the role. He still wanted me to audition, and I was so happy. I went, of course, but…”

  Monica’s expression turns fierce, like she already fears what I’m about to tell her. “But what?”

  “When I got to his room, he… propositioned me.”

  “You mean with sex? He wanted sex in exchange for giving you the role, didn’t he?”

  I have to swallow hard to push back the ball of emotion rising in my throat. “He said I would have a hard time getting an acting job after what happened, but he’d be willing to consider me if I…” I can’t even say the words, and I don’t have to.

  “Please tell me you socked the bastard straight in his dick hole.”

  I stifle a laugh. Only my sister would find the words “dick hole” to be threatening. “No, but I left, and then I got on the first flight to Seattle to figure my shit out. The only thing I’ve figured out is that I don’t want to go back to modeling or acting.”

  “Are you sure? Don’t let one asshole ruin your dreams of acting, Mags. He’s not worth it.”

  “Acting was just as much my dream as modeling was. It’s not what I want now.”

  “But you’re so great in front of a camera. I was always so envious with how natural that came for you. So you think you just fell out of love?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure I know what love feels like anymore. And I might have once said I didn’t believe in love in that way, but living here and seeing how much you’re thriving makes me want the same thing for myself.”

  “Oh, Maggie.” Monica slips off the chair and sits beside me on my bed. She hugs me from the side as a tear slips from her eye. “You’ll find your passion too. I promise. And there’s nothing wrong with not knowing what you want to do. That’s what school is for, and random cooking classes.”

  We both laugh.

  Monica hugs me harder. “People always talk about taking the leap toward your dreams, taking risks, and building your wings along the way—but there’s something to say for taking a leap away from the things that do more harm than good. You’ll still build your wings, Mags. And when you finally catch the right current, I think you’ll be surprised by how high you soar.”

  Now I’m tearing up and hugging my sister back. “I love you, M.”

  “I love you, too, Mags.”

  15

  Free Ticket

  Maggie

  Monica eventually curled up in bed with me last night, and she’s still in my apartment when I peel open my eyes in the morning.

  “Morning, sunshine,” she sings from my bathroom, far too chipper for me.

  I squint at her and groan. “You are not all dolled up already for the game, are you?”

  She grins as she smears a thick stripe of gold face paint beneath each eye. “I am.”

  “It doesn’t start for hours.”

  “Early bird catches the booze, they say.”

  “No one has ever said that in the history of ever.”

  She shrugs and continues primping. “You should come with me sometime. I already promised the tickets to some friends today, but maybe the next home game?”

  The way her voice picks up at the ends, so innocent and hopeful, it actually makes me want to say yes.

  “Ugh, that reminds me,” I say, “I have to work the game today for White Water. I probably should be getting ready too.”

  I should have known Monica’s eyes would light at the sound of me going anywhere near a game. “Did you say you’re coming to the game?”

  “It’s just some pregame beer-garden thing outside the stadium.”

  Monica grins. “Which means you’ll be free during the game? I’m sure we can find you a spare ticket.” She perks up. “In fact, I think I know someone who has one.”

  Her excitement is palpable, but it only makes me want to climb into a dark hole.

  My heart squeezes in my chest. I can’t believe I’m actually toying with the idea of agreeing to this. “I don’t know. What if I get into the game, and I’m a miserable cow for whoever gives me their ticket? One look at Dad, and I’ll probably run for the hills.”

  “Mags, it’s been over four months since you moved here. Are you seriously telling me that you don’t even want to see him?”

  I swallow back the lump that’s quickly forming in my throat. “Do we have to talk about this in every conversation we have? There are no excuses for what he did to Mom and us. And to just disappear the way he did…”

  “Mom made it impossible for him to come near us. He would explain that to you if you’d just talk to him.”

  My eyes snap to hers. “Monica, are you forgetting how we found out about his new family?”

  She shakes her head adamantly. “I’ll never forget that day,” she whispers, and I can tell she’s still haunted by the past. “Never.” Then she sighs. “Look, I was angry with him for a long time too.”

  “Not long enough. One conversation, and you already forgave the man.”

  Monica slams her eyes shut as frustration colors her face. “Because he’s Dad, and he’s here, and he desperately wants to be a part of our lives again. That’s worth something.”

  “Maybe to you.”

  She leans in and clutches my hands. “Forget Dad for a second. Remember how much fun we used to have watching the games together? Don’t you miss it?”

  I don’t say no, but I don’t agree either. I guess there is a part of me that is curious, that does miss the rush of the game and the roar of the crowd. I used to love football, and being in Seattle has made me kind of miss it. And maybe, just maybe, there’s still a little girl inside of me that wants a glimpse of the first man who ever broke her heart. Maybe that little girl does want to heal.

  And maybe my sister isn’t the entire reason I moved to Seattle after all.

  Two hours later, I’m dressed in the uniform White Water hooked me up with for today’s event and catching a ride share to the stadium.

  I try not to think much about the purple-and-gold fabric I’m wearing because it goes against everything I stand for, namely football and being the subject of gawking and groping hands. It’s asset-accentuating, midriff-revealing, made of jersey material, and complete with matching shiny leggings. Luckily, White Water makes it all worth it with their compensation, and all I have to do is strut around with drink coupons. Easy peasy. The second my shift is over, I can go home and try to make something more of my tiny studio apartment.

  I’m supposed to meet the White Water team lead at a fenced-in area of a restaurant parking lot across the street from Cen
tury Link Stadium, but no one prepared me for what I would actually be walking into.

  When my ride pulls up to a corner and I see the crazy long line of waiting partygoers that dips back behind the beer-garden area, I stop completely in my tracks. “What the—”

  It’s only ten a.m. Monica wasn’t messing around with that early-bird talk. There are still three whole hours to go before the game. But lo and behold, people are already milling around in full game gear, taking shots, chugging beers, and stumbling around like they’re already celebrating a win. It’s a full-on frat party, and I look like I fit right in.

  I shouldn’t be here. Other than this fraud of an outfit I’m wearing, I don’t fit in. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to mingle with die-hard fans when I can barely stomach the mention of football.

  Before I can turn around and run in the other direction, Bentley, the team lead for White Water, spots me from the front entrance of the gate and starts waving. “Looking good, Stevens,” he calls out. “You’re just in time.”

  I force my feet to start moving again and greet him with a warm smile. “Hey, Bentley. Crazy morning, huh?”

  “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” He hands me a bunch of rectangular slips of paper with White Water’s brand name and a promotional offer. “Here’s your first stack. Try your best to keep these to one per person. Each coupon contains a free drink and a discounted drink ticket. Now it’s really important that you take your time passing these out. Don’t just shove them at everyone you see. Talk about the brand and get them excited to try it out.”

  His salesman-like excitement makes me want to stab my eyes out.