17. Brooklyn
brOOKLYN
After the almost-disaster that was my first huge modeling gig, I’m ready for a good bitch session with my bestie.
No, scratch that. I’m dying for one.
I went straight from high school to professional modeling, and with all the fierce competition and backstabbing that goes on in this business, I’ve never had a ton of friends—though believe me, I’ve tried to make them.
But just look at the models at the Danica Rose party the other night.
Those women were ready to eat me alive. In contrast, Mateo and I connected from the get-go because he was always so real with me.
Nothing about him is two-faced or shady or judgmental.
And he’s the one person I can be completely myself with.
He’s been my lifeline for years: confidant, personal assistant, therapist, teddy bear...
A teddy bear with off-color jokes and a therapist who occasionally tries to flirt his way into my bed every now and again, sure, but intense friendships like ours are always a little complicated.
Point being, no one else would understand what I’m dealing with.
Or at least listen, hug me, and feed me drinks to help me cope with it.
I need to vent about what went down with Luka at the Soirée shoot, and Mateo’s the only person I want to talk to. He’s the only one I trust.
It’s what everyone wants in a partner. Lord knows I’ll never have anything even close to this level of emotional intimacy with Luka.
I brush off the sting that the thought gives me and pull out my cellphone to text Mateo.
This is a 9-1-1. A really bad 9-1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1.
Uh-oh. What happened, boo? he quickly texts back. Everything go okay at the shoot?
I type back, It wasn’t the shoot. It was Luka.
He sends back a sad face emoji, and I’m already anticipating an evening in with him curled up on the couch, watching horrible movies and eating a pile of cheat food, with some cheap wine to wash it down.
He’ll listen when I bitch about Luka and the hate sex we had in the limo, and how he ruined my very first national photo shoot.
He’ll crack jokes and talk smack with me while feeding me chocolate. It’ll be perfect, just like old times.
So here’s the plan… he texts me back.
Pacing the guest room, I wait for him to fill me in. It’s getting late in the day. Luka is out doing who-knows-what, and I’m feeling more and more cooped up in this penthouse by the minute. At this point I’m more than ready to bolt over to the Wicker Park apartment.
I have to be at the opening of this new club downtown—Geo Blu. I’m committed, so I can’t bail last minute, but meet me there and we can leave early, k? You need to be vetted to get in, but I’ll handle it.
I tap a finger against my bottom lip. Ugh.
This wasn't the BFF night in I was hoping for. Mateo has been making friends in the industry and always seems to be off to some gallery show or restaurant opening or something. Normally he fills me in on all of his invites, but I don’t recall him mentioning Geo Blu.
I’m actually a little hurt that he didn’t ask me to go with him before.
Sure, I’ve been tied up with wedding planning and getting used to my new life with Luka…
but am I losing Mateo in the process? I pause as I stare at the phone.
Maybe I’ve been letting my new life get in the way of our friendship.
Now that I think about it, that’s exactly what’s been happening.
I lift my chin and text back as I march over to the walk-in closet.
Be there in an hour.
You won’t regret it, he texts back. Promise. Hit me up when you get here.
I smile as I run my fingers along a row of dresses, playing a little game of eenie-meenie-miney-mo with my most revealing selection of clubbing outfits.
There’s the bodysuit with the sexy shredded fabric along the sides, the micro mini with an oval cutout over the chest. I have an all lace bodycon dress that shows, well, everything. Bandage dresses, little black dresses…
None of it feels exactly right.
Going into the bathroom, I plug in my curling iron and twist the ends of my hair into big, fluffy curls.
I work a little product through them until I’m satisfied, and then turn to my makeup.
I go dark and heavy with the palette. My eyes are all smoky shimmer, with big, black fake lashes.
Next I stain my cheeks pink and create bold lips with a slick of deep burgundy gloss.
The finishing touch is a spray of body glitter, just for fun, and then I go back to the closet.
My gaze falls to a matte, metallic silver dress hanging in the back.
Plucking it from its place, I turn it over and over, remembering what drove me to purchase it in the first place.
It’s a little “Vegas” for me, not something I’d normally wear.
Mateo talked me into it back in LA, I think to wear to an audition, but I haven’t worn it since.
Slipping out of my clothes, I stand there naked for a moment, trying to decide, and then slip into the dress.
It’s got a vintage feel, with ruching at the waist, thin halter straps, and a cowl neckline, but the way it hugs my body and flashes my cleavage screams all modern.
There’s a slit up the back nearly to my ass.
I slip into black heels and do a turn in front of the mirror.
I decide that I kind of love it. It’s sexy, different, and totally glam. And the perfect party outfit for a club opening with my bestie.
Luka still isn’t home by the time my Uber arrives.
It crosses my mind to let him know that I’m leaving for the evening, but he never extends me that courtesy, so fuck it.
I give myself one last look in the entryway mirror—the same Luka and I had stood before not long ago—and smile.
I look positively slutty. Raising my middle finger, I pretend it’s him I’m giving it to.
Take that.
Mateo meets me with a hug at the door of the club.
“Look at you, little miss Studio 54!” he teases.
“Is this okay?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious. “I look like a disco ball.”
“Okay? You look fucking amazing,” he says, and ushers me in like he’s got VIP access—which it turns out he does.
“How’d you get in on opening night?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at the mile-long line of hot young things still waiting behind the velvet rope. “Is this a paid appearance, or…?”
“Sleeping with both the club manager and CEO at the same time has it benefits,” he laughs, nudging me with a swish of his hip as he pulls me inside.
Music thumps straight through me, strobe lights bursting into shards of color all over the darkened room.
I head for the bar, but Mateo shakes his head no and pulls me out onto the dance floor.
We’re immediately swallowed by swaying, gyrating bodies as the music shifts to an even louder song with more bass.
The crowd cheers and I forget about alcohol long enough to dive into the music with Mat.
We used to go dancing often in LA and then head home to crash on the couch and eat tacos we picked up from a parking lot food truck at 3 a.m.
What I wouldn’t give for those good old days.
The crowd suddenly parts and the flash of a camera takes me by surprise. I spin to find two photographers working the room, snapping pics as they mill through the crowd.
“Hey, is that the model who’s marrying the younger Zoric?” someone yells.
“Uh-oh,” Mateo drawls. “You’ve been recognized.” He throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in.
“Brooklyn, can we get a picture?” someone else is shouting now. “Brooklyn, over here!”
I initially freeze because I’m not sure what to do. Mateo nudges me. “Do you want the pictures to look terrible? You’re a professional, girl. Smile!”
Suddenly on autopilot, I manage to paste on a huge grin just as the photog snaps a few rapid-fire pictures.
Mateo spins me around and pulls me back into his arms. We bump chests and I laugh.
He kisses me on the cheek, clearly loving the media attention more than me.
He’s a pro. I’m used to being in front of the camera, but not out in public.
Luckily, the photographers snap a few more pictures of Mateo and me and then work their way back through the crowd.
I sigh in relief when they leave. “Okay. I really need a drink now.”
We head to the bar, order, and find a spot at the end to sip our drinks in peace while watching the crowd.
“I really needed this tonight,” I say over the noise. Mateo moves closer to hear what I’m saying.
“Continued trouble in paradise?” he asks around a drink, lifting his brows.
“You could say that.”
The club gets more packed by the minute, and soon bodies are pressed in all around us. Disappointed at the lack of privacy, I move away, thinking Mateo will follow. But he’s watching the crowd, moving his body to the beat of the music, totally oblivious to my exit.
He probably wants to dance and mingle and find his hookup for the night. My need to vent about my personal life is obviously holding him back. I hug a wall and sip the rest of my drink, and he finally makes his way over to me after getting another drink and double fisting it.
“So tell me what the hot asshole is up to now,” he says.
“Luka?” Silly of me to ask. Who else would he be talking about? “Well, what do you want to hear about first? How he humiliated me at the Danica Rose launch party, or ruined my first ever national shoot by being a raging dick to the photographer and the stylist?”
“Ooh, raging dick. My favorite. That one first.”
I tell him how he acted in front of Hans and Ady and the assistant. “He refused to let me wear the vintage lingerie. And then he flipped out when the photographer suggested I go nude.”
His eyes flash. “Nude, huh? Sounds like he’s a bit jealous at the thought of you stripping in front of someone else.”
I roll my eyes. “There were three people there, and they were all professionals.”
Mateo shivers. “Sounds like my kind of fun. So, what did you end up wearing?”
Setting my empty glass on a table, I say, “After my hair and makeup was done, Luka wrapped me in a silk robe, like one of those old-fashioned Oriental ones, and set me on the couch. He opened it just enough to bare one of my shoulders. How scandalous, right?
“And then?”
“Nothing. That’s it. I got to bare one shoulder.”
“What about later? Did you bare anything else when you got home? The caveman thing can be a pretty big turn-on…” He takes a long suck on his straw, eyeing me with hope.
I laugh. “You’re terrible. No, Mateo, nothing when we got home. I was too pissed to even think about it. I wanted to punch him in the face.”
I want to tell him about angry limo sex, but I don’t. His eyes are glassy, and he’s got that excited edge he gets when he’s on the prowl. Just like with Luka, sex is Mateo’s main motivator.
“I bet he likes it when you’re mad.” Mat winks at me. His eyes narrow as if he’s reading my mind about angry limo sex. “I also bet Luka is a beast when he’s pissed. Probably just throws you down and fucks you silly until he gets all that hot rage out.”
Okay. That’s the end of my night. When Mat gets like this, I turn him loose to go have some fun before his balls explode, or else all that sexual energy of his gets directed at me.
Disappointment fills me. This was fun, and I’m glad I got to blow off a little steam on the dance floor, but it wasn’t quite the one-on-one time I needed.
“I’m gonna go,” I tell Mateo, gesturing toward the exit.
“Hey,” he says, grabbing my shoulder. “Let me just throw this out there. I am all in to be the filling in an angry Luka-and-Brooklyn sandwich. I’ll do the filling; I’ll take the filling. Whatever, I don’t care. Just let me know if you ever want to open things up for a third party.”
“Seriously, Mateo? God!” I spin on my heel and take out my cell, opening the Uber app. “Call me when you’re sober.”
“Brooklyn—”
I whirl back on him, still angry. “I’d rather be holed up in my room alone than have to listen to this. I came out tonight because I needed my friend, and instead I get…this. Thanks for nothing.” I give a last, halfhearted wave and weave my way through the crowd.
“I’m sorry!” I hear him holler as I make my way to the door.
I sink into the seat in my Uber, picking at the hem of my silly shiny dress. I can’t wait to take it off and bury myself in a pile of bubbles in a bubble bath. I check my cell for anything from Luka. Unsurprisingly, there’s nothing. It’s really late, and I wonder if he’s finally home.
The penthouse is quiet when I walk in and put my clutch on the entry table.
Turning on a light in the living room, I’m startled to find Luka standing at the living room windows.
He turns and holds out his cellphone to display a photo of Mateo kissing me on the cheek, both of us grinning like maniacs.
Luka’s eyes are steely and cold.
“Well, well. If it isn’t my soon-to-be wife, sneaking back in after a night out with another man.”