Tattered Beauty (Watty Awards 2011)

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

On December 7th, I sat in Lily’s sunroom drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book—just a regular day in the life of Hailey.  Then my phone rang. In the past month I had managed to make enough money to buy myself a cell phone, for work purposes and all. Predicting it was Daniel, I answered, “Hey stud muffin!”

            “Umm…” The obvious female voice on the line said. “I think I have the wrong number. Is this Hailey?”

            “Yeah,” I said. I smacked my palm into my forehead—talk about an awkward moment. “Sorry about that.”

            “Sorry I’m not your…stud muffin. Anyway, this is Janice Frey; remember me?” She asked.

            I sat up. “Oh, my God of course I do! How have you been? How did you get this number? Never mind. It’s so good to finally hear from you!”

            “I’ve been good, I just finished beauty school. We can talk about me later. I was wondering if you wanted to get together for lunch later today. Tiffany and Meg are coming, too. We’d love to see you.”

            I hesitated, not because I didn’t want to, but because I was wary of going out in public nowadays. It was a hazardous thing; Daniel and I were trying to keep our relationship on the down-low. I did not want to be recognized by the paparazzi. I was pleased with my unknown status. Nonetheless I told her I would meet her at a small restaurant at noon.  

            I finished the rest of my coffee; it scalded my throat and tongue. I skipped up the steps to get to my ever-growing closet. As I was the spokes model for the King’s, it had helped me further my modeling career, which, in turn, helped me collect more clothing. I selected a navy blue sweater dress, with black leggings and boots that went midway up my calf. After scorching my hair with a flat iron, I put some Gucci sunglasses—a gift from a photo shoot I did—to top it all off.

            Lily was going to be working all afternoon and into the evening, but on the off chance she would come home early, I left a note on the countertop explaining where I was. My aunt worried so much about me, even though her concerns were hardly necessary.  I knew how to keep myself safe—living on the street for two years gives you excellent survival skills! I signed my name and dotted the i with a heart. I examined it and deeply sighed. If I was going to be Daniel’s future wife—which, believe me, I did not oppose in any way—I would need to work on my signature. It looked like something a preteen scribbled out. But it’d have to do for the time being.

            I walked a block or two in the positively frigid December air, hating every moment of it, cursing myself about if I had a car I wouldn’t have to go through this shit every day. Even under a thick, and rather unattractive, winter coat, I shivered violently. I longed to drink my scorching hot cup of coffee all over again. I strutted on, however, in my heeled boots. I was wary of hitting the ice in just the wrong way—heels did not give the best traction on snow and ice.  Finally I managed to catch a cab about three blocks down the road.

            “Hey,” the man said a little while down the road. “That girl looks a lot like you!” He pointed to a billboard standing atop a large apartment building. Sure enough, it was me standing there with another model in the “small” Gucci ad we were shooting the other day. If a billboard overlooking New York City was considered small, then what was considered large? There I was standing there in the same exact sunglasses I was wearing now. My brown hair was teased to unimaginable heights and my lips were painted a deep red. The other model looked more or less the same way—but I stood out more.