Читать книгу Wanting Something More - Kathy Love - Страница 12

“Hi, Brandi, is Diana in?”

There was a pause. “Sure, Marty. Hold on, I’ll put you through.”

New Age music filled Marty’s ear as Brandi put her on hold.

She’d dreaded this call. It had taken her a couple days to get up the courage to dial the number to Flair, her modeling agency.

Even now, she considered hanging up. But before she could hit the End Call button, she heard Diana snatch up the phone.

“Where the hell are you?” her agent demanded.

Before Marty could answer, she continued. “I’ve been calling your cell phone. I even called Rod.”

Marty could picture Diana shuddering on the other end of the line as she said that name. Diana despised Rod. Marty obviously should have followed her agent’s advice on her love life as well as her career.

“I know,” Marty said. “I got your messages, and I should have called sooner.”

“Well, where are you? Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Marty quickly assured her. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m—I’m at home. In Maine.”

“What?”

Again, Marty could imagine Diana’s shocked expression.

“Marty, you are supposed to be at a fitting appointment with Dara Rhoades as we speak. And you have a show tomorrow. Aaron Ashford is paying big bucks for you. But not just that, everyone is saying that Aaron is going to be a heavy hitter in this summer’s fashions. We do not want to make an enemy out of him, even if he is a new designer.”

“I know,” Marty said, guilt heavy in her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. “I am so sorry. But…Diana, I had to get away.”

There was a pause on the other end. “What happened?”

Marty hesitated; she owed Diana the truth.

When Marty had shown up at Flair with nothing but a few terrible head shots and a dream, Diana had seen beyond the outmoded clothes and ten-dollar haircut. She had transformed Marty into the model who had graced the covers of the most popular magazines, who had headlined the fashion shows of the most prestigious designers, and who had all the top people in the industry clamoring to work with her.

But Diana hadn’t just built her career. She had also been a true friend to the naive girl from Millbrook, Maine. Outside of her sisters, Diana was her best friend.

“I often wish you had been able to change my foolish nature as well as you changed my looks,” Marty told her.

Diana sighed. “I didn’t need to make any changes, Marty. I just had the good sense to see what was already there. As far as your foolishness, you aren’t foolish, you’re kind. And trusting. Far, far too trusting.”

Marty laughed humorlessly. “Actually, I’m not trusting at all. But when I do, it is invariably the wrong person.”

“Well, I hope you don’t feel that way about me,” Diana said. “What’s going on?”

Again, Marty hesitated, a combination of shame and fear freezing her tongue.

“Marty? Are you still there?”

“Rod did it again.”

Now there was silence on the other end of the phone. Then, “The bastard!”

Marty sighed. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t really much of a shock, was it? But I still needed to leave.”

“Did you dump his sorry ass?”

Marty paused. “Yeah.” She hadn’t officially told him so, but she assumed he’d realize it when he couldn’t reach her. “That’s why I needed to leave for a while.” She’d tell Diana the rest of her plans later.

“Yes,” Diana readily agreed. She was silent for a moment. “I can handle things here. I’ll tell Ashford and Dara Rhoades that you had a family emergency. They will be upset, but what can they do? And they won’t burn bridges with me—or you, for that matter.”

“I’m so sorry.” Marty felt like she was failing Diana not only as a business associate but as a friend as well.

“Don’t be sorry. Just take a break. And stay in touch.”

“I will,” Marty promised.

“Okay, I better make some calls. Keep in touch.”

“Okay, bye.”

Marty hit the End Call button and simply held the phone for a moment. How had she ended up in such a mess? Why had she ever gotten involved with Rod? No, this was all her own doing. Rod. Her dissatisfaction with her career.

She set down the cell phone just as the avocado telephone on the kitchen wall rang. She jumped up, startled by the ring.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hey. Can I ask you a favor?” It was Ellie.

Marty immediately felt comforted by her sister’s voice.

“Sure.”

“Emily just went down to a nap, and I hate to wake her up to run out to the store. Would you mind picking me up a couple of packages of cream cheese and a bag of powdered sugar? I thought I had enough.”

“Ooh, you’re making your amazing carrot cake, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Yay!”

“Yeah, well, you have reason to be happy. You are the only person I know who can eat that cake and not gain an ounce. If you weren’t my sister, I’d hate you.”

Marty laughed, even as a quick image of Rod scolding her for her sweet tooth flashed through her mind. She ignored it—he was gone now. “You’re the one with the super-sexy husband and the gorgeous daughter. All I have is a great metabolism.”

“You have far more than that,” Ellie said gently. “But I have to admit, my slow metabolism doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it once did.”

“That is good. Do you need anything else?”

“No, that should do it. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. I just need to find something to wear tonight, then I’ll be over.”

“No rush,” Ellie assured her. “Guests don’t arrive until seven.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

Marty hung up the phone, and she was struck with another wave of guilt, this time for her sisters. Neither Ellie nor Abby had pressured her any further about why she had just shown up out of the blue. Or why she insisted on staying at Grammy’s house, alone. Just like with Diana, she owed them an explanation.

At least Diana already knew most of the story about Rod. What a jerk he was. But she didn’t even know where to begin with her sisters. Her sisters who had their lives together. Jobs they loved. Wonderful husbands—maybe the only two truly good men out there. How was she supposed tell them that her life was a complete mess?

She sighed. She might not be ready to talk yet. But she did want to be with Ellie. To be surrounded by the smells of the holidays, cookies and spices and pine. She wanted to lick the beaters that Ellie used to make the cream-cheese frosting for the carrot cake. She wanted to feel safe and loved.

She wanted to go back and appreciate the things she had once taken for granted.

She glanced at the clock. It was a little after two. Maybe she’d just get her clothes together and get ready for the party over at Ellie’s house.

After looking through her minimal clothing, she finally decided on a green, ribbed turtleneck sweater and black jeans. She suspected other people would be dressed up more, but she was so tired of dressy. After wearing hundreds of evening gowns, crazy fad fashions, and spike-heeled, pointy-toed shoes, she was much happier dressing for comfort.

She had mixed feelings about the party tonight. On one hand, a big crowd would be a welcome distraction, but only if they didn’t ask her about her career, her life in New York, or her romantic life. Now, what were the chances of that?

She sighed and looked at the clock. It was 2:30 p.m. She’d have plenty of time to get to the store, grab a quick lunch, and then head over to Ellie’s.

That way she could also get a couple of hours to play with Emily before her little niece went off to spend the night with Mason’s folks. Emily was still wary of her. But Marty was making headway; she’d gotten a few shy smiles and a few “wasdats?” Emily was already full of questions. At least those questions, Aunt Marty could handle.

She shoved her clothes into her tote bag, along with a pair of chunky-soled, black shoes, and headed back downstairs.

She tugged on a worn parka that she’d found in the front hall closet. The coat was huge and a sort of olive green color, but she really liked it. It was comfy and warm. She guessed it must have belonged to Ellie, although it had to have been enormous on her too. But Marty suspected Ellie had been going for warmth, not fashion. Marty could relate to that. It was darn cold outside. Fashion wasn’t worth frostbite.

She put on a pair of bright red earmuffs and a rainbow-colored scarf that had matching mittens, all of which she also found in the front closet. She knew it wasn’t a great look, but who was going to be looking at her anyway.

The grocery store parking lot was full, but since it was the Saturday before Christmas, it only made sense.

Marty parked her car next to a beat-up station wagon loaded to the brim with shopping bags, wrapping paper, and bows. It certainly looked like someone was going to have a good Christmas.

She smiled and hummed “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas.” And it did, the fresh snow from a small storm last night, the garland and red bows across the storefronts.

Some of Marty’s uneasiness started to subside. She hadn’t been fair to Diana, but that was the first time she had ever left her agent in a lurch. Hell, she’d posed for the cover of one fashion magazine with pneumonia. She never shirked her responsibilities—too bad she might be shirking them for good.

Grabbing a shopping cart, she wheeled inside the store. Beckham’s was a New England chain of grocery stores, but this one didn’t feel like part of a chain. There was an old-fashioned market feel to the place. The floors were polished hardwood and the shelves were also finished wood. But Beckham’s had more produce and specialty items than even the store where she shopped in Manhattan. And despite the smaller feel, it was actually a rather large place.

She wove her cart through the produce section, smiling at how fresh and beautiful all the different fruits and vegetables looked heaped in their respective bins and bushel baskets.

She picked up a huge orange and sniffed it, thinking of how the citrus scent seemed Christmasy too. Then she noticed a woman across the aisle watching her, a slight frown creasing her brow.

Marty immediately felt silly. Smelling fruit. She started to place it back on top of the others, then thought better of it and put the orange in her cart. Maybe people got weirded out about buying presniffed produce.

She pushed her cart along. What did she want for lunch? Maybe something light, since she’d be undoubtedly eating tons tonight. She loved Ellie’s cooking.

Hmm. She headed over to the deli counter. They had premade sandwiches, several soups, and salads. She considered the choices for a moment, then looked up to get one of the deli staff’s attention. But she already had it.

One woman with a net on her head watched her, her expression rather dour. Another younger woman, who looked much more pleasant than the first woman, appeared quite intrigued by Marty. But she looked away when she realized that Marty saw she was staring.

The two men behind the counter didn’t look away, however. One smiled. The other looked like he was trying to visualize her naked.

“I’d like one of the turkey wraps, please,” Marty said, trying to keep her voice friendly even though she actually felt a bit bothered by the attention. Which wasn’t really fair, she knew. She couldn’t truly expect people not to recognize her. This was a small town, and the locals did know her.

But she had, probably naively, imagined coming home and just falling back into anonymity. Another fantasy, obviously.

The dour woman snatched up the sandwich from behind the glass counter and moved to another counter to wrap it in foil, all the while looking very put out.

Marty sighed, then decided to ignore the woman.

The young woman offered Marty a tentative smile, which Marty returned readily. That made her feel better, until she noticed the two men speaking quietly and throwing her sidelong glances. One of them made a gesture with his hands in front of his chest—the universal sigh for breasts. Both men laughed. And Marty’s temper flared again.

The dour woman slapped the wrapped sandwich down in front of her, eyeing Marty coldly.

Marty thanked the woman and placed her wrap in the cart. She started away, telling herself that the woman was obviously just a grouch.

Then she heard someone, and she had no doubt it was the grouch, say, “I’ve seen prettier.”

One of the men, undoubtedly the one proficient in sign language, said, “Well, you ain’t seen her in them sexy little nighties and whatnot. She looks some sweet.”

“Hmmpf,” the grouch said, obviously dubious.

Marty kept walking, pretending she didn’t hear, but inside she was seething. Not that she hadn’t experienced this reaction before; she had. For some reason, people thought they could talk about her as if she were an object. Just a face on a magazine, not a real person. And it hurt. And she hadn’t expected it to happen here.

She wasn’t going to let a few thoughtless people ruin her good mood. Determinedly, she continued to browse the aisles for a few peaceful minutes before she overheard a hushed voice saying, “You’d never know that was her.”

Marty didn’t pause in reaching for a box of tea, choosing to believe that the stranger’s observation wasn’t about her. But when she turned to toss the tea into her cart, there was no ignoring who the woman was talking about. The whispering lady and her friend were staring directly at Marty, although they did have the good grace to glance away when Marty stared back.

Rather than wheel her cart in the opposite direction and leave the aisle, Marty strolled toward them. The two women didn’t look at her, but at the shelves to intently discuss the merits of powdered nondairy creamers.

Marty sauntered by them, trying to look calm, as if she hadn’t heard them. But once she was out of their sight, she hurried toward the dairy section to get the cream cheese Ellie requested. Then she headed to the checkout.

After waiting in a long line, she finally reached the cashier and started placing her items on the conveyor belt.

Marty had just finished emptying her cart when her cashier said loudly to the cashier at the register beside hers, “You know, it’s hard to believe who they’ll put on the cover of those fashion magazines.”

The other cashier, a woman maybe a little older than Marty, nodded but looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Marty’s cashier didn’t. In fact, she glared at Marty, then said, “I swear, some of those models are just downright ugly.”

Marty stared at the woman, whose highlighted, overpermed hair and hard blue eyes looked vaguely familiar. She debated what to do, what to say.

“Hi, Marty,” a husky voice said so close to Marty’s ear, she jumped. She spun around to look into gorgeous amber eyes fringed with long, dark lashes.

Many a model she knew would kill for lashes like that.

Marty blinked again and managed to stop staring into those beautiful eyes only to notice wonderfully molded lips curved into a lopsided smile. Then the eyes and lips turned toward the horrible cashier.

“Hey, Lynette, can you believe you’re waiting on Millbrook’s most famous native?”

Marty blinked again. Lynette? Lynette. That was who that horrible cashier was! Awful, mean Lynette Prue. And if Marty wasn’t mistaken, Nathaniel Peck was trying to make the wretched woman feel uncomfortable.