Читать книгу Living the Fantasy - Kathy Lyons - Страница 7

ALI FLORES COULDN’T LOOK AT the cute guy who’d tried to flirt with her in the hallway. She’d figured out his problem. He’d assumed she was a model just because she was headed into the agency, and wasn’t that just too funny! The idea of her as a model cracked her up. She wasn’t tall, blonde or rail-thin. And she certainly didn’t have the style sense to do anything like modeling.

Still, she had to admit she was flattered, even if he really needed to get his eyes checked. She had been looking forward to giggling with Elisa about it over lunch when Mad Marilyn saw them. That was their code name for Marilyn Madison, owner of the agency and somewhat of a bitch.

Last week, Elisa had taken Ali out to lunch for her twenty-eighth birthday. It wasn’t until they were on their way back to the office that Elisa realized she’d accidentally paid using the corporate credit card. Sure, Elisa had refunded the money into the petty-cash drawer along with the receipt and the explanation, but Ali just knew the madwoman was going to ream them both out at the first opportunity. And now the time had come to pay the piper.

Too bad it had to happen in front of that cute guy she couldn’t quite look at.

Ali mouthed the word busted to her friend, then turned around to face Marilyn. Since she wasn’t employed here, Ali fully intended to take all the blame. She wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to manage that except that she was really good at constructing elaborate cover stories. She’d just have to make sure it was really good.

With that thought in mind, she pasted on an ultra-innocent smile and turned around. First off: start with flattery.

“Why, Miss Madison, look at you! You’ve lost weight!”

As expected, the woman stopped glaring long enough to shoot Ali an I-know-what-you’re-doing smile. “Thank you for noticing,” the woman said. “I’ve always thought you to be unusually perceptive.”

Ali blinked. She had? Since when? As far as she was aware, the woman didn’t even know her name. Then she had to mentally slap herself. Obviously, the woman was simply shooting back the same insincere flattery that Ali had given her.

“Now come along, you two,” the woman said, punctuating her order with a glare at Elisa.

Ali shuddered. This was not good.

Then the woman turned a dazzling smile on the sweet Blind Ken, as Ali had now named him in her mind.

“Mr. Johnson, please, if you would give us just a moment, I’m sure I can work things out just as you’d like.”

“But I’d like—”

“Yes,” Mad Marilyn interrupted. “I know exactly what you want, and I’m going to make sure you get it. But first, I’ve ordered some sandwiches and coffee. They’ll be up in just a moment. Why don’t you wait with your VP in the conference room. I’ll be just a moment.”

Blind Ken had a VP? Wow, he must be the difficult client Elisa had been texting her about. The guy who wasn’t happy with any of their usual models, but couldn’t say why.

She looked up at him, and immediately regretted her decision. He was staring intently at her. He obviously wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what. She could relate. She spent half her life thinking she ought to say something, but not knowing what would work.

The moment stretched on, and the pressure to say something—anything—built inside her. She took a breath at the very same moment he did, but then Mad Marilyn beat them both to the punch.

“In here please, Miss Flores,” she said in a freezing tone.

Nothing to do now but shut her mouth and follow the madwoman into her office. At least Elisa would be in there, too, but one look at her friend’s face and she could tell they were both equally clueless about what was going on.

She’d barely stepped into the large room when Marilyn started talking and rooting through files at the same moment.

“Shut the door, Elisa. Have a seat, Miss Flores. We really need to change your name. Never model under your real name. How do you feel about Flowers?”

Ali frowned, replaying the sentences in her mind. Nope. They still didn’t make any sense. But Mad Marilyn looked up to pin her with a glare.

“Well? Do you like Flowers?”

“Um, yes?” Who didn’t like flowers?

“Excellent.” Marilyn pulled out a thick contract, set it down on the desk and started writing. “So your name will be Ali Flowers. You’ll have the standard agency agreement, but before I can release you to Mr. Johnson, you’ll need some training. Emergency training, if you catch my drift. But lucky for you, I can simply deduct the cost of that from the contract with GQ.”

Elisa stepped closer after having closed the door. “I think you mean QG. Quirky Games.”

Marilyn looked up and frowned. “What? Oh, right. These games. Ridiculous name. Quirky. Whatever. Now, Ms. Flowers, will you please sign here, here, here, and initial here.” She pushed a pen forward into Ali’s hand.

Ali barely managed to grab hold of the pen, but beyond that, she didn’t move a muscle. She felt like an idiot—and a slow one to boot—but she had no clue what was going on and no interest in signing anything until she did.

So she carefully set the pen down. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why would I sign an agency agreement with you?”

“So you can be GQ’s Guinevere!”

“QG,” she corrected. It was the only thing she understood. That they were definitely not talking about Gentlemen’s Quarterly.

Mad Marilyn waved that away with an impatient snort. “Look, I understand you want more money. Don’t we all? But I simply can’t get you ready in time and forgo the usual agency cut. Believe me I’ll be earning every cent!”

Ali shook her head. “But I don’t want to be a model.” The idea was laughable! “And why would you—”

“Marilyn, please,” cried Elisa. Apparently, she understood what was going on. “Ali just came here for lunch.”

“Well, what has that to do with anything? Look,” she said, turning her laser eyes on Ali. “That man out there has a lot of money. He’s been looking all over the city for some woman to play his Queen Guinevere in a summer promotional sweep. And now he wants you.” She grabbed the pen and pushed it into Ali’s hand. “So sign. Then you and I can make a lot of money.”

Ali gaped at her. “Guinevere? Me?”

Marilyn rolled her eyes. “Yes, you!”

“But why?”

“Because he’s a crazy man! You’re not tall enough, you’re not trained in any way and you could stand to lose a few pounds.”

“Hey!” That was Elisa, not Ali. Sadly, Ali knew everything the woman said was absolutely correct.

“But I don’t understand why,” said Ali, her gaze going to Elisa. Sadly, Mad Marilyn wasn’t allowing anyone to talk but herself.

“It doesn’t matter why, Miss Flowers. It matters that you say yes!” This time she forcibly wrapped Ali’s fingers around the pen.

“But I don’t know anything about modeling—”

“I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“—and I already have a job!” That last protest was pure reflex. After all, hadn’t she just decided she needed to remake her life? But modeling had never entered her mind as a possibility.

Meanwhile, Marilyn huffed as she sat back in her chair. “Shall I be blunt?” she asked.

As if she was ever anything else! “I’m not a model,” Ali said.

“No, my dear, you’re a secretary in a hospital PR department.”

Ali blinked. How did Marilyn know that? “I manage events, coordinate publicity and logistics. It’s an important job!” She said the words, but inside, she knew it really was a lame job. Sure, what she did was valuable, but all it took was an organized mind. She had that in spades. She was valued (at least she hoped she was) but from anyone else’s perspective, she was just another cog in a very big machine.

“And now you have a chance to be something better. Something special! A Marilyn Madison Model!”

Ali didn’t know how to answer. The idea of her as a model was just too far to go, and yet she was starting to think about it. Could she really be pretty enough to be a model? She wasn’t ugly, but she’d never thought of herself as beautiful.

“Think of it!” Mad Marilyn pressed. “Your picture in the paper, screaming fans, cameras, a life under the lights! It’s what every girl wants, and it’s being handed to you on a silver platter!”

Uh-oh. Wrong thing to say. As Marilyn started speaking, the reality of what a model had to do started hitting. She’d be put on display. All those cameras! What if she said the wrong thing? What if she did the wrong thing? She would be promoting Blind Ken’s product—whatever it was—but if she screwed up then that would reflect badly on him.

“No,” she whispered. “No, I can’t do that.”

Marilyn released her breath on a huff of disgust. Then she shook her head. “Listen to me, Miss Flores. I know this is fast, I know this is a big change. But sometimes opportunity happens like that. It’s there and then it’s gone like that.” She snapped her fingers with a loud crack. “So take it now while it’s being offered. Otherwise it’s gone.” Again, she snapped her fingers and the sound seemed to echo in Ali’s head. “Think hard. And think fast.”

Then she pushed out of her chair and shot a glare at Elisa. “You’re her friend! Explain the situation. Explain how great an opportunity this is.” She straightened her very tight fitted jacket. “I’ll go negotiate your fee.” Then she was gone.

Ali waited a long time after Marilyn was gone before looking at Elisa. They were best friends, had been since college when they’d been assigned each other as roommates. They couldn’t be more opposite. Where Ali was studious and shy, an introvert with a love of reading, Elisa was vivacious, spontaneous and had a burning desire to be a runway model. After she’d failed a dozen auditions, Elisa decided to use her brain and body a little differently. She interned at Marilyn’s agency and was so good at it that Marilyn hired her as soon as the internship was over.

Elisa couldn’t be a top model, but she could help other girls attain the dream. And now, apparently, her job was to see that Ali became exactly what Elisa had dreamed of. But Ali just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t be a model. She didn’t know anything about it!

“Don’t shake your head, sweetie,” Elisa said as she pulled up a chair. “Let me guess. You’re thinking that you can’t be a model, not because you aren’t pretty enough—”

“I’m not!”

“The client says you are.”

Ali didn’t have an answer to that, so she buttoned her lip.

“You’re thinking that you can’t stand having people look at you. That you’d be the center of attention and that you’d mess it up somehow.”

Ali sighed. “It’s not fair of Marilyn to make you talk me into this.”

Elisa shrugged. “Don’t think about me right now. Let’s talk about you.”

“I can’t be a model!”

“You keep saying that, but what really is stopping you?”

“I have a job.”

“And didn’t you just text me that you wanted a new one?” Elisa pulled out her phone and paged through to the right text message. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “What you actually said was: ‘We’re going to find me a new life.’”

Ali sighed. Sure she’d said that, and she’d even meant it. “But I can’t just change my entire life over lunch.”

Elisa shrugged. “Like Marilyn said, sometimes things happen that fast.”

“Don’t you dare snap your fingers!” Ali groused. Of course Elisa didn’t have to. Ali still had the sound of Marilyn’s snap echoing in her brain. But even as her heart was starting to think of the possibility, her brain was busy coming up with reasons she couldn’t possibly do this.

“I’d be a lousy model.” She’d spent her life on logistics and organization. It had been a necessary survival skill while managing her three younger siblings. “My skills are great backstage.”

Again, Elisa just shrugged. “Maybe it’s time to learn some new skills.”

Sure it was. But modeling? “I haven’t a clue what to do.”

“Well, that’s easy enough. We’ll teach you. And besides, you’re not going on a runway. You’re just dressing up and talking to people. You do that every day.”

“I talk to people at health fairs. About finding the right doctor and managing their blood pressure.”

“And now you’ll talk to kids about a game. Really, Ali, you’re incredibly smart. You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

Ali tried to picture it. She imagined herself as one of those product girls she saw at health fairs, the ones attached to some drug company. They looked good, but dressed on the edge of too slutty, in her opinion. They were there to draw people to the booth so that they could try a sample of an over-the-counter medication. Or a new arch support. Or something. They were product girls, and…and well, what they did wasn’t that hard.

“That can’t pay enough compared to what I’m making now.”

“Are you sure? That’s what Marilyn’s out there negotiating right now. And from what I saw, Mr. Johnson wants you bad. That means big-dollar bad.”

Ali shook her head, but inside she was thinking. After all, Marilyn was right; every little girl wanted to be thought of as gorgeous, so beautiful people would flock to see her. But as a child she’d been much too shy and awkward to want anyone looking at her. There wasn’t any big trauma in her background. She was just more comfortable watching the action than being part of it. She was the girl who made sure things ran smoothly, whether that meant making sure her brothers had their uniforms for the big soccer game or watching the UPS website to be sure the hospital booth arrived at the event stadium. It had taken her a year to be able to function smoothly in a booth, speaking clearly in a crowd without stammering or blushing.

“I can’t lose my job,” she said. “What happens when the promo sweep is over?”

Elisa leaned back. “What about a leave of absence? I saw the events he has planned. It’s three months, tops. Good work for a model.”

“I’m not a model.” She said the words out of habit, but she was already softening.

“Don’t think of it as being a model. Think of it as an acting job.”

“Not helping.”

“People won’t be looking at you, Ali. They’ll be looking at Mr. Johnson’s queen.”

Ali didn’t even know how Elisa could say those words with a straight face. “How does a queen act? What if I do it wrong? It’ll reflect badly on his game and this agency.”

Elisa snorted. “You think too much about other people. Let Marilyn worry about the agency. Let Mr. Johnson worry about his product. You’re just being hired to stand around looking pretty. You can do that! Especially if you get paid really well for it.”

Ali squirmed. She could tell that Elisa wanted her to say yes. But the idea was so ludicrous. And yet even as she said those words to herself, she wondered if she were lying. Obviously, it wasn’t ludicrous. Not if Marilyn could really get her good pay. And yes, Elisa was right. Blind Ken seemed to think she’d be perfect for the job. He was delusional, but that wouldn’t stop him from paying her.

“What if I get fired without pay?”

“You won’t screw up, and Marilyn’s big on up-front pay.”

Ali gaped. “Can she do that?”

Elisa shrugged. “Not usually, but like I said: he wants you.”

Elisa stopped speaking, waiting while a zillion thoughts spun around in Ali’s brain. Elisa knew her well. She knew that she had to think things through. That she hated being bullied. And that…

“One last thing,” Elisa said. “Today’s text wasn’t just out of the blue. You’ve been ready for a change for a while now. Just last week you said you were getting frustrated. That you felt you were in a rut. You weren’t going to get promoted, you’d topped out your pay at the peon level—” Ali opened her mouth, but Elisa stopped her with a pointed finger. A gesture she’d obviously learned from Marilyn. “Those are your words, Ali! ‘The peon level.’”

Oh, right. She had said that.

“So maybe this is the shake-up you need, a summer of opportunity. If nothing else, think of it as a paid vacation. You’ll only be on a stage a few hours a day. After that, you can sit around in your hotel room and read. Or maybe you’ll go to the bar and get a drink. Hang out with your fellow actors. Come on, Ali, are you sure you don’t want to try it? Just for a few months?”

Ali shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her mind continuing to race. Everything Elisa said was right. Absolutely everything. But could she do it? There were so many things that would have to work out right. The pay, for one. The leave of absence from her current job, for another.

“Tell you what,” Elisa said, proving that she knew Ali was weakening. “Why don’t you go out and chat with Mr. Johnson? Find out exactly what he wants. You’ll see how easy it will be.”

At the mention of Mr. Johnson, Ali felt her face heat. He was cute. She’d enjoyed the short exchange that they’d had in the hallway. He’d seemed real and, well, just her speed. That meant funny and dorky in a nice way. Not the silk-shirt-and-thousand-dollar-suit guys that Elisa usually dated.

She thought about working with him day after day. He wasn’t tall, which was great. At five foot six, she hated feeling like a shrimp next to big guys. He had dark curly hair and nice brown eyes, though she’d noticed they were a bit red. As if he was already hours into a too-long day and it was barely one o’clock. But mostly she remembered how he’d made her feel: relaxed. As if he was just as nervous as she was, and so together they’d muddle along fine.

It was an odd thought to have after just a few minutes’ conversation, but the feeling persisted. Maybe it was his smile—warm and genuine, but still holding a hint of anxiety. As though he really wanted to make a good impression. Which made her smile because, honestly, what über-rich guy wanted to please her?

In short, the answer was yes. She could imagine working every day with him. In truth, she thought it could be really awesome. She’d just have to stop thinking of him as Blind Ken. He was Mr. Johnson from now on. Her boss…maybe.

“Okay,” she finally said.

“Okay, you’ll do it?”

“Okay, I’ll go talk a little more with Blind Ken.”

Elisa snorted. “You cannot call him that. And he’s not blind! How many times have I told you that you’re way more beautiful than you think?”

Ali shrugged as she straightened up from her chair. Then she rubbed her hands nervously along her skirt and wished she’d refreshed her makeup. “Do I have time—”

The door burst open and Marilyn stomped in looking for all the world as if she was ready to wrestle a bear. “Are you done? Did you sign? Can we go meet the client now?”

Guess there was no time for a makeup refresh. “Yes, I’ll meet Mr. Johnson now.”

Marilyn froze, her gaze darting to the unsigned contract.

“And then,” pressed Ali, “we can decide about an agency agreement.”

But first, she had to impress the hell out of Blind—er, Notblind Ken. The CEO of some quirky company. And when exactly had she stepped from normal world into wonderland?