5

Jenny was right.

I never did go back to the apartment in Nashville. That lingerie show went so well that I signed an extended contract with Celestial and there were catalogue shoots and more shows. Mr. Morton sorted out my work visa with help from Clotilde, and I ended up in a little flat with three other models: two European, one African. They were all better educated and more sophisticated, so we didn’t bond.

They had stylish boyfriends who picked them up in shiny sports cars and they came home giggling drunk, with more presents than they could carry. Part of me wanted in on that world, but I feared it too, because every man might be Bobby Ray Hudgens beneath the skin. Money just lacquered over the awful, hiding the base violence of a place like Barrettville, and even there, the haves did what they wanted to the have-nots.

Sometimes I missed my brothers and sisters, but any money I sent, Mama would confiscate and pour into her habit. If there was a way out for any of them, they’d have to find it on their own, just like I did. Maybe that made me heartless, but if any of them managed to track me down, I would help then.

When I wasn’t working, I took language classes, learning German, French, and Italian. I picked up German faster than the Romance languages, but overall I had a knack for it. From time to time I felt guilty about how I’d left Jenny, so I sent money to her, kept in touch via email. Her words on screen kept me from feeling too lonely, most days.

Everything’s okay here. Still working at the car wash. I don’t like the new girl, and I miss you. But I heard you suggested me for a European shampoo commercial. Thank you for that! I didn’t get it, they went with someone “less ethnic.” I did some catalogue work for that sportswear company in Galveston recently and I guess I’ll be doing a department store show next month. I’m working on my GED, just like you told me, because I don’t want you nagging me. Write soon, OK?

Jenny and I texted a lot, too, just quick updates more than actual conversations because of the time difference. Still, it was nice waking up to a heart or a smiley face from her, especially since I didn’t have friends here. Ostensibly I was still repped by Del Morton, but he’d opened his hands to let me sink or swim with Celestial.

I swam.

By the end of the first year, I’d accepted a couple of television commercials, and I was the face for an expensive Italian rejuvenating cream, too. As my initial contracts expired, the offers were still coming, and the money was seductive, but I watched girls around me succumb to eating disorders and drug addiction to stay competitive and decided to leave under my own steam.

Once I settled into my new life, I figured, maybe I could send Jenny tickets for a visit. She’d been hinting that she wanted to come for a while; she’d never been to Europe, and it would be fun having her here. I had to get sorted out first, separate myself from the world of wine for breakfast and ecstasy in my bathroom and white powder spilled on my damn coffee table when I woke up.

The next day, I went to inform Clotilde that I wouldn’t be signing on for another year. Her office always intimidated me, all cream and gilt, with feminine touches that defiantly asserted her power as chief executive officer of a profitable lingerie company. Mannequins had been brought with the next season’s designs and she was still considering them when the assistant ushered me in.

“What do you think of this one?”

It was a matched bra and panty set in cerulean, satin, and lace. Cocking my head, I considered. “Pretty, but it’s something you wear for a lover.”

“As I thought. Did you come to sign the contract, or will you be bringing Del to badger me for better terms?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s an excellent offer with generous conditions, and you’ve been good to me … so this is hard. But it’s time for me to pursue other opportunities.”

A few photographers had suggested that I could make the transition to couture, but I was an inch too short to stand out as a supermodel, and I didn’t want to fail upward. I’d never coveted fame. I had a rep for being a buzzkill, and some men who’d tried me said I was a frigid bitch behind my back. There was a reason I lived so chastely, however. People always talked, and I needed a certain reputation to get back to anyone who might inquire about me. Men tended to want what they couldn’t have, so it wouldn’t do at all if I appeared to be an easy acquisition.

Hence my resignation from Celestial. I had to be driven and determined, committed to self-improvement. Everything that happened from this point forward had to seem like Michael Durst’s plan, not mine.

Clotilde didn’t take it well. “Why, Marlena? Are you going to Luxe­wear? Because you should know—”

“No.” Interrupting was rude, but I needed to set the record straight. “I want to go to school here. I’ve heard that there are opportunities for international students.”

That revelation appeased Clotilde, once she realized I was resolute. “It’s not bad for you to take a long view. Most girls only think about being famous.” Briskly, she went on to confirm what I’d heard about German universities and offered to have her assistant compile a list of schools that might be a good fit. “There’s one here, in fact.”

“Again, thanks for everything.”

“Juliet will email you with the information. Take care, Marlena.”

As I stepped out of Clotilde’s office, I met Michael Durst again. It wasn’t a coincidence; I’d chosen to give notice at that time because I knew he had an appointment. From what Del had told me, Durst had been watching over me from a distance. It was reasonable to take that as tacit interest, which would increase or decrease depending on my moves.

I suspected he’d respond, now that I’d resigned as a model.

Durst owned shares in Celestial and in UMAX entertainment, along with several other businesses. Those were minor aspects of his portfolio, according to what other models had said. In the last year I’d seen women try to hook up with him, but it rarely worked, possibly because they knew to a decimal point how much he was worth and what real estate deals he was currently closing. He seemed like a shark, far too canny to be suckered by a gold-digger.

This man didn’t age. Four years earlier, he’d looked to be in his late thirties, and still seemed to be; an immortal in his prime. Like the first time I’d seen him, he was dressed well, in a custom-tailored gray suit, Rolex on his wrist. His gaze raked over me, coolly impersonal, and his smile told me nothing at all.

“Have you made a decision?” he asked.

“It’s time for me to move on,” I answered.

“An excellent choice.”

“Is it?”

“Indisputably. You don’t have what it takes to succeed at the highest levels. There’s no sense in throwing yourself at a glass wall like a brainless bird.”

That conjured a vivid, awful picture of a wren slamming into a window, dropping broken and bloody to the ground. I blinked to clear that image. “If I didn’t agree with you, I might take offense.”

“You’re too clever for that,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“I know you, Marlena. From the first moment I saw you in Del Morton’s office, I knew you would belong to me. I also understood that you were too young, and that I had to let you realize it on your own.”

It was equal measures heady and overwhelming, hearing that from a rich and powerful man. In truth, I’d made up my mind to have him long before we met. He was destined to be mine the first time I saw his picture in the tabloids, so from my perspective, this was inevitable. I admired the shine of his expensive Italian leather loafers, and the promise of a Cinderella story for my very own. I remembered the shotgun shack and being unable to sleep for my stomach chewing at my backbone.

The devil had a run at me, whispering, With him, you can have anything you want. He’ll make the world kneel at your feet.

That’s the dream, right?

Because a girl who used to scrub chimneys was pretty, the prince wanted her, and when she ran, he kept her shoe as a souvenir and hunted her down, relentless in his desire. Little girls were raised wishing for that fate, but it always seemed strange to me that she could be claimed. On a prince’s whim, she left her old life and became a princess in a fancy room. Did anyone ever ask what came next? Whether she missed her pet mice, or whether she was happy in her ivory tower, even though the prince wouldn’t let her do her own shopping and she couldn’t choose her friends, because the prince wanted her, and he got her, and he owned her, forever after.

Tilting my head, I smiled up at him. “Shouldn’t you ask me to dinner first? Seems like you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

His mouth curved. “I don’t mind dancing with you, as long as you know where we’ll be when the music stops.”