Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel (29 page)

“Why would she snoop around in my stuff? Don't worry about that.”

“I'm bummed we're not rooming together,” I tell her. “I wanted to catch up on everything that happened to you while you were visiting your mom.”

“Yeah, me too,” she says. “I guess we just have to make the best of it. We're only here for a few days.”

“Want to go down and have coffee before everyone shows up for lunch?”

Cindy glances at the door behind her. “What about Natasha? She might feel left out.”

I blink back at her. “So?”

She sighs. “So. It's rude.”

“Since when have we ever cared about being rude? Everyone knows we're best friends. She shouldn't find it odd that after being separated we'd want to get together and catch up.”

Biting her lip, Cindy glances at the door behind her again. “I guess,” she says. “At least let me tell her I'm cutting out on her and we'll see her at lunch in a few.”

“Oh, tell her to wake up Karen before she comes down.”

“Okay.” Cindy disappears for a few minutes and then comes back out of the room. “Let's go. We only have fifteen minutes before everyone else joins us.”

I link my arm with hers and we walk down the hallway toward the stairs. “You look great, Cindy. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it.”

She smiles. “I plan to.”

Once downstairs, we enter the restaurant/coffee house/bar. That's what the sign says. The inn isn't that big and the restaurant area isn't that crowded. A few people dressed for skiing dot the tables. Cindy and I sit at a two-top in one corner near a crackling fireplace.

“It's really pretty here,” I say. “Karen doesn't seem to appreciate the scenery, but since I don't ski, I've never been to a place like this.”

“It is pretty,” Cindy agrees. “But I'm really missing home and my apartment. Living in a hotel for a few days has made me appreciate the comforts of home.”

“Prepare to find it more comfortable than when you left,” I warn her. “I think Natasha bought you dishes. You know, the kind you don't throw away once you've eaten off them?”

Cindy's cheeks bloom brighter. “Probably just a thank-you for letting her stay at my place.”

“She's made your apartment quite homey,” I go on. “I guess she brought some of her stuff over because I've noticed added touches here and there. Your apartment is starting to look like a grandma lives there.”

“Natasha has old-fashioned tastes,” Cindy says. “I wouldn't call her taste ‘grandma style.' She told me she likes antiques and things.”

“I've been nice to her.” The waitress pauses before us and Cindy and I order coffee, letting her know we'll be joining a group for lunch in a few minutes. I turn back to the conversation. “But I can't say I won't be glad when we get home that she's gone and you're back. I've missed you horribly.”

Cindy reaches out and pats my hand. “I've missed you, too. Lou, I need to talk to you about that.”

My gaze naturally scans the room. I'm not surprised to see people glance in my direction. I have a familiar face, and if people don't recognize me as a model, they're usually trying to figure out where they've seen me before. A lone man sits at a table in the back. He's really into the ski thing. He wears a ski cap, dark goggles, and is bundled up like he's still on the slopes. I wrinkle my nose. People must sweat beneath all their ski gear. BO hangs heavy on the air.

“About what?” My attention returns to Cindy.

“About when we get home,” she clarifies. “Natasha won't be leaving.”

I'm confused by her statement. “Surely her apartment has been fumigated by now.”

Cindy takes a sip of her coffee. “Her apartment was never being fumigated, Lou. She moved in with me.”

I'm still confused. “So, you're roommates now?”

Cindy rolls her eyes. “No, dimwit. We're lovers.”

For a moment I think Cindy is being sarcastic. When I realize she isn't, it hits me. “She's the new friend you've been seeing? She went home with you?”

“I didn't want to say anything until I saw how we did together out of town. I guess until I saw what my mother thought of her, but yes, Lou, she's who I've been seeing.”

Confusion sets in again. “She said she didn't like girls. She slept with Stefan. Is she bi or what?”

Sighing, Cindy leans back in her chair. “It's hard to explain, but no, she's not bi. She thought no one liked her and the only way to be accepted into the group was to sleep with Stefan. She thought it would win her popularity points, not alienate her further. She was really down when she told me all this. I asked her point-blank if she was gay and she said yes, but she thought admitting as much would hurt her career.”

“Do I have gaydar or what? I told you she was gay.”

“You think everyone is gay, Lou. When you think everyone is gay you're bound to be right once in a while.”

Now that I know the truth about Natasha, and her relationship with my best friend, I have to ask myself if I'm happy for Cindy or not. Countless times I've said to her and to myself that all I want is for Cindy to meet a nice girl and settle down. All I want is for her to be happy.

Our whole relationship is about to change. I'm not going to be number one with Cindy anymore. She won't be available for me at the drop of a hat. I'm not sure how I feel. Honestly, I am sure. I don't like it.

“Give me time to adjust to the idea,” I say. “It's hard when one friend moves on and the other one doesn't.”

“But you are moving on, Lou,” Cindy says quietly. “You're making new friends. Sheesh, sleeping with men. Searching for your birth mother, and I guess now your adoptive parents. What's happening to us is normal. It was what our lives were before the changes started that wasn't normal.”

Sentimental crap always gets to me. I suddenly feel weepy. Damn PMS is starting up. Great. “Who's going to take care of me?” I ask, on the verge of a sniffle.

Cindy smiles her wise smile. “You are,” she answers. “You've been taking care of yourself for seven years, Lou.”

I suppose she's right. Cindy is usually right, which is one of the things that annoys the hell out of me about her. “Natasha had better be good to you. She'll get a visit from a werewolf if she isn't.”

My friend's laugh has never sounded so genuine. She is happy, I realize, and okay, somewhere down deep in the dark pit of my selfish soul, I feel joy for her. I have a new friend, too. And maybe Cindy is better off living in her world than being dragged into mine. Mine is just plain weird.

I'm not sure if I should tell her about the transformation. If I tell her, I'd have to explain what led up to it. She's better off thinking it will never happen to me again. I love Cindy. I want her to be blessed by ignorance.

“Hey, you two, come over and join us.”

Stefan calls to us from a few tables over. He has four crew members, Natasha, and Karen sitting with him. They've put three tables together. “Shall we join the party?” Cindy asks, and I know by the soft look in her alien-type eyes, she's not just talking about our shoot buddies.

“Sure,” I answer. “Why not.”

*   *   *

I thought this was a ski party. No one said anything about beach blanket bingo in the snow. At least not until Stefan dropped that surprise on me during lunch. I'm mad as hell about it, too. I gave him the cold shoulder through the rest of lunch.

Once we're back in our room, Karen asks, “So we're modeling bikinis in the snow instead of skiwear? What's the big deal, Lou? It's not like we haven't modeled underwear during a blizzard, remember?”

The big deal is the big hickey on my neck I thought I would get away with hiding. And my PMS makes me unreasonable and bitchy. “I don't like to freeze my ass off for the sake of prosperity and Stefan knows it. He purposely led me to believe we would be modeling skiwear for this shoot.”

“He wanted you to come,” Karen says, wiggling her eyebrows. “You have to admit the setting is pretty romantic. Picture this. You and him, a king-sized bed, and a cozy fire. If that doesn't warm you up, there's something seriously wrong with you, girl.”

Stefan knew by the look I gave him at lunch there would be no cuddling between us. At least not until I cool off. I guess as far as our relationship goes, I can't put him off forever. I'm just not sure how to handle it. Or him.

I'm confused about my feelings. Can I really be in love with Stefan and be in lust with Terry? Can I be in love with anyone until I figure out what's going on with me? I know in order to love, a person must trust. I don't trust any man to love me for who and what I am.

I guess I just answered my own question.

“Us girls are going scouting around before dinner. Want to come with us?” Karen asks.

Normally I would be game, but I'm feeling a little blue. Natasha and Cindy made their new relationship known to all when they held hands and whispered in each other's ears all through lunch. Karen thinks it's great. I'm trying to, but I'm not there yet. Besides, if the girls are gone, I can sneak into Cindy's room and look through the suitcase. I'll have her leave me the key.

“I'm tired. I think I'll nap before dinner. You guys go and have fun.”

“There's lots of shops and stuff,” Karen says, trying to tempt me. “We even talked about grabbing dinner in town if they have a place that looks decent.”

“I may just order something brought up,” I say. “I'm sure they have room service. Really, I'm tired and wouldn't be good company. Freakin' PMS.”

“Oh.” Karen nods her understanding. “I'm horrible during PMS. I lock myself in my apartment and don't go out in case I kill someone.”

Ironic. I laugh. “Yeah, me too.”

Karen glances at herself in a mirror that's hung over an antique basin and sink. She pats her hair, grabs her purse, and heads for the door.

“Hey, would you ask Cindy to step in here for a minute before you all leave? I need to ask her something.”

“Sure,” Karen answers. She pauses to glance at me with concern. “You're okay about this thing between her and Natasha, right?”

“'Course I'm okay with it,” I answer. “Why wouldn't I be?”

She shrugs. “Well, broad shoulders sleeps with your man, then she sleeps with your best friend. Next she'll be hopping into bed with me.”

Maybe my gaydar isn't that good. “And you would feel how about that?”

“Not receptive,” Karen assures me. She grins. “Your man, well, that's another matter. I swear if you don't jump him soon I'm going to. There is a statue of limitations on that sort of thing, and I think seven years is long enough, Lou.”

“I have been warned,” I say sarcastically. “If you jump him, just don't tell me about it, okay?”

“Deal,” she says a little too cheerfully. I wonder if I've just given her permission. Does she need my permission? Yes, I think according to the friend's handbook she does. Karen leaves and Cindy comes in a few minutes later.

“Karen says you aren't going with us. Lou, if you're upset about Natasha and me, maybe I should stay and we should talk more about it.”

“Conceited much?” I ask. “I want to stay because I want to look at the stuff you brought and I want privacy. Give me your room key so I can go in there and get the suitcase while you're gone.”

Cindy frowns at my sarcasm. She fishes the key from her pocket and hands it to me. “It's the blue suitcase in the corner behind the red suitcase.”

“Thanks. And have fun.”

She pauses at the door. “After I gathered what I thought you would want, I thought about something. I looked at those photos and I said, that's not my friend. Not the friend I know and love now. Maybe you need to bury Sherry Billington for good, Lou. You're not her anymore.”

The door closes. Do I really want to take a stroll down a memory lane that was for the most part a painful walk for me? Do I want to revisit that plain girl who was so unhappy most of the time? I've always been a glutton for punishment. I go get the suitcase.

CONFESSION NO. 26

A walk down memory lane can be painful. Like mourning the loss of someone you once loved. Or even someone you realize you once hated. But sometimes while you're searching for answers that hide within hazy images of who you once were, the truth jumps up and bites you on the ass.

I sit on my bed, the blue suitcase open and pictures from my past scattered around me. A sad-faced little girl with stringy hair and too-prominent buckteeth sits on a tricycle in front of a house where the lawn needs mowing. A woman stands behind her, straight and stern looking, no smile on her face. Christmas. A tree. Presents. Still no sign of joy. A skinny girl with big eyes and a skinned knee stands with her arm thrown around a taller girl with dark hair and haunted eyes.

Grabbing a Kleenex, I wipe my wet cheeks and blow my runny nose. I knew my past was painful, but somehow I had managed to make it into something it wasn't. After I ran away, I needed a place to visit in my mind where there were no fangs or fur or claws. No bloody corpses of a boy I had killed on prom night. A place where I suffered the illusion I was happy and normal. Pictures don't lie. I was never happy and normal. This is what Cindy saw. This is what she wants me to bury.

I reach for the note the Billingtons left me. Follow the signs. What signs? I put the note aside and stare at my high school yearbook. I'm hesitant to walk down that particular part of memory lane. It was the worst time of my life. At least the kid on the tricycle hadn't yet learned how cruel other children can be.

Before I talk myself out of it, I flip open a page in the yearbook. Junior class. All one page of it. There are two pages of seniors. With trembling fingers, I turn to the next page. Being a
B
, I'm right there at the top. Me with a stupid bow in my hair. I laugh when I see Cindy's picture. She didn't even bother to comb her hair. My gaze lands on Tom Dawson. He was good-looking, smiling that wolf smile of his. No one would guess by looking at him that his soul was so dark, his hatred so deep. I can't look at him.