Chapter Four
She flew in from London yesterday just for this shoot and after toiling ten hours under the bright studio lights, Jordana was happy it was over. Another Vogue cover to add to her already thick modeling book.
Anna Wintour herself came to preside over the entire affair—her vision of Zen elegance captured with each still she bestowed with glacier approval.
Wintour was such a taskmaster. Everyone on the set were jumping on her command, and that included the photographer. It was no wonder her previous assistant so loved and hated her that the same assistant wrote a semi-autobiographical book about the legendary Vogue editor. Regardless of her reputation as a she-devil-in-Prada, Jordana respected the mercurial fashion editor. She’d like to think that Anna felt the same about her. Francesca said it was always Anna who’d asked for her. That she considered her over fellow supermodels and A-list celebs spoke volumes.
She gave a sigh of relief when the rented limo took her back to the hotel.
She was exhausted. While she managed to snatch several hours of sleep in flight, she was still jet-lagged. Her whole body ached. Even her skin felt tight from fatigue.
She took the private lift to her assigned floor. She was almost asleep on her feet as she swiped the electronic key card of the room.
After a quick shower, she hit the sack and was sleeping soundly when her phone rang just before midnight. It was Francesca. Jordana was tempted not to take the call but changed her mind.
“Sugar, you’re still up?” the other woman asked.
Jordana grunted an unintelligible reply.
“Listen, Albert Mulroney of Calvin Klein called. It’s kind of urgent. They are launching Aurora next month. Oh, it’s their new signature fragrance for women. FYI.”
“What’s it got to do with me, Francesca?” she asked grumpily. She was dead-tired and in tremendous need of a good night sleep.
Francesca appeared or pretended not to notice her crabbiness.
Her booker knew she can be grouchy when sleep-deprived.
“Apparently, the original model they have in mind is…naturament…Lara Stone, but she’s pregnant, you know how it goes…so they decided to drop her from this campaign. They thought about you and wanted to know ASAP if you’re willing to get in and fill her fey shoes.”
Calvin Klein was one of the first companies who had signed her for a major campaign. Francesca knew that. Her booker was indeed a very wily woman.
“Okay, okay. Where’s the photo shoot?”
“Great! Oh, it will be shot on location…in Anchorage, Alaska.”
“Whaat?! But Francesca…I already told you that I’m leaving for Italy this weekend!” she protested. Alaska? Why can’t it be anywhere nearer? Like Montana?
“Kirk Larsen is the photographer and he wanted real northern lights for his pictures. You know what a nature nut he is. Besides, the photo shoot will finish a day early. You can still attend that weekend wedding, provided you jump on the plane first thing tomorrow.”
She groaned. “First flight out?”
“Sorry, honey. I tried to arrange for a later flight but Kirk wants your gorgeous ass as soon as possible.”
“Ugh.”
“So, will you do it?”
Jordana took a deep breath.
“Yeah…okay, I’ll be there. Now get off the line and let me get some sleep!”
Francesca chuckled before finishing the call.
Jordana left on the first flight for Alaska the following morning. At least she was flying first class, a far cry from the economy seats she used to be in when she was just starting to model. The first class seats, limo service, luxury hotels were just reserved for the top models like Heidi, Giselle, Adrianna and the like. She’d never actually thought of becoming equally famous like them.
At first, modeling was just a means to save money so she could send herself to school. Just like Leandro did. When she began to earn enough, she hired a tutor for her and Leandro so that they can both finish high school via correspondence. She valued education and always got excellent grades. When she took her exams, she got really high SATs, high enough to qualify her at Ivy League institutions like Browne or Columbia. She wanted to become a doctor and set up a medical practice in her native Brazil, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to afford it if she stopped working then.
She wanted that dream so bad and she was willing to work hard to get it.
So she went to every cattle call.
At first, booking agents thought of her as unbookable—she was too exotic, her breast size was too big, she can’t do runway because she can’t walk properly. She heard them all. Within earshot.
But she didn't let the constant rejection get in the way. She persisted and eventually, it paid off. At first she got regular catalog work, which enabled her to pay the bills.
She never turned down assignments, unless it required her to go completely nude. That was something she couldn’t do. Not even for PETA. It did cause several clients to drop her for not going all the way. But she had the drive and the impeccable work ethic: she showed up on time, never complained, never gave people around her a bad time. Envious fellow models had bitched that she was a major suck-up. She didn’t give them any mind. For her, it was all in a day’s work. A step closer into making her dream a reality.
Slowly, her modeling portfolio began to grow. Her model book began to thicken with “tears”— pictures of her from actual magazine pages. Casting agents and other photographers began to recommend and drop her name to big-name clients.
She decided to postpone her university plans when the modeling stint really took off. By then it had developed into a career.
Photographers remarked she was a natural and that the camera loved her. That she didn’t hold anything back. She had “it”— that extra factor which separated her from the bevy of models. Honestly, she never thought of herself as good-looking growing up. Over the years, she had grown comfortable with her looks but her perception of herself remained the same.
She was lucky to have good bone structure and features that stood out but that didn’t mean she was better than everyone else or really special. She wasn’t buying into all that hype about her. Maybe that was the reason many fashion insiders liked working with her. According to them, she wasn’t full of herself.
But she was proud of how she was able to carve a brand for herself in a cutthroat industry. She can do high fashion, she can do lingerie, she can do commercial and she can do editorial. She was one of the most versatile models around.
But the downside was, fame always came with a price.
In her case, it was the loss of privacy.
But on the upside, she was able to use her celebrity to support various civic initiatives to help people. For years, she had been channeling a hefty portion of her earnings to help fund orphanages, homes for abandoned kids and shelters for abused children in Brazil. In that sense, it was a good enough trade-off.
When she arrived at the airport, she was whisked off to a hotel to rest for a few hours. By afternoon, she was driven by one of the staff to the location of the photo shoot.
They had to wait for night time before the northern lights or aurora borealis showed up in the Alaskan sky.
The weather that day was considered mild for autumn, according to their local guide, but for someone who had lived in a temperate country for most of her early life, Jordana was susceptible to the cold.
Whoever said that modeling was a glamorous job should try it for a day, as she continued to brave the wintry Alaskan air. The air was so dry and icy that it was enough to form icicles on her perfectly-curled eyelashes and turn her lips blue beneath the red lipstick she was wearing.
Still, she didn’t bitch about it since the rest of the crew were also exposed to the frigid temperature. She did request for a cup of steaming hot coffee from the caterer to thaw her insides a bit.
It was almost midnight when the night time sky began to light up. Their entire group was amazed. The bright, multi-hued colors were extremely fast-changing—from bright yellow, green, red, purple and blue.
Jordana was entranced. Watching nature’s very own light show was worth the cold, the long trip, the long working hours…everything! It was simply spectacular. She had never seen a more beautiful sight.
As the stylist made last minute adjustments to the artful, cascading curls on her shoulders, she tried not to give in to shivers beneath the artificial fur coat wrapped around her—the only warm clothing she had for this shoot.
By the time Kirk Larsen signalled for the start of the shoot, Jordana gave her everything in front of the camera. She stepped into character that the photographer and stylist wanted: she was Aurora, goddess of dawn. She projected, she posed and stretched.
She had worked with Kirk in the past, so she already knew his signature style. For one thing, he liked his subject to be as still as possible while he moved around to capture the best angle on frame. With the wintry air all around, it wasn’t an easy task to stay immobile when she was trying her best not to break out in a case of shivers.
She gazed at the northern lights dancing above her. She started to meditate, using the lights as her focus. The last time she looked up the sky was at her now abandoned house. That was more than a month ago.
A sudden, overwhelming sadness descended upon her.
“Gorgeous! Gorgeous look on your face! Hold that pose—that is so sexy!” Kirk’s voice cut through her reverie.
She did as she was asked.
They think I look beautiful in my sadness, she thought bleakly.
As she boarded the flight from Anchorage to Perugia, Italy, Jordana felt really excited to see Mel and begin her time off work. When was the last time she ever went on a vacation? She can’t even remember. It was always work, work, work.
She was grateful for Mel’s help in securing an upgrade for her seat despite the short notice. There was only one stop-over, which lasted for an hour, so there was no run-ins with the press.
She did get recognized before her plane departed at the airport. She gamely signed about ten autographs, most of them Alaskan locals who were very sweet in asking her.
She tried calling Leandro before she boarded but he wasn’t picking up. He was probably a bit ticked that she went against his advice to stay put and ditch Mel’s wedding. He insisted Mel would understand, given the situation.
“I don’t see why you’re so against this. Mel’s our friend. Remember her Dad? He was the reason why we’re both here,” she reminded him as they were eating lunch at The Plaza’s renowned The Rose Club last week. “Besides, I’m off for Europe in a few weeks anyway. Going there a few weeks earlier than planned will not be a big difference.”
“Yes it will. If you leave as scheduled by the agency, you’ll be with the other models. There’s safety in numbers, that’s how animal packs survived in the wild for millions of years. You’re vulnerable alone, Dana. European paparazzi are a lot more vicious than their American counterparts. You going there by yourself is like asking for them to descend on you. Call Mel and beg off,” he persuaded.
“I can’t. Lee, this is Mel. I couldn’t…wouldn’t do that to her. And besides, since you’re not coming, someone has to represent one of us,” she protested while savoring the exceptionally sumptuous crème fraiche prepared by none other than the executive chef, whose niece was a fan of hers.
“Dana, don’t guilt-trip me. You know I can’t back out of the trip to Australia,” he protested. Lately he had been extremely busy. She hadn’t seen him for almost a month.
Leandro owned ImageHouse, a management firm that represented celebrities—sportsmen, models, musicians and actors. On the side, he dabbled in hedge fund management and real estate, particularly mid-income construction projects.
“I was held hostage by the paparazzi in a hotel for more than a month! I won’t let them get in the way of attending Mel’s wedding.”
“I am just worried. I have a bad feeling about the entire thing.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic, Lee. Besides, what could possibly happen in a wedding? Get attacked by the mafiosi? Give me a break!
In the end she did as she wanted. Leandro was peeved or so she believed. She couldn’t even get a hold of him even if she left dozens of messages in his voice mail or through his PA, Penny. He didn’t return her calls.
After trying to dial him for the tenth time, she gave up. The plane was taxiing along the runway, ready to take off.
Oh, well…
She switched off her mobile phone and spent the rest of the flight trying to squeeze in some quality, well-earned sleep.
PERUGIA
UMBRIA, ITALY
Lonzo drove all the way to the Castello Firenze a day before the wedding. The castello was located in a remote part of Umbria, surrounded by rolling hills. The castle, made of brick and stone had been the seat of the Romolini family for centuries. At one time it was even converted into a church. In present times, the castle was beautifully restored to its full glory—a classic example of early medieval architecture.
But he didn’t go there to see the majestic sights. His purpose was to change Rocco’s mind before he committed the biggest mistake of his life. Binding himself to a woman was madness. He felt it was his duty to wake his bestfriend from his stupor.
As he drove inside the long, paved driveway leading to the castle, he immediately noted the wedding preparations. The event management was in high gear—a huge tent was erected in the huge castle gardens and people were busily arranging things for the festivities—florists, caterers, event helpers went about like clockwork. They took directions from the wedding coordinator, who were ordering everyone like a drill sergeant.
While parking his gleaming Ferrari in the parking space, he caught sight of Rocco’s mother, Contessa Maria Romolini waiting for him near the entrance of their grand home.
She looked…well…happy and years younger. It was as if the upcoming nuptials of her only son had the power to take ten years off her lovely, aristocratic face.
“Lonzo, caro! You came!” the contessa welcomed him delightedly with open arms, kissing both his cheeks. “That wretched son of mine said you’re going to bail out on me.”
Your wretched son was right. He almost skipped the wedding.
“Zia Maria…you look very beautiful, as always,” he said after affectionately hugging Rocco’s mother. “Bail? Me? I told you never to believe that good-for-nothing son of yours.”
He had known her family for a long time. He was the grubby kid that Rocco would often invite home. Despite her social standing, Maria Romolini wasn’t a snob. She genuinely received him in her home and fussed over him like a true member of her family. In many ways, she was the mother that he never had.
“I know! But I’m really happy you’re here. I still can’t believe it, Lonzo. My constant prayers are finally answered. My dear Rocco’s finally getting married!”
Not if I can help it, he thought. “That makes the two of us, Zia.”
“Come, come…have some biscotti. Constanzia baked some this morning. Oh, leave your things. I’ll ask someone to bring it up to your room,” Zia Maria said as she led him inside.
“It’s okay, Zia. I’m good,” he said, indicating the monkey suit and overnight bag he was carrying.
“Oh…you’re not staying after the wedding?” the older woman was surprised.
He responded with a smile, “Work beckons, Zia.”
She clucked her disapproval like a mother hen worrying over her chick.
“Now, Lonzo…you’re working too hard, my dear boy. It’s also about time you think about the future…like Rocco…”
Great. Now Zia Maria was trying her hand at matchmaking. God help him if he’d be successful at breaking off Rocco’s wedding. Zia would probably stab him with a pitchfork. But she’d come around. She loved him too much to stay angry with him for too long.
“Amici!” he heard his friend’s voice behind him. He almost sighed in relief at the groom’s arrival. It deflected Zia’s prodding questions about his bachelor status. She excused herself to speak with the wedding planner.
When Lonzo turned to look at his bestfriend, he saw a grinning Rocco with his arm over a woman who wore a simple white shirt over a pair of cut-offs.
He was surprised.
Rocco told the truth when he said that his intended was not his usual type. The bride-to-be was a far cry from the women Rocco once paraded on a regular basis: beautiful-blonde-centerfoldish-types with matching fifth-grader IQs.
The woman standing beside his friend was a complete antithesis: she was petite, red-haired, and very pretty in an intelligent-looking way. The young Jodie Foster came into mind as he frankly observed his friend’s soon-to-be wife. She was openly smiling at him like he was some long-lost puppy.
“Hi! You must be Lonzo! I’m Mel…the evil bride-to-be,” she joked as she extended a hand toward him—which he took and firmly shook. He was glaring the entire time at his childhood friend.
“Lonzo, I swear I didn’t tell her you were really trying your damnest to convince me to leave her at the altar! Honestly! Scout’s honor!” Rocco was on a roll. The man had a death wish.
“You were never a scout, you cazzo,” Lonzo muttered dryly. “You were never honorable, too.”
It was Melissa turn to laugh.
“All right, I’m out of here before you two spill blood and ruin my shirt.”
“That I cannot promise,” he responded. “Your intended is an ass. I have to straighten him out a bit.”
Mel gave him a smile.
“Try not to give my groom a concussion, Lonzo. I would really hate being left standing dressed in white tomorrow. I have to hunt you down if you do. I happen to be very good with that. Just a little warning. A pleasure meeting you at last,” she gracefully said.
He gave a non-committal grin in reply.
Still smiling, she turned and walked toward her future mother-in-law, leaving them alone.
He had to admit, he had expected a cosmetically-enhanced, money-grabbing bimbo. He didn’t expect his friend’s future wife to be this saucy. Rocco’s exes were known for their sexual capabilities, not their sense of humor.
He glanced at Rocco. He wanted to punch his friend for putting him in an awkward situation.
When Melissa was out of hearing range, they turned to walk and it was Rocco’s turn to ask.
“Well, what do you think of Mel?”
“You were right. Not your usual fare—”
“I told you she was different,” he said proudly.
“Please, I’ve only known the woman for less than ten minutes. Not enough for me to form an opinion.”
Rocco snickered. “Oh, really? You have a lot to say about her before you even saw her. Come on, Lonzo. Give me your best anti-marriage shot. You have to admit, I have chosen well.”
He sneered. “You’re whipped. Had to agree, she’s different all right. For once she’s not after your money and Zia Maria really likes her. But still, you’ve known her for a relatively short time.”
“That’s not the point. What difference does time make? Nothing. What’s important is, I’m in love with her,” Rocco declared with so much raw emotion which surprised him.
He itched to hit the back of Rocco’s head to drive some sense into his friend. Six months ago, Rocco would rather be caught dead than say those flowery words. Now he was spewing love words like a besotted swain. What the fuck happened here?
They continued to walk silently until they reached the stables at the back of the property.
“Lonz, you may think this is all foolish. Damn, I didn’t even think I’ll be marrying anyone. I’ve tried to run from the marriage trap. We’re too alike, you and I. But I have to say, meeting Mel is the best thing that ever happened to me. We just…clicked. We just do…on so many levels that I simply can’t imagine my life without her. True love really exists, Lonz. Don’t scoff at it.”
“True love? Give me a break, Rocco. You don’t really believe that.”
Rocco smiled at him. “You know what? It’s everything that it’s being touted to be…you’ll never know what hit you until it’s too late.”
He snorted. “Bollocks!”
His friend just shook his head at him.
“No, it’s not. So stop trying to ruin my wedding, Lonz. I know what I am getting myself in for. I want this and I need her. ”
Lonzo realized that convincing his friend against marriage was an exercise in vain. The guy’s mind was really made up.
He failed. He sighed in defeat. For now.
“So how many will be witnessing you wear the shackles tomorrow?” he asked, changing the topic.
“Why? You afraid I’ve invited your exes? I was really tempted at one point but I was overruled by Mama and Mel. Or were you asking me indirectly if Mel’s maid-of-honor’s here?”
He shrugged. He couldn’t care less for Mel’s bestfriend. He intended to leave the place as soon as the ceremony was over. He won’t be hovering.
“Lonz, I’ll wait for the day when you will finally eat your words. It only takes one woman, the right woman to topple you from your tower of crap.”
Lonzo laughed. His friend was really brainwashed in the cult of true love. Dimwit.
“Then you shall wait in vain, my friend. Hell will freeze over first.”
Rocco stared back in exasperation. Then his friend checked the time.
“We have to go or else we will be late.”
“Late for what?”
“Dinner…what else? My dear mother is hosting it. You know how a stickler for punctuality she is.”
“Man, do I have to make an appearance? I know all your relatives already.”
“Sorry, paisan. Non-negotiable. And besides, the maid-of-honor might be there…”
“I’m not interested, Rocco. So drop the not so subtle hints. Besides, virgins are overrated. Not that I ever believed she’s one.”
“You’re such a jaded bastard.”
“No. Just a realist. Just look at Britney Spears and you’ll get my point.”
“Britney Spears?! You’ve accused me of gossiping and reading smut…look who’s talking now.”
Lonzo hit his friend in the solar plexus in retaliation before making a run for the castle’s entrance, leaving Rocco behind sputtering and cursing him colorfully.