Chapter2
Sierra’s heart was pounding as she walked up the street, fresh from her first New York subway ride. She was excited, and with good reason, holding the card in her hand and placing it back into her trench coat and then holding it inside her trench coat. It was a good luck charm, no matter how stupid it sounded.
She passed by old buildings and newer-looking ones. The streets were full of busy-minded people whose paces outmatched hers easily. Some bumped into her without apologizing, and she suddenly felt like a little country bumpkin. Some of these people were rude to a T or were maybe just in a hurry. She didn’t want to hurry up. Despite the cold weather, she could feel her temperature elevating, and she didn’t want to break out into sweat upon entering the agency.
She saw a four-story, quaint-looking commercial building with large windows and a brick façade. This was it. She took a deep breath and took the elevator to the third floor. It was surprising that the building wasn’t too busy on a weekday. She got off at the floor where Ramp Agency was billeted. It was apparently a whole floor, a whole empty floor.
There had to be some mistake. No one was here. Just a few tables, some empty filing cabinets, and a few lonely chairs. The place was a mess with papers strewn about. Its glass doors were wide open, as if to welcome her mockingly. She checked her phone again. She had the right floor. She fished for her good luck charm. She had the right address.
Sierra looked confused, and she took a step into the agency. Someone might still be here.
“Hello?” she called out.
There were outlines of large frames on the walls that had been stained from years of display. She saw folders on the floor with pictures of various young women in different poses, all fully clothed with poker faces. There were a few wires scattered about as well. What in the world was going on? She carefully avoided the folders, suddenly apprehensive about checking the papers inside it to at least find out if this was some ugly, totally-not-funny prank.
She must have the wrong floor.
“Can I help you, miss?” a voice interrupted her.
She spun around and saw a mousy-looking woman wearing a stylish jacket and jeans with ballet flats.
“Is this Ramp?” Sierra began, hope springing into her again. Yes, she must have the wrong floor.
“Was,” the woman corrected her.
“Sorry?”
“Look, honey, if you’re here to achieve your dreams of becoming a supermodel, find it somewhere else.”
“Mrs. Chesterton asked me to come over—”
“And that was before she died, I bet.”
“She’s dead?” Sierra whispered, unable to believe it, “but I—”
“The agency’s been dissolved,” the woman told her brusquely.
“But you’re here.”
“I forgot to grab a file from my desk.”
“You were Mrs. Chesterton’s colleague?”
“Her secretary for five years. Mrs. Chesterton died two weeks ago from a heart attack.”
“But what will—”
“Happen to you? Did she promise you anything?” the woman interrupted.
“No, but she told me to apply if I was interested.”
“Well, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’re gonna have to apply somewhere else.”
“But I don’t know anyone here.”
“Neither did I when I first moved here. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she walked past Sierra, with Sierra towering over the woman by at least four inches.
“Please, I need—”
“We all need a job; we all lost our jobs here. Some of our models were luckily absorbed. But I’m not a model now, am I?” she said bitterly, pausing before digging into some papers from a desk’s cupboard.
Sierra didn’t know what to say. She was still trying to absorb the shock of the news. The woman must’ve sensed this because her tone softened.
“Look, if I were you, I’d go back to my hometown and work like any other normal person would work, and that’s work hard,” she said.
Sierra watched as the woman grabbed a charger and some papers, stashing them into her bag. Then she walked past Sierra, who was still glued to the same spot. She eyed Sierra and approved of Vanessa’s choice. Vanessa Chesterton always had a critical eye, and this young and lost-looking stranger was definitely model material, supermodel material. But then, so were the many jobless models. She sighed and took a breath.
“Good luck,” she simply told Sierra as she walked into the elevator.
Sierra watched the woman disappear from her view, trying to make sense of what was happening.
“Do you plan to stay here forever?” Vanessa had asked her. It was a question that surprisingly joggled Sierra’s thoughts.
She had found herself shaking her head. It was an honest response.
“And you think you can afford it while working here?” Mrs. Chesterton had pressed on, knowing full well where this conversation was leading.
“Well, this is an opportunity you might like,” Mrs. Chesterton had told her.
An opportunity that had fizzled out as soon as she’d stepped into the agency’s office. The sweet and kind woman was dead. And here she was, alone and friendless in New York, with no other source of income. The secretary had told her to go home. Going home meant defeat. There was pride in her, after all. She wanted to prove to her parents that she could do it. She had persuaded them to allow it. Sierra had researched Ramp, and it had been a legit agency.
What was she going to tell her parents? She couldn’t stand the idea of taking that six-hour train ride back to Rushport with nothing up her sleeve. Perhaps she had let the notion of her being beautiful go to her head. She wasn’t a standout. Just another, better-looking face in New York. Good God, what was she going to do now? She took a deep breath, trying to calm her suddenly-frazzled nerves. She had once tried smoking a cigarette in high school, and she’d hated it. Now, smoking a whole pack of cigarettes didn’t seem like a bad idea.
Sierra found her posture slumping as she walked out of the building. She leaned against the brick staircase and closed her eyes. She had no one here. And her funds were going to run out in a week for rent alone. Tyrone had booked her in a sad-looking apartment with a broken heater, a single bed, and a stained bathroom that also had broken tiles. It looked like a crack den, but she had told herself it would be temporary. That temporary suddenly seemed permanent.
She dialed Tyrone’s number, but he didn’t answer her call. She decided to walk home instead of riding the subway. It would take her at least forty minutes, but she needed to calm her nerves. She took out her phone and checked online for news about Vanessa Chesterton. There were hundreds of articles about her, the most recent was the announcement in a New York daily of her passing, exactly two weeks ago.
The secretary had told the truth, and it was a harsh truth. She had banked on this agency and nothing else, banked on intuition, banked on the whole “I have a good feeling about this.” This opportunity was supposed to be her ticket to earning a significant amount of money for her master’s degree and living expenses. She looked around, seeing people engrossed in their own thoughts; some were laughing with companions, and some were kissing and talking on their phones.
Sierra suddenly missed her family, her home, her town. It had only been twenty-four hours since she had left. Whatever happened to her whole go-getter attitude? She had told herself that day one would be busy, and whatever modeling work Vanessa found for her, she would be totally game for it. She fought off the urge to call her mother, just to hear her voice. She arrived at her apartment, a rickety-looking, twenty-four-year-old building. Her neighbors were loud; someone was screaming about children and bills. Sierra did her best to block out the noise by making herself a sad dinner of pork and beans. This was not good for her health or for her figure. Tomorrow, she could apply at other modeling agencies; she did have her portfolio with her, a hastily taken one from Rushport. She had seen modeling portfolios online and realized hers looked so understated, so boring. She hoped the agencies wouldn’t find her images boring. Vanessa had certainly been keen on having her. That must have meant something.
This was just a minor setback, she repeated to herself. She looked at the cracked, full-length mirror across from her, willing for something good to happen to her. She wasn’t that dull to look at, right? She was doubting herself already, just because her supposed good luck charm didn’t work out. Then she shook her head and continued eating her canned dinner.
***
It had been seven days since he had broken up with Denise. It wasn’t easy, Ben realized. Breaking up was never easy. And he was always the one that broke off the relationships first. They’d had lunch and then he had brought her back to her office.
She had lingered for a kiss from him. And then realized he wasn’t going to give her any.
“Ben? Is something the matter?” Denise asked.
“Denise, I don’t think this is working out.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” her tone rose. “You’re breaking up with me just because I mentioned marriage?”
“Yes,” he’d admitted hesitantly. He prided himself on being honest like that, though.
“I can’t believe this.”
“Why not? You assumed we’d get married?” Ben said quizzically.
“You said you loved me,” Denise spat out.
“Well, I do. But I’m just—I don’t see us together.”
“You’re afraid of commitment,” she accused him.
“You’re not the one for me, and I’m not the one for you, it’s as simple as that,” Ben reasoned.
“And this ugly monster of a thought came the moment I mentioned weddings and marriage?” Denise gasped. “I can’t believe you’re this much of an asshole.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“You led me on.”
“I didn’t,” Ben insisted. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”
“People date other people because they see a future together.”
“People date other people as a test run,” Ben snapped.
Denise shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re comparing me to your car shit. We’re two adult people, and we got together because we’re compatible.”
“We aren’t. We have nothing in common.”
“I just don’t know anything about cars!” Denise cried out. “I’m not a car; I’m your girlfriend.”
“Denise, I don’t know what else to say. I’ve said what I wanted to say,” Ben said, sounding tired.
She walked up to him and slapped his face, hard. A streak of red ran down his cheek. “Get out of my office,” she seethed, “I hope you never find anyone. You treat women like shit.”
He had walked out without saying a word. Funny how two days could still bear the brunt of a woman’s ire. His cheek had kept a faint bruise. He had thought about what she’d said, and he felt a little sorry for Denise, but he knew that he was going to be sorry if he went with the flow. She’d expect to move in with him, expect a three-carat ring and kids in less than a year. It was all too much for him. There were still so many things to see in this world, so many things to do, and so many people to meet.
The idea of soulmates did not resonate with Ben. He had seen enough of what his father had done to his mother, a woman that many men would have killed for. His mother was his father’s soulmate, according to his vows to her nearly twenty-eight years ago. She was his soulmate, until the senior Eriksson had found someone younger, more carefree, and liberated. And then he found another. And that was how his parents’ supposed fairytale marriage had come to a halt.
It was strange. Despite the fact that his father had partially damaged Ben’s youth, he still loved his father and respected him. At least, that was how he felt for his father. And he loved his mother even more for her resilience in the face of the destruction of her marriage. How could someone carry so much respect for his father even if he had done the worst thing a married man could do? Sleep with not just one, but four other women.
Out of the four, Ben had gotten two younger half-siblings. He met with these younger siblings once in a while, two younger brothers who looked just like their father. They used to sleep over at their father’s townhouse every weekend, until his stroke happened.
Claus Eriksson had provided his children every living comfort imaginable. At least he did not go wrong with that. Even if he had long stopped the affairs and tried to mend the error of his ways, the lifestyle he had lived ricocheted back to him. No one mentioned it aloud, but everyone who knew what a scandal it was, what a pain it was for Grace Cooper Eriksson.
Ben had taken it in stride and well, for a teenager. He had dealt with it as best as he could. There was minimal angst involved, and no acting out was required. There was no use to be negative to both parents, especially to a father he idolized. It would have made things worse if he had picked sides or criticized his parents’ decisions. So he did well in school, spent time with both parents, and made friends and acquaintances who were useful to his life. He had kept a few close friends, but those friends were quite far away from him now.
Ben coasted along relationships. It wasn’t with ease. It was more of a need in him to have companionship; a pretty face that went along with the companionship was a plus. There was some fear in him, but he refused to acknowledge it. He probably wasn’t ready yet, that was all, right? Who in the hell would have a need for marriage when things were alright? He didn’t want to mess things up even more. But he’d messed up with Denise. Wait, correction, she messed him up.
The mere mention of weddings and children sent panic alarms ringing through his head. It was a fight-or-flight stimulus, and flight won like it always did when it came to relationships. He had loved her at some point, but it wasn’t enough and he knew it. It was a cycle, a cycle he found difficult to break. Every time things got too serious, he flew the coop.
His mother had been badgering him to find a nice girl and settle down; even his father’s mother, grand old Ingrid Eriksson, agreed with this. It was also a funny story, how Ingrid Eriksson remained close to her daughter-in-law, Grace, despite the separation with her son, Claus.
“Your father was an imbecile for cheating on your mother,” Ingrid had told a twelve-year-old Ben the day he had first seen his mother cry hysterically.
Ben didn’t want to be an imbecile and cheat on his wife when he had found other women who could satisfy his wandering eye temporarily. His father had been right to marry Grace; she was beautiful, worked hard, and was a sweet person. Yet, even his mother’s qualities couldn’t satisfy his father. How would that go well for him? His whole life, he had been unsure about his relationships with other women. He had dated extremely younger, nubile women. He had also dated older women who were equally voracious. He had dated the daughters of millionaires, dated royalty, and dated independent-minded business women (Denise was one), but it didn’t hold on to his ego.
Just when you think you’ve found the one, she always has something that annoys the shit out of you, he told himself, remembering Denise. Did she really have to ruin something so good? The mere mention of marriage shattered all that he had felt for her. These girls were always so needy, always looking for reassurance, always dreaming about marriage and having kids, the instant they saw his attention was solely on them. He was no serial cheater. He always broke it off before he cavorted with someone else. That was because of the respect he had retained for his mother and for his grandmother, two women who had had a good hold on his behavior the moment they got wind of it.
He moved his jaw a little, feeling a bit of pain radiate from the slap. He had been slapped before, had been called an asshole. But hey, he was honest. Didn’t that count? He didn’t waste his time any longer than she would have. How could Denise say he was leading her on? He had wanted to work on their relationship on a day-to-day basis, just like how he planned the cars that rolled out of Orion’s factories. A day-to-day basis worked for him; it gave him time to assess things, like how he felt for Denise. And the day she mentioned marriage, his assessment was over.
Couldn’t she have waited until he wanted to take that step? Why was she in such a hurry? Denise was almost perfect–his mother approved of her immensely, and so did his grandmother. He shook his head, irritated at the thought of remembering Denise. Why in the hell was he thinking about her now? He should be concentrating on work.
His mother and grandmother wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily for breaking up with a potential daughter-in-law. And what was it with those two women in his life, always wanting grandchildren? It was annoying. Couldn’t he have just paid someone to date him for a while so they’d leave him alone?