Читать книгу Picture Perfect - Kate Forster, Kate Forster - Страница 9

Dylan stared at Maggie Hall’s discarded shoes in disbelief, turning them over and studying each detail.

She had never owned anything as gorgeous and frivolous as these, she thought, quelling the desire to slip off her plain black flats from the Gap, and try on the Givenchy’s. Her mother believed in buying the best you could afford, but ‘functional is always better than fancy,’ she would tell Dylan whenever she lusted after something pretty and useless.

She shoved the shoes in an empty gift bag left by a guest and placed them under the bench, then looked at herself in the mirror. Was she really as beautiful as Maggie Hall said?

She was okay-looking, she thought, but growing up with intellectual parents meant you were much more focused on your brain than your looks.

Dinner time in the Mercers’ brownstone was spent discussing her mother’s ethical legal riddles from her university tenure and her father’s more bizarre psychiatric cases, while Dylan tried to keep up with the conversation.

She was bright, but she had to work hard for her marks and staying on the honor roll wasn’t easy but she did it because her parents expected nothing less of her.

Sometimes Dylan longed to remind them that she didn’t have their genetic code so it was unreasonable to expect her to be as brilliant as them, but a part of her was grateful that they treated her as though she was an extension of them.

That was until she found the letter they had never shown her.

‘Excuse me.’ She heard a voice and turned to see another famous face, a starlet who had recently been named as the sexiest woman in film. ‘Do you have a Band-Aid? My shoes are killing me.’

Dylan opened the first-aid kit, took out a Band-Aid and handed it to the girl. Now she was beautiful, Dylan thought, after the girl had left the bathroom.

She glanced at her face in the mirror again. It was too wide; the sort of face that didn’t look right in everyday life, but it did kind of work in photos. She might have sought out modelling work, if she’d even known where to start, but it never seemed like the right time to say that to her law professor mother, with tenure at Columbia, or her ailing psychiatrist father, who had recently been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease.

As more women came into the bathroom, there were several faces Dylan recognized, but she wasn’t as star-struck any more. Hell, she had Maggie Hall’s Givenchy shoes! She couldn’t wait to get home and tell her best friend back in New York.

That was the sort of thing Addie loved to hear. During their almost daily Skype sessions, Addie always wanted to know what celebrities Dylan had seen in LA.

But in the two months she’d been in LA, Dylan hadn’t seen many, until tonight. She thought she’d glimpsed Kevin Bacon in a frozen yogurt store, but couldn’t be sure. A Kevin Bacon sighting probably wouldn’t impress Addie anyway, but Maggie Hall was different.

Her supervisor walked into the bathroom with a sour face. ‘You can go now. Make sure you sign your hours sheet before you leave.’

‘Okay,’ said Dylan politely. The woman had been a total bitch all night, but Dylan refused to let it bother her. This job had been way better than working nights at the greasy chicken shop downtown, trying to avoid the slick on the floor and the even more oily owner.

Dylan picked up her bag and put the gift bag with the Givenchy shoes in it over her shoulder. ‘Thanks, it was fun.’

The woman looked at her and made a face. ‘Being stuck in a bathroom with needy celebrities bitching about each other and fighting over the mirror was fun? You’re nuts.’

Dylan smiled as she stepped into the elevator, feeling the slight weight of the shoes in the bag slung over her shoulder. Tonight had been a rare good night.

‘How you doing?’ she heard as the elevator doors opened and she saw a handsome man leaning against the opposite wall, one hand in the pocket of his tuxedo pants as though he was posing for a cologne advertisement.

It was both cheesy and funny, and she started to laugh.

‘What?’ he asked, looking behind him.

As he turned, she pressed the button and the doors of the elevator closed again, leaving her laughing out loud.

Was he serious? He probably worked that move in the mirror over and over before trying it on countless girls. Maybe some fell for it, but not Dylan. She liked boys who were less handsome and less presumptuous, guys who made her laugh and didn’t act like they were in a perfume ad.

So far she hadn’t met anyone close to decent in LA. Every guy wanted to be an actor, and assumed Dylan wanted the same thing. They all asked her who her manager was, who was her agent? Would she do nudity?

Checking her phone, she saw it was after two in the morning and she sighed as she walked towards the cab rank. Even though the cab was expensive, at least she’d get home to her studio apartment in Koreatown in time for a few hours’ sleep before her next shift.

She had to be at work again in five hours’ time, waitressing at a breakfast in a private home in the Hollywood Hills. She had begged for the shift as it was extra money and she could then afford to take two days off for her research.

Her furnished apartment was cheap because the owners were planning on pulling it down and rebuilding on the site, but according to her new neighbour they’d been saying that for ten years and there was still no sign of any development.

At seven hundred and twenty dollars a month, the apartment was manageable, just. There was no way Dylan would ask her parents for help. Not after what she knew now.

Inside her one room, she pulled her laptop out from under the mattress—it was the only thing in her room of any value—and opened it to check her emails.

An overflowing laundry basket sat in one corner, and a bowl half-eaten ramen noodles sat on the linoleum floor.

Her mom would freak if she saw how messy her room was, she thought, making a mental notes to clean it after tomorrow’s shift.

Nothing of any importance, she thought crossly as she slammed the laptop shut and went and lay back on the uncomfortable single bed that had come with the apartment, along with a dripping sink and some oversized cockroaches. They probably had fillers also, she thought, thinking of some of the faces she had seen at the party that night.

Why did people think they had to do that to their faces? she wondered as she rolled over on the lumpy mattress, her eye caught by the gift bag on the floor.

Clambering out of bed, she put on the strappy shoes and stood up. Maggie Hall was right, they hurt like hell, but they looked amazing. Taking her phone, she sent a picture of them to Addie with the text: Maggie Hall let me walk in her shoes. They are now mine.

It was six in the morning in New York, no chance Addie would be awake, but she knew her friend would be thrilled.

Tottering back to the bed, Dylan lay down again and lifted one leg to admire the shoe. What did shoes like this even cost? she wondered idly, as her phone started ringing.

‘Why the hell are you awake?’ Dylan said, as soon as she saw Addie’s number.

‘I wasn’t really, but I heard the message come through and saw it was from you. How the hell do you have Maggie Hall’s shoes on?’

Addie’s voice was groggy but excited, and Dylan laughed.

‘You didn’t need to call me now, Ads,’ she said. ‘I meant it to be a surprise for when you woke up.’

‘I always keep my phone on,’ said Addie. ‘Now spill.’

Dylan told her all about her night and her encounter with Maggie in the bathroom. Addie, as she’d expected, was duly impressed.

‘God, I wish I had your life! Instead I’m stuck here, it’s snowing, it’s boring, and I have no idea why I’m studying when my degree is just a ticket to working at Starbucks for the rest of my life.’

‘You don’t have to do that course,’ Dylan said for the one hundredth time.

Like most of Dylan’s friends from her prestigious private school, she and Addie had been spoiled for choice when it came to deciding which college to attend. Addie had ending up enrolling in a comparative literature degree because she didn’t know what else to do.

‘Show me the shoes again, without your ugly feet in them,’ Addie demanded, sounding more awake by the second.

Dylan obediently took off the shoes and sent the new photo. ‘She asked for my number,’ she said, when she put the phone back to her ear.

‘For what? Like in a date? Is she a closet lesbian?’ Addie squealed.

‘No, you tawdry hoe, I told her I’m looking for work and she said sometimes her assistant needs an assistant.’

‘Jesus,’ said Addie, ‘what a world.’

‘I know, right?’

‘How’s the search? Any more leads?’

Dylan was a smart girl, with a four-point average and acceptance letters to both Brown and Wellesley, so why was her task proving so hard?

‘None. I feel like I’m going about it in completely the wrong way. I can’t find anything. I’ve contacted the agencies, but no one will give me any information unless I have both parents’ signatures because I’m under twenty-one.’

Addie paused. ‘You know, babe, you could just ask your mom and dad who your birth mother was and save yourself all this trouble?’

‘I can’t,’ said Dylan. ‘It would kill Dad.’ She put on the heels again and flopped back on the bed. ‘Besides, I don’t think I could stand to hear any more of their lies right now.’

‘I get it,’ said Addie softly.

Dylan nodded, forgetting for a moment that Addie couldn’t see her. This was why she and Addie were so close. Addie really did get it, she got everything about Dylan, even her hare-brained scheme to head to LA and find her birth mother.

‘Hey, I have to crash. Gotta be at another job in a few hours,’ said Dylan, yawning.

‘Okay, sleep well, I love ya, you crazy bitch.’

‘Love you too, loser,’ said Dylan, and she went to sleep, still wearing Maggie’s shoes.

West Virginia

September 1995

Shay Harman looked at the pregnancy test and shook it vigorously.

‘It’s not a Magic 8 Ball,’ her friend Krista said, as she swung her skinny legs from her perch on the bench in the mall’s public toilet.

‘I wish it was,’ said Shay.

Someone had once left a cigarette on the bench, burning the lino into a perfect groove, which Krista now lay her finger in.

‘What are you going to do?’ Krista asked.

‘Go back and finish my shift,’ said Shay. ‘I’ll think about it later.’ Denial was always a good choice in the face of chaos, she thought.

Back at the Great American Cookies stand, the smell of the dough made Shay feel ill. She fought down the nausea, staring out at the crowd in the mall.

She didn’t feel like she belonged there, but soon she would become one of the throng, pushing a second-hand pram and living on welfare.

‘You okay, honey?’ asked her coworker Jackie.

Shay had no idea how old Jackie was. But as far as she could tell, after four babies in six years, Jackie wasn’t living, just existing, sleepwalking through her shifts at the cookie stand.

Jackie said she was lucky—she and her husband both had jobs and her kids went to school—but Shay couldn’t work out what was so lucky about that. Wasn’t that something everyone should have?

This attitude had gotten her into trouble with her foster families.

‘You need to be more grateful for what you get,’ said the social worker.

Eventually the social worker convinced Shay’s grandmother to take her in. At least Shay didn’t have to pretend to be grateful then. She knew her grammy only agreed so she’d get the extra welfare cheque for her dead son’s only child.

Shay served a teenage girl whose swelling stomach couldn’t be hidden by the oversized Disneyland sweatshirt. Was everyone pregnant all of a sudden?

Was she really any different to this girl? Shay wondered. Was her future now to raise a baby when she could hardly raise herself? And what would Grammy say when she went home to the trailer and told her she was pregnant to the first guy she’d slept with?

Bud Harris wasn’t her boyfriend. She’d only had sex with him because she’d yearned for someone’s loving touch. She knew damn well he wouldn’t want this baby; he was already working down the mines, never calling Shay again after he had left school.

Finally the shift ended and she was relieved to find Krista waiting for her.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Shay as she walked up to her best friend.

‘Sure,’ said Krista, tossing her bleached hair over her shoulder, ‘but I don’t want to go to my place, they’re all down on their knees praying for something that doesn’t include me.’

Shay laughed wryly. Some foster homes were better than others, but each had its own special way of reminding you that you didn’t quite fit in. It might be special food that wasn’t for the welfare kids, or second-hand clothing that was the wrong size. In Krista’s current ‘home’, it was prayer.

Shay looked around. ‘I don’t know where we can go,’ she said, and then she started to cry.

‘Hush now,’ Krista said, in that voice that always calmed Shay. ‘I’ll think of something.’

And Shay nodded, knowing that Krista would. She had never once let her down.

Krista’s eyes lit up and she smiled the magnificent smile that made social workers believe she really had changed this time.

Soon, Shay and Krista were sitting up the back in the only movie theatre in town, let in for free by the pimple-faced projectionist who had a thing for Krista.

‘What’s the film?’ whispered Shay.

‘Matilda,’ whispered Krista. ‘It’s about a little girl who uses her magic to get her revenge on her shitty family and school, and finds a new mom to adopt her. I’ve seen it twice already, it’s my favourite film ever.’

Shay smiled and took Krista’s hand and squeezed it tight.

‘Thank you,’ she said and Krista smiled in the darkness as the screen flickered to life.