The Daughters (17 page)

“It wasn’t supposed to come out,” she started. “They were just test shots—”

“You’re a minor!” Bernard exploded, his eyes becoming dangerously buggy. “Didn’t Natasha explain to you why this wasn’t a
good idea? Didn’t she?”

“Clearly she didn’t want to take my advice,” Natasha said haughtily, drumming her eggplant-colored fingernails on the table.
“Your daughter’s quite a strong-willed girl.”

“It was just to have the editor look at my photos,” Lizzie said. “They weren’t supposed to print them. I swear.”

The house phone trilled on the kitchen wall. Bernard leaped up out of his chair and grabbed it.

“Yes, send her up, please,” he directed, then slammed the phone back down. “Your photographer’s here. And you can bet I have
a few words to say to
her
,” he said.

Of course they’d tracked down Andrea. Now she’d have to explain that she’d lied—not just to her family but to the coolest
woman in the universe.

Katia finally unpursed her lips. Her eyes had turned a deep shade of purple, which meant that the situation was dire. “I didn’t
think you liked cameras,” she said.

“Mom.” Lizzie searched for the right way to put it. “It started while you were in Paris—I just wanted to try it—and then when
you came home I thought you’d be upset and think it was weird, and think I was trying to take advantage of the YouTube clip
thing so I didn’t say anything—”

Katia looked down at the cup of espresso in her hand, unmoved.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Lizzie went on. “I never thought that it would end up somewhere, I never thought there
was any chance, and I
was
going to tell you—”

She heard someone come in through the open front door, and then Andrea walked into the kitchen, stepping carefully on the
tile in her wet sneakers. Her blond ponytail was dark and bedraggled-looking from the rain. Her zip-up yoga jacket was soaked.
She barely glanced at Lizzie, but in the millisecond their eyes met Lizzie could feel all of her betrayal and disappointment.

“I’m so sorry about all this,” she launched right in, speaking to Bernard and Katia. “I was out of town, my BlackBerry wasn’t
working, the editor and I weren’t in touch—”

“Do you know that she’s fourteen years old?” Bernard demanded.

“Shhh, Bernard.” Katia placed her hand on Bernard’s arm.

Andrea put her messenger bag on the counter. “I wanted the photo editor just to
see
Lizzie’s pictures. I never thought she’d print them. She did e-mail me to ask my permission but, as I said, my BlackBerry
wasn’t working—”

“What you did is illegal,” Bernard cut in.

Natasha snickered.

“I gave Lizzie a release before I sent in her photos,” Andrea said calmly. “When I got it faxed back to me I thought she’d
spoken with you.” She shot Lizzie a reproachful look, her friendly blue eyes flat now. “I was wrong.”

“So you forged your mother’s signature,” Bernard said, turning to Lizzie. “Wonderful.”

“No, this is my fault,” Andrea said quietly. “Lizzie said that she was going to tell you. I never thought that she wouldn’t.
I never thought she’d lie to me.”

It killed Lizzie to see Andrea take the responsibility for this. “Mom, Dad,” she broke in, “I shouldn’t have sent the release
back in. I just wanted to see if I could do it without you.” She bowed her head so she wouldn’t have to look her mother in
the eye. “I wanted it to be my own thing. If that makes any sense.”

When she looked back up, Katia’s face was still pale, but her eyes were just blue enough to indicate that this might end okay.
“You have to see why I feel a little surprised here,” Katia said to Andrea. “Especially because this is my world. I would
hope that I’d be included in any decision Lizzie has to model. I had no idea she even wanted to try it.”

“She didn’t want to,” Andrea confessed with a sigh. “In fact, she turned me down at first. But she’s good at it. And I think
she has something. I think her face is a work of art.”

Katia and Bernard glanced at each other, as if they weren’t sure they bought this.

“I’d understand if you never want her to be in front of a camera again,” Andrea went on. “But I’m shooting a layout for
Rayon
in a couple of days. It’s that music and entertainment magazine for college kids and twentysomethings.” Andrea turned to
Lizzie and finally eked out a proud smile. “They
flipped
over her picture in
New York Style.
And they’d love for her to be the model in the shoot.”

“Absolutely not,” Bernard announced.

“Bernard,” Katia said, touching his arm again. She stood up from the table, and pulled her cashmere wrap closer around her
shoulders. “Lizzie, you should probably get back to school now. And starting tonight you’re grounded. For the next two weeks.”

“Wait,” Lizzie said. “
Rayon
? Mom… Can I do it?”

Katia glanced back at Bernard. Her dad threw up his hands, as if saying he was going to sit this one out.

“Look, I know that I lied to you, and I’m so sorry, Mom, I really am. But can we at least think about this?”

Katia pulled her wrap closer, but the stony look on her face was gone. “We’ll
think
about it,” she said. “Now, go back to school.”

That was good enough for now
, Lizzie thought. They would all need some time to recover from this. On her way to the front door, Lizzie brushed past Andrea.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Andrea patted her on the shoulder as if to say “Okay.”

At the front door she heard her mother behind her. “Lizzie?”

Her mother stepped out into the hall so that they were finally alone. Even in bare feet, she still towered over Lizzie.

“Promise me that you’ll never do that again,” she said in a quavering voice. She seemed so hurt.

“I promise,” Lizzie said. “I’m sorry, Mom. Really, I am.”

Katia reached out her slender arms and Lizzie stepped into her hug. She smelled the tuberose and lilies and felt an overwhelming
sense of relief.

“But I’m proud of you,” Katia said into her ear. “Do you really want to do this shoot?”

Lizzie nodded into her mom’s shoulder. “Yes. I really do.”

Katia let her go. “It would be just this once, Lizzie.
If
we do it.”

Lizzie nodded again.

Katia smoothed Lizzie’s hair. “Okay, get back to school.”

Lizzie walked out to the elevators, feeling dazed and stunned, like she’d just survived a plane crash. The worst thing had
happened, and somehow, everything was okay. Everything was more than okay, actually.

She checked her iPhone and there was a text from Hudson.

How does it feel to be the new face of BEAUTY???

Lizzie smiled.

AMAZING
, she wrote back.

Psssst!
The Evian mist felt cool against her skin. When she opened her eyes, the makeup artist with the tangerine-colored hair and
pierced nose was crouched down in front of her face, swatting at Lizzie’s damp cheeks with a makeup sponge. Her green T-shirt
said
EVERYBODY LOVES AN IRISH GIRL
, and she smelled like patchouli. “This’ll give you dewiness,” she said, still swatting. “God, you barely need foundation.
Who does your facials?”

Lizzie sipped her green tea. She thought about the time she and Hudson had tried to use Holla’s weird microdermabrasion kit
and gave up. “Nobody,” she said.

“Really?” The makeup artist leaned back on her heels and studied her. “What’s your secret then?”

Lizzie shrugged.

“She’s only fourteen, Marisa,” quipped the bald, stubbly-faced hairdresser standing behind her. “
That’s
her secret.” He twisted a piece of her hair around the barrel of a curling iron. “Is this your real color?” he asked.

“Yep.” Lizzie nodded.

He whistled to himself. “Gor-geous,” he muttered.

Only two days had passed since the
New York Style
meltdown with her parents and Andrea, but now everything was different. People were telling her that parts of her were gorgeous.
She’d been allowed to skip school—just this once—to actually be paid to model. And while her friends were suffering through
geometry, she was sitting in a makeup chair in a sun-drenched studio at Chelsea Piers, bopping her leg to Kanye West and getting
her eyelashes curled. It was almost too much to wrap her head around, Lizzie thought, but she knew that she couldn’t exactly
get used to this. Bernard had allowed her to do this shoot for
Rayon
on two conditions: that this be a one-time thing, and that Katia be there to supervise it. Even though her mother still hadn’t
shown up.

“How’re we doing, Lizzie? We good?” Andrea strode over, more keyed-up than usual, her blue eyes dancing and her wavy blond
hair down around her face. She wore faded boot-cut jeans, a hoodie, and boots instead of sneakers. “Don’t do too much to her,
okay?” she said to Marisa. “Just a little powder and eyeliner. That’s it. And Serge, not
too
corkscrewy, all right?” she said to the hairdresser, looking at Lizzie in the mirror. “She looks best when she looks like
herself.”

And that’s something I’ve never heard before
, Lizzie thought, getting out of the chair.

The
Rayon
fashion editor helped her get dressed in her first “look”: a sheer floral-printed sundress layered over a C&C long-sleeved
cotton tee, with red paisley tights and oxfords. A little busy, Lizzie thought, but then again,
Rayon
was an edgy kind of fashion mag.

“Perfect. Just perfect,” pronounced the editor, shaking her head as she stroked her long silver chain necklaces. “Let’s get
you some accessories.” She pulled out a box of different pieces of jewelry, each of them wrapped in plastic, and picked out
a necklace made up of big chunky pieces of glass that looked like candy. When she fastened it around Lizzie’s neck she grinned.
“There.
Now
you’re perfect.”

Lizzie looked at the portable full-length mirror on wheels. She would never have worn this outfit in real life, but, like
her mish-mash of accessories from Chinatown, it all kind of worked.

Lizzie walked over to Andrea, who was standing near a gigantic computer monitor, flanked by two of her assistants. “What do
you think?” she asked her.

Andrea looked her up and down. “I love it. And I think we’re ready to go here. But should we wait for your mom?”

“I don’t know. She had a meeting with her designers in the garment district. It might be a while.”

“I’m here!” trilled a familiar voice.

The heavy door of the studio slammed shut, and Katia glided into the studio brandishing a BlackBerry in one hand and her daily
Venti green tea chai from Starbucks in the other. “I’m so sorry I’m late, the traffic was
terrible,
” she said. Her hair dangled over her shoulder in a long, thick braid, and she was dressed in an attention-getting black metallic
tunic, corset-style jeweled belt, and a pair of tight, sleek black leather leggings that made her legs look twice as long.
With a sinking feeling, Lizzie realized that Katia was going to do anything but fade into the background here.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” she asked Lizzie, stopping short when she saw her and scanning her with turquoise eyes.

“The story’s called ‘Crazy for Layers,’ ” Lizzie explained, slightly irritated. “They like to do edgier stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” She peered at Lizzie’s face. “Are you wearing
any
makeup?”

Before Lizzie could say anything, Andrea rushed over to her. “I thought I’d keep it minimal,” she said, walking over. “I want
her to look like her, after all.”

Katia’s eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. Lizzie could tell she didn’t approve.

“Okay honey, when you’re up there, remember the Pose,” Katia instructed. “Shoulders back, chin down, neck long—”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Lizzie interrupted. “Andrea and I kind of have our own style. But thanks.”

Katia stared at her as if she didn’t quite understand what she’d said.

“Oh, and can you kind of stand in the back? If that’s okay?” she asked.

Her mom nodded. “Fine. Have fun. Because we’re only doing this once, remember. It’s just a trial run—”

“I know, Mom.” Lizzie swallowed. She didn’t want to be reminded of that just this moment. “I know.”

“Okay, Lizzie! Let’s do this!” Andrea called out, and Lizzie went to take her place in front of the camera. Behind her the
whitewashed wall curved right into the floor, so that it looked like a blank white backdrop. Two light stands stood on either
side of her, and at her feet was a small, powerful fan that blew her hair off her shoulders. Someone had turned up the music
so that the hip-hop beats thudded behind her eyes and made her want to move. The fashion editor, the makeup artist, the hairdresser,
and Andrea’s assistants gradually made their way to the area behind Andrea to watch.
They’re all watching me
, she thought.
What if I can’t do this?

“Okay, Lizzie, for this, I want movement!” Andrea yelled, holding her Mamiya. “Running! Jumping! Kicking! Dancing! The works!
Don’t be afraid to be crazy.” Andrea hoisted the camera up to her face. “Let’s go!”

As soon as Lizzie saw the black eye of the camera lens, something clicked inside of her.
I can do this
, she thought. The camera was her friend now. It wasn’t going to judge her anymore.

She gave it all of her attention, gazing straight at it, leveling her eyes.

“Yes! Perfect!” Andrea clicked.

Slowly, she started to move. The music surrounded her, blocking out the chatter in her head. The breeze from the fan tickled
her neck, and she had the vague sensation that her hair was blowing out behind her, but she didn’t even notice. It was like
she had tunnel vision—all she could see was the camera, and it was all she cared about. The people standing behind Andrea
disappeared. Even Andrea disappeared. It was just her and the camera.

“Yes!” Andrea yelled as she snapped away. “That’s great! Just like that!”

She jumped. She kicked. She twirled. She actually broke a sweat. Every so often, Andrea would take a break, and the makeup
artist and the hairdresser would jump up and press powder on her nose or smooth her hair with some styling lotion. When she
had to change into her second look, and then her third, she scurried off the set, panting, and the fashion editors wordlessly
handed her the clothes. Then in a flash, she’d be in front of the camera again. She was in a groove. She was untouchable.
Powerful. In charge.