“We open with happy news. Xander Cole”—Harlow shrank back and cradled her milk—“and his ex-wife Davina will be tying the knotagain, in style on the Coles’ private Caribbean Island.” A clip played of Xander and Davina standing on the sandy shore of the beach, their Frank Lloyd Wright–style home looming in the background.
“Did you know about this?” Harlow glanced at her guests as Mom shut off the TV. “Is that why you’re here, Mom? Because they’ve announced their wedding?”
“Of course not. How would I have even known? If he called, I’d have given him a piece of my mind.” Mom’s disgusted tone was offset by her lilting southern charm.
“Oh please, you love him. If he came back to Harlow Hayes, you’d be buying bridal magazines.”
“I beg your pardon. I would—”
“Anne, Harlow, let’s talk about why we are all here.” Jinx sat on Harlow’s right, while Mom sat on her left. Dr. Tagg perched on the coffee table, clicking her pen in an annoying rhythm, prescription pad in hand.
“Are you committing me to a psych ward?” Harlow pointed tothe prescription pad. “Don’t even think about it. You’re all aware of the Studio 54 scene. Drugs kill. Listen to Nancy Reagan, if not me. ‘Just Say No.’”
“This is different,” Mom said. “This will help you get over this slump ... this depression.”
“Is that what you call a broken heart?” Harlow set her glass on the coffee table next to the good doctor and tried to squeeze out from between Mom and Jinx.
“Let’s review the last two years,” Jinx said, holding onto Harlow’s arm.
“Must we?” She’d been trying to forget the past two years. But when a supermodel gains something like forty pounds—she’d not stepped on the scale in a year—she loses her career.
“I’d like to point outtwokey words.” Mom’s lilt came with a verbal highlighter. “Two.Years. Harlow, it’s beentwo yearssince Xander went back to Davina. It’s time to move forward. Write a new future. Xander is getting married, yet you sit here—”
“Wallowing?” Harlow freed herself from the sofa’s confinement. “News flash, Mom, Jinx, Dr. Tagg. I’ve loved every minute of it.” Not true, but she had to fight back somehow. “The End. Film at eleven.” She leaned over Dr. Tagg. “Don’t you have something for these two? Helpthemleave me alone?”
“I really think losing your money sent you over the edge.” Mom frowned.
No, losing the love of her life sent her over the edge. Discovering her financial advisor—recommended by Xander, of all people—absconded with her small fortune was the cherry on top.
All she had left after being Felix Unger’ed from the penthouse she’d shared with her fiancé and future husband was the savings Dad insisted she set aside for a rainy day. Or, in her case, a deluge.
All of her hard work—the early days of go-sees, of running from one catalog shoot after another, of sleepless nights in Milan during fashion week, and years of being primped and plucked—vanished in an FBI white-collar crime raid.
She imposed on the generosity of friends, sleeping on their couches and in their guest rooms. When her fellow models were on location, she fed their cats in exchange for living quarters. Somewhere in the madness, food became her solace. Maybe it was her first bite of Lombardi’s Pizza, or that thick burger with a side of fries. Or maybe her first bag of Hayes Cookies—which she spotted at a Broadway tienda—that she’d consumed with a chocolate shake from a mom-and-pop diner.
Snap. Years of disciplined eating ended. Junk food was marvelous. Comforting. And something that was all hers.
Around her, Jinx, Mom, and Dr. Tagg talked as if she wasn’t there. Mom mentioned something about Harlow’s famous poster, the one that launched her career.
“If you had royalties from that thing, you’d be in better shape.” Mom had never forgiven Jinx for letting Harlow go to the shoot without a contract in play.
“He was a friend,” Jinx said. “Asking a favor. How was I to know it’d become a worldwide phenom?”
“In my view,” Dr. Tagg weighed in, clicking her pen, “you’ve given Xander too much authority. What right does he have to kill your spirit because he went back to his ex?”
“Exactly. Where’s our girl who wowed everyone on the set ofTalk to Me Sweetly?” Mom switched from fretter to cheerleader. “Everyone thought you were amazing, and it was your first movie.”
“HH got the stuffing kicked out of her.” Harlow took a big gulp of milk, then tugged on her pajama top where her middle pushed against the buttons.
She’d met Xander—he was one of the executive producers—on that movie set, where she’d also been given the nicknameHHbecause she was so businesslike.
“I know, sweetie.” When Jinx pulled Harlow down to the couch next to her, one of her pajama buttons popped off and landed on Dr. Tagg’s prescription pad. Okay, that was embarrassing. “But it’s time to get to work. Your mom is here because I have goodnews. Charlotte Winthrop wants you to be the new face of CCW Cosmetics.”
Dr. Tagg discreetly set the button in the coffee table ashtray.
“Why me? Trace Sterling is their face.”
“Her contract ends in August.” Jinx’s expression was bright, like a parent about to tell their kid he’s getting a puppy or a pony. “And she asked me to get you.” Ta-da. She spread her arms wide, smiling big. Expectant.
