The Home for Wayward Supermodels Read online

  “Yeah, but my mom lied to me. It’s like my whole life is a lie. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

  Desi considered this. “Lying is no good,” she said.

  “I’m so mad at my mother, I never want to see her again.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do mean it. I hate her.”

  “Oh, come on, Amanda. She’s a good mother. Maybe she made this one mistake but…”

  “I can’t see her tonight,” I told Desi. “Can I stay here? I mean, I know you don’t have much room but…”

  “If you don’t mind squeezing into this bed with me,” said Desi. “I’ll call the hotel so your mom doesn’t worry. You’ll feel different in the morning.”

  In the morning, I was still mad. I still felt as if my life had been turned inside out. But I was ready to talk to Mom about it.

  To my astonishment, when I called her at the hotel she answered the phone with the cheeriest of voices, as if she’d just come from her Monday afternoon poker game, where she and her girlfriends were known to mix themselves a few cosmos and pretend they were characters in some North Woods version of Sex and the City: Sex and the Pine Trees.

  “I am so angry at you,” I snarled, going for the kind of slap that would wipe the smile I could tell was on her face right off.

  But Mom was not to be deterred. “Oh, I know, dear,” she said, trying to sound concerned and contrite. “And I’m really sorry I sprang that on you like that, and that I ruined your birthday, and upset you so much. But the most exciting thing has happened. That woman from the modeling agency, Raquel, has called about fifty times. Apparently the pictures Alex took of you yesterday are amazing—that’s the word she used—and they’re ready to sign you right away. This morning. Each time she calls she keeps offering more money!”

  “Mom, what are you talking about? We’re in crisis here. This thing about my father is a lot more important than any stupid modeling contract.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Mom said. “Oh, I know it’s important, but we have a whole lifetime to work this out. But your big chance for a career is here and now. We have to set all these other problems aside and think about that.”

  “I can’t just set these problems aside so easily,” I told her. “And I don’t want to be a model. I want to marry Tom.”

  There. I’d finally struck her silent. So silent that I began to fear the line had gone dead and ventured, “Mom?”

  “I’m here,” Mom said. “Oh, Amanda. It isn’t that I don’t like Tom. He’s a wonderful young man. He reminds me of your father—I mean of Duke. But you have a chance at something so much more than that. This would be an opportunity for you to travel the world and make more money in a few years than Tom’s going to make in a lifetime as a fishing guide. And if you give the modeling a shot and you and Tom still want to be together, then you can marry him.”

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to give her the benefit of knowing she was making a good point.

  “Maybe Tom wouldn’t want to marry a girl who’d lived in New York and worked as some hot-ass model,” I said finally. I said it to keep arguing with Mom, but once it was out of my mouth I realized that was what I was really afraid of.

  “Then maybe he’s not the man for you,” Mom said quietly.

  I was nervous I was about to start liking her again when she said the thing that tipped me over the edge.

  “Listen, honey, I just want the best for you,” she said. “I know what it’s like to settle down in Eagle River at a young age, to realize this is it, and I wish I’d had the chance you have, to go further as a model, to go to Europe…”

  “But you couldn’t because you got pregnant with me.”

  Stunned silence.

  “That’s the real truth, isn’t it, Mom?” I said, ready to blast her now. “Getting pregnant with me forced you to go back to Eagle River, forced you into this life you never wanted. That’s why you got so fat. Because I ruined your life.”

  I slammed down the phone and sucked air in and out of my lungs so hard I felt like I was going to faint. There was no way now that I was going back to Eagle River, no way I was going to speak to my mother ever again. This avalanche of truth had forced me into my own choice, but it wasn’t the same one my mom had made.

  I felt a pang thinking of my dad, I mean Duke, and wished I could talk to him about this tangle of news and feelings. But he’d never been good at talking on the phone, even about something unpressured like the weather. And if I called him, then he’d immediately tell Mom, and they’d team up to try and drag me back to Wisconsin.

  The only thing left for me to do was call Tom, tell him everything that had happened, ask him what he thought about my signing the modeling contract and staying in New York, just for now, just long enough for me to make enough money for us to get married and buy a house and for me never to have to work at the House O’ Pies or rely on my mother for anything ever again.

  Tom answered with far more words than he usually strung together at one time. “You don’t want to know what I think; you want my permission,” he said. “But that’s something you don’t need. You should do what you want to do, Amanda. And when you’re done doing it, I’ll be here waiting.”

  three

  Here are the first things I noticed about Raquel Gross’s office:

  Everything that wasn’t glass was steel.

  Everything that wasn’t hard—i.e. glass or steel—was red.

  The phone and the computer were as thin and shiny as the blade of a knife.

  All the books on the bookshelves were covered with white paper, their titles hand-printed on the spines in black ink.

  Raquel herself was completely outfitted in black (her clothes), steel and glass (her jewelry), except her mouth was the same bright red as the office accents.

  As soon as she saw me, Raquel Gross clicked her switchblade phone closed as if there hadn’t been anyone on the other end and hurried around her glass and steel desk to enfold me in a huge embrace. No one had ever hugged me that long and hard except my mom and Tom, and they don’t count for various reasons. I mean no one who barely knew me.

  “I am so excited,” she said, rocking me back and forth.

  “Me too,” I tried to say, though she was holding me so tight it came out as “Mmm-tuh.”

  “I knew I was right,” she said, pushing me away so she could look at me, but still not letting go. “I know these things. That’s why I am what I am.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, like I did when Tom started going on about the feeding habits of the Great Northern.

  “You…are…going…to…be…a…star,” she said, separating the words like that.

  “Wow.”

  “I’m so glad you decided to sign,” she said, bustling back to her side of the desk and motioning for me to sit. “That is so the right decision. I mean, ‘Should I pursue a fabulous modeling career or do nothing in nowheresville?’ Duh!”

  When I didn’t laugh, she cleared her throat and shuffled through the papers in front of her.

  “Where’s your manager?” she asked.

  “My…uh…” I stumbled, unsure how to explain.

  Desi had offered to come along to Raquel’s. But I felt, after the mess with Mom, that I wanted to do this on my own. Completely on my own, with no lies, nothing hidden.

  “Desi and I are still friends,” I said, “but we’ve parted ways on the managing thing.”

  The corners of Raquel’s mouth turned up in a smile as quick as a blink.

  “All right,” she said, pushing the first thick stack of papers toward me. “Initial here and here and here, and sign here, and, let me see, here.”

  I picked up the document, thick and dense as a history paper, except neater, and started reading.

  “What are you doing?” Raquel said.

  “I’m reading it.”

  She snapped her scarlet-tipped fingers in the air. “This is New York!” she cried. “People do things fast here! They
don’t read their contracts.”

  I hesitated. “Maybe I should have my mom look at this.”

  Although I would rather have kissed that jerk Alex Pradels than actually bring my mom into this deal. I hadn’t even told her I’d decided to come here, to sign the contract. I was an adult now, free to make my own decisions. But I wished I could show the contract at least to Desi before signing it.

  Raquel narrowed her eyes at me. “I thought you turned eighteen yesterday. Are you sure you’re legally responsible to sign this?”

  “Of course,” I said, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

  “Maybe you better let me have a look at your driver’s license.”

  My face now blazing, the way it does when you get stopped by a cop even when you know you were going the speed limit, I fished the license out of my wallet—Desi had gotten my stuff from Mom—and handed it to her. Then, while she was squinting down at it, moving her lips in an effort to do the math, I scribbled my initials and name across the contract before she could change her mind. Finally satisfied, she slid the rest of the copies across the desk to me to sign.

  When I was finished, Raquel tapped the papers into a neat stack and said, “Now I’ll take you to your apartment.”

  “But I don’t have an apartment.”

  She laughed lightly in a way that told me she didn’t think anything was funny.

  “I mean the apartment we rent on your behalf,” she said. “It’s right in clause thirty-seven of the contract.”

  “Wow,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Raquel said. “Wow. Tomorrow, you have your first go-see—that’s like an audition, but for models. But now I’ll take you up to your place so you can get settled in.”

  When Raquel opened the door to my new apartment, I was shocked to see the place was so dense with smoke it looked like the prom when the band turned on the fog machine, and it smelled like Winkler’s Tavern late on a cold Saturday night. All the windows were shut because the air conditioner was blasting. Through the mist I could just make out the long, thin figure of a beautiful girl reclining on the couch. Reclining on the couch and, of course, smoking.

  “Tatiana!” cried Raquel, moving toward the couch as if to embrace the reclining figure, but then apparently changing her mind and flopping into a hard-looking chair, lighting up herself. “What are you doing inside on such a beautiful day?”

  Tatiana yawned widely and resumed puffing. “Day is shit,” she growled finally.

  “Fresh air is good for you,” Raquel said, wagging her finger. “As long as you wear lots of sunscreen.”

  She turned around toward me then and expelled an energetic gust of smoke, which left her mouth free to break into a wide smile. “See how well I take care of you girls?” she said. “I should have children. Don’t you think I’d be a great mother?”

  I’d always thought I had a great mother, who cooked me three hot meals a day and brushed my hair every night and bought me every single thing I wanted for Christmas. But look where that ended up: with betrayal. Maybe Raquel’s brand of mothering would be better.

  “All I need is the man,” she said.

  “Men are swine,” said Tatiana.

  “Not all men,” I said, thinking of Tom. “Some men are more like…whisky jacks.”

  This seemed to perk up Tatiana.

  “Ha!” she cried. “Men are whisky-jacking swine!”

  “The whisky jack is a bird,” I told her. “A forest bird. It’s big and gentle like a Great Dane, and also sweet and unafraid, and just likes to hang around the same place all the time.”

  There was a pair of whisky jacks in the forest on the island in Big Secret Lake where Tom and I camped every year. The male was so accustomed to Tom, who was always on that lake, that it sometimes perched on his shoulder when he was fishing by himself. Those two were so much alike, I thought of the whisky jack as an animal manifestation of Tom’s soul.

  “That doesn’t sound like any of the men I know in New York,” said Raquel, “except maybe my doorman, and I don’t want to date him.”

  “There are a lot of men like that where I come from,” I said.

  “Maybe that’s what I need,” Raquel said, “a big strong strapping country boy, bursting with sperm. Do you know someone like that you could introduce me to?”

  I surveyed her, with her makeup and her black clothes and her cigarette. It was hard to imagine any of the boys I knew at school wanting to go out with her, or ever coming to New York to find out. It was even harder to imagine her kicking it in Eagle River. But I didn’t want to just say no.

  Ten Things to Say When You Can’t Say No

  I’ll think about it.

  Is that the phone ringing?

  You have something weird in your teeth.

  You don’t really want that.

  I wouldn’t do that to you.

  Oh my Gosh, look at the time.

  Oh my Gosh, I think I’m going to be sick.

  Your question reminds me of a really funny story.

  I’ll ask my mom/my neighbor/my boyfriend.

  Sure.

  Unfortunately I picked option number 10.

  “Great!” Raquel said. “Oooh, a real macho man. But he has to be someone I won’t be embarrassed to take to Blue Fin or WD50. And he absolutely must like the ballet. That’s nonnegotiable.”

  I looked away from Raquel so I wouldn’t burst out laughing and my gaze landed on Tatiana’s. We exchanged the tiniest flicker of a smile, which prompted an equally tiny flicker of hope in my heart.

  “Amanda is from northern Wisconsin,” Raquel explained to Tatiana. “That’s something like the Ukraine, except in America.”

  “Like Ukraine?” Tatiana asked, a smile still playing at the edges of her fabulous lips. “Is shit place?”

  “No, it’s beautiful,” I said, hugging my straw bag to my chest and thinking of the way Big Secret sparkled in the summer sun.

  Raquel stubbed out her cigarette and got to her feet. “I’ve got to consult my psychic about this. And my therapist. I’ve got this weird, tingly feeling that this mountain man, whoever he is, is going to be the father of my baby.”

  “There aren’t really any mountains in northern Wisconsin,” I said.

  Raquel looked at me as if I might be joking. Then she commenced brushing nonexistent lint from her black clothing. “Mountains, forests, whatever,” she said. “Don’t you think I’ll be a fabulous mom? Come on, Tatiana, I’ve got to take you to an appointment.”

  Tatiana groaned loudly. “Is crap of dawn!”

  “That’s crack of dawn, and no, in fact, it is the afternoon, and as you know, the agency rule is up at six and proceed immediately to the gym, which you have obviously skipped today. That is unacceptable, especially after yesterday’s screw-up. As Tatiana should know, Amanda, the other rules are lights out at ten, keep the place neat, and no drinking, drugs, men, or smoking.”

  Behind Raquel’s back, Tatiana grinned at me and then crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. I couldn’t help it, I grinned back, which Raquel interpreted as my not really taking her seriously.

  “We’re obviously lenient on the smoking rule, because it’s good for your figure,” she explained. “And we’re between maids at this place. But otherwise we’re very serious about our rules. And if you break them”—here she leveled a severe look at Tatiana—“you could be cut by the agency.”

  Raquel then took a yellow silk envelope fat with money from her black reptile purse and handed me ten pristine twenty-dollar bills, a tiny cell phone, and a key, golden, to the apartment. On the back of one of her business cards, she scribbled a name and address.

  “First thing in the morning, you’re going to Vogue. More rules: Show up on time, be polite, and don’t express any opinions. Remember, you’re under contract now. Any violations and your career is over.”

  The first thing I did after Raquel and Tatiana left the apartment was open all the windows. That made it hot and noisy and smelly from traffic fumes and stre
et smells, but at least it got some of the smoke out. Then I found an unopened box of trash bags and filled several of those with empty beer bottles, champagne bottles, vodka bottles, and water bottles, and hauled them downstairs. Then I hung up the dozens of items of clothing littered around the apartment. Then I wiped everything down with a T-shirt and then I vacuumed.

  Then I flopped down exhausted on one of the twin beds in the apartment’s only bedroom, thinking this is what my mom must feel like a lot of the time. I hadn’t let myself think about my mom all day, and now that I had it felt like somebody had plunged a sharp instrument into my chest and hooked it around my heart. I imagined Mom sitting in the room at the Holiday Inn, frantic with worry, overdue to leave for the flight for Wisconsin and having no idea whether she should go. Retrieving the cell phone Raquel had given me, I dialed the number of Mom’s big old cell phone. She let out a sob when she heard my voice.

  “Thank God you’re safe,” she said.

  “I’m safe, Mom.” I had to work to keep my voice steady and cool. With my mom, all my emotions were always right out there for her to sort through and mop up. But I couldn’t do that anymore. I was a grown-up now.

  “I signed the modeling contract,” I told her.

  She was silent.

  “You were right,” I said. “It is an amazing opportunity. I’ve already got an apartment, a fabulous apartment, and I’ll be staying in New York.”

  “What about Tom?” Mom finally managed to say.

  “We’ve talked it over. He thinks I should go for it.”

  “So the flight tonight…” Mom said. “Your ticket…”

  “I’ll give you the money for it,” I told her breezily. “But you better hurry up if you’re going to get to the airport. I’ll be in touch.”

  And then I hung up, before I could change my mind.

  four