Not In My Wildest Dreams (Dream Series) (12 page)

William and I continued to work on my career, and he seemed to respect all that I did for his company. That said, he was ready to take things to a higher level of competition, and asked me if I wanted to work for him in other ways, like scouting. It was an interesting proposition. I figured I didn’t have anything to lose, and only everything to gain, so I started scouting for William and helped bring in new talent. I learned a lot, like it takes many years to gain a foothold in this business of running a modeling agency. Many companies are never widely known, and are small boutique operations. That’s how WMW Models, Inc. had been. Now William wanted to go nationwide, and eventually global. My contracts with the big products helped him get to that status where he could finally consider it. William and I were a great pair, and his company grew stronger and stronger. I kept working, but not like I had when I was younger.

In the spring of 1990, my thoughts turned to college. It was why I had gotten into the whole modeling thing anyway. So, even though I was twenty-fucking-nine years old, I collected information from NYU, Columbia, and Fordham. I was hoping that while my grades in high school were nothing to boast about, perhaps my career days as both a model, and helping to build a (now global) modeling agency, would carry some weight.

One night, while we were both in town and hanging at my place, Becca and I had a blast pouring over the catalogs and imagining ourselves in a variety of professions, post modeling career. I had no idea what degree to get, or what I would do with the degree once I’d earned it.

“A chemist! It’s perfect for you, Becs. You’re always mixing up drinks, now you mix up real chemicals!”

“Shut up!” She pushed back. “Thirty-five year old women do not go back to school. Well, they do, but not this one. Anyway, I already have my English degree. But I
would
do better at chemistry than you would do in business school,” she snorted, pushing a catalog in my direction.

“I’d run a kick-ass business!”

“Right. Doing what?” she mused.

“I dunno. Maybe I’ll open my
own
modeling company. A boutique agency. I’ll focus on male models.”

“You’ll go broke in a week. You know better than I that men bring in shit checks. Twenty percent of nearly nothing isn’t even worth the effort. You wouldn’t have a New York address, that’s for sure. You’d be back in Hoboken.” We both collapsed into laughter, remembering my days when I’d first moved out here.

When we’d calmed down, she pulled the business catalog back to her view.

“So, are you quitting modeling?” she asked hesitantly. Her career had grown to near stand-still, but she stayed involved with pet charities. Becca was one smart cookie and had done a terrific job of saving her money. She owned her condo outright, and lived on the interest her savings provided. It was as if she’d gone to college to study Business, not English.

“No, I still have another couple years on contracts, unless they cut me loose.” I muttered. It felt like only time.

“They wouldn’t do that. Your face is the link to those hot jeans and super sexy cologne. Times Square still isn’t over your underwear billboard.”

“You’re only as good as your last gig, though, right? These young kids coming on… I can’t compete.”

“You don’t have to. You are your own brand. You’re Jack Stevens. I think you’d do all right,” she said with a straight face. “I can see it now,” she mused, looking off into the distance. “Stevens Modeling Agency.”

“You think? Hey! You could work for me. I’d be lost without you.”

“Ooo! Can I be your secretary?”

“Sure. I wouldn’t trust any one else. We’ll call it…
Becks
. Becca and Jack’s.”

“We’d be unstoppable.”

“The problem is that I’m a dunce bucket and could never get into any of these schools. Not to mention, I’m nearly over the hill. I should look into a community college instead.”

“Nonsense. Twenty-nine is nothing! Besides, what’s celebrity and experience if you can’t use it?”

“I’m not a household name like you, Becs,” I grimaced. “No one knows Jack Stevens.”

“Oh, they may not know your name, but they know your face—and those abs.”

“What? These?” I pulled up my shirt and flexed my six-pack. Becca just rolled her eyes at me and shook her head.

We sat just looking at one another. That’s the thing about a best friend. Sometimes you don’t have to say anything. It was that way with Becs and me.

“So, if you’re gonna grow up and go to college, are you also going to get serious about a girl?”

“I’ll get serious about a girl if you do,” I challenged. She and Rita, were still as tight as ever, even if she wouldn’t let Rita move in.

“Ha! Been there, done that. I won’t survive it again if I do. But at least I tried. I don’t believe you’ve even tried.”

J
ack would make an amazing boyfriend, or husband. Caring. Smart. Handsome as hell. Would she mind the relationship Jack and I have?

And as for me getting serious… Rita, dear, sweet Rita. She’s the best. And I trust her. I do… And—I love her. Maybe I should get “serious” about her. If we got “serious” would she let me keep Jack? Would she break my heart?

W
ell, Becca was right and I was easily accepted to both NYU and Columbia. Guess my ten years modeling, plus working for William and the status of his business, along with his letter of recommendation, and knowing William, he probably sent a donation… it all paid off.
Mental note: Repay the favor.

I chose Columbia because they responded to my application first. Imagine my surprise when I’d gotten accepted into NYU, too. I registered for classes and was genuinely excited about school, which was hilarious because I’d always hated school.

I was in my second semester at Columbia when I met Kari. We were both in Psychology 101. She was a pre-law major. Beautiful with long brown hair, large hazel eyes, and olive toned skin. Shy. She had this laugh that was definitely one of a kind, a melodious quality and light. And, she was incredibly smart, even if she didn’t know who I was. She had no idea I was a model. And maybe that was the appeal. She was with me because of me, not my celebrity status.

Kari was so different, reserved, even more than the girls I’d ever gone out with back in high school. Her mother was an elementary school teacher, and her father, a criminal lawyer. Kari was shy about public displays of affection and sex talk. Anything with an innuendo and she was blushing. I found that aspect about her rather endearing. Cute, even. Almost like when I was back in high school. Dating a virgin. I think she still had her V-card, I was pretty sure she did. I didn’t have the courage to ask, and she wouldn’t come right out and say.

I had high hopes when I took her out to dinner on Valentines Day, but she only let me get to “second base.” Her words, not mine. She was barely out of high school herself; nineteen years old. A full ten years younger than me. I’d never thought of dating someone so young before. I don’t know if Kari knew how old I was, and I didn’t tell her. I didn’t really look my age. A benefit of working in an industry with so much focus on looks, I’d always taken good care of my skin, therefore, I looked pretty young. I found the age difference between Kari and me to be comforting in a weird way. Like I was her protector.

Becca’s challenge about getting serious about a girl rang in my head when Kari and I first started seeing each other. So taking the relationship seriously, I stopped seeing other women. It took a ridiculous amount of control and I was convinced I was going to develop some horrible disease. One doesn’t simply go from four to seven fucks a week, to just his hand, which I was now all too familiar with. I even stopped sleeping with Becca, besides—I was hoping she’d get serious about Rita. But something about being with Kari made it worth it. She made me want to be an upstanding guy. I didn’t even feel the need to dominate her, although the thought of turning her olive-toned skin a deep pink crossed my mind more times than I cared to admit.

When we’d go out, she wasn’t coming on to me, or bragging about her own achievements. Instead, I took her to dinner, or some touristy site, I even took her skating at Rockefeller Center. I let her drag me shopping, and to the State Supreme Court, and French films in quirky little theaters. I thought she was trying to wind me up with a sexy film, but no. She just liked French and spoke it fluently. We had discussions about the president, about the economy, about what we wanted to do with our degrees. She was planning on using her law degree in the corporate setting, but hadn’t pinned down exactly how. I lied and told her I didn’t know what I wanted to use my business degree for. We joked that she would come work for whatever business I was going to run. We had real discussions. Real fun. And a real connection. Even if I wasn’t completely honest about who Jack Stevens was—a horny, dominant, ‘old man’ who, by the way, was a model.

Things were going really well. In fact, we had plans for her birthday in late March that involved a hotel. I couldn’t believe it when she agreed. I booked a great room at the Waldorf. But before we got to that hotel, she learned of my career, and got a little weird on me. Started pulling away.

We were headed to see the musical
Cats!
It happened to be a nice, mid-March evening, so after taking the 1 Train to Penn Station, we decided to walk to the Winter Garden Theatre. We were walking up Seventh Avenue in Times Square when she looked up and froze. I turned to see what she was looking at. And there it was. A
GUESS!
jeans billboard. I hadn’t realized the billboard was up. I’d done those shots nearly eight months back. I looked good. The model with me, Claudia, also in the shot, looked incredible and was hanging on me.

“Is that
you
?” Kari asked, almost breathless.

I ran my hand through my thick, black hair, suddenly embarrassed. I don’t know why her reaction set me on my heels that way. Normally, I’d puff my chest and be all
‘Yup! Don’t I look awesome?’
but the expression on her face told me that such a reply would be bad. “Yeah,” I muttered.

“And is that—”

“Claudia Schiffer. Yeah. Super nice. You’d like her a lot.”

“Wow. Um. Okay. I need to sit down for a moment.”

I whisked her into a nearby coffee shop. It wasn’t a nice one, but not much in Times Square was really nice. I hope they clean this place up. I’ve heard all sorts of stories about how great it used to be.

I got her a coffee with her four sugars, shuddering—how she drank that stuff with so much sugar, I would never know. I sat down across from her and looked at her. She looked white as a ghost.

“So, you’re a… model?” I nodded. “Now I understand the looks from the other girls in class. They all stare at you, you know. And they glare at me since we started seeing each other,” she said, blowing into her paper cup.

I nodded. I’d seen how the girls stare. I was used to it. But something about Kari’s soft mannerisms and terrific smile drew me in. She was so different than the models, and wanna-bes, and groupies I was used to. She wasn’t brash. She wasn’t arrogant. She needed protection. Of course, Becca’s challenge was ringing in my ears, too.

“Look,” I started. “I chose you.”

“But why? I’m not as pretty as those other girls.”

“You’re way prettier. They all need hair crimpers and layers of makeup to even come close to your beauty. And you have a beauty they will never have. You’re kind and sweet and smart. I’m with you because I want to be with you.”

She swallowed and searched my face. But the look on her face told me that she didn’t believe a word of it.

“Kar—I’m a model. Not an actor. I’m serious here.”

She licked her lips. Her gorgeous, soft, pink lips. Her large hazel eyes blinked a few times, then she nodded. I stood and held out my hand. She took it. Quietly we walked to the theatre. We enjoyed the show. I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would. But something from that point on with Kari was different. I felt her pull away.

A couple of weeks after Kari’s discovery of my job, and two nights before we were going to be heading to the Waldorf, I went looking for Kari in the library in her favorite corner on the horrible orange sofa. I nearly flipped my lid when she was sitting with another guy. A blonde surfer type. I stood and watched them, disbelieving and hoping I was misinterpreting something. This guy had his arm draped around Kari. And he was saying something low, and she giggled. My girl! My blood boiled. I couldn’t hear a thing. He was dragging his finger, his fucking fat handed fingers, up and down her arm. Kari’s eye flitted to the side to see his hand.