Time of My Life_ A Novel - Allison Winn Scotch [58]
Chapter Sixteen
Allie, it turns out, was a supermodel in training.
“I practice every night in front of the mirror,” she confides to me when we take a break for the photographer to reload his film, and she munches on Fritos. The grease on her fingertips shines under the glare of the studio lights.
Leigh’s eyes widen in horror. “Allie! You do not.”
“Yeah, I do, Mom, so? No biggie. I want to be in Victoria’s Secret.” She shimmies her shoulders like, I imagine, she’s seen glistening, half-naked, nearly inhuman women do during prime time.
“That’s it,” Leigh sighs. “We’re losing the TVs in the house.”
Allie is called back to the set, and as she strikes her pose, a makeup artist darts in the frame to touch up her lip gloss and smooth off the crumbs from her chips.
“Easy with the makeup!” Leigh calls from the side. “Good Lord,” she says to me. “If I wanted her to look like a pageant girl, I would have entered her in Little Miss New York.”
I shrug. In fact, back in my old life, I’d considered sending in Katie’s picture to the Parents child-model contest, so I wasn’t entirely sure why Leigh is so disgruntled. Don’t all parents want the world to coo over their offspring, as verification that their genes are the literal picture of DNA perfection, enough to make other couples froth with envy that their tots don’t measure up?
Leigh’s cell phone rings, and just as she excuses herself to the corner of the white-walled studio, Josie steps through the door. She glances around, then waves.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” I say, as she strides over in hip-hugging blue-rinsed jeans and a crisp pink oxford. “I’ve got everything under control.”
“I know,” she says, her eyes darting. “I just wanted to check in.”
“He’s not here, Jo,” I say.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Bart,” I say firmly. “He’s not here.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” she says unconvincingly, as color spreads across her neck. “I’m here to make sure that the shoot goes okay.”
Before I can answer, Leigh rushes back over.
“So there’s a problem,” she exhales. “My neighbor just called and, evidently, the basement pipes exploded and our house has flooded. Shit.” She stares down at the phone, as if she’s intuiting it will ring. “I called Liam, but I can’t reach him. How much longer do you need Allie for?”
“Oh God, at least another hour. Maybe two? They want to shoot her in different wardrobes so they can use her for the winter campaign, too.”
“Shit,” she repeats, then looks at me intently. “Well,” she pauses. “What about if she stays with you?”
“Yeah, no, that’s fine,” I say. “Just sign the waiver that I’m her guardian, and you can pick her up after the shoot.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” She shakes her head. “It’s already 4:30, and by the time I get home and deal with the plumbers and the cleanup, it will be hours . . . and well, Allie adores you, and I trust you, so could she just sleep at your place tonight?”
“Sleep there?”
“Well, yeah, turn it into a sleepover of sorts. I’ll pick her up first thing in the morning and take her to school.”
“Um, okay, I-I guess,” I say with a stutter. “Jack’s in Philadelphia for work, and I had dinner plans with a friend, but . . .” I mull it over: maximum bonding time with Jack’s niece. This can’t be a bad thing. “No, definitely. Let’s do it.”
“Thank God. Okay, look, you have my cell, call me if anything comes up, and I’ll buzz you as soon as this mess is taken care of.” She inhales and bats her bangs out of her eyes. “I’m so sorry about this.”
“No, no, don’t be silly.” I wave her off.
Leigh calls out to Allie and explains her good-byes, and then she’s off like a clap of thunder—one second here, the next she’s gone.
“Good luck with that,” Josie says, after we hear the heavy metal doors to the studio slam shut.
“How hard can it be?” I think of Katie and how I’d nearly mastered the art of domesticity.
“Harder than you think,” she replies dryly. “You’re not a mom.”
I start to disagree but then grasp that she’s not incorrect: for all intents and purposes, I’m nobody