The Daughters

  “Can I get you guys something to drink?” Andrea padded over to the small kitchenette. “Vitamin Water? Green tea? Cold bottled chai-whatever?”

  “Vitamin Water would be great,” Hudson replied for the group, as Lizzie walked over to check out the portraits.

  They were mostly of people’s faces in various levels of close-up, just like the ones she’d seen once in a Richard Avedon exhibit at the Whitney. Except these weren’t of old movie stars like Marilyn Monroe and Cary Grant. They were of ordinary people. Some were teenagers. Some were middle-aged. Some were elderly, with wrinkles and age spots. And all of them had obvious flaws: big teeth, big noses, untweezed eyebrows, jutting chins, deep wrinkles that made their faces look like creased roadmaps. But you couldn’t take your eyes off them. In the shadows made by the camera, they were mesmerizing. They were, weirdly, beautiful.

  “So I’m shocked they gave you my message,” Andrea said to Lizzie, handing each of them a bottle of orange Vitamin Water. “The girl I spoke to didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. So were you totally weirded out?”

  Lizzie twisted off her cap and glanced at her friends. “A little,” she admitted. “What is it you do exactly?”

  “I mostly shoot for magazines and ad campaigns, and I use ‘regular’ models, too,” she said, hooking her fingers into quotes. “But this kind of work,” she said, walking toward the wall of photos, “this is much more my thing. Real people. Like her.” She pointed to a photo of an elderly woman with long gray hair that flowed past her shoulders. “I saw her on the 6 train. She’s seventy-eight, a great-grandmother, and when I told her that I thought she could be a model, she thought I was on drugs. But she turned out to be a natural. I shot her for a shampoo ad. She’s been working ever since.”

  Andrea walked over to a photo of a stocky bald man with startled, childlike eyes. “I met him in line at Gray’s Papaya on Seventy-Second and Broadway. Look at those eyes. Amazing, huh? I shot him for a Toyota ad. They loved him,” Andrea said, shaking her head. “All of these people had something worth looking at. Something beautiful. And most of the time, I wasn’t the only person who thought so.”

  “They are beautiful,” Lizzie agreed.

  “Of course the other kind of beauty is still going strong—the kind we see in Vogue or InStyle,” Andrea went on. “But there’s something else happening now.” She folded her toned arms and smiled. “Something I call the New Pretty. Like Selina.” She pointed to a portrait of a teenage girl. She was tall and what some might call big-boned, with tiny shell-like eyes, long, stringy blond hair, and full cheeks. She wasn’t anything close to what the boys in her school might have called hot, but she was so unusual-looking that she commanded attention.

  “I found her in Albuquerque,” Andrea went on. “She’s done three layouts for me, and the European magazines went nuts for her. She just signed with a modeling agency.”

  “So then why is it called ugly modeling?” Lizzie asked.

  Andrea rolled her eyes. “Ugly, right,” she said with a rueful chuckle. “If we use a girl who’s not six feet tall and ninety pounds and drop-dead gorgeous, people call it ugly modeling! A better word for it is unique. And that’s you, Lizzie.” Andrea stepped back from the picture and turned to face her. “None of these people thought they could model. None of them thought anyone would want to see them. But people do. And I think they’d want to see you, too. You have that thing, Lizzie—that kind of face that makes you pay attention. You have the New Pretty.”

  Lizzie stared at her. This woman, who seemed incredibly cool, successful, and with excellent taste in music, thought she was beautiful? And wanted to photograph her?

  Carina, as usual, broke the awkward pause. “So what would be the first step?” she asked, sounding as brisk and businesslike as an agent.

  “Test shots. We could do them on the street, in the park. Or here in the studio. Wherever you’re most comfortable.” Andrea grabbed a card from a stack on a nearby table and handed it to Lizzie. “Here. Talk about it with your mom. See what she thinks. I’d be happy to speak to her.”

  Her mother. Suddenly Lizzie heard Natasha’s spiteful voice. Would you want your mother to think that you turned this into a career opportunity?

  “Can I have one of those, too?” Hudson said.

  “Yeah, me too,” Carina said, walking over.

  She had to say no before this got out of hand. “Thanks, but I don’t think I can,” Lizzie said nicely. “It’s not something I want to do. But I wanted to come by and just thank you for the interest.”

  Andrea gave her softest, gentlest smile, as if she were auditioning to replace the Dalai Lama. “Okay, I respect that,” she said. “I know it’s a lot to take in. But… just hang on to the card.” She shrugged. “You never know, right?”

  Lizzie didn’t say anything, but Carina and Hudson gave her are-you-crazy? looks as Andrea led them to the door.

  “I’m so glad you guys stopped by,” Andrea said, opening the front door. “And if you happen to see a Dean & Deluca guy with my lunch out there, send him in.” She put her hand on Lizzie’s shoulder. She had a crooked, but utterly trustworthy smile. “Great to meet you, Lizzie. And good luck.”

  Andrea closed the door. For just the briefest second, Lizzie felt a sharp wave of regret.

  “Are you totally insane?” Carina exploded as they walked down the hall. “You were just discovered!”

  “And she was so cool!” Hudson exclaimed, almost jumping up and down. “And so talented! Did you see her stuff? How real it was?”

  “You guys know I hate cameras,” Lizzie said feebly as she pressed the elevator button.

  “That’s the whole point,” Carina emphasized. “This would be like your own personal Fear Factor.”

  “Exactly,” chirped Hudson. “This is happening for a reason—to make you grow, to help you get over your issues.”

  “I told you guys what Natasha said,” she replied, giving up on the elevator and opening the door to the stairwell. “Stay away from cameras. Lie low. Stay out of trouble.”

  “Your mom would never need to know,” Carina suggested.

  “How?” Lizzie asked as they clomped down the stairs. “How would this not get back to her?”

  “There are ways,” Carina hedged. “We’d figure something out.”

  “And what if she did find out?” Lizzie said. “How would I ever do what she does?”

  She knew that Hudson could relate to this, but she was quiet as they reached the lobby and walked back onto the street. Hudson never wanted to talk about her potential music career.

  “It’s not like you’d be following in her footsteps,” Hudson finally said as they turned toward the corner. “This is completely unlike what she does. You’d be doing your own kind of modeling.”

  Carina put on her Oakleys. “Just do it. What do you have to lose? You could be the next Coco Rochas. Or whatever her name is. And I’ll say I knew you when.”

  She said goodbye to her friends on the corner of Crosby and Prince and watched them walk west, feeling the raised type of Andrea’s business card in her hand. She could still smell the piney scent of Andrea’s studio on her clothes. Something inside of her felt lighter, almost proud. Andrea had said she was pretty. She turned and looked back down the street to Andrea’s building and up to the fifth-floor windows and smiled. Maybe she’d be back there one day after all.

  Suddenly she had a thought. She started walking down Spring Street. A cool breeze blew against her face as she picked up speed. She rounded the corner onto Broadway. Thankfully, the crowd of shoppers and tourists had thinned. It only took a few seconds to reach the doors to Big Drop.

  Inside, she maneuvered her way past the teenage girls straight to the stack of lace-trimmed camisoles. The lavender one was right on top, back from the fitting room. Yes, it had been a little low-cut, and yes, it would show her white arms, but right now she didn’t really care.

  “Just this, please,” she said to the woman behind the cash registe
r, handing her a credit card.

  As the woman ran her card, Lizzie’s gaze wandered to the wall behind her. There, facing her, was a framed photo of her mother. She was on the street, coming out of this very store, dressed in aviator shades, dark toothpick-thin jeans, and a crisp white shirt. It was one of those “In Their Own Clothes!” features from one of the tabloids, and the store had framed it to show people that Katia Summers was a customer. WE SELL THESE JEANS! someone had written in gigantic capital letters with a huge arrow pointing to Katia’s legs. Lizzie was definitely used to seeing her mother’s picture in the most random places, but now for some reason it was jarring. Maybe because she still hadn’t heard from her since their fight two days ago—and the release of the clip. Thankfully, Natasha had managed to pull it off the Internet.

  The saleswoman handed Lizzie back her card and put the top in a plastic bag. “Enjoy,” she chirped, bringing Lizzie back to the here and now.

  On her way out, Lizzie checked her watch. Only six more hours until she and Todd were alone together inside his house. She walked out of the store into the crowds, swinging the bag, and she already knew that she’d remember this night for a very long time.

  chapter 8

  By the time the elevator doors closed on the lobby of Todd’s building, the butterflies in Lizzie’s stomach had morphed into tiny exploding grenades. It didn’t help that she’d been nervous for hours during her Ava-worthy grooming routine. She’d showered, shaved her legs, scrubbed herself with loofah gloves, and slathered on perfumed body lotion. She’d straightened her hair, and then curled it with a curling iron for those soft, Pre-Raphaelite, Nicole Kidman–like waves. She’d dusted her lids with gold eye shadow and applied at least two coats of mascara. By the time she was done, she had to say that she looked pretty good, enough so that her old doorman had barely recognized her. But what if Todd thought she’d overdid it? Maybe he honestly just wanted her help as a friend. And she did look a little glamorous to be putting out pretzels and dip.

  As the elevator raced upward, Lizzie checked inside her beaded pouch for her phone. Carina and Hudson had both promised to be on call for any emergencies until they came over to the party. But there wouldn’t be any emergencies, she told herself. Everything was going to be just fine. Everything was going to be amazing.

  When they reached the penthouse, the doors opened. Todd stood right in front of her—apparently, the elevator opened right into the middle of his house. In scruffy jeans and a light blue cowboy-style shirt, with a wet forelock of hair falling over his eyebrows, Todd’s hotness was on fine display. “So you remembered the address,” he said.

  “Hi,” she said, trying to breathe as she stepped out into a marble-floored foyer. Todd’s new apartment looked like a castle. Large modern canvases hung on the walls, while a grand, marble staircase led to the second floor. A chandelier that looked like an explosion of crystal hung from a long skinny chain above their heads. And branching off from the foyer were at least five different rooms, all of which were dark and unoccupied. It was three times the size of Todd’s old place, but it also felt oddly empty, as if people hadn’t yet moved in.

  “This definitely isn’t your old apartment,” she said, craning her head to take it all in.

  “Yeah, it’s nice,” he said casually, looking around. Then his eyes returned to her. “You look nice, too,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Her stomach did a little flip and she prayed that she didn’t blush. “So, what can I do? I am here to help, right?”

  “Actually, let’s go upstairs.”

  “Upstairs?” she asked warily.

  “Yeah, I want to show you something.” He grinned the way he used to when he suggested anything that could have gotten them in trouble. “Come on. I think you’ll like it.” He bounded up the stairs in his bare feet. “I promise.”

  She followed him up the carpeted steps to the second floor and down a thickly carpeted hallway.

  “I feel like I’m at the Met,” she kidded, looking around. “Did your dad change jobs or something?”

  “No, the company’s just doing really well,” he said vaguely.

  At the top of another staircase he led her down a hallway and up to a closed door. “Okay, you ready?” he asked, almost giddy, as he slipped his feet into some flip-flops by the door. Whatever it was he had to show her had Todd really excited.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Well, close your eyes. And I mean, really close ’em.”

  She shut them. “Okay.”

  She felt his hand on her arm, and it sent a lightning flash of electricity all the way up to her shoulder. Then she heard the creak of a door opening. Gently he pulled her forward, just as she felt a breeze against her face.

  “Okay, open,” he said.

  She opened her eyes. She was standing in the most beautiful roof garden she had ever seen. Bushes of pale pink roses and milky-blue hydrangeas swayed in the breeze. Purple and white and red impatiens bobbed their heads in wooden barrels. Ivy crept up the walls of a small water tower, and magenta bougainvillea dripped down from a trellis. But even more beautiful was the view: Central Park stretched out in front of them like a soft emerald carpet, and above it, the setting sun carved a deep pink gash in the sky.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed. “This is amazing.”

  “Yeah,” Todd said, surveying the view. “That one’s your building, isn’t it?” He pointed to the other side of the park. “That one just to the left of us?” From here, the Central Park West skyline looked almost fake, like a painted backdrop of craggy, turreted prewar buildings crammed next to modern brick and glass condos.

  “Yep,” she said. “That’s it.”

  “Just like Daisy’s green light, huh?” he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder and grinning.

  Daisy’s green light, she thought. Gatsby had stared lovingly across the water to the green light on the dock of Daisy Buchanan’s house in East Egg. Was he saying what she thought he was? Get a grip on yourself, she thought.

  She turned around and saw a long table laid with drinks and snacks. “Hold on. I thought I was supposed to help you with that.”

  “You are helping me,” he said. He pointed to a comfy-looking pair of padded deck chairs. “You had to approve everything.”

  “Well, I approve,” she teased.

  “Good, then have a seat. I’ll get you something to drink.”

  She sank into the chair and leaned back so far that her gaze was at the hot pink sky. From below them on the street came the soothing white noise of traffic. Already, this Date/Planned Hang-Out was more than she’d expected.

  “It’s so peaceful up here,” she said when he came back. “I feel like I’m in a movie.”

  Todd handed her a plastic cup of Coke. Then he sat down and laid his head back on the soft fabric of his chair. “It’s a great place to think. And it’s definitely cool for a party. I just hope people come.”

  “Oh, they will,” she said. “Especially Ava.”

  Todd gave her a quick, careful glance. “What does that mean?” he asked.

  “Just that she likes you,” Lizzie said. “It’s obvious. You don’t see it?”

  Todd turned away and rubbed his hands on his jeans. “Not really,” he muttered.

  Lizzie sipped her Coke. Guess that was the wrong thing to bring up, she thought.

  “Hey,” he suddenly said. “I read your story.”

  In her excitement about tonight, she had completely forgotten about her story. “You did?”

  “I thought it was great. The fight between the mother and daughter was really well done. And the ending worked—it was sweet but not sappy.” He cradled his head with his hands and tilted his head toward her. “It was about you and your mom, wasn’t it?”

  Her chest tightened with embarrassment. “Sort of,” she admitted, turning her eyes to the sky and watching a plane slice through a cloud. “My stories tend to go that way—you know, toward the real. Though I’ve never had the urge to cut my hair.?
?? For obvious reasons, she wanted to add.

  “Mine are like that, too, even when I try to write about other stuff,” Todd said, rubbing his hands on his jeans again. He seemed jumpy. “I don’t know, it’s just the way I write. Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I saw the YouTube clip.”

  “You did?” she asked, horrified.

  “It really wasn’t that bad, you know. It was kind of cute.”

  “Cute?” she asked, turning to look at him.

  “I could tell it just slipped out,” he said. “I don’t blame you. It must be hard, being around that all the time. I couldn’t do it. No way.” He stretched out his legs and contemplated his feet.

  “But it’s funny,” he went on. “I always thought you were prettier than your mom.”

  “What?” she asked, almost giving him a deathstare.

  Todd frowned. “Sorry, does that offend you or something?”

  “No, it doesn’t offend me. I just…” She shook her head. “You do?”

  “Hey, don’t get me wrong—your mom’s still hot,” he said. “But so are you.”

  “You’re a psycho, you know that?” she said.

  “Why is that psycho?” he asked.

  “Because it is. And you don’t have to say that because of the YouTube clip—”

  “I’m telling you this because that’s what I think,” Todd said. “I think you’re prettier than her.”

  “Stop it!” she laughed, smacking him on the arm.

  In a flash, he caught her hand and covered it with his own. Lizzie froze. Todd held her hand, and then, carefully, turned it this way and that, examining it, stretching out her fingers, like it was a piece of treasure he’d just found. She watched him, afraid to move, feeling the warmth of his skin over hers. When he finally braided his fingers with her own, she stopped breathing. His hand was so warm it sent chills through her body. Her skin tingled. Something was about to happen.