Chapter twenty - nine Kendra
Chapter twenty-nine
Kendra
“Sorry, babe, but the weather service said a big storm is rolling in next week, so the whole shoot is getting moved up.”
Morty breaks the news with the delicacy of a sledgehammer, but I don’t pay him for tact.
“But tonight?! I have to leave for Bali tonight?”
Niko turns onto an empty side street while I try not to panic.
“And whose idea was it to shoot during the wet season, huh? There’s no chance they care that Thanksgiving is tomorrow, right?”
Morty sighs at the hopeful tone of my voice.
“You know they don’t, Kendra,” he says patiently. “Pierre is French, the shoot’s in Bali, and you’re the only model based in the US. I could push on this, but they may just replace you.”
“Shit,” I grumble, crushing my empty coffee cup in frustration.
Morty knows as well as I do I can’t afford to pass up this gig.
I’m a household name, but I’m nearing the end of my shelf-life.
This past Fashion Week made it painfully clear: the next phase of my career needs to be in place ASAP.
I’ve secured a few sponsorships, but most of my plan relies on the success of Denise’s line. If it fails—
It’s not going to fail. We’ve got a solid business plan, backers for the first run of designs, the best tailors in the industry, and models already signed up to walk in the show. It will be a success.
Even so, one last show to make sure my nest egg is appropriately fat couldn’t hurt.
Morty sends me the updated flight details, and Niko busts a U-turn to take us to Newark instead of home. Thank God I packed last night and my suitcase is already in the trunk, but damn! Everything is thrown off now!
I break the news to my dad first.
“Hey, baby girl!”
“Hey Dad,” I sigh, defeated.
“Debbie is so excited for tomorrow,” he goes on, oblivious to my mood. “She even made an extra sweet potato pie just for you to take home since I told her it was your favorite.”
I drop my head into my hands. Damnit!
“Dad,” I start, not bothering to hide the disappointment in my voice, “I’m so sorry, but the shoot got bumped. I’m not leaving the day after tomorrow anymore.”
“Well, when are you leaving?”
I rub my eyes. I feel a migraine coming on.
“Right now?” I say through a wince.
“Right now?!” he booms. The line is suddenly muffled, like he’s holding the phone away from him and covering the receiver.
Was I looking forward to dinner tomorrow?
Honestly, no. Debbie and I are still feeling each other out, and I don’t appreciate the added pressure of a mandatory family dinner.
Dad’s been really pushing the one big happy family angle this year.
It’s ridiculous, considering Uncle Cordell’s been more of a dad when it counted.
Debbie’s bringing her two sons too, and all I know about Aaron and Matthew is that they have their mom’s dirty-blonde hair and hazel eyes, and they’re in college. Penn State, I think, but I’m not positive. I don’t even know their majors. It’s been three years since I met them!
It was the perfect setup for an unbearably awkward meal, but I still feel a pang of discomfort at letting Debbie down. She’s been taking an interest, keeping my dad in line, and she might surprise me just like Camila and her sister did. Well, she might have, if I didn’t have to cancel again.
I pick at my cuticles waiting for my dad to get back on the phone.
“Debbie is upset—” Dad starts, but a struggle breaks out before he can continue.
“I am not upset,” Debbie corrects primly into the phone. I can hear my dad grumbling something about “family”, “waste of time”, and “priorities” in the background. Sounds like the same old bullshit.
“I’ll admit I wanted to hear all about your job coming up, but these things happen. Where exactly is it again?”
I blink, stunned by Debbie’s eagerness to engage with me.
“U-uh,” I stutter. “It’s in Bali. There’s a big storm coming next week, so they had to move the dates up.”
“That’s too bad. It’s a group shoot, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” I answer. “Me and three other models. I’m modeling the plus-size options, obviously.”
She laughs, and I’m still at a loss for words.
“Plus-size or not, I know you’ll be the prettiest one there. You really have a way with the camera.”
“Thank you,” I reply quietly. With each exchange, I’m realizing I may have misjudged Debbie. She might be carrying more than her share of my baggage with my dad.
“Do you know any of the other girls?”
“No,” I say through a smile. “I wish. Sometimes there’s no chemistry with the other women in group shots. But I’ve worked with Pierre before.”
“Pierre?”
“The photographer,” I clarify. “He shot a piece I was in for Harper’s Bazaar a couple years ago.”
“The one with the purple gown?” she asks.
I gape in silence before answering.
“Uh…yeah. Listen, Debbie. I think maybe I owe you an apology.”
“Oh, stop that,” she says dismissively, but I insist.
“No, I do. I don’t think I’ve given you a fair shot, starting with the fact that I don’t even have your number. I’m sorry for holding you at arm’s length.”
She chuckles lightly.
“You have been a bit hard to get to know. But it’s not like I don’t understand.” The line goes quiet, and when she comes back, she’s practically whispering.
“I hear some of the things your father says about your job; I don’t agree. You’re a real-life celebrity!” she balks, startling a laugh from me. “I’ve told him many times that if he doesn’t straighten up and appreciate you for who you are, he’s going to lose you. We’re going to lose you.”
A lump grows in my throat, making it hard to swallow. I wouldn’t have guessed she cared either way. My dad’s other wives didn’t. My mother certainly didn’t.
“How about this?” I suggest brightly, steering the conversation into safer territory. “When I get back, you and I can grab lunch and talk. No Thanksgiving dinner or forced family portraits, or whatever else Dad had planned. Just lunch and maybe a cocktail.”
She laughs again.
“It’s a deal. Hopefully, we can work up to dinner with the whole family?” she pushes.
I relent with a grin.
“I definitely owe you that. I want to get to know Aaron and Matthew too.”
After a few more minutes of pleasantries, we disconnect. Me and my dad’s shit won’t get settled overnight, but it’s also not Debbie’s fault. Or her kids’. It’s time I gave her a real chance.
“Lift your chin? Not straight ahead, but towards the pier? That’s it.”
After intermittent showers delayed the equipment setup, we’re finally in position; me, leaning back against a smooth rock and Deanna, partially in the water with the waves lapping at her calves.
I’m in paradise, modeling in what might be my last big shoot, and all I can think about is my call with Damon yesterday.
Apparently, he’d had an ugly altercation with Andre when he came by to help me pack.
My heart melted at the gesture, then sank at the detached tone of his voice.
He seemed distracted, almost robotic, and I was more than a little uneasy about getting on a near twenty-four-hour flight with things between us feeling off.
What happened? What could Andre have said that had Damon so rattled?
I blink a few times. The bright beach sun and jetlag are putting my eyes through it! Thankfully, the makeup artists are miracle workers.
“Kendra, towards me,” Pierre calls out, his accent heavy. I turn and hear the shutter open and close rapidly. “OK, now reach out to Deanna like you’re going to pull her ashore. Mais not too far; I don’t want to give you…eh…comment dit-on…rolls.”
Deanna snorts, and I shoot her daggers. Pierre’s just looking out for me; I don’t want him to photograph my rolls, either. She’s the one making it an insult.
I try a few poses until—
“Stop! Hold it!” Pierre yells. I ignore the cramp in my hamstring and the awkward angle of my chest as I cheat out to the camera.
The camera beats a staccato rhythm, and my mind wanders back to Damon. He was at work during my layover in Hong Kong, and our texts were brief. If he hadn’t still been in bed when I left this morning, I’d have demanded he explain why he’s suddenly gone aloof.
Maybe it was a comment on one of the many posts about us. The paps are obsessed with him because he’s super hot, inked up, and has the body of a god. He may have dealt with the press before, but likely nothing on this level.
There are the snide comments about my weight, which I’ve had a lifetime to get used to, and then there are the comments from people who can’t handle seeing an Asian man and a Black woman together.
People full of hate and longing for “the good ol’ days” when people like us knew our place.
They get real bold when they’re anonymous behind their keyboards.
Get your head in the game, Kendra! This might very well be your last shoot; make it count!
I push my breasts out further, and the shutter flutters open and closed again. Whatever’s going on with Damon will just have to wait ’til I’m back.