Say the Word(52)
If it’s the latter — I’m sorry, because I know how much you love your Doritos, but honestly sis, at some point that metabolism of yours is going to slow down and you’ll be the size of a house. Don’t shoot the messenger! (You can’t, I’m already dead.)
Sorry. I can’t seem to stop weaving death jokes into these letters. I’m really beating a dead horse, aren’t I? (See what I did there?) Anyway, not to play the cancer card or anything, but at the very least you can be glad that your rough day probably didn’t involve a nurse walking you to the bathroom and watching you poop because you’re not quite steady on your prosthetic leg yet. Do you know how hard it is to perform with a captive audience right outside the door? Sheesh.
I love you, sis. I know none of this has been easy on you, and I know you aren’t happy right now. But you share my DNA and, since I’m no longer around, you’re pretty much obligated to share that Kincaid awesomeness with the world in my place.
Do me proud, sis.
Chin up. Smile through the tears — it helps them pass faster. (Coincidentally, I use that same strategy when trying to pass certain other bodily fluids with Nurse Charlene standing right outside the door.)
Love you.
Jamie
I smiled as I reached the bottom of the page. There was no one in the world who could cheer me up like Jamie — even now, when he was gone. I folded the letter with care and placed it back in the box, taking one last glimpse at the photo of us inside before the lid snapped closed.
In some ways, I was lucky. Not everyone who lost a loved one got to say goodbye; unexpected losses do little in terms of delivering closure. Jamie’s letters had allowed him a semblance of immortality. His body might be gone, but he’d left his heart behind with me — small pieces of himself, enmeshed in handwritten letters and imprinted on my spirit.
Every sacrifice I’d ever made for him had been worth it. I just wished they’d been enough to keep him here with me.
Chapter Eighteen
Now
I was up well before sunrise the following morning, unwilling to be late on my first day working for Sebastian, and hoping to avoid any further incurrence of his wrath. Slipping into a sleek navy pencil skirt and a flowing white silk top, I topped off the outfit with peep-toe Louboutins and simple silver jewelry — Vera’s bracelet included. I pulled the top layer of my hair up away from my face with a clip but left the majority hanging loose around my shoulders, and applied my makeup with more care than I typically bothered with.
I might not be in Cara’s league, but that didn’t mean I had to arrive looking like the fashion-illiterate schoolgirl I’d once been. The clothes, the shoes — they were my battle-armor for the gauntlet I was about to run. I stared at myself in the mirror and tried to summon the cultured, city woman who exuded confidence, walking around Luster like she’d been raised shopping at Bergdorf Goodman, rather than the local Goodwill. I searched for her in my reflection, assuring myself this would be no different than any other day at Luster, but she was nowhere to be found. In her place, I saw the same insecure girl who’d worn a brave face each day of high school. The girl on the outskirts. The subject of every whispered rumor that left the venomous lips of Amber and her minions.
I groaned, dropping my forehead into my palms and wishing I’d taken Simon up on his offer to pick out my outfit and do my makeup before I faced the firing squad. Sure, he had a penchant for turquoise 1980’s inspired eye-shadow, but at least he’d have been there to kiss my cheeks, slap me on the ass, and tell me how fabulous I looked.
The sound of my phone ringing made me look up. Speak of the devil…
“Simon?”
“Baby! Just calling to tell you good luck and, even without my expert fashion advice, I’m sure you look divine. That man of yours won’t know what hit him.”
“He’s not my man,” I told him, rolling my eyes. “And I’m pretty sure he’s dating a model, so…”
“Baby,” Simon chided. “You’ve got boobs and booty. Trust me — those skinny little skanks have nothin’ on you, honey.”
“Thanks, Simon.”
“Thank me by telling me all about it over drinks tonight before your date with Desmond,” he said. “Now go, or you’ll be late and sexy Sebastian will have to spank you.”
“Simon!” I protested.
“Kisses!” He clicked off.
I laughed at his antics, feeling monumentally better than I had before his call. I squared my shoulders, grabbed my travel coffee mug, and was out the door before I had time to psych myself out again.
Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.
***
I was wrong.
Who’d have predicted that a ring of hell could be contained within the walls of the fourteenth floor of a perfectly innocuous looking skyscraper in Midtown Manhattan? Not me. Yet here I was, damned to an eternity of servitude in a place of nightmares. All that was missing were the fiery pits and ghoulish architecture. Satan was here, though — in the form of a buxom brunette, no less.
Cara: the devil incarnate.
I’d arrived with fifteen minutes to spare, but there were already several people milling about the office. A flurry of activity was in progress — assistants rapidly scribbling notes as their superiors tossed out concepts for photo shoots and set designs. Three men, each carrying several large photo canvases of famous Luster spreads from past decades, exited the elevator behind me and immediately began setting them up on easels around the room perimeter.