Chapter 11
Eleven
Lou
“A smile is a curve that sets everything straight.”
Phyllis Diller
I’m happy you finally emailed me back. There are several offers on the table that should be discussed. One for Harper’s, possibly a cover. Lewis has requested you for a spread in Elle. Pierre has three separate shoots he’s waiting on you for.
Call me and we’ll get something set up.
Regards,
Carolyn
This bitch.
“You ever feel like the world is against you?”
“A time or two,” Juliet says as I refill my coffee.
We’re moving slowly this morning after staying at the bar until they closed down bingo. I won a gift card to the hardware store, which Sam teased was useless since I’d already bought them out of paint. Jules won a coupon for a free pizza.
We had a great time until some guy named Mac walked in and Juliet got very quiet and uncomfortable. She made it clear on our way home that she didn’t want to discuss it. I won’t ask. She’ll talk when she wants to.
He was cute, though, and obviously excited to see her there, if his blatant staring had anything to say about it.
“Carolyn emailed me back saying Pierre is holding shoots for me.”
“No way! What a bitch.”
“I didn’t go into gory details, but I was clear that our argument landed me in the fucking hospital.”
“It’s your business, not mine, but I’ll remind you that there are other agents that would fight tooth and nail for you. And wouldn’t suggest working with your abuser.”
I just thought she’d be on my side. Maybe that’s na?ve, but I’m the one who has been making her money, not Pierre.
“Have you heard any more about your case?”
“Nothing good,” I say. “I was hoping to avoid it. But I think I need to talk to an attorney.”
“Maybe someone in PR, too. It’s been kept quiet, so far, but that can change quickly. Better to get ahead of it.”
“Probably should have done all this right away,” I say. “It was stupid to think I could handle it on my own.”
“Hey, you weren’t being stupid. You were doing the most important thing, which was safely healing,” she says. “I’m going to forward you Luke’s PR contact. Her name is Vivian; she’s a ballbuster who knows her shit. I don’t think I can help with an attorney, though.”
Juliet grabs her phone at the same time there’s a knock on the sliding glass door that leads out to the backyard. It’s Grady. I release the lock and let him in.
“Do I smell coffee?”
“Yes, want a cup?”
“Please. My pot isn’t brewing this morning. I think it’s finally dead.”
“Do we need to plan a memorial?”
“We should,” he says, grinning. “It’s the only coffeepot that house has ever seen, it’s at least as old as me.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-two. And you?”
“I’m a couple weeks away from being twenty-nine.”
“Oh yeah? When’s your birthday?”
“June twenty-sixth,” I answer.
“That will be here before you know it,” he says, pulling a mug from the cupboard, already knowing where they’re stored. He must have spent a lot of time here.
“If you two are done flirting over birthdays,” Juliet says, getting our attention, “I’ve sent the contact to your phone, Lou. Grady, do you know an attorney that does more than divorce?”
“More, in what way?”
“For my case,” I say. “Someone who can review it, see if they can push for more action.”
“I’m meeting with my guy before I pick up Paige. I’ll ask him for a referral.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“I appreciate this,” he says, holding up the mug before he waves and leaves out the slider.
His ass looks nice in jeans, and my gaze lingers.
“You’re blushing again,” Juliet says.
“I know. It’s stupid.”
“Stop saying that,” she chastises. “You’re not stupid. Besides, it’s a healthy attraction. I’ll encourage it, even if it’s with the guy who taught me how to spit loogies when we were six.”
“Don’t encourage anything but me getting my life together,” I say. “Do you have Micah’s number? I hate that I don’t have any contacts on this.”
“Yep, sending that one too. He’s going to pee his pants when you call.”
“As long as he doesn’t ask me to work with my ex.
” I’m done lying for these assholes. My fight to create a life outside of Arkansas had me running scared of every big name in the industry.
Whatever they asked, I did. Playing by the antiquated rules, the unspoken demands.
Not anymore. My name holds weight now, too. “I’m Louisa fucking Moreno.”
“Damn right, girl.”
As expected, Micah is excited to work with me. Being only seventeen when that first agency found me on Instagram, I couldn’t sign the contract with them until I turned eighteen. Because of that, my contracts have always expired around my birthday. Including the one I currently have with Carolyn.
It’s another reason she should have been taking my side and courting me to sign. She’s taken me for granted for the last time.
I tell Micah the truth. That the rumors of Pierre and me having some dramatic lover’s quarrel wasn’t accurate. I told him enough for him to understand the gravity. He, too, suggested we hire someone to handle any media attention.
“You get a fair contract worked up for me to sign the day mine expires; I’ll find the best PR team I can.”
“You have a deal, Louisa,” he says, his French accent strong when he says my name. “And know that I have your back. Pierre will be enemy number one around here, I promise you.”
“Thank you, Micah. I’ll be ready to work as soon as we ink that contract.” The words sound truer than they feel. Facing people who have likely been feeding the rumor mill is terrifying. But I know that if I don’t start to take control of this, Pierre will be the one writing the story of my life.
“Good, good. I’ll make sure we don’t commit to more than you’re comfortable with,” he promises. I laid out that I don’t want any long assignments. No more heavy bookings during Fashion Week.
Conquering the industry is no longer a goal. When I told Micah I wanted to be selective, he loved the idea. Being an elusive catch can be very lucrative, apparently.
“And this phone number doesn’t get shared. Not even with your assistant.”
“Understood, Louisa.”
With that conversation under my belt, I’m feeling more confident. Having someone support you is a good ego boost. As if I got a shot of serotonin straight in my ass, everything is clearer and makes more sense.
Vivian is my next call, and it goes just as well.
She asks me to get my case file from the police, including any photos that were taken of me for evidence.
Even the memory of them being taken sends shivers up my spine.
Her wanting them for possible release to the press makes my stomach somersault until it is nothing but knots.
“It’s not your shame,” Juliet tells me when I express my concerns. “It’s his.”
“Keep reminding me of that, please.”
It’s not easy to believe. Not when I’ve been beaten down, mentally and sometimes physically, for so long. The worst things about myself are always easier to believe.
“Every day, babe,” she says.
By the end of the afternoon, I’ve also hired an attorney.
As promised, Grady sent me a name, and she was exactly what I needed.
Suzanne Stice immediately took charge. Within hours, she’d already obtained my police file and had a plan of attack.
She’s forwarding pertinent information to Vivian and will only send me what I ask for in order to protect my carefully created safe space here in Stowaway.
It’s been exhausting and empowering.
I’m drained by the time we hear Grady’s truck pull up next door and the squeals of Paige.
“Auntie Jules!” Paige can be heard outside, making her way to Irma’s house.
“Wow, you’re so tall,” Juliet tells the girl when they meet at the door. “How does that keep happening?”
“I eat a lot of peas,” she says.
“That’ll do it,” Juliet says. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too! I’m glad you’re back from Italy.”
“Me too. You coming in? Does your dad know you’re over here?”
“He knows, but he said to tell you and Lulu that we have too much pizza,” she tells Juliet before lifting her head to me. “Wanna come over for dinner?”
“I’d love to,” I answer.
“You look different,” she says, her head tilting as she studies me.
“My bruises are gone.” I tenderly brush a finger under my eye where she once placed a bandage.
“No, that’s not it.” She shakes her head. “You have a pretty smile.”
With that, she flies out the door as quickly as she came in, running back to her dad next door.
A couple of hours later, full of pizza and Paige’s favorite pink lemonade, Grady and I sit in Adirondack chairs in his backyard.
The ocean wrestles with the sand as Paige and Juliet lie on a blanket nearby, staring up at the darkening sky.
They tell stories made up from the shapes of the clouds that dance past.
Calm settles over me. Truly and fully. Not only a balm but a cure. Stowaway has become an antidote. The fresh sea air, the slow pace, the quiet. The kindness. The dose of authenticity I didn’t realize I had been missing.
It’s been a long few weeks of pain, anger, and depression. But just now, I feel none of that. Instead, I feel that foreign, dangerous thing called hope. There’s a light, now, where there hasn’t been for a long time.
The depressing thoughts will creep back in.
They always do. Hopefully, with each passing day, and every step further away from Pierre, the less deep the darkness will penetrate.
Until it’s gone. A memory that instead of clearly playing like a cinematic thriller in my head, it will be something I have to actively try to recall the details of.
I won’t always remember how it feels for a man to plant his foot in my abdomen. Or the acute sharpness of a handful of hair being pulled out of my head. One day, I’ll have hands on me that I enjoy. Ones that only want to love and pleasure. Not harm.
I pull my knees up to my chest and then turn my cheek to look at the man next to me. There is a storm of emotions drenching his features. It’s a reminder that I’m not alone with problems. It’s a reminder that I’ve taken more than I’ve given.
It’s a reminder.
“Are you happy to have Paige for the summer?”
His face turns to mine, his jaw relaxing some. “Fucking ecstatic. I try not to show it, but it kills me to send her back to her mom. I miss her too much when she’s gone.”
“You’re a good dad,” I say.
I can see it in the way they light up around each other.
“I hope to be. I worry all the time that I’m not.”
“Better than not worrying.”
“My mom says something similar,” he tells me, and sadness crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
“What is it?”
He looks surprised by my question. As if he didn’t expect me to catch the shift in demeanor. He doesn’t know how much I pay attention. To everything. To everyone. To him.
“They were supposed to come out today. My parents,” he clarifies. “They were going to pick up Paige and drive out from Portland. Stay a few weeks, relax, get some grandparent time in.”
“But?”
“My mom’s last test results were slightly suspicious,” he says. “Those are the words she used. She didn’t want to clarify. She went in for a new scan a few days ago. Dad doesn’t want to come out until the results of that are back.”
“I’m sorry, Grady,” I tell him, wanting to reach out.
To twine my hand with his. Rub my thumb in his palm.
Be the same balm to him that this place is to me.
I want to wrap my arms around him. Crawl into his lap, atop those strong thighs, and curl around him like comfort.
To smell his scent at the base of his neck.
Is it salty like the sea? Musky or sweet?
What would his scruff feel like against my cheek? Or my thigh?
Heat creeps into my chest; I’m ashamed it does it now, of all times.
“Thank you,” he says. “I haven’t told anyone else.”
“Sometimes, it’s easier to confide in a stranger,” I say.
“Is that what we are, Lou?” I wonder if the look on his face mirrors what he sees on mine. That strange warmth. A connection that defies what my mind says is true. I shake my head. “I don’t think so either.”
“I’ve told you things I’ve never told others, too,” I admit.
“Because you think we’re strangers?”
“Because you’re easy to talk to,” I say. “Because you seem safe.”
Silently, we stare at each other. Juliet tells Paige the story of Psyche and Eros. A tale of a beautiful mortal princess, who, Venus, in her jealous rage, commands her son Eros to shoot with his Cupid’s arrow so that she’d fall in love with the most horrible creature.
Juliet spins words while blood spins in my veins and something stirs in Grady’s eyes.
Eros can’t help but fall in love with Psyche, himself. The god marries her, but visits her only at night, commanding her never to look upon his face.
How long could I go without looking at Grady’s?
A month ago, it was utterly unknown to me.
Today, it’s my favorite. If I were to go blind at this moment, would I remember the details?
The small, jagged scar to the left of his chin.
The way one side of his mouth is nearly always hitched up in a slight smirk.
The freckles on his right cheek resemble a constellation I can’t name.
Maybe, I’ll name it myself. Asclepius, perhaps. The god of healing and rejuvenation.
Eventually, Psyche breaks the rules and looks upon her love. As punishment, he abandons her.
Without breaking his gaze, Grady reaches his hand to mine. Slowly. So damn slowly, I think I’ll age in my waiting.
Venus gives Psyche a series of impossible tasks to complete in order to win Eros back. She persists. Determined to stand by his side.
My breath hitches when his fingertips slide over where mine rest on the arm of the wooden chair. I feel it deep in my chest rather than my limb. Inwardly. Spiritually. Otherworldly.
Jupiter, impressed by Psyche’s determination, grants her immortality and a place by her lover’s side for eternity.
“I’ll be your safety, Lou.”