Secrets & Lies 4: The Ferro Family

by H. M. Ward

  With all the students settled, Nate starts teaching like he did last week. He stands in front of me, but I can still see him out of the corner of my eye.

  Nate explains, “The S-curve in this pose is important. See the way her back, hips, and shoulders curve almost like the letter S? When choosing a pose, this curve is fundamental. The easiest way to arrange the pose is to have the model put all her weight on one leg. It naturally throws out the hip helping define that curve. In this case, our model is seated. It would be very easy to make her waist appear blockish. To avoid that, she has one knee pulled up—” he points to the pad of my foot that’s poking out from under the knee of my top leg, “and the other leg extended. It tilts her hips in the right direction so that when she places an arm on the back of the chaise and pivots at the waist to look at her feet—Miss Hill, would you be so kind?”

  I do as he asks and stare at my toes. My lashes are lowered and my expression pensive. I've often wondered what models think about while posing. If they are excited to be in front of people or worried about looking fat? Now that I’m up here, I can tell you—we think about everything.

  Did I turn off the iron?

  Chelsey is a jerk. I need to do something with that.

  Pringles sound really good. I’m going to eat an entire can for dinner.

  I’ll have to walk to the quad to get it.

  I’m sick of letting people walk all over me.

  That leads my thoughts to Mom. How am I supposed to be okay with her and Matt when it’s clearly not okay? She gave birth to me. I should get over it. At the same time, she could give birth to a sibling and then Matt could be my stepdad. Fuck that. I’m not on board.

  How do I live with her stupid decision? I want to tell her to screw off. I don’t want to live with it. Every time the thought roams through my mind, I want to shoot it. It doesn’t belong there. Your mom isn’t supposed to nail your boyfriend. Some things are off limits. At least I thought they were.

  It’s something about sitting without anything to look at or read—no TV, no book—that makes your mind wander and churn up the muck plaguing you. Models have to be completely insane to want to do this long-term—or completely at peace with their lives and without problems.

  I wish my life were simpler.

  I've wished it so many times over the years. At some point, I had to accept that some people don’t live peaceful lives. Shit falls from the sky, and they’re the folks in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  They’re my people.

  Nathan’s voice has a soothing richness to it. I could listen to him all day. His paintings are different. They are raw and vibrant, sublime and searching. They boast a feeling of infinity and a clashing finality too powerful to contain.

  If he painted me would the piece have the same movement and elegant brush strokes? Would I be beautiful or would he portray me as turbulently as the rest of his work?

  The room falls silent, and I glance up. Nate is in his spot at the back, carefully avoiding looking in my direction. Not moving for hours is harder than you’d think. Every few seconds a finger wants to twitch or my leg wants to stretch.

  I channel my thoughts elsewhere, but they keep swinging back to Matt. We were a couple for so long I forgot what it felt like to be alone. I saw him every day, gave him everything, did anything he wanted, and he still left me. I don’t understand. We were happy—at least I thought we were. He’d tell me I was his ‘baby girl,’ and kiss my temple. When we were together, every kiss was slow and perfect. His mouth on my body was bliss. He loved me. There’s no way he could be with me like that if he didn’t, right? I mean, I should have known. I would have seen it.

  But I didn’t. The truth didn’t materialize until I was gone. I thought Matt and I were forever. Beth is right. I need a rebound guy. I need to figure out who I am and what I like. Maybe I don’t want sweet, vanilla sex. We never did anything else. It didn’t get carnal. There was always control and no one crossed the line. Hell, neither of us even had the line on the horizon. Besides the initial discovery of where stuff was and what it looked like, we did the deed the old fashioned way—the thingy went in the traditional hole. I’d been okay with that. I guess Matt wasn’t. Maybe he wanted to do something he couldn’t ask me to do, so he asked—

  Oh, God! That’s a horrifying thought—I’m the prude, and my mother’s the slut, so he asked her.

  I don’t want to win him back. I just want to stop mourning over something that turned out to be worthless.

  The class ends without incident. Everyone packs up their things and leaves.

  As I dress behind the cabinet, I wonder if karma is real. If it is, what the hell did I do to deserve this? I tug on my sweats and pull my hair into a ponytail before walking out into the room. It's so quiet I thought I was alone, but, as I turn around the screen, I see Emily sitting there, waiting for me.

  She’s got her blue hair poofed high on her head and a matching blue hoop earring in her nose. The black collar around her neck is spiked and partially hidden by the black leather duster covering her skintight black dress. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I echo back. “Are you here to kick my ass or invite me to go clubbing? And by clubbing, I mean maces—me and you—at the bitchy Barbie rush tonight.” I smirk, not expecting it to be either. She’s here to chew me out for modeling, for breaking Carter’s heart, and, most heinously, for stealing her man. I’d have issues with that too. But I didn’t know her first. I knew Carter. And I’m not her mother, so I don’t owe her anything. I frown and slap my bag down on a desk, digging through it to find my wallet, and hoping I have enough cash to score a can of chips. Yeah, I’m still on that.

  Pringles. The dinner of champions.

  Emily snorts and folds her arms over her chest. “That would be amazing, but since the school frowns on bludgeoning sorority girls, I thought I’d make a peace offering.”

  And that’s a weird turn of events. I stop pawing through my things and look up at her. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “There’s a haunted bar down on 6th Street. Come with? My treat.” She offers a half-smile which is notable considering I didn’t think her mouth could even move that way. She’s usually sporting an expression so intense most people stop, turn around, and walk the other way. Emily has a severe case of RBF—resting bitch face—but she owns it, so it’s all good.

  “Really? So, what made you change your mind? I thought I was an insidious slut trying to poach your man? Why the sudden change of heart?” I realize I’m kicking a hornet’s nest, but I need to know.

  She blanches and steps toward me, trying to shake it off. “You offered to hook up with him, and he shot you down. That’s good enough for me.”

  We’re standing eye-to-eye. She’s wearing purple contacts and blinks at me. I wonder if I should correct her, explain how Carter blew me off because he wants something real, not a one-night stand.

  “How’d you know about that?” My stomach twists. We were in Nate’s office. Did she see the whole thing?

  She shrugs. “I was passing by and saw your embarrassing attempt at PDA. You were hot. He was cold. All is good with Emily again.” She smiles brightly, which just looks wrong on her edgy, punk face.

  So should I smooth things over with Emily or go home? I don't really want to go home. Bitchy Pants will be there now, and tomorrow my mom is coming with my ex in tow. I want to get sloshed and take my aggressions out on someone hot. I want to lose it and not care about what happens next.

  I’m nodding and pulling my bag onto my shoulder, zipping the top as I say, “Sounds good. I’m in.”

  “Awesome. And to prove it to you, we are going to find you a rebound guy. Tonight. I’m not leaving until you’ve got a man to take home.”

  “And fuck senseless,” I add hastily. At that moment, I glance up and see Nate in the doorway.

  He waves a white envelope. “Your check, Miss Hill.”

  He heard me. I know he did. His eyes lock with mine and, for a brief second
, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’m thinking so loudly it’s a scream in my mind.

  I WANTED IT TO BE YOU! You said no. You rejected me. I wanted it to be you.

  He holds out the check, and I reach for it. I can’t help it. I mutter, “I’m crazy.”

  His blue gaze drops, and when he looks up again, he smiles. “I know. I like that about you.”

  A frown shadows my lips. As it spreads his gaze fixates on my mouth and I know there are things he wants to say, but he can’t. Not here, not now. He clears his throat and nods. “Be careful ladies. There’s been a lot of shit going on. I’d hate to see something happen to either of you.”

  Does he know I was drugged? He seems to be hinting at it. I didn’t tell anyone. I’d rather they thought I screwed Josh than that I was stupid enough to get roofied.

  Emily snorts and acts tough. “They already tried to get me, and this one here—she saved my ass.” She throws her arm over my shoulder and tugs me close.

  “Really?” Nate glances at me.

  “Yeah. She was a great friend, and I was a bit of a jealous bitch. I’m really sorry, Kerry.” Her moment of sincerity is short-lived. “Now, let’s get shitfaced and find us a couple of fuckbuddies.”

  I laugh nervously and wish I were dead. Out of all people to say that to, why’d it have to be him? Emily walks out the door and marches down the hall, assuming I’m right behind her. “Come on, freshman!”

  I linger for a second, wanting to tell him things, but unable to find words.

  Nate’s dark lashes lower as his gaze cuts to the side. His lips part once, then twice, before he says, “Goodnight.”

  “Right.” What else can I say? I step toward the door at the same time he does so that we cross the threshold at the same time. We’re pushed close together in the narrow space, and I do everything possible to avoid touching him, but at the last moment, when I move to turn away, I catch his shoulder. Our arms collide and for a brief moment, I feel his fingers brush against mine.

  I glance up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  I didn’t mean to start things with you that can’t be finished.

  I didn’t mean to put you in a weird spot.

  I didn’t mean to promise you friendship and have to hide it from everyone.

  In that moment, I don’t know what he is to me, and I can’t hide my frustration much longer.

  “Kerry,” he breathes my name as our fingers intertwine. But then he steps away, and it’s like it never happened.

  “Come on, Kerry! Let’s haunt the bar!” Emily laughs as she spins around to look back at us. “That was punny, right?”

  I smile and tuck my chin as I walk away from Nate. Regret is trying to strangle me, but some things just aren’t meant to be. Nate and I will never happen.

  “Hilarious.” I turn back to Nate for the last time. I say, “Goodnight,” but it’s clearly goodbye.

  He could stop me. He could say he’s interested and wants me for himself. But that doesn’t happen. Emily is dancing at the end of the hall and calling out for me to join her. As I rush away, I feel his eyes on my back.

  Nate watches us disappear down the stairwell without another word.

  CHAPTER 3

  The haunted bar was built in 1886 and apparently the owner suffered a bit of misfortune—as did every successive owner of this particular establishment. Whether they were shot, drowned, lost to flu, dragged by a horse, on even took a header down the stairs—regardless of age, race or wealth, they all mysteriously expired.

  Emily is laughing. “It’s as if the place were cursed. Sometimes the lights flicker, and they claim it’s Jeb, the guy that croaked tumbling down the steps over there.”

  She points across the small room. We’re sitting at a highly polished wooden bar, on stools covered in leather matching the hides displayed on the walls. PETA would hate this place. The ceiling is punched copper with a rustic design. There are too many horns and antlers on the walls for my taste, but this is Texas. There are a few seating areas behind us, small tables with copper brads and thick couches with tufted leather backs and big, comfy-looking armrests. The lighting is dim, and the bulbs are the warm, flickering kind reminiscent of gas lamps with real flames.

  We both stare at the steps. They’re smooth, long, and wide. I’m not feeling the danger. “Maybe he fell because it was dark and he haunts the place to keep the staircase safe and death-free.”

  Emily grins. “Or he’s a mean bastard and is sick of being the only one to have an incident on those stairs. I mean look at them. How?” She leaves the word hanging in the air and blinks at the short staircase.

  “Hey!” I point at her. “Don’t be like that. People with bad luck can’t help it. All sorts of shit happens to me. I must have been a total bitch in a past life.”

  Emily giggles and falls forward, pressing her head to the bar and then looking up at me. The dark makeup around her eyes is a little smeared. “You? Like Chelsey? Bacon! I mean, what the fuck is wrong with her? We need to send some bad mojo her way!”

  “I’m working on it. If there’s one thing you should remember about me, it’s that I never forget a damned thing.”

  I’m looking down at the bottom of my third Long Island Iced Tea and wondering if I can do another. I skipped dinner and went straight for the booze. As it is, I have a pretty good buzz going on. Each drink has, what, four shots of alcohol? So that means I’ve had around—twelve—shots so far. Wait. That can’t be right.

  I frown. Okay, maybe I’m a little more than tipsy. I can’t seem to do math, and the bar might be swaying a little bit. Fuck it. I lift my hand, and the bartender sees me and brings another drink. What the hell, right? I can still think and I’d rather not.

  “You shouldn’t take shit from anyone. Life’s too short.” Emily knocks back another shot of her weird black, tar-looking drink. She slaps it down hard on the wood. The little cup slips off the bar and falls, and then bounces off the wooden floor, before rolling onto the carpet.

  “I got it.” I jump up from my perch and follow the empty cup like a toddler trying to catch a butterfly. I don’t think it’s going to jump up and fly away, but I can’t seem to convince my hands to drop. When I’m right above it, I accidentally kick the thing. “Fuck.” It skitters across the room, bounces off a wall, and clunks down the stairs.

  Emily starts laughing and waving a finger at me. “Do not go over there. You’ll die, Kerry!” The giggles get the better of her, and she starts laughing into her arm.

  “Oh, shut up, you—you.” Great come back. I shake my head and plop my sneakers across the floor to the far side of the room and grab the railing. I’m about to head down the short flight of stairs when I feel a hand on my back.

  “Kerry?”

  That voice. I want to melt into him. I turn around, and Nate is there, dressed in the same outfit as earlier. His hair is messy, and his lips are swollen.

  I blink at him. “Did you have sex? Wow, my voice is loud.” I glance around looking for a reason why my voice fills the room. I half expect to find a floating bullhorn in front of my face, but there’s nothing.

  “Yes, it is.”

  I turn toward him--at least that was the plan. Now I’m leaning on him, and poking my finger into his stomach. “Well, Mr. Teacher, your lips are puffy. Did you finally get some?”

  He smiles and looks back at the room and then at me. “My love life is not open for discussion at the moment.”

  “Mine is. Do you know why? Because there’s nothing to tell.” I frown and feel my bottom lip jut out. “I look like a crazy jock chick with my sweats and sneakers, and guys are afraid of Emily. At the rate things are going, I’m going to end up fucking her tonight.”

  Nate clears his throat and coughs into his hand. “Oh? I didn’t know women interested you.”

  Still pouting, I explain, “They don’t. Well, that’s not entirely true. I like breasts.”

  He’s grinning, still holding me up. “Who doesn’t?”

&n
bsp; I point at him like he understands me. “But I need more than that. Besides, I have my own. I want the scent of a guy on my body and everything from the sweat, to the fucking—I’m just not into girls. I'd be willing to make an exception to get over Matt, but, then he’d take credit for turning me gay, and tell people I totally lost my shit and swore off men after he dumped me.”

  Nate laughs. “I’m sorry, but if he’s the only guy you’ve been with and you decided to hit for the other team because of him, that doesn’t say he has much to offer the female half of the world.”

  My shoulders slump, and I’m ready to cry. “That’s not what my mom said!”

  “Is that a joke? Because I think you told it wrong.” He cocks his head to the side and tries to see my face to tell if I’m serious, but I’m leaning against his chest.

  Tears spring from my eyes and I shake my head. “No, it’s not. I’m the joke. I can’t do this, Nate. How am I supposed to look at them? How am I supposed to act like it doesn’t matter when it does? They both stabbed me in the back, and they want me to be happy for them. I can’t do it.” I have a slight tug at the back of my mind. It’s the voice of self-preservation telling me to shut the hell up, but I can’t. Everything comes pouring out, and I keep thinking he already knows all of this stuff. Everyone else does.

  “So don’t.” His hands are on my shoulders, steadying me. “Hey, calm down, Kerry. It’ll be all right.”

  Tears and snot mix on my cheeks, and I know I look like a train wreck. “No, it won’t. Don’t you get it? They’re coming here this weekend to see me and stay with me. I can’t even think about it, never mind live it. There’s only so much a person can take, and I’m bent so far past my breaking point I can literally kiss my own ass!” I’m crelling, that oh-so-sexy, snotified cry-yell of a crazy chick.

  His hands squeeze my shoulders, and his voice is like a warm blanket. “Stay with me. Don’t go home until they’re gone.”