Shy Town Girls (5 page)

Ivy leaned in, her interest roused.

“
It was weird because Francis was
pretty spot on. It threw me off when he told me that my favorite
numbers were three and seven, which is true.”

“
What else did he say?”

“
Supposedly Cancer the crab is ruled
by the mystery of the moon. We’re loaded with contradictions and
constantly working for stability, whether it’s emotionally,
romantically, or financially. We’re jealous, moody, insecure. But
we’re close to our family and friends. So, there you have it, me in
a crab shell.”

Meryl laughed and said, “Bobbie, that is spot
on.”

“
I know—creepy isn’t it?” I
said.

Ivy raised an eyebrow. “What about me? My birthday is
April Fool’s Day. I know I’m an Aries, but that’s about it. Do you
know anything about Aries?”

“
Ah, Aries, if I remember right. . .
your element is fire,” I mused.

“
No surprise there,” mumbled
Ella.

I dug into the memories of my ‘organic’ days when
Francis would waft in with the newest aromatherapy trend and a
printout of my daily horoscope. He was always telling me to get in
touch with my inner crab—and to lose the shell.

“
Let me check,” I said. I snatched
Ivy’s phone and began reading the app. “Okay, Aries. Your life
pursuit is the thrill of the moment. You’re always enthusiastic,
and you like to be a leader. You tend to trust your gut before your
thoughts, which can be troublesome if you find yourself in the
middle of some kind of drama. You retreat easily in order to think
about the aftermath of your actions. But you’re the life of the
party!” I winked. “I added that last part myself.”

Everyone laughed.

Meryl chimed in. “I have the same app on my phone. I
know I’m a Cancer and strangely, it’s usually pretty accurate! It
says I’m strong and bold on the outside, but sensitive on the
inside.” She smiled.

I nodded. “I agree with that, Meryl,” I teased her. I
had a flashback to a midnight phone call from Meryl a few years
back. She had called off an engagement to her fiancé. To this day,
I never really understood why. She had refused to share the
details. “But seriously, you are strong about what you believe in.
You don’t back down, especially, when it comes to taking care of
others, or defending the underdog. You are a true Cancer.” I was
definitely drunk.

Ella sat quietly listening, her hands crossed neatly
in her lap. I wasn’t sure if she was having fun.

“
What about you Ella? When’s your
birthday?” I asked.

“
I’m a Pisces,” she said
proudly.

“
Pisces, that’s the fish. Do you
know much about Pisces?”

“
Some,” she answered, not giving me
much to work with. I looked at Ivy’s phone app for more
information.

“
Well, am I right to say that Pisces
are intuitive, imaginative, kind, and sensitive?” I
asked.

She nodded in agreement. “I think so.”

“
On the dark side, Pisces are a bit
secretive, are they not?”

“
True,” she confirmed, reaching for
her drink. I didn’t want to push her any more, as my intuition was
telling me Ella felt awkward when she was put on the spot. I could
relate.

I suddenly realized as I looked up at the clock
against the main wall of the bar that it was almost midnight. I
still had not prepped for my meetings the next day and for once I
didn’t seem to mind. No one in the office would believe me if I
told them I was hungover. When did I become so lame? I also
realized that I had not checked my phone all night. In fact, I had
not thought about Charlie once.

The four of us walked home that night chatting back
and forth the whole way. It felt like we had been friends for
longer than just one night. Even Ella looked more at ease. After
brushing my teeth, washing my face and drinking two large glasses
of water with aspirin in hopes of avoiding any hangover, I fell
asleep almost instantly. Right before I slipped into a deep sleep I
had one lingering thought--what if I wouldn’t miss Charlie . . . at
all?

Chapter 5

I woke up the next morning almost forgetting where I
was. As reality sank in, Charlie’s face came to mind, and my
stomach lurched. I guess last night’s hopeful optimism was only
temporary.

I stormed into the office, late as usual.
Punctuality was something I needed to work on. The phones were
ringing, my head pounding, and people hurrying this way and that.
Striding down the white florescent-lit hallway like a starved model
on the runway was the infamous Wolfgang Lutz, the director of
Fordham Model Agency and my boss and. I quickly turned the corner
to avoid a confrontation regarding my tardiness.

“
Morning, Miss Bertucci,” chirped
the new British secretary for agents as I scurried into my office.
“There’s a memo on your desk.”

“
Great, thanks,” I said and shut
the door. I sat down at my desk, logged into my desktop computer,
and organized my work for the day. The first hour of the morning
was grueling. Not from work, but from my own head-tripping. Every
time I heard footsteps tapping past my door, my stomach dropped ,
for fear that it was Charlie: his gorgeous face that I loved to
hate; his long, lean body; that hypnotic stare.

I was happy to see an e-mail awaiting me from my
younger brother Adrian. He was off gallivanting in Europe,
supposedly attending school in Rome at John Cabot University. From
the random messages I received from him, I suspected he was
actually spending more time exploring shot bars in Paris and being
one with nature in Amsterdam than studying. It made me miss my own
adventurous days abroad and my old carefree attitude toward
life.

Ciao ciao, sister!

Guess where I just got back from? Yes, that’s
correct, LONDON baby! Wish you were here. You should plan a trip
this winter. I know you’ve been dying to get back to Rome ever
since you graduated. Just imagine: we can walk the streets of
Trastevere, drink wine on the steps of Piazza Trilussa, Piazza
Navona, and Trevi by night! And eat gelato till we puke. How bad do
you want to slap me right now? Anyway, I’m backpacking Prague this
coming weekend so don’t freak if I don’t respond. Did you break up
with that toolbag/Zoolander model guy Charlie yet? Tell Mom and Dad
I said what’s up. Peace big sister!

With love from Roma, your baby bro,

-Adrian

Attached was a picture of Adrian with my friends
Devin and Beau whom I had met on a backpacking trip to Europe. They
were standing in front of the London Eye with pints of Magners
cider. I envied my brother’s freedom. Every time he contacted me,
it made me want to quit Fordham and escape this superficial world.
Below his email were two emails from Charlie. I couldn’t bring
myself to open them.

I picked up the memo that Wolfe had left on my
desk.

BRAZILIAN MODEL: MARIA MURARI, BAHIA BRASIL, AGE: 19,
ENGLISH: NONE,

AGENT: ROBERTA BERTUCCI

English: None. Great another one, I thought. Now the
only jobs I could send her out on were ones I could attend in order
to be her translator. They didn’t pay me enough for the overtime I
put in trying to bridge language gaps. I began to poke around
online, looking for some English classes.

Working at a modeling agency had its benefits:
over-the-top galas, the constant tide of beautiful people, and of
course, the very latest fashions. But the majority of models you
see in magazines are insecure, unstable people with massive ego
issues lost in perpetual identity crises. And other kinds of
crises: expired visas, heroin addiction, one or two pounds of
weight gain. Sometimes I felt more like a therapist than an agent.
I kept a large poster on my office wall of a triangle diagram. At
its three points, the labels read, “Intelligent,” “Good Looking,”
and “Emotionally Stable.” In the middle of the triangle, it said
“Pick Two.” I usually classified myself as lacking in emotional
stability, but I looked like Dr. Phil in comparison to the train
wrecks that waltzed into my office.

Feeling claustrophobic, I took off my scarf, stacked
the papers on my desk, and had the urge to throw everything out the
window and burn down the place. Breathe. Breathe. My anxiety was
escalating. Coffee? Or not enough coffee?

“
Knock, knock,” I heard the voice
outside my door. I glanced up with a sigh of relief to see Oliver’s
big green eyes.

“
Olly...” I sighed. He floated
across the room making it feel fuller and lighter at the same
time.

“
Miss Booger Bertucci.” He walked in
and set a cup of coffee on my desk.

“
Mmm. . . Hazelnut?”

“
Pumpkin spice,” he
winked.

Oliver wore his standard outfit of faded jeans,
combat boots, and a dark green jacket that complimented his forest
green eyes. “And how are you on this wonderful morning?” he asked
his voice smooth.

“
Stressed. My new model from Bahia
doesn’t speak a lick of English, so I’m trying to get her into some
classes. If I can do that, it’ll really improve her portfolio. It’s
amazing that these models get recruited, brought to the U.S., and
don’t even know the language. Anyway, life is much better now that
you’re here. What’s up?”

He flashed his crooked smile, always sweetly
contagious. “Well. . . as far as the models go,” he said, “that’s
what you’re here for,to hold their pretty hands and make them stars
on the cover of Vogue.” Olly smoothed the air as he envisioned the
Vogue cover page.

“
You’re looking rather stylish
today,” I complimented sarcastically. Oliver needed a haircut and,
more so, needed me to remind him. His chestnut locks were beginning
to curl on the ends. He looked a bit like Michelangelo’s David. I
always liked the way his cow lick flipped over revealing his
forehead.

“
What—didn’t you hear?” he teased.
“I’ve decided to pursue my male-modeling career. You know, I think
it’s really my calling.” He posed like one of the many male models
I managed, moving his hips in isolation like a samba dancer. “All
nat-u-ral Bobbie,” he sang, smoothing his hair with the blade of
his hand.

I covered my mouth and laughed at his
ridiculousness.

“
Good lord. If you keep that up, I
promise you I will vomit,” I stared at his hips.

“
What? Am I not doing it right?” he
continued posing.

“
Wow. Maybe you should ditch the
photography and coach my models,” I laughed. “Okay, please stop,
right now. Stop. You are not normal.”

He finished with an exaggerated pelvic thrust and
threw himself down in the chair beside my desk. “Yeah, I’ll stick
with taking the photos, thank you very much. Behind the camera is
where it’s at,” he said with a sigh, slouching back and picking
something from his tooth.

“
Everything all right in there?” I
asked watching him dig for gold in his molar.

“
Scone bits from earlier, all good.
So...how are the new roomies and mansion in the Gold Coast working
out?”

“
So far, so good. I hear that
sarcastic tone; watch it, smart ass. Anyway, it’s definitely going
to be weird getting used to, but I think I’m going to warm to
living downtown. The house and the neighborhood are incredible. The
mansions and the Victorian row houses give the area a lot of
character, and the atmosphere is just spectacular. You need to come
by and see it, maybe take some photos in the historic district.
It’s gorgeous, vintage almost, and they’re making a few renovations
to the house—it’s going to be amazing. And as far as the girls,
they are mostly really great.”

“Mostly?” He raised a brow.

“Yeah.”

“You mean most of the girls are great, or all of
them are mostly great—”

“No, they’re great. All of them.”

“But you said—” he teased.

“Olly!” I threatened to smack him. “I just moved in.
It’s too soon to say. And why do you say Gold Coast like it’s a bad
thing?”

“
Come to my hood, Wicker Park, this
weekend,” he said. “Leave your lipstick, perfumes, and designer
crap at home and see how the other half lives. I’ll buy you some
low calorie beer,” he teased. “My friend Sam’s band is playing.
They’re kind of a Mumford and Sons meets Blink-182 meets the
Beatles kind of thing.”

“
Blink-182. . . God. Do you
remember that concert?”

“
Yeah, when Travis came down from
the sky like a drummer-god.”

We relived the moment together. “Do you still have
that t-shirt I got you?” I asked.

“
Somewhere, definitely.” He sighed.
“Please don’t remind me of those days.”

“
You mean high school? Mr. Prom
King.”

“
Pfft. It was a fluke. Someone
rigged the votes!”

“
Oliver, are you blushing?” I called
him out. “You know you were totally that artsy fartsy mysterious
guy all the girls made up stories about,” I laughed.

“
Bullshit!” he threw his head back
and laughed.

“
Yep, don’t deny it,” I pointed at
him. “I remember one of the best rumors was when you got back from
London and people were saying that you joined a band and had been
on tour with—”

“
I know. And here I was actually
with my family on a Christmas holiday. Although, I did bring my
guitar with me on that trip, so maybe you don’t know everything
about me.”

“It’s all about style points, Olly. Ew, that leather
jacket with the weird design on the back you used to wear. . .”