The camera loves me. The people gasp for me. And the lights shine for me. But it just doesn’t feel right anymore.
Years of training betray me in the next moment as my eyes flick left to where I know my future is sitting. Regis Malone watches me. He’s the producer of a new soap opera titled Pacific Moon, set to start taping in LA six months from now. He’s looking for a fresh face like mine—at least that’s what he told me when we met at a bar in LA before I hopped on a plane to New York for this show. It’s the opportunity I’ve been waiting for, and the timing could not be better.
“An amateur to the screen, with the confidence of a trained actor and the passion to want it all,” he’d said as he shut the billfold and stood from his chair. He was a stout man with a booming voice, and wide, prideful eyes. And as he looked down at me, it was clear that he was well-aware of his accomplishments and the power he held. He loved my look, my attitude, my walk, and my natural, but subtle, Southern drawl. He was offering me my first true chance to leave the modeling world behind.
So I invited him to my show in New York to seal the deal, to show him what I do best and what I’m willing to give up for a chance at something new. This isn’t my first attempt to break away from modeling. I’ve been hungry to leave—desperate for it—for years. And acting will give me the opportunity to do just that. After countless secret auditions, and just as many rejections, I haven’t given up hope.
But tonight, I can taste opportunity fresh on my tongue like sweet victory. My insides feel electrified with everything to come. It’s all unfolding just as I planned.
My walk is perfection. I can feel it in my timing as my steps hit the runway on a steady, midtempo beat. My lips are tugged up just slightly at the corners, a trick my mother taught me to give my resting bitch face a much-needed lift.
I hit the end of the runway and release the one smile I’m allowed. All designers have their own rules for their catwalk, and the one-smile rule is Gabriele’s. My eyes connect with Regis’s, and I grow giddy inside as he nods his approval like it’s a secret message to me. I’m one step closer to my endgame.
I’m so caught up in my daydream that I miss the timing of my pivot. When I speed up my next step to recover my pacing, one of my heels catches in a flowy section of my skirt.
Dread locks up my entire body as I teeter forward off my spike heels with more force than I can manage. Suddenly, there’s too much air beneath my shoes and zero chances of saving myself.
It’s a short one-foot drop off the stage, but it all happens so fast, it’s impossible to find my footing. My palms catch my fall as I slam into cold cement. My head whips forward, and pain shoots up my arms. My knees crash to the hard floor, and now I’m on all fours.
My eyes squeeze shut as mortification slips through my veins. One breath… two breaths… three breaths. Noooooo. My insides are sobbing. I can’t look up, but I peel my eyes open just enough to see a pair of men’s shoes under my nose.
The music is still pulsing through the speakers, but all I can hear are the whispers. All I can feel is the shock of the crowd. And all I know is that everything I had planned for my future—my exit from modeling and my entrance into the world of acting—is now completely tarnished.
Five Star Faye
Desmond
“Sir, would you like something to drink?”
I pull my groggy eyes from the window that overlooks a field of clouds and the bright-blue sky above it. As tired as I am, I can never sleep on planes. There’s something about the altitude and not having anyone to talk to that brings every thought to the surface of my mind—the busy kind of thoughts that could benefit from a hit of a joint. Not that I’ve done that shit in years. Nowadays, the only highs I believe in are the natural sort like reaching the top of a mountain after a long hike, zooming around town in my ride, cooking a badass five-course gourmet meal from scratch, and sex.
Since I can’t have any of the above, I’ll settle for the next best thing, something that might just settle my mind when it feels impossible. With a quick glance at my watch, I confirm we’ll be in the air another four hours. I look up at the flight attendant and clear my throat. “I’ll take a Bloody Mary, thanks.”
The man in uniform immediately begins gathering the ingredients, and I shift in my seat. My eyes drift to the warm body beside me, which belongs to an attractive woman with a waiting smile. Her gaze is already on me and possibly has been for quite some time. I wouldn’t know since I’ve been lost in my own thoughts since boarding this dreadful flight. I hate plane rides. I hate sitting. I hate waiting around while the fate of my life is in someone else’s hands. All I can do is sit here, wishing to sleep through the entire thing.
“Tough morning?” the woman asks.
My eyes snap back to hers, and I cough out a laugh, remembering why I had my eyes glued to the window in the first place. The last thing I wanted when I climbed aboard this plane was to devote a single second to small talk. Then again, I hadn’t noticed her yet.
My eyes flick down, taking in her stretchy yellow suit pants and tight white tank top that calls attention to certain enhancements, before moving back up her body and landing on her bright-green eyes. If I were to venture a guess, I would say she’s an important businesswoman, maybe an executive at her organization, possibly divorced since she’s not wearing a ring. And I imagine she has little free time for anything more than a quick fuck now and then.
I smile at that last thought. My favorite type of relationship. When it comes to women, I’m definitely the type of guy who prefers a low-maintenance relationship, and I’m not afraid to admit it. No woman could ever label me as a player because my intentions are clear from the get-go. I won’t lead a woman on, and the second any sort of feelings get involved, I’m out.
I flash her a smile. “More like a rough night.”
Amusement replaces her smile as she faces forward. “Looking like you do, I imagine you have many of those.”
My brows lift at what I’m just going to assume was an advance of some kind. Clearly, she’s interested. But in what, I’m not so sure yet. Not that I’m complaining. By the way she carries herself, I would venture another guess that she’s got twenty years on me putting her in her late forties. An older woman who’s sexy, bold, and beautiful. Those are my three favorite qualities, and this spitfire has them all.
I angle my body toward her, my anxious thoughts drifting away. “It wasn’t that kind of rough night, unfortunately.”
There’s a pause before her curiosity wavers and she turns back to me. “Do tell.”
Discomfort snakes through my chest. I’m not in the mood for meaningless prodding from strangers. They don’t need to know my business, no matter how good-looking they are. Best to keep my answers short if I have any chance of steering us back toward safe ground. “I was visiting someone in Dallas. I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.”
“Ah, handsome and mysterious. I’m sure the ladies love it.”
My mouth opens, ready to tell her that’s not all the ladies love, but we’re interrupted by a male figure leaning toward us.
“Sir, your drink.”