“Gabrielle’s taking off faster than fat-free potato chips at a Weight Watchers rally,” Gregory von Ulrich announced to the others in the room. He had called this meeting with Jaci and Felicia, now Gabrielle’s full-time publicist, to discuss strategy for the model’s booming career. “The editors love her. Since the Appeal job, she’s done three magazine covers, including Vogue,” Greg said, gesturing toward the advance copy that lay on the conference table. “I’d say our young starlet has arrived.”
“But it’s the August issue,” Jaci pointed out. August was notorious for being the least prestigious cover of the year.
“The cover of Vogue is the cover of Vogue, twelve months out of the year. Just doing a cover shot for them is like a model’s debutante ball. Besides, this certainly won’t be her last. What’s the update on publicity?”
Felicia, lost in her own thoughts, did not hear the question. Though her body was present, her mind was preoccupied with her next appointment. In less than two hours she would go through a life-altering experience—an experience she’d give anything not to go through alone.
Shortly after returning from the cruise, Felicia had begun to suspect that she was pregnant. Though she’d had all the signs of an approaching menstrual period—headache, bloating, cramps—the month came and went without her period making an appearance. Her doctor’s appointment last week had confirmed Felicia’s suspicions. Now, three months later, she’d run out of time.
How could this happen? she asked herself for the ten-millionth time. She’d always been so careful about birth control. For eight years she’d used a diaphragm without incident. Why did it have to fail the one and only time she’d been unfaithful?
This was all wrong. Not only was this pregnancy unexpected, it came at a time when her personal life was in a shambles. Everything was up in the air, drifting in the stratosphere, unresolved and uncomfortably tenuous. Though she and Trace were now in counseling, Felicia knew in her heart that she was only going through the motions. She often thought about separation, if only to ease the tension and give her time to sort out her confusion and guilt. But if she and Trace wound up living in separate households, she’d then have to deal squarely with her feelings for Lexis.
Since returning from Martinique, Felicia had found herself doing exactly what she promised not to do—pushing Lexis away. They talked on the phone constantly but had actually seen each other only four or five times. On each occasion Felicia had gently refused to go to bed with Lexis again. She was afraid it would only confuse her more, and she had too many things on her plate to worry about.
If a failing marriage or the uncertain future of a new love affair were her only concerns, she’d consider going through with this pregnancy. Plenty of children were conceived during bad relationships and despite their parents’ divorce grew up to be successful, productive adults. No, a miserable love life was the least of her problems. The overwhelming predicament Felicia was facing was that she had no idea who was the father of her baby.
Neither man had reason to suspect her pregnancy. Lexis was no problem, because he didn’t see Felicia on a daily basis, but Trace seemed to monitor her monthly cycle as if it were his own. To throw him off, Felicia went through the motions of having a period and blamed her general malaise on the flu that was conveniently making the rounds.
For a fleeting moment she’d considered having this child, but its dubious paternity made any such thought an impossibility. After a long, heart-wrenching search, Felicia had come to the determination that abortion was her only answer. Terminating this pregnancy was the most difficult decision she’d ever had to make. She was not only snatching fatherhood from one man but cheating her folks out of becoming grandparents as well. Still, Felicia was thankful that she had the right to choose what was best for her, and that a safe, legal option was available.
Despite the emotional turmoil she was experiencing, Felicia’s decision was irreversible. She was looking forward to having this ordeal over and done with, so she could get back to putting the pieces of her shattered life together. She knew, however, that things were never going to be the same. She was never going to be the same.
“Felicia?”
“Sorry, Greg. My mind drifted off for a moment.”
“I asked what kind of response Gabrielle’s been getting from the press.”
“Folks are clamoring to get Gabrielle on both the inside and outside of their publications. She has a Q and A coming out in GQ next week, and Young Miss is featuring her in a story on hot young models.”
“That’s good to hear, but I don’t want her associated with those damn tabloids and sleazy gossip columns. I don’t want to read about who she’s sleeping with or what nightclub she’s been seen in. I want her image to stay pure.”
“We don’t have to worry about that with Gabrielle,” Jaci told him. “She’s as professional as they come. Everybody loves her—the photographers, editors, casting directors—everybody.”
“I can vouch for her, too,” Felicia said. “She’s a pro.”
“She is very hot right now, and when her Vogue cover hits the newsstands next week, she’s going to explode. I know Gabrielle was against the idea earlier, but I think it’s time she went international—did some work in Europe, strolled some of the designer catwalks,” Felicia advised.
“I agree,” Greg said. “It’s time for Gabrielle Donovan to be associated with a top designer. Now for the ten-million-dollar question: Who?”
“How about Ralph Lauren? Or Todd Oldham? Donna Karan’s practically an American institution,” Felicia offered, forcing herself to concentrate on the meeting.
“They’re big names, all right. Too big. That’s the problem. Too many well-known models are already associated with their clothes. I want a designer who’s on the cusp of becoming huge. Someone Gabrielle can link stars with and ride to the top. Someone who has insight, ambition, and massive staying power.”
“Someone like Maynard Scarborough,” Jaci shouted, jumping up from her seat. “He’s perfect. Not only is he all the things you mentioned, but by Gabrielle’s choosing his clothes for the Appeal shoot, they’ve already established a connection. I’m telling you, Greg, those two are a natural fit.”
“I think Jaci’s onto something,” Felicia chimed in.
“His last show was the talk of the industry. He had the editors and buyers fawning all over him. The word is that the licensers are practically licking his trademark loafers. Putting the two of them together is a stroke of genius. Jaci, send Maynard her file this afternoon and start the ball rolling.”
“I think we can get some great publicity out of this,” Felicia said, her professional wheels spinning again. “We can blanket the industry with stories about the man and his muse, both in print and on some of those fashion TV programs popping up everywhere.”
“Good idea,” Greg replied. “We’ll do whatever it takes to get Gabrielle to the top. I intend for her to become a giant in this profession. And all the while she’s climbing the ladder, she’ll be pulling First Face right along with her.”