Braless in Wonderland (11 page)

The phone was ringing again. Summer raced across the room to pick it up. She had a thing about the phone, never gave anybody else a chance to get it. “Hello?…I shoulda known it was you, ma'am. It's ten o'clock, right on time…. Yes, ma'am, she's right here.”

Summer handed the phone to Brynn, who said, “Hi, Ma.” Tonight it was a short conversation. After Brynn yelled at her mother for not keeping a doctor's appointment and used language I couldn't believe anyone would use with their mother, she hung up.

“You know what, Allee, you really should come out with us for once,” Summer said. She was back at the bathroom sink, brushing hair dye onto her eyebrows. “We're going to Dali tonight. The music's great and the bartenders are all, whatchamacallit, dwarfs. Don't tell me they have that in Cape Rocket.”

“Comet. Did you say—”

“Little people,” said Claudette. “Dwarfs. Wearing lederhosen.”

That was so awful I didn't even know what to say except “Why?”

“I don't know, but they make a buttload in tips,” said Brynn, pulling on a pair of stretch skinny jeans. “So. You coming to see for yourself or what?”

Rather than ask why I would ever want to see anything so sick, I just got out of it with “I can't. I don't have a fake ID.” They all bounced glances off each other.

Brynn used a voice you'd use with a four-year-old: “You don't need a fake ID. You're a model.”

“But—”

“There ain't one velvet rope you have to wait at,” Summer said. “And most of 'em card at the bar, not the door. But you can use my fake ID if you want. They never look at the picture.”

“No, thanks. I won't be able to relax anyway, not till I get this assignment done. I have to e-mail it to my teacher by Monday.”

“Fa Christ's sake, you got the whole weekend,” Brynn said.

Claudette waved Mars at me. “Come on. Mars says it's Friday night.”

I shook my head no. The big, fat, real reason I didn't want to go out with them was that I didn't have the right clothes. I'd seen what they wore to those clubs, and I didn't have anything even close. And I wasn't comfortable asking any of them if I could borrow something. Plus I wasn't a drinker. I'd never be able to keep up with them. And I was here to save money, not blow it at clubs and restaurants. That was the best excuse I could give them. “I'm on a budget right now. I'm trying to save money.”

“Champagne in the VIP room is free,” said Summer. “And if you're with us, you ain't payin' no cover charge.”

“Thanks, but I don't think so.” To change the subject, I asked Claudette, “How was your Jose Cuervo booking?”

“Amazing,” she said. “The director was so nice. I really hope I get to work with him again.”

“Is Jose the director?” I ask.

“What?” She looked confused.

“Jose Cuervo. Is he the director?”

There was about three seconds of silence before the three of them were doubled over laughing. Brynn was rolling around on the floor, choking on her cigarette. Something told me Jose Cuervo was not a director.

“You d-don't know wh-what Jose Cuervo is?” Claudette sputtered, trying to get her hysterics under control.

I shrugged, grinned hopefully. “A client?”

Claudette bopped over to her still-packed suitcase in the middle of the floor and pulled out a bottle with the words
Jose Cuervo
swirling all over it. I could feel my face falling. A prickly heat was spreading along my arms, up to my head. “Here you go, here's the client, Allee.”

“Hey, Allee,” said Brynn. “Did I tell you tomorrow Lucky the Leprechaun is directing me in a Lucky Charms commercial?” Screams of laughter. “Yeah, I'd love to work with him again. He's magically delicious.” More shrieks and clutching of stomachs. When it died down, Brynn pointed at me and added, “Not exactly a rocket scientist, is she?”

“My dad's a rocket scientist,” I said.

Brynn bolted straight up. “Wait a friggin' second. You mean to tell me you're from Cape Comet and your dad is a rocket scientist?” I nodded.

Explosive, supernova of hilarity. All over again.

I guess it did sound kind of goofy. A rocket scientist from Cape Comet. Gee, I'd never thought about it before. A giggle burbled up and out of me, and then another one and another one. It was like that day at school in the hall with the toilet paper. I looked over at Summer. Her eyebrows looked like furry spaghettis with all that gooey dye on them. It cracked me up even more. We were all laughing together now. And it felt nice, like I'd made some kind of connection with all of them, even Brynn.

Finally, I was finished cleaning. Every night my routine was to straighten up the whole apartment after they left to go clubbing. The mess in here was like static on the radio or a kid crying at the movies: just plain annoying.

The nights were the hardest here. I was always alone after everyone went out, and I still wasn't used to it. It made me feel as empty as this apartment. At home, I'd always had my sister to talk to at night, ever since we were little. Even if we weren't exactly talking, like in the week before I left, I still saw her, or felt her next to me, in bed or in her closet, trying on clothes. I'd sent her a few e-mails, but she hadn't written me back. She hadn't called either.

I turned on the TV. David Letterman would get my mind off The Fluff. I got into my new cozy Yale pajamas, a birthday present from my parents, and stepped up onto Summer's bed with her pink ruffly comforter covered in clothes and magazines, then hoisted myself up to my bed, stretched out, and pulled out
Wuthering Heights
from under my pillow.

Rat, tata tat tat. Tat tat.
Who was knocking at the door at this hour?
Letterman
was starting.
Rat, tata tat tat. Tat tat.
I looked through the peephole. It was Miguel. His voice went right through the door. “Shello, care to go shopping?”

I opened it and he darted in. He kissed me hello. “It's so late,” I told him. “What are you doing here?”

“My fake-Gucci-sunglasses-wearing, trying-to-pass-for-Cuban-but-everybody-knows-he's-really-Puerto Rican,
hijo-de-puta
date canceled on me. But I'm not bitter. Care to join me for some retail therapy?”

“Now?”

“
Sí.”

“I'm in bed.” I laughed. “Are you crazy? It's after eleven.”

“That's the best time.”

“Are stores even open now?”

“Of course. New York isn't the city that never sleeps, you know. It's SoBe.”

“Miguel, I can't go shopping now.”

“Yes, you can. Right after you walk on my back.”

This guy didn't take no for an answer. “Miguel, can we go tomorrow? I know I need clothes for castings, but I'm just so tired.”

“Okay, get some rest, Sleeping Beauty. Or should I say Alice? I'll light a candle for you so you get that editorial.” He kissed my cheek, started to walk out.

“Wait. Why don't you watch
Letterman
with me and share my dinner? It's just dry Cheerios, but they're honey nut.” I suddenly really wanted him to stay. “Please, stay. You're the only person who won't make me feel crappy for eating carbs at night. And in a few minutes, it'll officially be my birthday.”

“What? Why didn't you say so?” he said, giving me a big hug and helping himself to a Cheerio. “We need to celebrate! But walk on my back first. You know you love hearing it crack.”

I had to admit, it did give me a sick thrill.

“Tell me about your family,” he said while I stood on his spine.

“My dad works for the space program. He's really smart. Well, with everything except my college fund. That, he kinda messed up.”

“
Ay
, move up an inch. That's good. What about your mom?”

Heavy sigh. “We're not so alike. She's more like my sister, Sabrina.”

“What's Sabrina like?”

“Let's just say, she's not exactly headed for Yale. She reads magazines, not books. We're very different. But close, kinda, just not right now. She's not speaking to me.”

“Why? What happened?”

I sighed again. “Sabrina was supposed to be the model, not me. I stole her dream.”

“Then maybe that's all it was,” Miguel said. “A dream. And maybe you're the real thing, you ever think of that?”

“I don't know. She's just like my mother. Mom wants me to be another Sabrina. Or another her. Into heels and skirts and girly stuff.”

“So what's wrong with that?”

“Nothing, but she doesn't get that I couldn't care less if my nails are bitten or my ponytail is messy. It's not that I don't
like
having a good hair day, it's just that I don't think my world
revolves around
a good hair day, or the latest designer jeans, like they do. I have other priorities.”

“Like getting to Yale.”

“How'd you know?”

“It's all over your pajamas. What do you want to major in?”

“English literature. Nineteenth-century women writers, mainly. You know, Emily Brontë, Jane Austen, Mary Shelley.”

Miguel fake-snored. I gave him a gentle kick with my heel. He pretended to wake up and said, “Which one of those writers is the one Nicole Kidman played in that movie, you know, where she had the big fake nose and she wrote stories and then killed herself?”

“None.” I laughed. “That was Virginia Woolf. Different time period.”

“Or how about the one with Gwyneth Paltrow? Same story. She writes, she cries a lot, she kills herself. Ooh, but her husband was really cute in that one.”

“That was Sylvia Plath.”

“What do you need to go to Yale for? You already know everything.
Yo sé
. I know. You're trying to prove you're more than a pretty face,
verdad
?”

I shrugged. “I want to be more than my sister or my mom are ever going to be, that's for sure.” I gave him another little kick. “And besides, I already am more than a pretty face.”

“So am I. So are most people, when you get to know them.
Ay
, your feet are magic. Go down a little, Allee.” I moved a few inches down his back. “Right there, that's good. So, what are you going to do after Yale?”

“Get a Ph.D. maybe. Become Dr. Allee Rosen, Yale professor. Write books, teach, be a big name in academia.”

“Where? You're not going to get one of those horrible tweed jackets with patches on the elbows, are you? That's why all those writers killed themselves, you know. If they'd had better clothes they wouldn't have been thinking about death all the time.”

“Interesting theory.”

“It's true. Clothes affect your emotions. And maybe you and your mom have different priorities, but you know what? I got a feeling you might
like
heels and accessories and girly stuff.”

“I doubt it.”

“Don't knock it till you try it,
niña.
I was Catwoman for Halloween once and I worked those stiletto boots better than Halle Berry. Truth.”

 

Miguel was late. He said he'd take me shopping last night, but I was starting to think maybe he'd forgotten. I was outside on the sidewalk, waiting for him.

My BlackBerry was ringing. “Hello.”

“Happy birthday!”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, honey. I can't believe you're seventeen! I thought maybe you'd come home for your birthday, surprise us. But you didn't. I got a cake and everything.”

“Mom, they have castings on Saturdays and Sundays. I can't leave.”

“What about during the week?”

“Mom…”

“I want to see you. Are you dressing up more? What jewelry are you wearing?”

“None. But I'm thinking about getting a nose ring.”

“Maybe Dad and I will come down and make sure you're taking care of yourself.”

“Yes, because I am totally incapable of taking care of myself. Did I tell you I left the refrigerator open all day?”

“Allee—”

“Because I forgot to close it when I drank directly from the milk container, after running through the apartment with scissors.”

“Has anyone offered you drugs?”

“Yes, a carb burner. Listen, is Sabrina there?”

I heard Mom yell, “Sabrina! Sabrina!” Then muffled whispering, the slam of a door. Mom got back on the phone.

“She doesn't want to talk to you, Allee. I'm sorry, honey. I've tried to get her to call you, but she's not ready, I guess.”

“God, she needs get over it already.”

“I know, Allee, but it's very hard for her with you out there, getting to do what she wants to do so badly. Put yourself in her shoes.”

Way to go with the guilt trip, Mom.

I heard the clicking sound of another person on the line. “Happy barf day.” It was my sister. I waited for her to say something else. She didn't. We just listened to each other breathing until we heard the
click
of Mom hanging up.

“So…are you going to apologize for the way you acted?” I asked.

“Do you want me to send you my Heidi Klum book about modeling?”

“I accept your apology.”

“I'm not apologizing. You should be apologizing. You're the one who screwed up my audition with your babyish tantrum in front of the scouts!” she yelled.

“Yeah, because you never told me about the phone call!” I yelled back, scaring a stray cat into the bushes. “It's all your fault!”

“It is not!”

“It is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Fine! I'm sorry!”

Excuse me. What just happened?

That was definitely an apology. So I said, “Okay, fine. I'm sorry too.”

We listened to each other breathe again, and then she said, “So, how are you doing there?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Have you gone out for any fashion mags?”

“Yeah. For this one German magazine,
Dietra.
”

“That is super-high fashion. Did you get it?”

“It's really competitive, Sabrina. Like, way worse than I thought.”

“Really? Well…just, you know, think positive. Like, let the competition worry about the competition. That's what you said when you applied to Yale.”

“That was different.”

“I wonder what clothes you'd get to wear for
Dietra.
You might have to show some skin.”

“What do you mean, show some skin?”

“Allee, have you ever looked at high-fashion magazines? All the models are, like, half naked and freaky-looking. Even the famous ones like Kate Moss. Who's the photographer? Anyone big?”

“Kinda. Uta Scholes. Do you know her?”

“Omigod! I've seen her photos online. Watch, you'll get this one, even though I still say you're so not model material.”

“Thanks for your support. I think.”

Her voice softened. “Hey, I'm not mad anymore. And if I can't be the one in magazines, then I guess I'm glad it's you, even if you are a total loser with no fashion sense, like, whatsoever.”

That was so sweet. “Thanks,” I said, getting all choked up.

“Okay, so happy barf day. Here's Dad.”

Everything felt right again, me being back to normal with her. It felt like nothing had happened between us, like we'd just spoken yesterday or something. Maybe it was a sign things were looking up. Maybe my luck was going to change.

I heard the crackly sound of the phone being passed. “Happy birthday!”

“Hi, Dad.”

“So, is your modeling career taking off yet?”

“Dad, that is not helpful.” He knew my career wasn't taking off. My parents called me every other day.

He cleared his throat. “Listen, I, uh, spoke to Monique and Momma the other day.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to know what's going on. You've been there almost a month and haven't gotten one lousy job.”

“Again, not helpful.”

“Listen, Allee, you're beautiful to me, you know that. Those clients are blind if they don't pick you. But I just think if you're not getting any work, you should come home. I can't see you wasting the rest of your senior year there, not studying or working for the rest of the school year.”

“But, Dad—”

“This was never your idea to begin with. Maybe it wasn't meant to be.”

“Or maybe it was. And it's about to happen. All I need is a couple of good commercials to make the really big money. And Momma told me I'm great for commercials.”

“But if you don't get a commercial this season, then this was all a waste. You have to think about what you're doing for college. You know U of Florida has a good science department. Their business school isn't bad either.”

“Dad, you know I want to major in English,” I said through gritted teeth.
“At Yale.”