Chapter 8
Lior
“Look up. Down… Can you move your right hip towards the camera just… there! Stop. Yes. Perfect, Lior.”
I was bored, cold, and distracted. Though if anyone noticed, they thankfully hadn’t said so.
The camera kept clicking as I shifted my body, head, and expression like the robot I’d become in the past few months. I’d enjoyed this once. The travel, the perks, the free clothes. But now? Now I wanted different.
I wanted more.
“Next look,” someone called from behind the lights shining in my face.
Marion, the stylist, pulled a blue dress from the rack of clothes, looked it over, and handed it to me before shouting to one of the assistants, “Is Ty ready?”
My mood lifted. Ty was one of my favorite male models to work with.
One, because he was hilarious and we inevitably ended up having a laugh attack over something.
Two, he always had the best gossip. And three, he was gay and I didn’t have to worry about getting hit on - which happened a lot with some of the straight male models.
I slipped into the blue dress and then stood while Marion zipped me, circled me, and made adjustments.
Accessories were added and then taken away.
Instructions were given to hair and makeup who moved in to smooth my hair into a new style and remove my lipstick to apply a different color.
And then I was given five different pairs of heels to try on.
“Darling,” Ty said, sweeping into the room and air kissing me on both cheeks.
He was a dark-skinned ray of sunshine with his sexy smile and shaved head – the Afro I’d last seen him sporting nowhere in sight.
“What is this?” I asked, reaching for his head.
He ran a hand over it and posed. “The boys like me shaved.”
“I’ll just bet they do, baby.”
“Naughty,” he said, wagging a finger at me and then sitting in a chair to get the shine on his skin powdered.
“Now, tell me what’s new with you. I heard you finally gave Oliver the boot, thank god.
That man was the absolute worst and you had me a bit worried.
You let him hang around longer than most. I thought perhaps you were actually going to try and be serious with the man.
” He wrinkled his perfect nose at the thought.
“You know me better than that.”
“I do. And I know what you’ve been through.
Oliver Manning is not the man you should be with after being with a user like your ex.
If it went on much longer, I was gonna come pull you out.
With a cane.” He gave me an exaggerated wink and acted out what I assumed was his vision of caning a person.
“Please tell me the rumors are true. Did you ever… you know…?”
I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh while the makeup woman applied fake eyelashes to the outer corners of my eyes.
“I never had the pleasure of finding out,” I said.
“Girl!” Ty shouted. “You had one job!”
“Sorry, Ty.” I dropped my head in faux shame.
“You’re forgiven. But do better next time. Now… are you ready for all the dirt?”
For the next four hours the crew and I were regaled with stories of who had been fired from what job, dropped from what designer, gotten a new ad campaign, had their boobs done (“tastefully, darling”), had their lips done (“he should’ve saved some of that filler for where he really needs it”), gained weight, lost weight, broke up with their significant other, was caught cheating, was cheated on, and the best Thai food restaurant he’d found last week.
“Their fresh salad rolls are on a whole other level,” he said, tilting his head back, his full lips parted, eyes aimed seductively at the camera.
“You know how I love other-level fresh salad rolls,” I said, arching my back and pressing into him, my own eyes half-closed.
We switched poses again, winding our bodies around one another’s while we continued to change expressions for the camera and chat in-between looks.
“Oh my god,” Ty said suddenly. “Have you been keeping up on Graham Forrester’s Tribune articles? Why am I even asking. Of course you have. You’re obsessed. And for good reason. That man is a dish. A yummy delicious dish I’d love to—"
My hand slipped from where it was propped on my knee and I nearly stumbled.
Ty caught me without losing his own balance and kept talking, much to my dismay.
“That meet-poop article from a couple weeks ago? Girl, I nearly died I laughed so hard. Seriously. I choked on an almond. Anyways, that poor, gorgeous man and his sweet pup. Can you even imagine? People are so crazy these days.”
I smiled and nodded, pretending to concentrate on the directions we were being given by the photographer, my mind going to earlier this morning when I’d seen Graham on my walk after changing my usual route in an attempt at avoiding him. Unfortunately, he must’ve done the same thing.
For a moment we’d both just stood there staring at one another, neither of us seeming to know what to do next. When he’d looked down at his dog, I took the opportunity to get the hell out of there. I did not need people seeing us in close proximity on the street and putting two and two together.
I tuned back in to hear Ty recounting the article to the rest of the crew, cringing inside as he repeated some of the lines verbatim. I sounded like an ass and Graham, of course, the wounded hero of the story.
Jerk.
“Where do I find the article?” one of the assistants asked.
“The Brooklyn Tribune,” Ty said. “Lior turned me onto it last year. She was raving about it. And him. Check out his photo, honey. Yum.”
“He writes a great column,” I said, my voice flat as we were given the go-ahead to rest for a minute while the lighting was changed.
“I’ll bet that man has a great column,” Ty said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “I wouldn’t mind him doing an article on me. He could do some in-depth reporting.”
“Ty,” I said, laughing despite myself.
“You’ve seen him. That man is delicious. I wonder if he’s single…”
“Even if he is, I think he’s straight.”
“Lior. Why do you wish to wound me so?”
“Sorry, buddy.”
“I get it. You want him for yourself. I mean, he would be a step-up from all those other guys I’ve seen you out with. Clearly he’s smart. And funny. The two of you would look hot together. Not as hot as he and I would but, I’ll throw you a bone.”
“Ooh. Don’t tease me, Ty.”
“If only,” he said wistfully. “You’d be my perfect mate. You’re just missing an important piece of equipment.”
“Alas.”
Hours later, borrowed clothes returned and makeup scrubbed off, we said our goodbyes in the lobby of the hotel we’d been shooting in and I hurried home to get ready for a date I’d agreed to go on.
“Who is he?” Addie asked from the speaker on my phone, which I’d propped against the bathroom mirror while I did my makeup and hair.
She was recovering well, her mom, brother, and a few friends taking turns getting her groceries, cooking, and hanging out.
“Alex Clarke,” I said. “Clarke with an E.”
“Why do I know that name?”
“British author,” I said, leaning forward to apply a coat of mascara. “He wrote “Bound” and “The Night We Died”.
“Oh! I loved both those books. He’s super cute too. I’d forget my year of celibacy for that guy. How did you guys meet?”
I laughed. Whenever Addie was between boyfriends she claimed she was having a year of celibacy.
“We haven’t met,” I said. “It’s a one-sided blind date.”
“A what?”
“Jessa sent me a text the other day. She knows him. Apparently he’s in town for a month doing a teaching gig at Columbia.
She asked if I’d be interested in going out with him, but didn’t tell him who I was.
Just that I’m a good friend. You know, to keep expectations low and also discourage any possible paparazzi issues in case he’s actually a douchebag and makes a few calls beforehand. ”
“But if he doesn’t know who you are… how will he know who you are?”
“We’re meeting at a place I know in Brooklyn. He’s to tell the hostess to take him to table number eight.”
“Smart.”
“Not my first time, baby.”
I flipped my head over and brushed my hair out, then flipped it back and watched it fall into place.
“So, I’m planning to fly out there in a few days,” I said, changing the subject. “If there’s a carnival going on somewhere we should definitely go take a ride on the tilt-a-whirl.”
“Ugh,” she said. “Don’t even joke about it. I still have a lingering headache and it hurts to breathe.”
“Shit. Sorry, babe. But that’s what happens when you go three rounds with a Lexus.”
“I’ll try and remember that.”
I checked the clock, gave myself a once over, and said goodbye to Addie, promising to text her the next day to tell her how the date went.
Thirty minutes later I was let in through the back door, seated at the table I’d reserved, and was sipping a glass of wine and waiting for my date to arrive, which he did right on time.
“Alex?” I said, standing to shake his hand. “I’m Lior. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Oh,” he said. “Wow. You’re… Sorry, I just… wasn’t expecting… you.”
I was used to taking people by surprise and smiled, motioning for him to take a seat.
“I get the secrecy now,” he said, looking around at our secluded spot away from the rest of the dinner crowd.
“Unfortunately, it’s become a bit of a necessity if I want to go out and have any sort of privacy.”
“Of course.”
“Anyways.” I leaned forward. “I loved your first two books,” I said, trying to put him at ease by giving him something he knew well to talk about. “Are you writing a third or… Jessa said you’re teaching a class at Columbia. Are you taking a break from writing while you do that?”
If he had been nervous, any sign of it evaporated as soon as he began talking about his work…
and himself. I suddenly found myself on the other end of a litany of thoughts, opinions, and even advice I hadn’t asked for.
From his critical view of “uneducated” readers posting one-star reviews of his books, to other authors not deserving the success they’d had - and having the balls to name names.
I was ready to go before dessert was offered, and inwardly groaned when my date ordered the cheesecake.
“And for you?” the waiter asked me. But I didn’t want an excuse for this night to last longer than it already had.
“I’m good thank you,” I said.
As he walked away, Alex leaned forward, his eyes moving down to my body.
“I think you can afford to eat a dessert or two.”
I grinned tightly and took a large drink of my wine.
“How nice of you to say so,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Now take Jessa,” Alex said, returning to his thoughts about his contemporaries. “Nice girl, decent writer. Could do with a bit of finessing though.”
“Her personality or her writing?” I asked.
He laughed. “You’re funny! I never would’ve expected that from a model. Well done you.”
I bit down on my tongue. I had no idea why Jessa had thought this guy would be a good match for me, but I was positive I was going to ask her as soon as I got out of here.
“Who else,” he mused. “Sandra Lansing’s work is a bit of a bore. John Chapman is full of himself. Graham Forrester—”
I perked up at the name.
“—is not nearly as good as he thinks he is.”
The cheesecake came mercifully quick and I tapped my foot under the table while I waited for him to finish so I could go before he ruined British accents for me forever.
When the check came, he asked if we should split it.
“I’ve got it,” I said.
“Really? I suppose you probably get a discount, or maybe even free meals whenever you go out.”
“Only if I take a picture with the chef.”
“Is that true? Because if that’s the case, I’m dying to try this other place a few blocks down from here. Maybe we could go tomorrow night if you’re free?”
I stared at him.
“No. It’s not true. And I’m not free.”
Jessa was going to get an earful.
“I’m just going to go take care of this,” I said, holding up the bill and getting to my feet.
A few minutes later, the bill settled, I walked outside, not bothering to go back to the table to tell my date our evening was over.
“Hey!” Alex called from behind me. “I didn’t realize you wanted me to meet you out here. Do you live nearby? I was thinking another drink is in order.”
He stepped closer to me, his fingers grazing my arm. I stiffened just as the flash of a camera went off. Fuck. I’d been so distracted by anger, I’d forgotten to go out the back door.
Lowering my head, I turned toward the restaurant.
“I’ll be going home alone tonight,” I said. “I hope you enjoyed your meal.”
“I have another date tomorrow, but if you’re free the night after…”
“No thank you,” I said, and hurried back inside.
Ten minutes later, with a piece of tiramisu in a to-go box, I was in the backseat of a cab headed for home. I pulled out my phone and opened up my text conversation with Jessa.
“I am rescinding your blind date privileges,” I typed.
“Oh no!” she responded immediately. “Tell me.”
We had moved to an actual phone call by the time the cab pulled up to my house, Jessa apologizing profusely for the bad match.
“He always seems so sweet and modest,” she said. “And those looks with that accent…”
“He was sweet and modest. For about one minute. And then he didn’t stop talking about himself, talking badly about other authors, crapping on his readers, and asking if we should split the bill.
Oh, and he thought I could afford to eat a dessert or two.
This was said after he looked me up and down. ”
“What the hell.”
We talked for a while more and then I changed into my pajamas and climbed into bed with my well-deserved dessert, wanting nothing more than to put this night behind me.
I was drifting off to sleep a half hour later when an alert sounded on my phone.
I opened it to a picture of me and Alex Clarke outside the restaurant.
“New Couple Alert?” the headline said.
I pasted the link into a text to Jessa.
“You owe me,” I typed.
“Sorry!!” she said. “If it’s any consolation, he also texted me and said the date was ‘brilliant. He thanked me for the connection.”
“I hate you.”
“I’ll make it up to you. Any interest in Graham Forrester? He’s single and I know for a fact he’s not a jerk.”
I stared at the message. Unable to find the words to respond, I turned off my phone, set it down, and went to sleep.