Halfway Perfect (22 page)

December 15, 11:30 a.m.

I've done more appearances with my “girlfriend” in the past two weeks than I can even begin to count. The plan was to defuse the cheating rumors by starting rumors about how inseparable we are. The only problem is, Elana's not speaking to me.

And this isn't like the silent game where one person refuses to talk to you, waiting out the inevitable blowup that will be followed by making up. My high school girlfriend, Lindsey, used to play that game with me sometimes and it would always end in some pretty hot makeup/make-out sessions.

But with Elana, it's different. She's talking to me. But it's only polite distant words you'd say to a stranger forced to sit beside you on a transatlantic flight. It's like she's decided that she can't trust me, and winning back that trust isn't an option. She's being careful.

And it sucks.

Especially right now because there's a very pissed-off photographer in the studio with us, begging for some small drop of chemistry, and we don't have it today.

I'm thinking about Eve and how she would be able to say the perfect thing that would drag me out of this slump. Classes are over for the semester at Columbia. I know this because I looked it up online last night and I have no idea where she is right now. Surely she didn't go back to her shitty family in Indiana? One tabloid mentioned something about her dad being in jail, but I'm not stupid enough to trust that source.

“Alex!” Graham, the photographer, lets out a frustrated groan, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes briefly. Graham is British, but not the polite kind of British. This dude is hardcore. Way more blunt than Janessa Fields could ever be. In fact, I doubt he has any holiday cards waiting for him in his mailbox today. Or ever. “You've got the sex appeal of a seventy-year-old man right now. We're selling sex here, people, and Elana…”

Elana's supposed to be straddling my lap while we're seated in a chair, looking lovingly into each other's eyes. She's sort of doing that, at least the sitting on me part, which is why I feel her entire body stiffen in preparation for the criticism about to be dished out.

“Your body language could pass for thirteen years old, tops,” he snaps.
Not
a
bad
guess
. “And with your boyfriend here and his inability to do anything remotely sexy, these photos are going to be lovely. Every old man suffering from ED will buy CK perfume so they can get their own thirteen-year-old to sit on their lap. It's bloody brilliant.”

I've been insulted and criticized enough to let it bounce right off me, but Elana hasn't. She stumbles off my lap, onto her feet. Even with her dark skin, I can see her face is bright red and her eyes are filling with tears. She turns around and walks off at a quick pace, sniffling the whole way to the restroom.

Graham throws his hands up in the air. “Great, just great.”

The entire crew seems to be scrambling around to accommodate his tantrum. His assistant brings him a bottle of imported spring water and a small hand towel. I'm debating going into the women's restroom to lure Elana back when I see Wes walking into the studio.

“Finally!” Graham says, rushing over to Wes. Did he have someone call him because we're so awful today? “I can't work with them,” Graham tells him loud enough for everyone to hear.

Wes holds up his hands in front of him, nodding. “Just give me a minute to talk to them. I promise, we'll get the pictures you want.”

Graham turns around and shouts to everyone. “Lunch break! And then we'll see if there's actually any talent in these well-paid children.”

I'm still standing in the center of the set, right behind the chair, so I decide it's a good idea to step out of the lights and lurk in the shadows for now. Wes moves quickly toward me, looking calm, but I can see the intensity is there, based on the way his hands squeeze open and closed.

“I'm going to go fix her,” Wes says in a low voice, nodding toward the restroom. “And you're going to get your shit together and quit pissing off this photographer, understood?”

“I can talk to Elana,” I say quickly.

Wes shakes his head. “She doesn't want anything to do with you. I don't know what you did to her, but she's just texted me and Kara both to say she can't finish this job today because you don't like her.”

“Where's Kara?” I glance around, hoping she's here.

“Barbados,” Wes says before walking off.

My heart is hammering. I have to do something. I have to keep an eye on her. I skim the table with the catered lunch and grab some fruit and a sandwich just to keep from looking too obvious. Then after Wes goes in the bathroom, I head that way, leaning against the wall beside the bathroom door. I lodge my foot in the door crack just enough to hear voices emerging.

“I think he'd rather have you sitting on his lap than me,” Elana says. “He would rather touch anyone but me.”

“In a few years, he'll probably feel very different,” Wes says, using the complete opposite tone he used with me a minute ago. “Just because Alex doesn't realize how special you are doesn't mean other people don't see it. This is a really big job, if you haven't noticed.”

He sounds kind and warm and full of caring thoughts. Like the ultimate manipulator.

“What can I do to make this better?” Wes says.

“Don't tell Kara that I ran off set to cry in the bathroom.”

“It'll be our secret. Cry all you want, then turn on that actress charm, put your game face on, and go back out there ready to work, okay?” Wes says.

“What if I still can't do what Graham wants? He's awful.”

“I'll tell you what,” Wes says. “You figure out how to make that guy happy, and I'll personally accompany you to that Broadway show you want to see. Kara told me about that. You and Alex have been so overbooked lately, not much free time.”

“Really? You'll go with me to see
Jersey
Boys
,” Elana says.

“At this point, I'll do just about anything to keep you two from losing this job, even if that includes show tunes and choreography.”

I hear water running and someone walking around, but so far, the steps haven't moved toward the door. I could interrupt, walk in and say I wanted to check on her…

“They should have casted Eve in this campaign,” Elana says. “Her and Alex wouldn't have any trouble finding chemistry.”

Wes lets out a short laugh. “I think Eve is a long way from a Calvin Klein fragrance campaign. I've sent her on ten different castings, and she hasn't booked anything yet.”

What?

Footsteps move closer to the door, so I slide over toward the men's restroom and dive inside. I immediately toss the food that had been hanging limply in my hand into the garbage. I lean over the sink, drawing in a deep breath, trying to process everything.

Eve's modeling again.

And Wes is the one sending her out on castings.

I pull myself together and glance in the mirror, checking my face for signs of distress before exiting the bathroom.

Work. Focus on work
. Climb that really big ladder. A ladder Wes has built for me. I can see the back of him now, scanning the studio for me, most likely. I walk up beside him.

“You're welcome,” he says when he sees me. “Now please try not to screw this up any more, all right?”

“All right.”

He nods like we're okay and he's not pissed at me anymore, but when he starts to leave, something takes over and I can't stop myself. I grab his arm and he turns around to face me.

“Eve's modeling again?”

His eyebrows lift. “You were listening.”

“So it's true?”

He shakes his arm from my grip and shrugs. “You tell me, Alex. I thought you knew her so well.”

I'm careful to lower my voice. “I told you we broke up. I haven't talked to her since that day in my apartment.”

Wes is fiddling with his phone now, like this isn't a conversation that's important enough to warrant his full attention. “I felt bad for her. She's broke, and, let's face it, she was never going to get that scholarship. Evie's always had an issue with thinking realistically. She asked me to help her make some money, and I agreed. She'll never make enough in one semester to pay a year's tuition at Columbia, let alone three years, not if she's still hanging on to that assistant's job. But she's stubborn and won't believe me until she's standing in front of the much cheaper state school, like the rest of us.” Wes looks up at me for a second. “Well, maybe not you. You were smart and knew your limits.”

“My limits?” I ask, confused.

“You know, college, a different career. I've been telling Eve since she was fifteen to put the books away and make the most of these crucial years before her body isn't worth anything. I've always felt like you understood that.”

He's leaving me and heading over to Graham before I can get another word out and I don't think I could anyway. Wes just spouted off my exact plan and philosophy for my life and my career, but it sounded horrible hearing it from someone else. And hearing it applied to Eve and her life.

By the time Elana emerges from the bathroom, my stomach is in knots, mirroring the web of lies and manipulation I'm currently tangled in. It's so big and twisted, I'm not even sure I'll ever find my way out.

“Elana.” I reach for her hand, but she pulls it back and turns to me with a huge smile on her face.

“I'm fine now. Sorry about everything.”

“All right!” Graham says, clapping his hands together and standing in front of us. He takes a slow deep breath as if counting to ten in his head. Maybe it's some kind of anger management technique. “It's been brought to my attention that perhaps the concept for this shoot needs a little…
epic
twist
.”

“Epic twist?” Elana and I say together. What the hell does that mean? Is he going to kill us and then pose our dead bodies himself,
Romeo
and
Juliet
style? I wouldn't put it past this guy.

“I'm thinking something more distant. Like you're reaching for her, trying to lure her back, and there's this barrier between you. It's very
Hunger
Games
.”

I glance at Elana and then we both speak in unison for the second time. “Sounds perfect.”

December 20, 1:45 p.m.

“I told you, I'm fine.”

Steph has called me every day since leaving New York last week. She's worried about me taking these jobs, losing ten pounds (I've actually lost twelve without even trying thanks to a lengthy bout of pneumonia), and being anywhere near Wes.

“You can stay with my aunt in New Jersey,” Steph says for the hundredth time. “I've already asked her. She's totally cool with it.”

I'm rushing to get to a casting by two and my phone rang the second I got off the subway. It's freezing, but I can't put on a hat and screw up my hair, so I have to let my ears sting from the cold. “Nobody is in the apartment I'm staying in. It's in a really nice neighborhood, and I can come and go as I please. It's fine, I swear.”

“Yeah, but Wes has a key,” she protests. “Doesn't he?”

I don't know how to get her to stop worrying. “Yes, I'm sure he has a key, but he's not going to show up and let himself in. He's not like that. It's more about manipulation with Wes, and my guard is up.”

“Okay,” she concedes. “Call me tonight if you want to talk?”

“Sure, thanks, Steph.”

I could have really used her a few years ago.

“And don't forget! Final grades will be online in five minutes,” Steph adds before hanging up.

My stomach immediately twists in knots. I think I did okay, but I'm not sure. I need a 3.8 GPA this semester to continue to be eligible for the Mason Scholarship. Long shot or not, I can't help but still want it. And I had a 3.95 at midterm.

When I get to the casting, I have a couple of minutes to rush into the restroom and fix my hair and makeup before giving my name to the casting director. I've done so many of these in the past couple of weeks, I can't even remember what jobs I'm trying to land. Now that I've survived finals, I have more time to be present at the castings and be a little more charming. I'd love to spend some of this extra time helping Janessa with her current job. I can't bring myself to tell her that Eve Castle is modeling again, but I might have to soon.

The second I exit the bathroom and enter the waiting area, I pick up cell reception again. I quickly pull up the student website and scramble to type in my login info. My eyes zip through the first part of the grades listed:

PHOTO 1 (LARSON) A

ART HISTORY (LARSON) A

INDEPENDENT PROJECT (LARSON) A

AMERICAN LITERATURE (ROWLING) A

“Eve.”

I glance up from my seat in the waiting area and see Alex standing in front of me. My heart skips a beat and then I'm on my feet before I realize it, stuffing my phone into my pocket, walking down the hallway and around the corner.

He's followed me, just like I'd hoped. “Hey,” I say, faking calm.

“What are you doing here?” He's not trying to hide the surprise from his face or his voice. He's not trying to hide the emotions either, or to look distant and uninterested.

And I know I've got to be the tough one today. For both of us. “Just at a casting for…I don't actually remember what it's for, I've done so many recently.”

He's wearing a black leather jacket, gray scarf, and jeans that fit just right. He looks perfect and important and like someone who belongs here. I could never be the reason for taking that from him.

Alex glances briefly down one side of the hall and then the other before leaning in closer. “Are you…are you okay? Elana said you were sick for a long time.” He scans up my entire body and then his gaze lands back on my face. I know he can tell I've lost weight but he doesn't bring it up. “I thought the dorms closed. Where are you staying?”

I look right at him and lie. “At Stephanie's aunt's place in New Jersey.”

I don't want him to be tempted to come and see me. Though after the last time we talked, I thought he'd be too disgusted to even think about seeing me again. Or hurt. Or both.

“You're staying there for Christmas?” he asks like this is hard to believe. I just shrug and don't give a verbal response, then he adds, “Elana's leaving for France tonight.”

“She told me. She seems to be in a better mood lately.”

Before they shot the fragrance campaign, I got this weird vibe from Elana's texts and finally broke down and called her. She spilled about her and Alex not getting along and I was so afraid of her not being under his watch that I worked hard to redeem him and told her about his sister, Katie, and how he's protective of her. That seemed to help.

Alex gives me a tiny smile. “She's speaking to me again. That's something. She didn't give me a Christmas card or anything, but she did give me a Prada bag full of makeup for Katie. A sixteen-hundred-dollar Prada bag for a girl she's never met.”

Elana's probably been given more than one sixteen-hundred-dollar Prada bag, as hot as she is right now. Model perks. And this conversation is too friendly. It's killing me.

“What about you?” I ask. “Where are you headed for Christmas?” I know the answer but it helps a little to pretend like I don't know him well enough to have this information already.

“Nebraska,” he says. “I fly out on the twenty-third.”

I nod toward the waiting area. “I should get back in there. They'll probably be calling for me soon. I wouldn't want anyone to see us talking. Wes will be really pissed if we end up with another photo op.”

He takes a step back and his face turns completely impassive, like I've just reminded him of everything. “Right.”

I move past him and head toward the waiting area, but his voice stops me again.

“Eve, wait.”

I turn around and face him. My defenses fall for a few seconds, and I'm hit with the feelings I'd stuffed away these past few weeks. I miss the person I could be with him, the way he looked at me, like I was important and special and interesting just for being me and not Eve Castle.
I
miss
him
. There, I said it. Or at least I thought it. Now I need to get away from him before I break down and tell him all this. I need my life to stay in order.

“I'm fine, Alex. Just let it go.” I watch his face to see any signs of him backing off and when he doesn't, I take one last stab, right in the gut. “You know what? I've already done the secret relationship thing and you know how that turned out. So this—you and me—it was a bad idea from the beginning. I don't know what I was thinking. If I had just…” I cover my face for a second, digging for that last ounce of courage. “If I had just let things end when the CK shoot ended, I wouldn't be here. I'd be on set with Janessa.”

His eyes drop to his feet, and he starts buttoning up his jacket, adding a forceful edge to his movements. “That's fine. I get it. You have Wes to figure everything out for you now.”

“Just like you,” I remind him before spinning around to leave. This time he doesn't stop me.

I only get to sit in the waiting area for about one minute before my fake name, Eve Castle, is being called by the nineteen-year-old intern who is acting as the receptionist.

“Please bring in your portfolio and two comp cards. You can leave your purse and your jacket and everything else out here.”

I take off my jacket and put my purse down on the chair I'd been sitting in and follow the intern down the hallway into the casting studio. As she opens the door, all eyes are on me. The familiar scent of judgment fills the air. In my previous modeling years, I'd developed the ability to guess if that judgment had a positive or negative charge to it.

In this case it's the latter.

I do my best to ignore instincts and smile anyway.

“How are you guys? My name is Eve Nowa…Castle.”
Shit
. I take a breath and close my eyes for a second. “Eve Castle.”

“Hello, Eve
Nowa
Castle.” The malicious sarcasm seeps out through her smirk and monotone speech. “If you
could
, could you leave your book with us, take a comp card up with you, and step on the middle line.”

“Gary, please take a picture of Miss Castle.”

Standing on the line, I notice that the whole panel of people supposedly casting are otherwise engaged with some form of technology—iPhone or laptop. While I'm frowning at the lack of social courtesy, Gary says, “three.”

Damn. I totally wasn't ready. I'll have to wow them on the rest of the shots. As the picture comes up on the screen facing the client table, Mrs. Bossy Pants says, “Okay, I think we have everything we need! Thanks.”

Seriously? One picture?

As I walk out, no one says anything else, which infuriates me even more. Maybe it's these people setting me off or maybe it's the combination of them and seeing Alex again, but I'm so pissed I can't even think straight and I end up shouting, “THANKS FOR YOUR TIME, EVERYONE!” and slamming the door.

I'm 100 percent sure I won't be booking that job.

I give the cold December air a second to cool me off before digging for my phone and looking at the rest of my grades. My heart is still racing from Alex and the casting and my hands shake as I scroll down to view my final grade:

CALCULUS 220 (SIMON) C

FALL SEMESTER GPA: 3.6

My vision blurs from shock and tears. I got a C in calculus…I got a C in calculus…
oh
my
God
…how did this happen? I know I missed classes when I was sick, and that final was a struggle, but I thought I'd pulled off a B.

That's it. It's over.

I needed a 3.8 to be eligible to win the Mason Scholarship. I'm out of the running. No interview. Nothing. I don't even need to be Janessa's assistant anymore. I mean what's the point? And yeah, I knew it was a long shot, but getting kicked when I'm already down hurts like hell. The GPA had never been my biggest concern. Not even close.

I lift my sleeve to wipe tears from my cheeks before they freeze against my skin. My entire body is hit with pain that has everything to do with failure. I can't keep moving down the busy sidewalk, so I lean against a building, closing my eyes and trying to breathe without breaking into sobs.

I'm not even close to calm when my phone, still clutched in my hand, buzzes. I wipe my eyes again and groan.

“What?” I snap.

“Jesus, Evie,” Wes says. “Hello to you too.”

I start walking down the sidewalk, clueless as to where I want to go. “If this is about the casting I just finished, can we discuss it later?”

I'm about to hang up on him without hearing his response, but before I can, he says, “Nope, it's about some of the castings you've been on the past few days. You booked two jobs. An editorial and a small catalog, so congrats.”

My feet slow down automatically as I process this information. I glance up at the sky for a second. Maybe there
is
some higher being that doesn't get a kick out of watching me drown. And maybe it's only a pinky toe reaching out to pull me up, but it's something.

“I'm not getting a scholarship,” I blurt out to Wes. “My GPA isn't high enough, so I'm out.”

“I'm sorry,” he says. “But honestly, Evie, it was a long shot, right? Stick with what you know you can do and you won't have to deal with that level of disappointment again.”

“Yeah, it was a long shot,” I admit. “Email me the job details and send me out on whatever castings you've got. I'll take all of them. I'm going to tell Janessa I quit. There's no point in keeping that up, right?”

“No point at all,” Wes says. “Schedule's on its way to you.”

“Thanks, Wes.”

I hang up the phone and realize my life must be complete shit right now if I'm thanking Wes Danes.