by Cynthia Swan
17
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to powder my nose.” She touched Dalton’s arm.
He was talking to Clem about going fishing with Chase next week.
Christy made her way to the girl’s bathroom and found an all too familiar scene.
A lovely dark-haired girl in a pretty pale yellow dress sagged against the wall, crying, mascara running down her face, tissues littering the floor around her feet.
It was a scene Christy had experienced too many times.
“What’s wrong? Can I help?”
The girl looked up, utter dejection filling her face as she smoothed her palms down the yellow dress.
“They said… they’re so mean… they said my dress was cheap and ugly.”
The girl swiped at the tears running down her cheeks.
“I stocked shelves for months, worked extra hours, all so I could afford this dress.” A sob escaped.
“It was on clearance, even then it was expensive.”
The girl hunched her shoulders, ducking her head, the embarrassment flooding her skin.
Christy leaned against the wall next to her.
“I’ve been there, but instead of making fun of my dress, they called me ugly names.”
The girl’s head snapped up.
“You? You’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
Christy pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and handed them to the girl. She looked around the gray bathroom, devoid of any cheer. The space would fit in at many of the shoot locations she’d been on.
“Mean girls have to tear others down to feel better about themselves.”
Christy waited until the girl looked up at her.
“I wish I could tell you they’ll disappear when you go off to college or when you grow up and make your way in the world.”
She let out a sigh. “But they’re always there, lurking. Looking for weakness.”
The girl blew her nose.
“Then it’s hopeless.”
“No.” Christy shook her head.
“They’re small and petty, and while we can’t change them, we can change how we react to them.”
She held up a damp paper towel and pointed to the girl’s cheeks. When the girl nodded, Christy went to work, cleaning up the makeup.
“Do you have any makeup with you?”
The girl handed her a small faded yellow evening bag.
Christy opened it and set the products on the sink.
As she worked to repair the girl’s makeup, she kept her voice low, grateful they were alone.
“Did you come with a date?”
The girl shook her head.
“I came with my two best friends. They were dancing with boys they like, so I didn’t want to text them and interrupt their good time.”
“Best friends will always be there for you. The next time you run into a mean girl, stand tall, chin up, and don’t let her know she’s hurt you. They’re confused when their knives don’t hit the target.”
Christy motioned for the girl to look up as she fixed her eye makeup.
“Then, call your friends and vent. Or better yet, get together with them. Mean girls turn into mean women. They’re like dog poop on the sidewalk. You know it’s there so you go around it, or you aren’t paying attention and the next thing you know, you’ve stepped in poo.” She shot the girl a mock glare.
“Don’t step in poo.”
A small smile flitted across the girl’s face.
Christy gently turned her around.
“Look how pretty you are.”
She touched the yellow dress. It was pretty, but the color was wrong for the girl, it washed her out instead of enhancing her natural beauty.
“You know, I think we’re the same size. Pink would look amazing on you.”
“Your dress?” The girl’s eyes were enormous. “I couldn’t.”
“You can either go back out there, head held high in your own dress, ignore the haters, and rock it with your friends… or you can go out in my dress.”
Christy waited. She’d given the girl an out, but the mean girls would know.
“If I change dresses with you, those awful girls will know they hurt my feelings about my dress.”
She touched the neckline as she looked in the mirror.
“You made me look beautiful.”
Christy shook her head.
“No, you are beautiful. I enhanced what you already have.”
The girl pushed her shoulders back and tucked her long hair behind her ear.
“I didn’t know how to put my hair up. It would look better with this dress.”
“I can help you there.” Christy grinned. “Would you let me put your hair up?”
The girl nodded, and she had her turn around so she couldn’t see until Christy finished.
She pulled the butterfly clips out of her own hair and put the girl’s hair up in a bun with a braid around the bun. She secured it with the clips and turned the girl around.
The girl gasped, a hand to her mouth. She turned her head from side to side, a huge smile on her face. Then she turned to Christy.
“Thank you so much.”
“Walk out there with your head held high and a smile on your face. Mean girls hold no power over us. Sure, sometimes they get to us and tear us down. But not tonight.”
The girl hugged her and walked out of the bathroom.
Christy ran her fingers through her hair, leaving it down and tousled. This was one night the mean girls wouldn’t win. She’d let them make her cry too many times. Seeing another young woman in tears filled Christy with resolve. With strength.
It was time to come clean. Not only to tell Dalton who she was, but to tell him her most shameful secret.
When she walked out of the bathroom, the phone in her pocket exploded. The bathroom walls must have been blocking the signal.
Dread filled her as she watched the screen fill up with notifications. She put her earbuds in and listened, a look of horror on her face.
“Call Jo,” she barked into the phone.
Her manager and friend picked up on the first ring.
“I am so sorry. I’ve been home with the flu. I had an intern helping.” Jo cleared her throat.
“Your mom called while I was out. The intern gave her your information and sent her the picture you sent me.”
Christy swayed. She leaned against the cool wall, the sound of her heart loud in the empty hallway.
“She already saw the one where I cut off and colored my hair. She can thank Devlin Walker for the idea. The big jerk. But that one?”
Christy shuddered.
“It’s kind of funny that a picture of me wearing ratty clothes and eating ice cream and pizza would send her over the edge.”
“That’s the one. For the record, I thought you looked normal. Happy. And that’s something I rarely see in this business.” Jo coughed.
“It gets worse. Your mom tipped off the paparazzi. I guess she thinks they’ll make you fall in line or something. Who knows what your mom is thinking? They’re coming. They know where you are.” Jo rushed on.
“I’ve put up a message on social media saying you wanted privacy to spend time with family. Most of your fans have been supportive. I’m so sorry.”
Christy gulped in air.
“I have to find Dalton. Tell him before he hears anything or worse, sees the press and finds out from them. He’ll think I lied to him.”
Thank goodness she’d always been able to run in heels. The phone in her pocket, Christy ran, crystal heels clacking on the vinyl floor.
“It isn’t your fault, Jo. Mom has been obsessed with me throwing my life away, as she calls it. Do what you can from there. I’ll deal with it.”
“No, honey. I’m at the airport. My flight is boarding shortly. I’ll be there soon to stand by you. We’ll get through this together.”
She lost the rest of what Jo said as Christy slammed through the doors to the gym. There was
the sound of something falling, the smell of vinegar permeated the air. The two buckets hit the floor with a clang, leaving her standing there, drenched.
18
It must have only been minutes, but felt like hours.
“Sorry.”
Two high school boys stood there, looks of horror on their faces.
“We didn’t mean to get you. It was a prank on our coach. He’s always saying we’re full of p — well, you know, and vinegar. We thought we’d give him the vinegar.”
The other boy looked sheepish. “We’re really sorry.”
They were attracting attention. People craning their necks to see what had happened.
As Christy wiped her face, her hand came away brown. No, it couldn’t be.
“You said vinegar? Full strength?”
The boys nodded.
She swallowed and looked down. Brown streaks stained the beautiful pink dress, like something out of a horror movie.
A girl gasped and out came the phone.
“You’re that model. I have a picture of you with slicked back hair, wearing a muddy wedding dress. It’s on my vision board at home.”
There she stood, looking like the cover of a magazine, with her blond hair slicked back. Only instead of a swimsuit or wedding dress, what had the designer been thinking to do a wet look wedding shoot? She was wearing a pink prom dress now soaked and molded to her body like a second skin.
Other girls joined her, all talking to Christy, oblivious of the maelstrom going on within her.
As Dalton jogged over to her, one boy said, “I have that magazine cover of you in the pink swimsuit.”
There were phones everywhere.
Dalton looked at the kids, then at her. He tilted his head, and she saw the moment he figured it out.
“I knew you looked familiar.” He muttered, his face full of hurt and anger.
“Dalton, wait. I can explain.”
She reached out, but he shrugged her off, and knowing they had an audience, she said, “Please. Not here. Everyone has their phone out.”
He sneered at her.
“Fine. This way.” Dalton turned and scowled at the kids. “Go on now, get back to the dance.”
She fled halfway down the hall and leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath.
When he strode down the hall to her, she flinched.
“I wanted to tell you. I’d planned to tell you tonight. After prom.”
“Sure you did.”
He ran his hands through his hair.
“I should have known, how could I be so clueless?”
He scowled at her.
“Guess I should have paid more attention to all those magazine covers and billboards.”
“Dalton. I didn’t lie to you.”
He whirled around, eyes narrowed.
“You did. You betrayed me. Another shallow woman who thinks only of herself.” He paced back and forth.
“Why? Why hide who you are? I can’t believe I was such a fool. Again.”
Christy reached out, but he pulled away.
“Dalton. Let me explain. Please.”
“You know I cannot abide a liar. Not after what Mackenzie did to me.”
He let out a breath.
“What did I expect? You’re nothing but a pretty face. A stupid, shallow, vacuous, model who only cares about herself.”
She reared back as if he’d slapped her. Eyes narrowed, Christy fisted her hands in the material of the wet dress so she wouldn’t slap him.
“Those are awful things to say.”
Dalton stopped pacing.
“We live in different worlds. Beautiful women always lie.” He pulled out his phone and shook his head.
“You told my friends, but couldn’t tell me?”
“Rose and Amanda figured it out. Hazel, too. I wanted to tell you.”
“You sure didn’t try very hard.”
Christy pressed her lips together.
“All women are beautiful. Beautiful women don’t lie, people lie. I had reasons, good ones, but you won’t even listen. You’d rather get up on your high horse and judge me for being beautiful. Something I have no control over. How is that fair?”
A noise made her turn. The hallway had filled with kids, all with their phones out. Her picture and their argument now posted online for the world to see. To comment on and judge.
There was a flash of yellow as the girl from the bathroom pushed through the crowd, followed by both of her friends.
The girls turned, blocking Christy from view.
The girl in yellow put her hands on her hips.
“Leave her alone.” She yelled.
“I thought we took care of our own. She’s been here for months, she’s one of us.” The girl looked over her shoulder and somehow Christy knew the girl had figured out she’d been in town for a while.
“Delete the pictures and videos. Take down your posts.”
The two boys who’d pulled the prank and unwittingly outed her, stood with the girls. Between the five of them, they moved the crowd of kids back to the gym.
It took courage to stand up to your peers.
Christy would find out the names of the kids and thank them. The smell of vinegar filled her nose as she walked down the hall and out into the warm night.
Aunt Alice was there, waiting.
“I heard what happened. Are you okay?”
Her aunt held a bundle of clothes. Christy took them and changed in the empty lot. Everyone had parked in the front lot and they were behind the school in the back lot so no one would see her. The press wasn’t here yet. She put her soiled clothes into the trash bag her aunt brought with her.
“It’s over with Dalton. He hates me.” Her shoulders shook.
Her aunt pulled her close, murmuring into her ear.
When Christy stepped back and saw the mess she’d made of her aunt’s shirt, she wanted to scream.
Aunt Alice held up a hand.
“Don’t even worry about it. It’s an old shirt and I don’t care.” She looked at Christy. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
They rode in silence on the drive to the beach house. Her aunt giving her time to replay the awful conversation over and over.
Christy knew she lived in a glass house. It was the price she paid for fame and money. She knew she was lucky and hated to complain, but sometimes it was hard. She had done nothing to earn her fame and fortune. It wasn’t like she could help the way she’d been born, the way she looked.
The pressure could be intense. In the end, it had beaten Sara down until the only choice her friend could see was to take her own life.
Christy knew she’d been fortunate to make money based on things she couldn’t control, and yet people felt they knew her and were entitled to a piece of her all from what they saw posted on social media. Christy sat up straight. The girl in yellow had found her courage. Christy would find hers, too.
If Dalton was going to let his past blind him to what was right in front of him, so be it. It was his loss, and she wasn’t crying over him.
Christy was done crying over men that didn’t respect her.
Over mean girls.
And over her mom.
It was time to stop being afraid.
19
“Amy calling.” The phone announced the call over and over. It would stop and start right back up again. Obviously, her mom wasn’t giving up anytime soon.
With a sigh, Christy answered the call.
“Mom.”
“What on earth is going on down there? You’re going to blow up like a ballon The hair was bad enough. But this?” Her mom screeched.
“I should have known this fiasco would involve Alice, little Miss Busybody.”
“Mom. Stop.”
When her aunt pulled in the driveway, Christy couldn’t go in. Couldn’t rattle around in the big house all alone, especially knowing he was next door. So she ended up spending the night with her aunt.
In the morning, Aunt
Alice made blueberry waffles. She was pouring the batter in the waffle maker when Jo arrived. Jo and her aunt clicked immediately.
As Christy and Jo were leaving, her dad called. He’d seen the clips online and told her he was on his way. He’d stay with Aunt Alice for the weekend and they would all get through this.
They were all coming together to stand for her. To be there. There’d been a flurry of calls from Hazel, Rose, Amanda, Miss Trudy, and the sisters from Used is the New Black.
Everyone supporting her. Except her own mom. Christy took a deep breath.
“Most of the kids deleted the pictures and videos once they understood the situation.”
The shout had Christy holding the phone away from her ear and wincing.
“Most. Who cares. Those dreadful kids uploaded three videos and seven pictures. The press is having a field day. Do you have any idea how many accounts you’ve lost because of what you did to your hair? And now you’re fat on top of it. No one will work with you.”
“It’s back to blond thanks to the vinegar and the fact that I used a semi-permeant dye. I’m not fat. I’ve gained five pounds, mom. Five not two hundred.”
Christy stretched out on the sofa, watching the waves as the sun shone through the window, the warmth making her sleepy.
“It will take at least two years to grow it back to what it was. By then you’ll be nothing more than a washed up has been. Honestly, after everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me? How will I tell my friends I have a fat model for a daughter?”
Christy sat up.
“You were the one who told the press where to find me. They’re already here and looking for me. How could you?” She narrowed her eyes at the phone.
“As to your friends? Tell them I’ll model plus size fashion.”
“Okay, fatty. Everyone knows fat models aren’t proper models. Nobody wants to see that mess, they want the ideal, the impossible.” Her mom let out a very unladylike snort.
“You’ll thank me later for alerting the press. They’ll get you back on track. And for heaven’s sake, quit eating. Lock the refrigerator and cabinets if you have to. I’ll call my doctor, get you a diet pill prescription.” Her mother screamed into the phone.