My One and Only(78)

And that part…that part was wonderful.

My parents had a rocky marriage. I knew that. Linda spent too much, didn’t do a lot around the house, and Dad was often frustrated. Sometimes, late at night, I heard them arguing, Dad’s voice loud, Linda’s defiant. But Linda wasn’t like other mothers, or other wives, and surely he could see that. She was special, more fun, more lively, more envied. Dad’s appreciation for her was far less than mine, but on this night, we were really happy. We were having a ball. Even in this beautiful city, even at this very fine restaurant, we were clearly the people to be.

We ordered dessert (no candle on my cheesecake, it would be so gauche) and were winding down when a man approached us.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I take a minute of your time?” he asked. He had graying blond hair, a wicked expensive-looking suit, and he took my mother’s hand the way Lancelot took Guinevere’s.

He introduced himself, sat between my parents in the unoccupied chair at our table. His name was Marcus something, and he was from New York. He worked for Elite Modeling Agency.

At the name of the agency, my mother’s eyes got the slightest bit wider. Her perfect lips parted, and her eyes darted to my dad, who already looked thunderous.

“Of course we’ve heard of Elite, Marcus,” Linda said, tilting her head a bit. “Who hasn’t?”

The man smiled. “Mr. and Mrs. James, your daughter is a very lovely young woman,” he said, turning to me. “How old are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m thirteen. Well, tomorrow, I will be. It’s my birthday,” I said.

“You’ll be thirteen tomorrow?” he said.

“That’s right,” I answered. I could tell it was a good answer, because he gave an approving nod.

“How tall are you, Harper?”

“Five seven and a half. Still growing, I think.” I smiled, and he smiled back.

“I don’t think I want my daughter modeling,” my father said, his familiar frown lowering.

My mouth opened, and I glanced at my mother for solidarity. Surely, we weren’t going to let a chance like this pass us by, were we? Hadn’t my own mother taught me her runway walk? Modeling…for Elite? This would be a dream come true! My friends at school would die! Linda and I would travel all over the world, and I’d—

“Well, before you make a decision, consider this. Some of our younger models have put themselves through college, just working part-time,” Marcus said smoothly. “Of course we’d like some pictures taken. At our cost. We’d fly you all down to the city for a day or two, take you out for dinner, get you some tickets to a show and see what the pictures say.”

Despite the fact that I was pretending to be terribly sophisticated, I jumped a little in my seat. Was he kidding me? Come on! This was the best birthday ever!

“I can see you’re having a special dinner, and I don’t want to take any more of your time,” Marcus said. “But this is my job, and I have an eye for these things.” He gave me a little wink. “I’m in town with Christy Turlington. Do you know who that is?” Of course I knew who Christy Turlington was! The Calvin Klein model? We must’ve had at least ten magazines back home that were littered with pictures of Christy Turlington!

“I think you could have a very bright future, Harper. Here’s my card. Please call my secretary whenever you’re ready.” He handed me the card, and it was the real deal, embossed, expensive. He shook my parents’ hands as well as mine, then left, smiling and pleasant. A minute later, a waiter came over with a round of drinks and broke the stunned silence that had fallen over our table.

“Courtesy of the gentleman who just left,” he said.

“Thanks,” Dad muttered.

“Can you believe it?” I squeaked.

“I can’t,” my mother answered, and it was only then that I noticed her face was white underneath her perfectly applied blush.

“Can I?” I asked. “Can I call him, Mom?”

“Harper! Show a little class,” my mother hissed. She took her drink and drained it. “We’ll discuss this later.”

We never did discuss it later.

For a long time, I thought it was because I called her “Mom,” not Linda. Or maybe it was because the guy had interrupted our dinner, and we’d been having such a nice time.

It took me years to realize that my mother thought he’d come over to talk to her.

The evening was over, the mood gone. Our trip back to Logan was quiet, and oddly enough, it was Dad who tried to fill the silence. When we got home, I got into my pajamas, washed off the makeup that had been applied with such care and went to bed, hoping that my mother would be in a better mood tomorrow, and that I could call Marcus’s secretary. But even then, the thought of going to the city was tainted.

The next day, I found a note on my pillow from my dad, saying happy birthday, he was finishing up a house in Oak Bluffs and he’d see me later. I went into my mother’s room to say good morning.

She was packing.

“I’m taking a little trip,” she said blithely. “Gotta have a little me time, if you know what I mean. Last night was fun, wasn’t it?”

Once—only once—my mother had gone away without me. To California to visit her family, leaving Dad and me alone for a week. She came back three days early and said only that her family was made up of idiots and she was right to get the hell out when she did. So a trip…“Where are you going?” I asked.