We left Heathrow airport by eight A.M., bound on a flight for Paris. I was sitting in first class, wondering when Gloria would stop talking about work. Usually I didn’t mind, but winding down from fashion week, I wanted to talk about anything that wasn’t work-related. Like how maple syrup on top of pancakes, would be great right about now. I was starving and airline meals wouldn’t cut it.
“There are only eighteen couture houses,” Gloria said. I smiled because she was relentless in boring me with this useless trivia. “And they don’t make any money on the shows.”
“Wait, how can they not make money?”
“The shows are only to publicize their new collections. Initially, they only survive on their perfume and makeup products.” Which made sense—why models made good money doing advertising campaigns for those sorts of companies.
Luckily for me, Amanie had kept me busy throughout fashion week. I was booked for a few shows in New York, London, and now Paris was my last stop before returning home. I was relieved I hadn’t had the pleasure of crossing paths with Vanessa ever since the Ortiz show. If she hated me before, she definitely despises me now.
A short time later, I closed my magazine and glanced over at Gloria, who was now buried in her book. I took out my phone to check the time, and I was satisfied that we had twenty minutes before landing. I selected the photo gallery to look through the pictures of us: my dad, Gloria, Tracy, Noah, and Simon, celebrating my first runway show in New York. I couldn’t even count how many times I had looked at them, especially the one of Simon and me, having his arm around me, kissing my forehead. It was an intimate moment between us, captured by someone who had taken my phone without my knowing. I suspected it was Noah.
“Simon is already in Paris,” Gloria said without looking up from her book. “He’s staying at the same hotel.” Gloria discreetly glanced over my shoulder; she’d always been the nosy one.
“Oh really?” I tried to hide my smile. I suspected that much, especially after I had told him about Julian Gaspard. Julian wanted to show me the city on my second night in Paris. And when Simon went silent, and the humor left his eyes, then I knew he would be around.
“You already know that.” Gloria studied me.
“No, why would I?” I tried to frown.
“What’s going on between you two?” She closed her book and laid it down on her lap.
I wished I could answer that question, give her a straight answer, but I couldn’t. I had no idea when it came to Simon. I only had an insight on my side of the wall, aware of my own emotions. I hadn’t seen Simon in a week, but we texted each other often. Maybe too much for two people who claim to be only platonic?
“I … honestly don’t know.” I placed my head against my seatback for a short second before rolling my head back at her. “I mean, I do … and you’re not going to like my answer.” I had to find the courage to confess under Gloria’s scrutinizing eyes. It needed to be said; the truth hovered between us, wanting nothing more than to set me free from the secret I’d been hiding, not only from her and Simon … but from myself. “I think I’m in love with him …”
“I know,” Gloria lowered her eyes for a second. “I suspected that much. It’s easy to see it when you guys are together. There’s this magnitude of chemistry between the two of you.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “You need more than good chemistry. It’s obvious that something is holding him back.”
“Yes, there is; he’s afraid of hurting you.” Gloria met my eyes.
“Is that what he told you?”
“We spoke about it, yes.”
“I don’t understand why he’s talking about us to everyone? Instead of having this conversation with me?”
“He’s tried, Mable.” Gloria straightened her black-framed glasses.
“When?”
“That night at the Elite party.”
“Hold on. Simon made it clear that even though he cares about me, he didn’t want to get involved.”
“Hmm, no—you didn’t give him a chance to finish.” Gloria’s eyes softened, and I realized she was right; I had only assumed what he was saying.
“It’s complicated, and Simon has his reasons, but you didn’t give him the time to explain. You shot him down before he could.”
“Tell me what?”
“That he’s a widower.” Gloria cleared her throat.
“What?” Now I was even more confused.
“His wife died two years ago, and it messed him up terribly.” Her eyes watered.
“But I don’t understand …” The picture of him and Vanessa flashed across my mind. It doesn’t add up, because Vanessa is very much alive.
“But Vanessa?”
“What about her?” Gloria shook her head. “Look, I should have told you this before, but I thought I never had a reason to. Anyways, it’s making me cry just thinking about it, and you know I hate to cry in public. There’s a lot you don’t understand, and it’s not my place to tell you. It has to come from Simon.”
Good grief, this was driving me crazy. I leaned my head back against the seat, looking up at the ceiling. I could never imagine what it would be like, what Simon had gone through. I always felt he was trying to keep me at arm’s length, and now I knew why.
A widower? If only I had let Simon finish talking that night. I had been insensitive, shutting him down—I had wanted to hurt him back. Was Gloria right, warning me to stay away? I realized now I was not what Simon needed. He was broken, and I could never be the one to fix him, because I needed fine-tuning myself.
“What should I do?” Simon and I cared for one another, even if we might never act on it … It existed, and it was ours, but I didn’t think I could live in the silence for much longer. Never taking that last final step, living with these big emotions and wondering if he felt the same way too.
“I don’t know, but I will tell you what I said to him. You both need to sit down and figure out what you mean to each other.”
“You’re taking this rather well.” I studied her for a minute. “Aren’t you going to discourage me? That we’re not right for each other?”
“No. I realize it now; I was wrong. Who am I to come in the way of love?” She paused. “I know for a fact he really cares about you. I mean not many people would have done what he did—for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Elite never paid you for that cover.”
“I don’t understand. But I got paid for it.” My brows crumpled together.
“No, honey, Simon gave you a personal check. Saying Elite paid him a lump sum, and he was paying your share through his account? No, none of it was true.”
“But why would he do that?”
“What would you do for someone you love?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Mon cher, papa. We’ve landed and we’re okay. I’ll call you when I get settled in the hotel. XX Mable.”
I texted my dad while I waited for my suitcase to arrive at the baggage claim. I was sure he had been tracking my flight sporadically, watching the little plane on the screen inch its way to its destination. We had spoken two days before, and he was in the kitchen cooking with Lauren. He sounded happy, almost rejuvenated, and it made me wonder if it was the trauma of a broken marriage that had been the culprit, holding him back from whatever joy life could offer. I had always wondered if love could feed a hungry heart, and now I knew: at least for my dad, it could.
After we had collected our luggage, we went through the glass sliding door, unaware that a black limo was waiting to bring us to our hotel, compliments of Mr. Gaspard. After the Elite cover party, Julian had somehow gotten my number from someone who knew someone, thinking it was my agent. So he said, but later I found out that Julian had already booked me for an upcoming spring campaign with Amanie way before he contacted me. And since he had me on the phone, he thought it wouldn’t hurt to get to know each other.
Smooth.
He had disclosed to Amanie that he found my personality sophisticated beyond my years. An intellectual beauty was exactly what his business had been looking for. I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to date someone like Julian, but my heart wouldn’t have any of it, because it was already occupied by the Australian photographer.
Besides, with someone like Julian Gaspard, there were other women woven into his life. I knew that too. He was a man who manipulated things into his own favor, which made him dangerous for someone in my position. He could make or break my career. I couldn’t say I wasn’t flattered by the attention, and I needed the job, but it didn’t mean I would sell myself out. I had to be smart about it, so I told him there was someone else in my life, and it seemed to have worked until I saw a driver holding out a sign with my name on it, standing in front of a long black shiny car. Only when I opened the door to our hotel room did I realize this might be more than a problem.
Julian Gaspard was a man that wasn’t afraid of showing his true intentions, and he showed it then with big bouquets of roses displayed all around the room, and the mother of all bouquets affixed on the round table.
“Wow, this guy is something else,” Gloria said, shoving her suitcase in the corner.
“Maybe they’re for you?” I said, looking around the room.
“I wish Tracy could be this romantic.”
“You find this romantic?” I passed a soft petal between my fingers.
“You don’t?”
“Not really. Flowers die,” I shrugged.
Our room at the Hotel Le Maurice was vast and beautiful, regal—fit for a princess. There were baskets filled with makeup and clothing racks set up at the other end of the wall— all designer stuff that was sent to Gloria. This was a privilege that came with the job, that Gloria acquired by working hard and establishing healthy relationships in the industry.
“Wow, we have to work on your emo outlook on love,” Gloria said, picking up her suitcase and rolling it into the bedroom next to the sitting room. My first intentions were not to read the card with my name on it, leaning against the tall crystal vase.
Nope.
I had only one desire: to walk across the room, open those French doors, and step out onto the gallery, losing myself in the brisk morning air.
I was in Paris.
Never in my wildest dreams had I thought this day would come. My life smelled and looked different. How else can I explain it? I was a long way from the girl who had come to New York to pursue a dream, and look at me now—I was even wearing nail polish! Gone were the days of vintage T-shirts—replaced with designer threads. This wasn’t only my job, but it had become my lifestyle. I was given the possibility to travel around the world, and it opened my eyes to all sorts of new experiences. This new chapter of my life was exciting, but also terrifying, because I didn’t want to get caught up in something I had no control over. There’s a price to pay when you’re the next money girl, and I had to find a balance between the paradoxes— the new and the real me. In my mind, they were already drawn up. I fabricated one for the other to survive. Funny, though; these days the only time I felt free enough to be myself was around Simon.
“You must have made quite an impression on him.” Gloria smiled, waving the card out when I came back into the room.
“Geez, you’re so nosy.” I plucked the card out of her hand.
“When the richest, most eligible bachelor in France sends my cousin flowers, how could I not?” she said. “Now what the hell are we going to do with all these roses?”
“Do I have to call him to thank him? As of next week, technically he will be my boss.”
“I guess.” Gloria’s face said it all. This was not the situation I wanted to find myself in.
“Admit it … this is over the top. Like borderline creepy.”
“If you feel uncomfortable with this attention then don’t say anything to encourage him any further.”
“Said the girl who was too quick to take up on a free ride,” I said.
“I’m not going to refuse traveling in style while we are in Paris.” She shrugged, leaving me to read the card to myself.
My dear Mable. I would have loved to show you my city and have the privilege of staring into your beautiful eyes. What can I do to change your mind? You know where to find me.
Julian.
I couldn’t seem to shake off the feeling that there was something odd about Julian. I tossed the card into the air and watched it slowly descend to the ground.
“What are you thinking?” Gloria watched me from across the room.
“That it sucks to have the wrong guy chase after you.” My shoulders went limp. I couldn’t think of Julian, or anyone, for that matter, not when Simon occupied every inch of my brain. All I ever wanted was to be with Simon, more so since Gloria had told me about the personal check. I knew there was no end to what the man would do for me. He had been there pushing me along the way, making my dreams into a reality. Simon believed in me when I didn’t. Now I allowed my stupid pride to keep him at bay.
“You know, Simon is not the kind of guy to shower a girl with gifts. He isn’t big on public displays of affection.”
“I’m okay with that. I don’t need Simon’s money or gifts. This is not what I’m looking for.” I lifted my hand to touch the ridiculous roses. “I should return the money.”
“No—oh no. Simon can never find out I told you. He will never trust me with anything again.”
“All I want from Simon is for him to be up-front with me.” I sat down on the pink settee near the window.
“In all fairness, Mable, you should start with being honest with Simon if you expect that in return.”
“Let’s talk about something else, shall we?” I picked up the magazine on the coffee table and skimmed through it. I know she’s right, but I’m afraid of ruining things between Simon and me. It’s always fear that keeps us from the things we want.
“What are you wearing at the Jean-Pierre party tomorrow?” Gloria went through the rack of colorful clothing.
“I was thinking of wearing the maxi dress.”
“Which one, the jersey knit?” Gloria made a funny face.
“Hey, what’s wrong with it?”
She quickly pushed the clothing to one side. “Here, this is what you should be wearing.” She pulled something off the rack and held it out: a beautiful emerald-green silk dress. “It’s meant to be; it’s in your size.” Suddenly I had a fairy godmother. “Wear this, Mable, it will be such a shame if you don’t. Do it … you will break hearts.”
“Oh, I don’t care—boys suck. All I want now is sleep,” I mumbled, sliding farther into the settee and covering my face with the magazine.
“You’re hopeless. I’m glad I’ve kept the bill,” she murmured under her breath.
“What bill?”
“For your birthday gift. You won’t be needing it since you’ve got the most eligible bachelors on your tail.” She smiled.
“What did you get me?”
“A T-shirt that has a big cat on it with the words Crazy Cat Lady Forever written at the bottom.”
I should have known better than to ask. This inside joke between us was getting old fast. “You got me a T-shirt for my birthday? You’re a cheapskate,” I teased.
“It cost me two hundred seventy-five dollars.”
“What?”
“It’s a Ronaldo.”
“Shit, are you crazy? Do you know how many Nutella jars I can buy with that? Return it.” I yawned. “But don’t count the cat lady out just yet.”