Page 80 of My Favorite Lost Cause
“Do I have a job for you,” says Scott. “How would you like to be this year’s face for Marais & Wolfe?”
It’s a good, high-profile gig. I actually like the clothes. Internally, however, I am already wilting. “When would they need me to start?”
“Well, they’d want you in New York this week just to get your measurements. There’ll be a fitting later in the month, and then they’d need you in Barcelona at the start of September.”
“Barcelona?”
“That’s the best part. It’s an around-the-world theme. You’ll shoot in Barcelona, then do some appearances, followed by Phuket in early winter and get this—Antarctica next February. Crazy, right?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, trying my best to inject a little enthusiasm into my voice. “Very.”
I love Barcelona and Phuket. I’ve always wanted to go to Antarctica. I think what makes me sad about this isn’t the job itself, it’s that by the time I’ve visited all these amazing places, Charlie will be a part of my past.
“I don’t want to go,” I tell Charlie that night over dinner.
He stares at his plate for a moment before he answers. “If you didn’t want to go, you wouldn’t be going. I understand why you said yes, but let’s not pretend you had no choice.”
“I can’t justnot work, Charlie. I’m not trying to get pregnant, so how would that look?”
“Why do you care how it looks?” he counters.
I guess he might have a point. Why do I care? Because people I don’t even like will talk shit about me? I guess that’s only a small part of the issue. The bigger part is that I have nothing to return to when my time here ends, and those days are approaching rapidly.
“What happens when this is done, Charlie?” I ask quietly. “When I get back, I’ve got no home, no plans, no job. I need to feel like I’ve got something.”
He doesn’t suggest I stay with him. He doesn’t saywhy don’t we buy another property and flip it? We’re good at this.
I don’t even necessarily think wearegood at it, but I’d agree simply to extend my time with him.
“Except you don’t even like modeling,” he says, “so what else do you like? Surely, at some point in your life, you thought about something other than babies.”
I push the salad around on my plate. Even in my earliest childhood memories, I only recall taking care of Kit, five years younger than me and such a little handful. Taking care of her and relishing it. I sort of fell into modeling because it was impossible to say no when the opportunity arose. What else was going to pay me that well? It’s not as if I have any skills.
But motherhood remained my real goal.
“Even when I was tiny, I just wanted something of my own. I’m not especially good at anything else.”
“For Christ’s sake,” Charlie groans. “What about design? You clearly enjoy it, and you’re so naturally good at it that people are constantly trying to get you to sell any place you renovate. Do you know how rare that is? To be really good at something that you also really enjoy?”
I hitch a shoulder. “I haven’t gone to school for it though, and it’s not like?—”
“It’s not like what?” he asks.
“My father is a pretty famous artist, my mother is a famous supermodel, my stepfather is a famous rich guy. Kit’s going to be a doctor, which won’t make her famous, but it’s sort of better than being famous. It feels like I’m supposed to do something larger than life, and modeling is as close as I can get to it.”
“Who the fuck do you need to impress other than yourself?” he demands.
It’s a good question. I wish I could answer it. “Harvey would make fun of me if I tried to do it professionally.”
“Fuck Harvey. Fuck anyone who tries to make your life less than it should be, and that includes me,” he says, suddenly fierce.
He cares so much. More than anyone else ever has. He cares about me, and he even cares about the dogs, though he won’t admit it—he’s spent the entire meal feeding Narcy bits of his steak.
He’d make the best husband, the best father. And the only way to stop hoping for it is to leave here. Will the longing fade away fast, once I go? Will I wake after a week away from him as if I’m coming out of a trance, only to realize Margaret’s hand was on the scale all along, making things more intense than they’d have been on their own?
“Do you ever worry that we’re being…influenced? By the house, I mean.”
His mouth twitches. “Influenced?”
