Sleeveless still wasn’t Lizzie’s favorite style, but she didn’t care anymore about her arms. Andrea had helped her get over that.
Lizzie stepped out of her kilt and tights, leaving them in a tangle on the ground, while Hudson climbed up on a chair. “Ready?” she asked, holding the unzipped dress over Lizzie’s head.
“Ready.”
Hudson let the silk dress fall over Lizzie’s arms—until Lizzie felt it come to a screeching halt at her shoulders.
“Huh,” Hudson said. “It’s not going down. Carina? Can you pull it down from the bottom?”
Lizzie felt Carina tug on the hem. “It’s not moving,” she said.
The dress closed in around her arms, and Lizzie stood there with the dress over her face, feeling cold and drafty and a little embarrassed.
“Just scissor your arms,” Hudson advised. “Move them back and forth.”
“You sure?” Lizzie asked, her voice muffled.
“It’ll help shimmy it down.”
Lizzie waved her arms as if she were swimming. The dress moved just a few inches and then—
Rip!
“Oops,” Hudson said.
“Oh shnit,” Carina said, and then burst into giggles.
“What happened! Did I break it?” Lizzie asked.
“Hold on, I’m gonna just pull it off,” Hudson said, as she tugged upward. There was another sound of ripping. “Oops. There go the straps.”
Carina’s giggles turned into out-and-out guffaws.
“Oh my God, we’re destroying his clothes!” Lizzie shrieked.
“This is seriously the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” Carina said, still laughing.
“This is NOT funny, you guys!” Lizzie yelled.
There was an urgent knock on the door. “Lizzie!” Martin’s voice came through the door. “How are you getting on in there?”
“Fine!” she yelled miserably.
“Do you have something on?” he yelled.
“Uh… almost!” she yelled back. “You guys, help!”
Finally, with Carina and Hudson both standing on chairs, they got the ruined dress off of her.
Lizzie ran over to the rack, covering herself and shivering. “I just need to get into something. Anything.”
“Don’t worry,” Hudson said, rifling through the hangers. “What about this?” She pulled out a tiny pair of shorts.
“Are you kidding me?”
At last they settled on a lilac silk jumpsuit that looked a little bigger—and sturdier—than the rest of the things. Somehow she managed to get it up over her hips and pull the zipper up her back.
“Lizzie? You alright in there?” Martin yelled through the door.
“Coming!”
On her way to the door, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the mirrors. “Oh my God. I look like a purple sausage.”
“Open the door!” Carina whispered.
There was no turning back now. She opened the door.
Martin stood on the doorstep with Annalise, Christiane, and a short, plump older woman with a beady-eyed scowl and a tape measure around her neck. They seemed to be alarmed at the sight of her, and then Martin stepped into the room, appraising Lizzie with a fist under his chin.
“Hmmm. How did the other ones fit?” he asked.
“A little on the small side,” she admitted. “Especially that one.” She pointed to the silk heap in Hudson’s arms that had once been a dress.
“We’re so sorry,” Hudson said, grimacing.
Martin let out an anguished cry and ran to the dress. He snatched it out of Hudson’s arms and let it fall to its full length, staring at the broken straps and the gash in the fabric below the zipper. It looked like it had been through a war.
“Really, we’re so sorry,” Lizzie repeated.
“No problem,” he said through a gritted smile. “I guess we’re just going to have to recut them.”
Annalise scribbled in a notebook. Christiane nodded her pert, blond head, and Lizzie tried not to think about what might be running through it.
“Magda,” Martin said, nodding toward Lizzie, “would you please…?”
The short plump woman lurched toward Lizzie’s chest with the measuring tape. Before Lizzie could stop her, the woman had flung the tape around her chest, her waist and her hips. “Humph!” she hissed, pulling the tape away. “She not a size four!”
“Hmmm,” Martin said once more. “Well, I guess we’ll just try and get everything ready for Monday morning.”
“Monday morning? What’s Monday morning?” Lizzie asked, feeling flustered and panicked.
“That’s when we’ll do the first test shots with Dietrich,” Martin said.
“Wait. I can’t do Monday morning. I have something due that day. In school. An English project.” Lizzie was vaguely aware of Annalise and Christiane staring at her. She had a feeling that other muses didn’t have English projects.
“Well, Dietrich has to fly to Iceland Monday afternoon, so it’s the only time we can do it.” Martin smiled more firmly, in a way that showed all of his teeth. “This will really be the only time we can’t work around you, Lizzie. I promise.”
Christiane and Annalise traded glances.
“Okay, fine,” she said. “Monday.” She had no idea how she was going to get Katia’s permission, but she’d worry about that later.
Outside on the street, the three of them walked in the drizzle toward the subway.
“I’m gonna have to cut school,” she said.
“You don’t have to,” Carina said. “They can’t do anything without you. Just tell them you can’t do it.”
“I agree,” Hudson said.
“He totally shot me down. And I can’t make a big deal out of it after destroying his dress. Which he took pretty well, by the way.” Lizzie looked over at Hudson, carrying her new dress in a thick black garment bag. “I thought when you were someone’s muse, the clothes had to fit you. Instead, I end up looking like a purple bratwurst.”
Carina started giggling. Hudson started giggling, too. Soon Lizzie was laughing so hard she had to stop in front of Pastis and bend over because she was laughing so hard.
“We destroyed his clothes,” Lizzie said, gasping for breath. “I mean, I’m probably the first muse who’s ever done that.”
Maybe that was the other key to being a model, she thought: not losing your sense of humor. And keeping your friends with you at all times.
chapter 24
Forty-five minutes later Lizzie ran up the subway steps onto Broadway and hurried past the Starbucks on the way to her building.
“Hey, Lizzie!” called a voice. In the gathering dusk she saw the shape of a woman peek her head through the doors. “I don’t mean to be stalking you,” she yelled, “but get your butt in here!”
It wasn’t clear how long Andrea had been waiting for her inside the Starbucks, but she’d been saving Lizzie a seat with her messenger bag. “Here, siddown,” she said, moving the bag onto the floor underneath their table. Her blond hair was down around her face again and seemed extra-wavy from the rain. “Boy, you’re a hard girl to reach,” she teased, sitting down and putting both her elbows on the table.
Lizzie sat down. It was obvious she’d been avoiding Andrea, and now she felt guilty. “You should have just called up to my apartment. You didn’t have to wait for me down here. My mom would have let you upstairs.”
“That’s okay, I like overpriced and bitter-tasting coffee,” she said, winking, as she sipped from a large takeout cup. “And the people-watching’s insane in here. So far I think I may have found a couple new subjects.”
“Well, things have been a little crazy,” Lizzie admitted. “I was gonna call you tonight.”
Andrea shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. I wanted to tell you this in person, anyway. So guess what?” She leaned over closer on her elbows. “I’ve been offered my own show. At the Gagosian Gallery. And I’d like it to be entirely of you. It’d be a ton of shoots,
and I can’t offer you a lot of money, but it’ll be fun. And we could just do weekends and maybe one day a week after school. What do you think? Do you mind being my muse?” she asked, grinning.
Now she had to tell her, she thought.
“Actually, Martin Meloy has asked me to be the same thing for him,” Lizzie said.
“Lizzie!” Andrea gasped, grabbing Lizzie’s wrist. “That’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me! Oh my God, I’m so happy for you!” she squealed.
“You are?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? Now you just have to always give me credit for discovering you, okay?” she said, pretending to wag a finger. “Your mom must be very proud.”
Lizzie looked away, out the window at people walking by. “Yeah, sort of,” she said.
“I knew this was all going to happen,” Andrea said, leaning back in her chair. “You’re gonna give thousands of girls out there a whole different attitude about themselves. Girls who think they’re too tall or have too big a nose or hair that’s too curly are going to realize they’re freaking cool because of you. And Martin Meloy, I suppose,” she added, tipping her drink to her lips.
“I’m not sure,” Lizzie said. “Today, at the fitting, I actually destroyed a dress. I mean, destroyed it. Because I was too big for it. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”
Andrea chuckled. “Well, that’s fashion for ya. They’ll figure out how to fit you. But if you don’t want to do this, Lizzie, then that’s something else. Do you want this?”
Lizzie felt her right leg start to do its little nervous jig. These questions were always so hard to answer. “Of course I do,” she finally said. “I mean, why wouldn’t I?”
Andrea looked at her closely for a few moments. “Then if this is what you want, then you have to go for it and not be afraid. You can’t be afraid of being different. Remember that.” Andrea pulled up the hood of her jacket and pushed back from the table. “I gotta get home. I have a date tonight. Some guy who lives in Williamsburg and does installations. Wish me luck.”
“Okay,” Lizzie said, reluctantly getting to her feet. She didn’t want Andrea to leave, but there was nothing she could do to stop her. “Thanks for coming by.”
“Good luck, Lizzie. And keep in touch with me, okay?”
“I will.”
Andrea gave her one last smile, and walked to the door. “Be fierce, Lizzie!” she yelled. “Always!” She walked out onto Broadway and blended into the dark stream of passersby, and Lizzie felt her throat get lumpy. She didn’t feel fierce, although she knew she had every reason to.
Outside a cold rain had begun to fall. She bent her head and sprinted toward her building, ducking as two paparazzi pointed a camera at her and snapped.
When she was finally in her room, changing into jeans and a T-shirt, there was a knock on the door. “So how was the fitting?” Katia asked cautiously, standing in the doorway dressed in her gym clothes, and holding a copy of the New York Times.
“It went great,” she said brightly. No need to mention the ripped dress, she thought.
Katia gently closed the door. “Look, honey, I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. And I don’t think you should do this.”
Lizzie sat on the edge of her bed, just hard enough that Sid Vicious stretched out a paw. “Why not?”
“Because of all the reasons I’ve already explained,” Katia said, shaking her head. “If Martin’s really that interested in you, he can wait a couple of years.”
“What if he can’t?”
Katia sat down beside her. “Maybe we should stop thinking so much about what’s good for Martin, and focus on what’s good for you. And right now, that’s school. And having a normal life.”
“A normal life?” Lizzie chuckled. “As if I’ve ever had that.”
“You can still model a little, but I don’t think a commitment to something as huge as Martin is a good idea,” Katia said. “At least, not right now.”
“Mom—”
“I’ve already called Martin,” Katia said. “And I told him that we changed our mind.”
“What?” Lizzie slid to her feet.
Katia held up her hand. “Lizzie, don’t.”
“How could you do that without talking to me first?”
“It’s just temporary. It’s not forever. When you’re older you can still do this, honey—”
“What is your problem?” Lizzie asked, cutting her off.
“I’ve already told you my worries about this. I don’t want him exploiting you, and you need to stay in school.”
“No, there’s something else going on here,” she said.
Katia narrowed her darkening eyes. “Such as?”
“Maybe you’re mad that I’m in your world now. Or maybe you don’t like the fact that I’m not just your kid anymore. Maybe you still want me to be in your shadow.”
Katia sat up and drew her shoulders back. “I’m on your side here, Lizzie.”
“Mom, I’m finally myself,” she said evenly. “I’m finally just Lizzie. Not Katia’s daughter. Don’t you know what that’s like? To finally have that?”
Katia stood up. “You are your own person, Lizzie,” she said sternly. “But part of who you are is being my daughter and no matter what you do, that’s never going to change. Especially if you work with Martin Meloy.” She walked to the door and paused with her hand on the knob, gathering herself. “Your father and I have to go back to Paris. L’Ete wants to meet with me—”
“Just go,” Lizzie said, cutting her off. “Just leave.”
Katia paused at the door. “Irlene’ll be staying with you until Monday. We’ll be back then.”
Lizzie collapsed on her bed with her back to her mother. Just go, she thought. Finally she heard the door close behind her.
That night, Lizzie was too angry to sleep. She punched her pillow and tossed from side to side, as the pattering rain outside swelled into a thunderstorm. It wasn’t fair, she thought over and over, feeling a burning in her chest. She was Lizzie now. Not the daughter of the supermodel. For the first time she knew what it was like to walk into a room and know that more of her was about Lizzie than it was about Katia. And now her mom wanted to snatch that away from her. It made her feel small and helpless and angry and trapped. But maybe there was a way for her to fight back.
The next morning, she found it.
“Annalise? It’s Lizzie,” she said into her iPhone on her way to the bus stop.
“Oh hi, Lizzie, how are you?” Annalise sounded cheery but tentative.
“I just wanted to say that there was some confusion last night,” she said, hopping onto the bus. “I can make the shoot on Monday.”
There was a pause on the other line. “Well, that’s wonderful, Lizzie,” Annalise replied crisply. “I’m sure Martin’ll be thrilled.”
A few moments later, Lizzie slipped the phone into her bag and snagged a seat by the window, feeling empowered and, yes, a little sneaky. But if you wanted something in life, you had to go out and grab it. No matter what stood in your way.
chapter 25
“And who are you?”
Ilona stood on the doorstep of her own Halloween party that night and looked Lizzie’s costume up and down. “I sort of don’t get it,” she sneered.
From the flouncy black dress that barely covered her butt, the little white doily pinned to her head, and the pink feather duster in her hand, it was blatantly obvious what Ilona was supposed to be. A French maid. How original, Lizzie thought.
“Daisy Buchanan,” Lizzie answered, adjusting her black feather headband. “She’s a character in The Great Gatsby. Which you probably haven’t read yet,” she added with a smile.
If anyone at this party did know who Daisy Buchanan was, Lizzie thought, they’d be impressed. She’d worn one of Katia’s blue silk Lanvin sheaths, with a lavender sash tied around the hips to give it a drop-waist look, and topped it off with a long strand of fake pearls, a painted-on beauty mark, and a wig with chin-length
black hair that Hudson had swiped from Holla’s extensive collection. Yes, she looked just like Daisy, but there was really only one person who would get it. And he certainly wouldn’t be here tonight.
Ilona turned her attention to Carina. “Are you a zombie?” she asked, crinkling her nose.
Carina’s pale gray face makeup and reddened circles around her eyes were at odds with her preppy pearls-and-cardigan outfit. “A zombie Martha Stewart,” Carina corrected.
“And I’m a Goth Swiss Miss,” Hudson offered, gesturing to her braided pigtails and new dress from Martin. “Or a Leather Milkmaid. Either one.”
“Is Ava here?” Lizzie asked, sensing that she should find the person who’d invited her to this as soon as possible.
“She’s in the kitchen,” Ilona said, waving vaguely with the duster toward an open door.
Lizzie, Carina, and Hudson headed into the kitchen. Inside they found Ava, dressed as Batgirl, squeezing a lime into something that looked like a gin and tonic.
“He-ey!” Ava cried out in her usual singsong. She seemed to have fully recovered from her crying fest in the park. “Soooo glad you guys could make it. Love your costume!” she said to Lizzie. “What are you?”
“Oh, it’s something from The Great Gatsby.”
“Ohh,” Ava said carefully but judgmentally, taking a sip of her drink. “That’s cool.”
Even though she knew he wouldn’t be coming to this, Lizzie did a quick sweep of the kitchen for Todd. Ever since the day he’d given her the book, he hadn’t come to school, and nobody knew where he was, or what had happened to him. The rumor going around was that Ava had shamed him into staying home ever since her dumping. He’d texted Lizzie earlier that afternoon, asking to get together that weekend to work on their project, so whatever was wrong couldn’t be that dire. She hadn’t written him back. If he’d been so concerned about the project, she figured, he wouldn’t have cancelled on her the other night. And on Monday morning, she’d be at the photo shoot, so she wouldn’t be doing the presentation anyway.
As Carina and Hudson poured themselves some cranberry juice, Ava pulled Lizzie aside.