Glamour (12 page)

“Okay,” I agree. “But I haven’t even unpacked yet.”

“So, get with the program, Erin.”

“Well, for starters I need a shower and — ”

“And I’ll come help you get dressed.”

“Thanks, but I think I can handle that—”

“No, I mean I’m bringing you an outfit, Erin. Our wardrobe is already in my room, and I’ll pick out something for you.”

“But we’re not filming tonight,” I point out.

“Don’t be silly, Erin. We can still be caught on camera. You can’t spend time around the Bahamas Fashion Week crowd looking like a slob.”

I want to debate this but decide it’s not worth it. “Okay. Give me ten minutes for a shower, then come over.”

“I’ll call for the car to pick us up at eight,” she says.

I take my ten-minute shower and exit the bathroom to find Paige knocking on my door. “You forgot to get us adjoining rooms,” she chides me as she comes in with an armload of clothes.

I act like I’m surprised to see that my room connects with Fran’s. “We’ll be okay like this, won’t we?”

“I guess.” She lays her load on my bed. I have to admit that after being with Fran, it’s refreshing to be with Paige. I do love her sunny disposition, and the girl knows how to have fun. By the time she’s helped me with my hair and makeup and has me dressed in a cool but sophisticated yellow-and-black Chanel dress, I feel like I’m ready to make a night of it.

“Two stylish single girls on the town,” she says as we check out our images in the mirror. In a way our looks complement each other. She’s the tall blonde beauty, I’m the petite brunette … but somehow it works. “What about Fran?” she asks as she picks up her coral-colored Gucci bag, which goes perfectly with her coral Gucci sandals.

“She’s having dinner in her room,” I say. “I think she wants to go over next week’s schedule.” That’s actually true. She does. The problem is she’s too tired to do it tonight.

“Okay, then let’s—”

“I, uh, I just have to use the bathroom,” I say quickly, deciding I should check on Fran. “How about I meet you in the lobby in about five minutes?”

“Okay. I’ll do some people watching while I wait.”

I laugh. “More than likely, people will be watching
you.”
As if to ensure this, Paige checks herself out in my mirror
again, pats her hair, and retouches her lips. As usual, she looks perfect in the well-tailored sleeveless white Chanel dress.

“Fine by me.” She laughs, adjusts her bag, then heads out. As soon as I know she’s gone, I slip into Fran’s room and see that she is sleeping soundly. I turn off most of the lights, just leaving the one near the bathroom on. I write a little note saying Paige and I have gone out, but that I have my cell phone if she needs anything.

As I ride down the elevator, I feel like I’m living a double life: part-time nurse maid, part-time fashion diva. I think if I had to do this for long, it might mess with my mind. For now, and for Fran’s sake, I know I must keep it up. But it feels strange when I sense people actually watching me walk across the lobby—as if they think I might be somebody. And it feels doubly weird when I realize this is
the
fashion crowd.

When I join Paige, who is standing by the fountain and checking her iPhone, I know we’re being watched. Rather,
she
is being watched. Dressed so classically and uptown, she’s pretty hard to miss, even in this crowd. I’ve noticed that when they’re not working, most models tend to dress pretty casually. Maybe it’s because they spend so much time getting dolled up that they just need some down time. Or maybe they’re as fashion-challenged as I am and could actually use some style advice.

“Hello, dahling,” I say in a phony European accent. “You look absolutely mahvelous.”

She gives me a sleek smile. “Same back at you, babe.”

“Ready to rock and roll?”

“Oh, yeah.”

I try not to giggle as we head out of the hotel, where paparazzi are snapping photos of anyone who is anyone as they
come out the door. Actually it’s a sign that hotel staffers are doing a fairly good job with security by keeping the riffraff out of the building. Paige smiles and waves as she gracefully climbs into our waiting car. I try to imitate her.

Do I feel like a celebrity? Maybe a little. Mostly I feel like an imposter, or like I’m riding my sister’s stylish coattails. But as we ride to our destination, a popular hot spot Paige has picked out, I feel unexpectedly appreciative of this excursion as well as this experience. Even if our moment of fame is just that—a moment—I think when it’s all said and done, I will be thankful to have been here.

Fran doesn’t seem to have any more energy
on Sunday than she did last night. “I thought you’d be starting to feel better by now,” I say as I pour her a cup of green tea.

“I thought so too.” She’s sitting on her bed with a pink scarf tied loosely around her head. She’s wrapped in the comforter and shivering, even though the temperature in here feels about the same as outside, in the eighties. I point to her untouched breakfast tray. “You really need to eat something.”

“I know. It’s just … I have no appetite.”

I sit in the chair across from her, literally wringing my hands. “What can I do to help you, Fran?”

“I don’t know.” There’s a waver in her voice and I can tell she’s close to tears. “I guess you were right.”

“I was right?” I frown. “About what?”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Oh.” As much as I normally enjoy being right, this makes me feel lousy. “Maybe you’re just having a bad day,” I suggest. “You know how that can go.”

“Maybe … but it’s been a whole week since I’ve had chemo. I shouldn’t be having a bad day.”

“Well, yesterday was tiring.” I sigh loudly. “I’m even a little worn out. It’s a good thing we have today to catch up.”

“Yes.” She nods sadly.

“So maybe if you eat a little breakfast, just your toast and fruit, and if you keep resting … by tomorrow you’ll feel better.”

“Yes.” She makes a stiff smile. “I think you’re right.”

“Paige wants me to go shopping and do the beach thing with her today.”

Fran waves her hand. “You go. Have fun.”

I’m torn. It’s hard to leave her like this when she looks so miserable.

“Go on, Erin. And, if you don’t mind, take one of the camera guys with you to get some footage of you two just having fun. Okay?”

“Okay.” I hold up my iPhone. “Call me if you need me.”

She barely tips her chin in a tired nod.

“And drink your tea.” I point to the cup by her bed. “Call room service for lunch, even if you don’t feel like it.”

“Thank you,
Nurse Erin.”

I roll my eyes. “Hey, I just want you to get well.”

“I’m trying.”

But as I return to my room, I’m wondering—is she really trying? I know that’s harsh, and I’d never say it to her, but I want her to get better and I just don’t get it. If she wants to get well and strong, why can’t she at least
try
to eat some food? Maybe something in her stomach would help with the nausea. At least Fran should get lots of rest today. Hopefully that will do the trick.

“You ready?” Paige calls from the hallway. I grab my things, and we are off … at least until we reach the lobby, where I remember what Fran said about filming. So I tell Paige and reach for my phone, hitting speed dial for JJ’s number.

“Let’s do the beach shots first,” he tells me after I fill him in. “The sun will be perfect now.” We agree to meet there, and I inform Paige that shopping will have to come later.

We head to the dressing room area by the pool, get into our suits, and then go out to the beach, where I see that JJ is already getting set up. Not too thrilled with the idea of being filmed in a bathing suit, I am wearing a bright-yellow sarong, as well as a navy-blue oversized straw hat and matching sunglasses. Naturally, Paige is making fun of my outfit. “You look like an old lady, Erin.”

“Thank you,” I say primly. “Maybe no one will recognize me.”

“At least take off the sarong,” she urges.

“No way.” Even though I insisted on a one-piece suit, which sounded safe, this yellow-and-navy-striped number has french-cut legs that go nearly to my hipbones. And although the V-neck clasps with a silver metal buckle, it seems to be rather low and I suspect cleavage is showing. Then again, I could be exaggerating this whole thing in my mind.

“Is it because you’re not comfortable with your body?” she asks.

“I am perfectly comfortable with my body,” I tell her. “I’m just not perfectly comfortable having the whole world see this much of it.”

She laughs as she adjusts a string on her pink and yellow bikini top. I shake my head; compared to my sister I probably do look like an old lady, but honestly, her bikini is so scanty I
almost wonder why she even bothers. Although I’m glad she does. I’ve heard there are some nude beaches in the Bahamas. Hopefully, we won’t be shooting on any of those. If so, I will positively decline!

“The sarong’s okay,” JJ assures me. “The colors are great, and your suit actually makes a nice contrast with Paige’s … uh … outfit.” He suddenly looks embarrassed.

“You mean Paige’s
lack
of an outfit?”

He chuckles as he lifts his camera.

“Hey, you’d better get used to it,” Paige tells him as she strikes a starlet pose with one hand behind her head. “Tomorrow we’re covering a swimsuit shoot, and you are going to be seeing a lot of skin there.”

It turns out we’re seeing a lot of skin here at the beach today too. After a while, I do feel slightly overdressed in my “granny sarong,” as Paige is calling it. But as long as the camera is running, I’m sticking to my guns.

“You know, Erin, you’re probably not helping one of your favorite causes,” Paige tells me as we’re wading in the waves.

“What favorite cause?”

“You know, the whole body image thing?”

“Huh?”

“Well, if you’re afraid to let America see your body because you’re worried you don’t look like a fashion model, you’re cheating our viewers out of seeing a regular-looking girl who’s comfortable in her own skin.”

I consider this, and as much as I hate to admit it, Paige has a good point. The truth is I am more modest than my sister, but it’s also true that I’m not that comfortable in my skin. Especially now, with so many thin model-type girls roaming around on this beach.

“Fine,” I say as I untie the sarong. “You win.” I turn and face JJ, who is still filming us. “This is for all you girls out there who worry about not looking like a model. I don’t look like one either. We need to just get over it and be thankful that we are the way we are. So there!”

“That was good,” JJ tells me. “Could you do it again, this time with the mic?”

And so, feeling a bit silly, I take the hand mic and do the whole thing again. Only this time my sarong falls into the water and I nearly drop the mic. “Oh, well,” I say to the camera. “I’m sure you get the point. Let’s stop focusing on overly thin girls with breast implants and start remembering that everyone is different. It’s okay to just be yourself.”

Paige is smiling and clapping now. “Bravo!”

I hand the mic back to JJ then pull my soaked sarong out of the water, wring it out, wad it up, and toss it at my sister. Before she can get me back I turn and run into the water, continuing until I’m waist deep and can dive right into the next wave. The water feels cool at first, but I quickly get used to it and swim out a ways, which I know will thoroughly aggravate Paige, because ever since she got tumbled by a wave as a child, she’s scared to death of swimming in the surf.

When I come back, Paige is settled on one of the hotel lounge chairs, holding a green drink that’s complete with a little orange umbrella.

“I’ll assume that’s a virgin something,” I say as I sit down on the lounge chair beside her.

She simply nods then flips a page of her French fashion magazine.

I towel my hair and lean back to soak up some sun, enjoying the moment. Then my phone rings.

“Oh, yeah,” Paige says, “it rang a couple of times.”

I scramble, digging in my beach bag until I untangle my phone from a scarf, then look to see it’s Fran. “Hi, Fran,” I say cheerfully. “What’s up?”

“Can you come back?” she asks in a hoarse voice.

“Sure.”

She hangs up quickly, and I pretend to still be talking to her. Dumb, I know, but I want to avoid Paige’s suspicion. “Sure, Fran, I can help with that. Paige and I just shot some beach stuff with JJ.” I pause like I’m listening. “Yeah, I’ll head on up there now.”

“What’s going on with Fran?” Paige tips up her sunglasses to peer curiously at me.

“She just wants me to go over some things for the show with her. Remember how I’ve been interning with her?”

“Oh.” Paige nods. “I’ll head up in about twenty minutes. I’m going to shower and change, and then we can go shopping and get a late lunch. Okay?”

“Sounds great.” I gather my stuff, shove my feet into my sandals, and casually walk toward the hotel, but as soon as I’m out of Paige’s sight, I begin to run. For some reason I have a feeling that Fran is really sick. Like maybe she needs to go to the hospital.

I knock on her door, and when she doesn’t answer I let myself into my room and use the adjoining door. “Fran?” I call when I see that she’s not in her bed, or even in the room.

“In here,” she answers in a weak voice.

I go into the bathroom to see her lying on the white marble floor. Blood is splattered everywhere. “Fran!” I cry as I get on my knees next to her. “What happened? Did you cut yourself?”

“I was vomiting … and I didn’t make it to the toilet … and then I fell down.”

“But this blood—” I stop myself when I see a drop of blood trickle down the side of her mouth. “Were you vomiting blood?”

She nods with tears in her eyes. “It’s normal, Erin. Just ulcerated bleeding … from all the meds … if you could get some Pepto-Bismol … I think it would help.”

“First let’s get you cleaned up,” I say as I help her to her feet then get her to sit on the lid of the toilet. I carefully remove her blood-splattered T-shirt, putting a bathrobe around her shoulders while I find a set of sweats I’d unpacked yesterday. Then I help her to get dressed and walk back to bed. “I’ll put a wastebasket by your bed just in case you need to throw up again. No more running to the bathroom. Okay?”