Craving Perfect (17 page)

His sunglasses covered his eyes and the flat line of his lips gave him an air of disinterest, maybe even a little bit of annoyance, as I pressed against the door. I’d never seen that look on Carlos. He looked at me like I was a complete stranger, which I guess I was.

When I stopped in the doorway, even as he held open the door, the set of his jaw hardened.

“Oh.” I stepped back, surprised, but still blocking the entrance.

Carlos said nothing.

My legs wobbled a little at the sight of him, or maybe it was just the twenty-five leg squats that Alexandra had forced me to do. “Hi, Carlos,” I managed finally.

Carlos nodded his forehead and seemed a little surprised that I knew his name. Still, he didn’t say a word, I think, because he wanted me out of the way.

I opened my mouth to say something more but stopped myself. Now was not the time—not with Alexandra at my heels—and Carlos would think I was more of a nut job than he apparently already thought I was. Although I had no idea why. Did he even know Callie Collins?

“Well, thanks,” I said. “For help with the door, I mean.” With my gym bag threaded over my shoulder, I proceeded to walk past the doorway, looking over my shoulder at him for any recognition whatsoever.

But then I realized that he wouldn’t have any recognition, any memory, because Grace Mills didn’t exist.

“You’re welcome,” he said, without even a glance in our direction. And then he stepped around the door and was gone.

“You know him?” Alexandra gasped behind me.

I slipped on the black sunglasses I found tucked away in my gym bag. They rested like a brick on the bridge of my nose. How I missed the vintage wire sunglasses I always wore. “Sort of,” I said vaguely.

“That Latin hard body got a name?”

My chin lifted while jealousy stabbed at my gut. “Yes.” I didn’t like how she referred to him.

Alexandra chuckled as we crossed the parking lot to her car. “Are you gonna make me beg?”

I drew back a breath, considering whether I should. But then I said, “I think his name is Carlos Flores.”

Alexandra lowered her head and looked straight at me over the top rim of her sunglasses. “Doesn’t matter what that boy’s called. He’s one hundred percent gorgeous. Is he available?”

Eddie stood behind Kathryn as she replayed the message on the answering machine. The call was placed when everyone was out hunting for Grace but, according to the timestamp, it was made just minutes before I returned to Kathryn and Eddie.

Uncle Mario, Elena and three of my cousins had met back at the Desert Java after driving around for an hour with no luck. We’d looked everywhere for Grace, even south Scottsdale and east Phoenix, but none of us found the slightest sign of her or her yellow car.

But the woman on the other end of the answering machine with the monotone voice told us we’d been looking in all the wrong places.

The first time Kathryn played the message, the woman’s voice sucked the oxygen from the room. Kathryn’s hands pressed against her throat, Eddie’s face went a shade paler, and my throat turned as dry as dust.

The second time the message played, the truth began to tighten its hold around all of us like a weed:

Hello, this is the Head Night Nurse at Tempe Hospital
,
Ellen Lannon. I’m trying to reach someone in the Grace Mills family. I’m sorry to have to leave this message in a voicemail but it’s urgent. Grace was brought to our emergency room by ambulance. There’s been an accident, and she’s suffered a head injury. The doctors are currently doing everything they can, but we need someone from the immediate family to come to the hospital right away. I hope that I’ve dialed the correct phone number. This is the number we found on Grace’s driver’s license. Please call or come to the hospital as soon as possible. Thank you.

The room turned so quiet that I could hear the thud of my temples against my skin. Every bruise on my body that I’d been ignoring suddenly decided to pulse and ache at the same time. It became impossible to keep my head from spinning.

Finally Kathryn spoke. Her voice sounded small in the kitchen. “If anything’s happened to Grace, I’ll never forgive myself.” She turned to Eddie, her eyes still bloodshot from crying. “I can’t lose my sister too. I just can’t.” Her whole body began to shake until Eddie wrapped both arms around her. She shivered against his chest.

Eddie didn’t say anything at first. But then he said the first coherent thing I’d heard all night. The alcohol, apparently, had worn off. “Maybe she just fell again at the gym.”

The gym?

No one had thought to look for Grace at Goldie’s, not even me. Frankly, it would have been the last place I’d checked. And I could have kicked my own ass for not even considering it.

I pulled out my truck keys and exhaled the breath that I’d been holding. “I’ll head over to the hospital.” I started for the door.

“We’re right behind you,” Eddie said.

“She’s got to be okay,” Kathryn said numbly. “She’s just got to. We never even said goodbye.”

I pulled up and turned to her, practically slamming into her chest. “Don’t say that.”

She looked up at me, pale.

“Don’t even let yourself think it,” I said.

Despite Alexandra’s protests, I insisted on driving alone to the television station after our workout—a first, apparently. For some strange reason, Alexandra liked ferrying me around everywhere like a taxicab. I presumed that it complemented her need to be in constant control of my life, maybe even made her feel useful somehow. Truthfully, I felt a little sorry for her for the first time in my two lives.

“I’ll probably make it to work before you will,” I told Alexandra.

“No you won’t.”

“Yes I will.”

“Wanna bet?”

“You’ve got to chill out.” I climbed out of her car and said through the window, “See you at work.” Then I made my way to the lobby. Telling Alexandra what to do was getting easier.

Kevin the doorman stood motionless as he held open the lobby door. The corners of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile. I assumed he was a lip-reader too, in addition to his other talents.

“Morning, Kevin.”

“Morning, Miss Collins.”

“Callie,” I corrected him. “Please call me Callie.”

He nodded before tipping his hat.

I couldn’t help but smile. I was pretty certain no one had ever tipped their hat to me before. It was like being a general in the military.

A quick shower later and I was walking around the gray parking garage attached to my condo building, looking for my car, which until today I had never seen before.

I walked the aisles, pressing my key fob, waiting for the headlights and taillights of one of the many expensive cars to light up. I passed BMWs, Range Rovers, a silver Jaguar, and a whole bunch of other cars that I could barely identify. They all looked sleek and expensive. No way my yellow bug would’ve felt at home inside this garage. It would have been like putting a mutt with a litter of prize-winning poodles.

In the middle of the third long row, I got lucky. A tiny, two-door car as shiny as a pearl lit up like a neon light. “This must be it,” I mumbled to myself as the doors unlocked from a single touch from my key fob. A 350Z Convertible. With a dark blue soft top. Not a single dent or ding anywhere. And all mine. I started to hyperventilate a little. Even the tires looked oily and brand-new and recently detailed.

I slid inside the driver’s door and onto a tan leather seat. The door shut snugly, with barely a sound. The interior smelled like baby powder and the dashboard glistened. My fingertips brushed over the dash. “And it’s an automatic.” I exhaled a relieved sigh. Dad had tried to teach me to drive a stick once, but I never mastered the whole press-clutch-shift-gear coordination thing.

So far, so good.

I turned on the radio and checked Callie’s presets—a jazz station, rock, classical, and some local talk radio. At least we shared some of the same musical tastes. I smiled as I turned up the volume on the jazz station, but then my smile faded when I caught my reflection in the rearview.

I’d left my condo without make-up and wet hair.

I pressed the button to release the convertible top and waited for it to open. With the top down, my hair would dry before I reached the station. Once I got there, I was going to need all the expert help that I could get.

“What happened to you?” Julie said as she followed me from the KSUN television station parking garage.

“Morning, Julie,” I said.

No response.

But she followed me silently all the way into my dressing room, until I was seated in front of the vanity mirror, the one with at least twenty round lightbulbs around it.

Julie’s eyes were pickle-green, as were the letters of her name stitched to the front of her black apron in fancy, loopy letters. They surveyed me. Studied me. I faked nonchalance even as I fidgeted with my hands and bit down on the inside of my lip.

I wasn’t used to being critiqued.

This was going to take more practice. And patience.

Riding with the top down at sixty-five miles per hour on the I-10 freeway obviously did a number on my hair, judging from Julie’s frown.

But, damn, it was worth it! I’d never driven a convertible before.

Julie didn’t wait for me to explain. Instead, with a heavy sigh she pulled out a wide-toothed comb and got to work. She began working through my knots while I focused on her bright red spiky ponytails. On anyone else, pigtails would look ridiculous but on Julie they looked cool in a retro
Petticoat Junction
sort of way. I envied them.

“Where are you from, anyway?” Julie asked in a flat tone. I got the feeling she was only asking to pass the time, not because she really wanted to know. “You’ve never told me.”

“Seriously?” I was surprised she didn’t know.

She nodded.

I blinked. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Julie worked a particularly nasty knot on the left side of my head. I had to bite down on my lip when she pulled so hard it felt like part of my scalp found its way into her comb.

“Didn’t you use conditioner this morning? It’s going to take forever to get through these tangles…” Her arms dropped to her sides before she continued in earnest.

“Sorry?” I winced.

She sighed. Again.

I turned to face her, even as she combed against my scalp. “Look, Julie. I really,
really
need your help.” I paused, even as her fingers kept working. “More than you know.”

Julie’s hands stopped. She stood in front of me, her eyes narrowed. “You need
my
help?”

I nodded.

“You’ve never said that before either. I guess you always assumed…” She let her voice trail off.

“Really?”

She nodded.

I swallowed, hard. “And I’m not just talking hair.”

Her chin pulled back. “What are you talking about? You’re losing me.”

“I need help with everything.” I waved a finger over my face.

Julie’s arms crossed. “Since when?”

“Since now.”

She stayed silent, her head shaking, like she didn’t believe me.

“Please,” I pressed. “Please teach me how to do all of…this.” I pointed to my face again, then my hair. “As you can see, I’m clueless. I know less than nothing about hair and make-up. My sister Kathryn tried—” I stopped myself. Kathryn didn’t exist in my new world. “Anyway, it’s…embarrassing, really.”

Julie still looked unconvinced. In fact, she looked downright suspicious.

I felt my chances slipping.

Finally, she said, “Where’s Attila today?” She walked behind my chair and pressed the pump with her foot so that we were eye level.

“Attila?”

“
Alexandra.”
Julie’s pale forehead wrinkled. “You know, that pencil-thin excuse for a woman who usually does
all
of your talking. And thinking,” she added wryly.

“Oh.” I blinked. “Well, I really have no idea where she is.”

Julie stopped raising my chair with her foot long enough to stare back at me. But then she resumed lifting again. “Good.” Her expression softened. “Then let’s get started. We’ve got two hours before you go on the air.” She ran her fingers through my hair, examining the ends with a frown. “And we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

I smiled back at her in the mirror, squinting against the glare.

“First tip.” Julie pointed to my lumpy, blue gym bag on the floor with her comb, “Never,
ever
stuff clothes in a gym bag. Not cool. Always put them on a hanger in your car.” She drew back a breath as she stood behind me, but it was the first hint of a smile I’d seen all morning.

“No more gym bag. Got it.” I nodded. “But I was in a hurry this morning.”
Because I had to get to a grocery store.

She raised a palm at me. “No excuses, either.”

“No excuses,” I said quickly.

Then Julie bent over and opened my gym bag and began to examine the clothes I had stuffed inside. She removed crème-colored linen pants and a matching jacket. She laid the outfit across the leather couch on the opposite side of the dressing room. The soft fabric that looked so lovely this morning hanging inside Callie’s closet looked like someone had pressed it in a waffle iron. Its price tag was still attached.

Julie bit her lip when she pulled out the shoes and jewelry I had selected for the outfit. She turned to me, confused.

I didn’t take her reaction as a positive sign. “Not good?” My shoulders shrugged helplessly. How was I supposed to know that yellow sandals weren’t the best choice for crème-colored pants? “At least no one will see my feet on camera, right?” I forced a chuckle.

Julie exhaled, loudly, as she surveyed the necklace and clunky leather bracelets which, quite frankly, I thought looked pretty cool. “This may require a miracle.”

“It’s not that bad, is it?”

“Oh, it’s bad.”

I cringed.

At first she didn’t say anything. Then her thin eyebrow arched, almost as if she was having second thoughts.

I wrapped my arms across my stomach, feeling my shot at the finer points of beauty instruction slipping away.

But then she smirked long enough for me to breathe again. “Let’s just get to work.”

For the rest of the morning, Julie combed and fluffed my hair. She applied more eye make-up than I’d ever worn in, like, ever. And as she covered me in lotions, foundations, hair gel, and hairspray, she sprinkled our conversation with tips, such as where to pluck the highest arch for your eyebrow (the edge of your iris) and to never drag a bristled brush through wet hair. Who knew?

Julie did dismiss my bright yellow peep-toe sandals one more time but I bit my lip. How could size six shoes ever look bad? I had to promise her that I’d go barefoot, though, before I’d ever match yellow peep-toe sandals with crème-colored linen pants.

When Julie finished, I stared back at my new reflection, speechless. The lights surrounding the mirror were so bright that it made my skin look almost translucent, fragile. Perfect. So unlike me. I had no idea that being so beautiful could be so…complicated and time-consuming. And exhausting. I had to do this every day?

Julie seemed to be able to read my thoughts. “Don’t panic. I’ll teach you a little each day. It gets easier.” She paused to tighten the lid on a tube of mascara. “It might even be fun.” She smiled at my reflection. She didn’t even question why someone as gorgeous as Callie Collins was so unbelievably charm-school challenged and I loved her for that. “And as long as you work here, you got me.” She winked. “Don’t forget that.”

I was mildly pleased, and somewhat surprised, that Alexandra didn’t hunt for me all morning.

But all that changed with the sharp knock on the dressing room. Julie was just about to apply another layer of lip liner to my top lip. She held the brush in front of me in midstroke. Our breathing paused at exactly the same moment.

Finally, I called out, “Who is it?” I really hoped it wasn’t Alexandra.

The door cracked open.

“It’s Kirk, Miss Collins.” He opened the door fractionally wider.

Exhaling with enough relief for the both of us, Julie dabbed my lips and then began defoliating the room with hairspray. She sprayed it over my head, blinding me so I had to close my eyes and hold my breath.

I flashed him a relieved smile, coughing. “Come in, Kirk, and please call me Callie.”

Kirk’s face froze, as if he didn’t know where he was. But then he said, “Just wanted to go over the day’s schedule with you. You’ve got another busy one, no big surprise.” He rolled his eyes a little playfully, making a grand gesture with his hand. “I couldn’t find Alexandra,” he continued, tapping his pen against his folder. “Usually she likes me to go over your schedule with her first.”

“That won’t be necessary, Kirk, but thanks. From now on, you can just review it with me.”

Unblinking, Kirk stared back at me.

“Hey, saves you from having to do it twice, right?”

Kirk blinked, slowly at first. Then faster. “Sure thing…Callie.” His smile spread at the revelation. “That would work for me. But be sure to let Alexandra know about the…change.”

“Will do. Okay, what’s on tap for today?” I asked brightly. This didn’t seem so bad. Maybe I was getting the hang of Callie’s life?

“Well, for starters, you’ll be filling in for Sean
and
anchoring the news…”

“Sean?” My voice squeaked.

“Yeah, Sean…the weather guy?” His eyes narrowed as his hand stroked his goatee.

Nervous chuckle.

“Oh, yeah. The weather guy. Of course…” I swallowed. “Then what?” Suddenly the room lost some of its air as I grasped the reality that I would be standing in my mismatched yellow sandals, pointing to a bunch of weather maps that no one ever saw because the annoying weathergirl was always standing in front of them.

Now I would get to be that annoying weathergirl.

Even so, how hard was it to do the weather?

My gaze darted from Kirk to the window, my mind racing.
Blue skies and sunny, as usual. Delivering the Phoenix weather should be a snap. It’s Phoenix, not Chicago.

In the background, Kirk rattled through my schedule while I continued to hyperventilate about doing the weather in front of a million viewers.

“…late lunch with the station manager, ribbon-cutting at the new wing of the Science Museum, kid’s day, cocktails and auction for Phoenix Women’s Shelter at Mario’s…”

“Mario’s?” I rose higher in my chair.

“Yeah, it’s that Mexican restaurant over in old Scottsdale.”

My breath caught like a hiccup.

“Something wrong, Callie?” Kirk asked. “Not crazy about Mexican restaurants? Want me to cancel?” He winced. “But it is something that the station does with Mario’s every year…”

I shook my head. “No, no. That’s not necessary. What time is it again tonight?” I forced a smile.

Kirk’s eyes lowered over his clipboard. “Five-thirty.”

My heartbeat increased exponentially, and not because I was going on the air in twenty minutes, although that didn’t help either. Right now, strangely, knowing that millions would be laughing at me when I tripped in front of one of those weather maps was the furthest thing from my mind. Maybe that’s what progress looked like.

And maybe, just maybe, I’d see Carlos at Mario’s tonight.

Still, what would it matter? Carlos didn’t know Callie Collins from a complete stranger. And Grace Mills didn’t exist.