"Even though I don't know him, he does have a name, right?"
"Julio Torres."
"Is he Mexican?"
"Spanish. He's a businessman from Barcelona."
"Does he ever plan to drop by and see you or his kids?"
Lissa snorted. "I have no idea."
"Wait! Have you even told him you are pregnant?"
"No. I have no idea how to do that."
"You aren't in touch with him?"
"No, but not because I haven't tried."
"What do you mean?"
Looking at her sister, she decided to unburden herself. Joan deserved the entire story. "It's the weirdest thing, Joan. The relationship took off like a skyrocket and fizzled about as fast. I was in Switzerland for a conference. I'd met him before, but this time something wild and wonderful happened. Lights went on and we wound up spending much of our time in bed. It was glorious. I honestly believed that we both thought we had a good thing going and we would see each other again. He'd even talked about doing some work together as well. To be honest, that was almost as exciting to me as the hot sex. Well, no, it wasn't, but anyway, it didn't matter. None of it ever happened. I never heard from him again. I sent him emails and letters … And then I didn't even know I was pregnant. I was curious-well, I was tearing-out-my-hair crazy- wondering why he wasn't answering. I read a story about him at some event, so I knew he was alive and well. I sent messages to hotels I knew he was staying at. I never got his personal cell-phone number, but I used every business address to try and contact him, and never got any reply at all."
"Strange. You'd think a man would at least have the balls to say ‘fuck off.'"
"It was insanely disappointing, for sure. I guess I misjudged him completely, not to mention how he felt about me."
"I guess things like that can happen." She didn't look convinced.
"Short of tracking him down and beating on his door, I can't think of anything to do, and I don't seem to be in a position to do that, even if it were a good idea. So here I am."
"Still doing everything you can to get the kids to term."
"Which seems to be pretty much a matter of doing almost nothing, with the logical result that three incredibly healthy babies will have a mother covered in bed sores who has gone off her nut."
"All mothers are crazy. It's a hazard of the job."
"I suppose it might be."
"I take it that you are looking forward to getting back to work almost as much as having the babies."
She sighed. "Almost. That is, if Tina Peters doesn't manage to put me out of business before I get the chance."
"No way that is going to happen. You have a good name. Your clients like you and need you. She might skim or wreck a few things you had going, but she can't destroy it."
"Good names have a limited shelf life, sis. And goodwill goes just so far. If you aren't available when you're needed, those sweet memories fade."
Joan shrugged. "Well, you have to take one step at a time, just like us addicts and drunks, I guess."
"Hey, life is always gonna be sequential."
"I bet that's one of the cool things they taught you at the London School of Economics."
"Actually, I think I saw it written on a bathroom wall in a pub."
During the taxi ride back to Lissa's lovely apartment where she was staying, Joan let herself think about what she would do with her own life. Her counselor had suggested she start making a list of goals for herself. "Then you can start seeing which ones are reasonable."
That was all well and good, but Joan knew she was in an odd place in her life. She'd fallen off a cliff. She'd made incredible money as a model and it was all gone. She'd blown every penny on clothes, drugs, booze, and flying to parties in Europe for more drugs and booze. She didn't want that life back-being out of that scene was actually a relief-but finding another way to earn a living was tricky. The reality was that, other than modeling, she didn't have many skills. What she knew was how to look good and appear elegant. She'd cut her education short to make it as a model. While Lissa had gone to school, she'd been the breadwinner in the family. Now she was living off her sister. Even though Lissa seemed to think it was just fair payback, she felt guilty. And aimless.
She'd never minded helping Lissa through school at all. Now it seemed that supporting the family was the only money she'd earned that wasn't wasted-it kept them a family of sorts. She'd made sure that there was always a home for them to gather at for Christmas or Thanksgiving and flew Lissa there from London.
When she was drying out, going through the horrors of detoxing and then trying to regain control of her life, it had been hard to find positives in her life to hang on to. Doing nothing more significant than staying clean and sober for another day could seem like eternal damnation, and yet that was what she had to do.
She and Lissa hadn't been close as kids. Even when they were young, Joan wanted to party and Lissa studied. In a way, discovering modeling and the money it brought had been a problem; it allowed her to justify her lifestyle. Being seen was important. And when you paid everyone's way, you could ignore their concerns.
It amazed her that when she fell apart, Lissa had been there for her. When their mom had died, it was Lissa who bailed her out of jail and got her into rehab. Lissa came to visit. Lissa had taken care of sorting out the details of her life-the unpaid credit card bills, subletting her expensive apartment for her, and generally making sure that when she got her head straight, she had a clear spot to stand.
They'd fought, screamed at each other, and grown closer than they'd ever been.
Slowly, agonizingly, Joan came through her ordeal, her stupidity, and got her health back. Now all she needed was work.
She was drinking a glass of water and reading a book her counselor had recommended on careers. "You could get a real estate license," she'd said. "Attractive women sell more houses than other people." That struck her as a possibility, so she investigated it, even chatting with several realtors. The book outlined a number of careers but none of them excited her. Maybe nothing excited her anymore. Maybe excitement was exactly the wrong thing for her. She'd chased it long enough.
A knock at the door surprised her. She was even more surprised to see that it was Anita, the woman who'd been her agent when she was modeling. "Welcome," she said. "When I wrote, I didn't expect more than a note saying ‘yes' or ‘no.'"
They sat, and Anita looked her over. "I wanted to see you. You sounded good, but I thought I should see how you are."
"And now that you've seen?"
"You look good."
"Should I let that excite me?"
She shook her head. "From a professional standpoint, no."
"Because I'm damaged goods? I was a junkie so I won't get work? I was hoping that using my real name would keep people from finding out I was in rehab."
Anita laughed. "The press are a tenacious and malicious lot, but that wouldn't be a serious problem for you, anyway. If people who were damaged goods didn't work, no one would. You know damn well that half the population of catwalks are junkies-not the top ones, but a lot. No. You were out of circulation for almost a year."
"Between the time it took to hit bottom and drag my ass back up, a bit more."
"The jobs you messed up before you went into rehab hurt you more, but we could deal with that too. I'd get you some small jobs and you'd prove yourself. That's no harder than rebuilding your credit when you've fucked up. The real problem is that things have changed in the business."
"So I need to retrain?"
"With the Internet, things are moving at hyperspeed. As far as our current clients are concerned, you don't have the right look."
"I'm obsolete?"
Anita held her hands out, showing her they were empty. "That's about right."
"I can do a makeover. I was thinking I needed to do that anyway so I could start fresh."
"It's more than that. You are too old."
"Too old? I'm twenty-four."
"In this market, you might as well be forty-two. The truth is that even if you hadn't dropped off the radar, you'd be having a tough time getting shoots now."
"So I'm history?"
"Things can change again, though. Make sure I have your number, and if something comes up I'll call, but honestly, you know it's a cyclical business. The cycles are going faster too. What's in goes out quickly."
"Are you still handling Judy?"
"Judy Wilson? Yes."
"She and I did a lot of the same kind of work."
"And she hasn't had a shoot since the Toyota ads three months ago. She's lucky that was a big one. The ad agency wants the new look for the next round. Judy told me she expected this. She saved some money and she's thinking of starting a PR agency."
"So the baton is handed to a new generation?"
Anita smiled. "You understand."
She did. Beyond being an ex-junkie, she was last year's flavor in an industry where a year was an eternity. Even if Anita got her work, it wouldn't be a career. Maybe it had never been a career. Maybe she'd had a long run of good fortune. After all, she'd never paid attention to what happened with her peers. She'd been much too self-centered for that. Too focused on having a good time.