Positive/Negativity (14 page)

T
Impossibly Beautiful – Julie Feeney

TT
A Pretty Girl – Ed Ames

TTT
Gunpowder & Lead – Miranda Lambert

The New Amsterdam Theatre filled me with child-like excitement. I had never been to New York City, and Declan’s photo shoot was taking place in the theatre on 42
nd
Street, in the Broadway district.

It was fascinating to watch them prepare Declan for the photo shoot. He engaged in easy conversation with the make-up artists, and when the hair stylists began to style his hair, he passed me an indecent look, reminding me of our morning events.
T

When I was finally able to tear my gaze away from him, I began to soak in my surroundings like a sponge. I was completely overwhelmed and captivated by the architecture of the theatre. The beautiful paintings and ornate carvings were absolutely breathtaking. The lush, deep purple curtain brought to mind the time I had watched old, black and white movies on television with my mom when I was a little girl, and we would guess at the colors of the draperies. If dad was working late she’d make popcorn or pizza and allow me to stay up late with her, and it always made me feel special.

I walked down to the Orchestra area and looked up at the ceiling. I could have walked with my head in the air for hours because the artistry was fascinating. I was in awe of the skill and imagination of the craftsmen who created such an inspiring and beautiful edifice. I was certain that, because of the perfection and attention to detail they executed in the design of this building, that was what contributed to The New Amsterdam Theatre remaining one of the oldest surviving venues on Broadway. There were so many details to absorb that I was attempting to commit each sight to memory. My Mother had passed on her love for all things 1930 and 1940 to me through the old movies we watched together. One of our favorites was “The Ziegfeld Follies”. When Declan told me that this was the theatre in which Flo Ziegfeld hosted his Follies, I just knew that I had to share it with my mom, so I began to discretely take pictures with my phone.

Aria was enchanting. She had a look of wonderment as she took in her surroundings. Her ever-changing eyes reflected how spellbound she had become in her excitement of New York, and frankly, it was infectious. I was freshly seeing New York through my beautiful girl’s eyes. I only wished I were closer to her to see the spectrum of color changes as her eyes reflected her joy.

I had become so desensitized to how wondrous a city New York could be that seeing it with her, for her first time, was fun and amazing. She delighted in every detail of theatre, as was evidenced by her use of the cell phone camera.
TT

As I introduced her to everyone, she was most delightful and gracious. I walked her around the theatre, and she reminded me of a kid in a candy store as she gazed in all directions. I found a place where she could be comfortable for several hours and helped her to settle there. She didn’t think I was watching, but I never took my eyes off of her. It might have been due to my overprotective feelings for her, but it wasn’t the only reason.

A concern for my over protectiveness was information that Marisol might be at this shoot today. It hadn’t been confirmed, but I had a feeling she would be. Marisol Franzi could be downright vicious to other women. I knew if she treated Aria with anything other than respect, I’d react and it wouldn’t be a pleasant scene. Although I’d asked, the photographer didn’t know for certain if Marisol was the model selected for today’s session, which was odd.

Unbeknownst to Aria, Marisol had phoned me, several times, and I politely brushed her off. Marisol could be assertive, and at times, she could be militant when attempting to get what she wanted. She was a “diva” in the most extreme use of the word. The Press labeled her a Supermodel, and although it may be necessary to be in her presence for this particular account, since meeting Aria I didn’t care to work with her at all. She could redefine the word “bitch” to reflect a more derogatory term than it currently meant. She could be cunning, ruthless and cruel, all while flashing her million dollar smile. She was known as a woman who took what she wanted, never asking for permission. She never made excuses—ever! If what she wanted wasn’t available to her, she had the obstacle removed—whatever it may be—so that she could obtain her desired goal. She cared neither if her methods were ethical or not.

Marisol and I had a love-hate relationship. Eight months ago, we attended a party that was hosted by a client. She decided that, after the party, I’d be her sexual conquest of that night. She had been very open and suggestive about her plans that evening, making explicit comments with regard to how she was going to “ride me hard” and “be the best I’d ever had” that she was laughable. She was so shockingly blatant, rubbing her ass against me as well as other body parts, that she was downright whorish, crude, and vulgar. I found that unattractive in a woman, but really, what did I care that night? She was just going to be a “one night stand” to me. I would have screwed her because she was just that easy. The plan was thwarted when I received a phone call from the man doing renovation on my house at the beach. It seemed a very important matter came up that required my attention, and it was something that he couldn’t act on my behalf for decision-making purposes. He emphasized that I absolutely needed to go to the shore by the next day to sign some papers, or the work on my house would be delayed for a few months. I loved that house, and I wanted to live there as soon as possible, so I didn’t want anything to jeopardize the deadline. I knew where I wanted to be—at the beach.

I went to the client, politely thanked him for a lovely party, and made my apologies to leave. When I was leaving the house, I didn’t stop to explain anything to Marisol. I didn’t feel she warranted or deserved an explanation. The plans she had for us were just that—
her
plans. I didn’t need to tell her anything since she’d just pick up some other random guy to nail that night; however, I did notice her in the driveway as I got into my car. The look on her face told the tale.

As I left the party, she appeared to take it as a personal rejection. This morning it seemed she was the female model for the shoot. As she walked in and looked in my direction, the look on her face told me that she wasn’t pleased to see me. It appeared as though her memory about the night of the party was serving her well.

Making my way back to watch Declan work, I observed someone else watching him closely. Although the woman appeared as cold as ice on the outside, trying her best to appear indifferent, there was definitely fire in her as she looked over at him. She was inconspicuous to the staff on the stage, looking as though she had mastered the art of glancing at him in an unsuspicious manner.

She was easily recognizable as I had seen her photos many times. Every magazine I purchased had at least one page with her reflection in it. She was tall, very, very thin, and carried herself most gracefully. She was incredibly beautiful; an elite Supermodel.
TTT

Her big, beautiful, brown eyes and brown-blonde hombre hair color only added to her attractiveness. Her torso was long and lean, and she had legs that looked like they flowed forever into her Christian Louboutin’s. She tried to get Declan’s attention by giving him several looks—none of which he acknowledged. He didn’t seem, even remotely, affected by her. Unfortunately,
I
was affected by the looks she gave him—and
not
in a good way.

If apprehension was a weapon, then I needed to stockpile my arsenal. I knew from the moment I saw her that I couldn’t trust this woman and apprehension was the first instinct that went into overdrive. I didn’t know how or why my sense of discernment was warning me that she meant trouble, but I knew those instincts had me on “high alert.” I needed to trust myself and my growing feelings of anxiety. To my surprise, they now included a feeling of protectiveness of Declan, and I felt this woman meant him serious harm.

If Declan viewed this woman as a casual acquaintance—which was what she was attempting to present herself as—my instincts told me it was a complete farce. The simple way she stared at him had a devious air about it. There was something fraudulent and insincere in her eyes. Although she was smiling at him, it was an attempt to conceal something treacherous. I felt uncomfortable with her stare; it was deceptive and shady. I could see in her face and the demeanor she reflected that she was forming some sort of a strategy against him.

I had
never
felt the need to protect Declan, and I always enjoyed the feeling that I was protected
by
him. This was different. This was a woman, and women play manipulative games. The Declan I knew wasn’t into manipulative games. When he did catch a glimpse of her looking at him, he dismissed her with a look of indifference, which made her face contort into that of a beautiful monster. There was no denying that she didn’t accept, or like, being dismissed lightly. I wasn’t sure how important she was to his career; whether colleague or client, so I needed to prepare myself to meet her.

One thing I wanted to be for him was an asset. Pleasantries could, and would have their benefits in both professional and personal engagements, especially in his line of work. The danger to me with this particular woman was that, unfortunately like Declan, I wasn’t a girl for games either, and emotionally, I could lose myself in either setting.

I spent a good part of the day watching him, with pleasure and fascination. I had brought some of my work with me to keep me busy if there was a need. I wanted to surprise him with some properties I found that he might consider for his project; the buildings and budgets to renovate for potential studios looked good on paper, and I was hoping to reveal the results of my search to him with the proposals this afternoon.

I had spent more time going over this project than I had any other, so why did I still feel this nagging apprehension?
Perhaps it was this woman and the urge I felt to protect him. Her presence might have brought that feeling out in me as I had been feeling edgy since her arrival.
Why hadn’t he mentioned anything to me about her? Was it because of who she was?

As I tried to concentrate on my own work, I found myself becoming distracted once again with the woman who continued to stare and make glaring faces at Declan. I hadn’t had this feeling about anyone else in the room, but she made me feel incredibly uneasy where he was concerned. Perhaps that was what happened when you loved someone; your desire to protect them became more apparent to you. It was distressing that I couldn’t shake this heaviness.
More so, why was I the only one who could see the faces and attitudes that she was obviously directing at Declan? Were they blind or were they choosing to ignore it?
Nonetheless, I had already made a decision; this woman was a viper, and I didn’t like snakes. The people who were working with her, who continued to smile at her and bow to her whims, might not know what to do to protect themselves against a snake. I wasn’t quite so intimidated by vipers.