David’s voice was as chipper as I remembered. “Cal, hey man! It’s going good. Is this a good time for a quick chat? I don’t want to keep the busy lawyer man from important clients.”
“Now is good, David. And I’d make my clients wait on you. Not the other way around.”
“Good man. Check your email.”
“Okay,” I said hesitantly. “You didn’t send me something that’s inappropriate for work, did you?”
“No. And I meant your personal email. Not your work one. And it’s not from me. It’s from the school district.”
“What?”
“Just look,” David said, annoyance coloring his tone.
It took me a minute or two to sign into my old email account, and once I had, I sifted through junk mail until I found the email he was talking about. It was titled “Westview High 15 Year Christmas Reunion”.
“What the hell is this, David?”
“An invitation to the high school fifteen-year reunion.”
“Yeah. I can see that. Why are they doing it now instead of at the end of the year like always?”
“Well,” David said, “as someone who went to the ten-year reunion, I can attest to the fact that it was a total flop. Not many people still live in Pittsburgh, so the turnout was terrible. The organizers thought that it might be smarter to host it around the holidays for our fifteen years because more people are in town visiting family and what not. What do you think? Are you in?”
I sighed and scrolled through the email. The reunion was on Friday. It started at eight in the evening and went until midnight at our old school. There would be appetizers and drinks and live entertainment. I wondered dimly if any of the kids who formed bands in high school were going to be the entertainment. I wouldn’t be surprised in the least.
“All right. I’m in.”
“Excellent!” David exclaimed. “Make sure you RSVP so they know how many people are coming. I think we’ve already surpassed our numbers of confirmed attendees from the ten year. Which is great. I’m looking forward to seeing everyone.”
“Can’t be that bad,” I said.
“That’s the spirit! Well, I gotta run, Cal. I’ll see you on Friday. Thanks for not being a buzzkill.”
“Yeah, yeah. See you Friday.” I hung up the phone and stared at the invitation that was still glaring at me from my computer screen.
Fifteen years. That was a long damn time. It felt like it was only yesterday that I was wandering down the halls of Westview High, going from class to class, pausing at Lina’s locker to give her a kiss between third and fourth period.
Lina.
I plucked my jacket from the back of my chair and shrugged it on. Then I headed out into the hallway on the search for Frank, who I found chatting with our firm’s receptionist, Shelly. She was a middle-aged woman with thick purple-framed glasses, big green eyes, and brown hair that was not natural. I was sure she’d gone gray years ago. But she was smart as hell and excellent at her job. I’d never met another soul who could type as fast as she did, or keep everything organized as well as she did. She was a superstar at her job, and everyone knew it.
Frank straightened up when he saw me. “Heading home for the night, Cal?”
“Yeah. Hey. I think I’ll take you up on that offer. Do you mind if I take the rest of the week off and come back to work on Monday?”
Frank clasped my hand and shook it. “You had a big win for this firm in court today, Cal. Don’t come back until the new year. Enjoy your time off with your family. I’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone.”
I grinned. “You mean Shelly will, and you’ll take credit for it?”
Shelly smiled up at me, and her blue eyes flicked between Frank and me. “This is why you’re my favorite, Cal,” she said.
Frank rolled his eyes. “This is the last thing I need. The two of you ganging up on me. Get your ass out of here, Cal. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Frank. You too, Shelly. See you in the new year!”
They both waved goodbye as I pressed out the double glass doors of the firm’s office and into the lobby, where I rode the elevators down from the top floor.
Time off. What a strange concept.
Seeing everyone from high school? What a stranger concept.
6
Lina
My red Baywatch-style swimsuit was riding up my ass every couple of minutes. It was incredibly uncomfortable, and tight, and did not breathe at all. I was surrounded by other models who were all spread out at my feet on towels atop fake sand in a warehouse that had been staged to look like a beach. A fan was blowing behind the camera, which blew my hair gently back and made me feel only a little bit like Beyonce.
But then the swimsuit would ride up again, and that confidence would be dashed.
The photographer called for a break, and I tried to adjust my swimsuit without being too obvious. One of the assistants on set scampered up to straighten out the edges of some of the towels. She was a young woman, probably a few years younger than me, with mousy hair and big brown eyes.
“Excuse me?” I called.
The assistant looked up at me as she was stooped over fixing a towel. “Um. Yes, Miss Nelson?”
“Do you think there’s some hairspray I could get my hands on? My bathing suit won’t stay put, and if I can just spray my skin, it will stay in place better.”
The assistant nodded. “Yes, I’ll find you some. Sit tight.”
“Thank you.”
“Good idea,” one of the other models said. She was a blonde babe in a red bikini. She was spread out on a towel and had been positioned by the photographer to lay on her elbows, propped up and smiling up at me as I sipped from the energy drink this shoot was all centered around. “These bathing suits are awful.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“But they photograph beautifully,” Mike said. Mike was the owner of the energy drink company and the big cheese on today’s set. He had final say in everything and anything, and he hadn’t shied away from being a total prick. He was the one who’d chosen the swimsuits and demanded we all get spray tans.
Now I had a midsummer-colored tan three weeks before Christmas.
Mike walked around the set, his eyes raking over all of us—especially me. I was the main girl for the shoot, and he had insisted everything needed to be perfect. I could understand that. We were shooting an ad, after all, and image was everything when you only had thirty seconds or so to capture the public’s attention and convince them to buy your product.
I only had to wait a couple minutes before the assistant returned with a full-sized bottle of hairspray. She gave me a sweet but flustered smile as I took it from her and said, “Will you be needing anything else?”
“No thank you.” I still wasn’t used to this celebrity treatment. It was weird and almost uncomfortable to have people doting on me whenever I was at work. It almost made it hard to be a professional when everyone was babying you and walking on eggshells around you.
Don’t offend the model.
Make sure she’s comfortable.
She’s your meal ticket. Keep her happy.
Tell her she looks perfect.
Don’t let her eat any sweets before the shoot.
Keep her hydrated.
Does she need anything?
It literally never ended. And today’s shoot was no different. It was actually worse. While the staff was quite accommodating and friendly, Mike was not. He was moody and sour and the littlest thing could send him reeling into a rant that might last minutes or hours.
I’d worked with him before, and I had a foolproof strategy to guarantee this shoot was a success: keep my mouth closed.
I would get in, get the perfect shot he was after, and get out. There was no sense in pouring fuel on the flames of a fight that I knew I couldn’t win. Nobody won against someone who wasn’t practical. Or sane. It was just a waste of time.
Mike was currently reviewing the last fifty shots with the pho
tographers. They talked heatedly and would peer up at me and the other models every now and then, pointing and making decisions about how they wanted to move us or pieces of the beach set around.
Then Mike nodded and started walking toward me.
“Incoming,” the blonde model muttered below me on her towel.
I stood up tall and turned to him.
“Lina, do you have a moment?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He frowned. “I want to talk about your posing. I want more sex from you. Your shots are beautiful, as always, but you’re not getting into it the way I want you to. I want men to see this commercial and be turned on. Sex sells. You know that as well as I do. Think you can turn it up a bit more?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Good girl. Now, let’s go over how you’ll drink. I want a bit of liquid to leak out and maybe roll down your chin and neck. If it happens to roll between your breasts, even better. Does that sound doable?”
Did controlling the way a drink leaked down my half-naked body sound doable? “Yes.”
Mike was about to launch into another adjustment for me to make when my phone started ringing in my purse off set. I held up my hand. “I’m so sorry, Mike. Can I take this? I’ve been waiting all day for an important call. I’ll be right back here to talk to you when I’m done.”
Mike hesitated. Then he nodded. “Yes. Yes of course. I’ll take the time to speak with the other models.”
“Great,” I said. I had already stepped off my platform and hurried over to my purse. I didn’t bother looking at the name when I answered the call and lifted it to my ear as I began walking away from the shoot. “Hello?”
“Why hello there, big shot model. How’s it going?”
I stopped walking. “Kelli?”
“Yeah! How’ve you been, stranger?”
I glanced over my shoulder. Nobody was paying any attention to me for the first time all day, so I grabbed my robe off my break chair, draped it over my shoulders, and hurried out an emergency exit to stand outside in the chilly mid-December air. “I’ve been good. Wow. We haven’t spoken in a long time.”
“About a year.”
“Seriously? That long.”
“Yep, but hey, life gets busy. Long distance is hard. I still love you like a sister. And you’d better love me too. Otherwise, this would be really awkward.”
I laughed. Talking to her felt exactly the same as it always had. “I love you too, Kelli. And I miss you. How have you been?”
“I’ve been great. But there’s no time for chit chat right now. I know it’s a shot in the dark, but I was calling to see if you had plans for Christmas this year.”
“Oh.” I paused, unsure how to answer this. I didn’t have plans. I was living alone in New York City and had been so focused on my modeling career that the only friends I had were other models. And I sure as hell didn’t plan on spending Christmas with them. “I don’t really have any plans.”
“Perfect! My mom wanted you to come stay with us for a week or two. You know, like old times? I think she’s worried the house is going to feel empty with Dad gone.” She went kind of quiet on the other end. Kelli’s father had died earlier this year. The last time I saw her was at his funeral. “We can have my mom’s traditional Christmas breakfast bake and then turkey for dinner. Keep it nice and low key. Your bedroom is still the same as it was when you left.”
“I thought your mom wanted to turn it into a yoga studio?”
Kelli laughed. “Yeah, please. You and I both know my mom is all talk when it comes to that sort of thing. So, what do you think? Are you in?”
I licked my lips and peered out at all the trailers in the lot. Mine would be somewhere out there in that mess with my name written on the door. I’d been so busy lately that I hadn’t even been home in the last couple weeks. I’d just moved from set to set with my trailer. “It would be nice to come home for the holidays.”
“Right? Does that mean you’re saying yes?”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Yes, I am.”
“Oh, good!” I could hear her trying to rein in her excitement. “Not to make you think I’m crazy or to scare you off, but I’ve been looking at flights. You could fly in tomorrow afternoon, and I can pick you up at the airport. That way, you get plenty of time back home. And we can catch up. And get ready for the holidays together.”
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Was I actually excited about this? Had something finally cut through the fog of photo shoots and ad campaigns and reached my heart? “I think I can swing tomorrow.”
“Excellent! Also, I have another surprise for you.”
“Oh?”
“Yep, but you’ll have to wait until you’re here before I tell you.”
“That’s just mean. You’re still a tease, you know that, Kelli?”
“Sure do. And I don’t ever plan on changing.”
“Good to know.”
“I’ll text you the details of the flight I saw. And then we’ll arrange me picking you up at the airport. I’m really, really excited to see you, Lina. Seriously. I miss you like crazy.”
“I miss you too, Kelli. Talk soon.”
“Bye.”
I hung up the phone as the cold nibbled at my bare toes. I shivered and drew the robe tighter around myself. All I had to do now was go back inside and finish off the shoot, a shoot that was running four hours late. I’d been here for almost twelve hours, and there was no end in sight.
Fuck it. I wasn’t going to indulge these clowns any more. I was going to go home and pack.
I opened the door and marched straight back to the set. Mike looked up and smiled. “There’s our star. Hop on up there, Lina. Let’s take another stab at this. We might have to reschedule for a second shoot, but I know we’re getting closer. I can taste it!”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Mike, but I have to go. Family emergency back home.”
Mike’s eyes widened a little in surprise. “Uh, you can’t walk out on a shoot like this, Lina.”
“I don’t have a choice. I’m sorry. My agent will be in touch with you.”
I collected my things and went to change out of the terrible red bathing suit. Once I was back in my jeans and sweater, I called Joe, who answered on the second ring. “Lina? How’d the shoot go? All done?”
“No, actually, but I have to head back to Pittsburgh. Family emergency and I need to be there over the holidays. I’m sorry that I’m letting you down, Joe.”
“Lina, hold on a second here. You can’t just—”
“I have to go, Joe. I’m sorry. I hope you understand.”
I hung up my phone and put it on silent. For the first time in years, I felt free. I felt like I was in control. And it felt damn good.
7
Callum
My father came into the kitchen as I slid my spatula under a pancake and flipped it over. I did the same with the others before turning to look at my father as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He took a sip and closed his eyes as he savored the rich flavor.
“Morning, Dad,” I said.
“Morning, Cal. Are you satisfied? I let myself in with my key this morning instead of knocking.”
I smiled. “I am satisfied. Thank you. And see? No funny business. Just me making pancakes and drinking coffee.”
“A sight any woman would be happy to wake up to,” he said.
I gave my father a deadpan look and shook my head. “It never ends with you, does it?”
He chuckled and shrugged. “No, I’m afraid it doesn’t.” He paused on his way over to the kitchen table to look me up and down. I wasn’t wearing a suit. I was dressed in blue jeans and a gray T-shirt. “Did they change the dress code at the office?”
I shook my head as I lifted a corner of one of the pancakes to check if it was burning. They still needed a couple more minutes until they would hit that perfect golden brown. “I’m not going in today. Actually, I’m taking the rest of the month off. I don’
t have to go back until the New Year.”
My father lowered himself down into a kitchen chair slowly. His old age was showing, and he had sore joints. Arthritis. Bad knees. “It’s a Christmas miracle. You’ve been working yourself too hard, Cal. Ever since you lost Claire, you’ve been—”
“Dad,” I said quickly, cutting him off before he went down that rabbit hole any further. Claire, my wife, was off limits. We did not discuss her, especially not over pancakes and coffee. “I appreciate what you were going to say, but please, don’t say it.”
“Sorry.”
I nodded and lifted the pancakes onto a plate. “Asher! Breakfast is ready!”
I could hear his heels striking the floor as he rolled out of bed. My father clasped his hands in front of himself as I put the plate of pancakes down in the middle of the table. Beside them was a plate of bacon wrapped in paper towels. I’d set the table already. All the syrup was out.
“I’m just happy to hear you’re slowing down for a little while,” my father said. “A few weeks is better than nothing.”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to spending more time with you and Asher over the holidays. It’ll be nice to unwind.”
Asher was making his way down the stairs now.
Thump thump.
Thump thump.
Thump thump.
He took the stairs one step at a time, and when he hit the hardwood floor in the foyer, he came sliding into the kitchen. His black hair was a mess, and his eyes were still a bit droopy with sleep, but he climbed up into his chair and sat on his knees as I put two pancakes on his plate. He leaned over them, practically drooling. “Pancakes?” he asked, looking back up at me. “But it’s not Sunday.”
I chuckled. “Does it have to be a Sunday in order for a father to make pancakes for his family?”
Asher frowned as he considered my question. “I guess not. Thanks, Dad. Grandpa, could you please pass the syrup?”
My father pointed between the three options on the table: real Canadian maple syrup, fake maple syrup, or raspberry-flavored syrup. He opted for real Canadian and earned my approving nod. He poured more than enough of it onto his pancakes before he dug in with his knife and fork.
My Holiday Reunion Page 4