“‘Soon’ isn’t a constant state. It can change.”
“Yes, it can.”
“I have something else to discuss with you.” His set expression softens. “Although I know what you’re going to say.”
“What?”
“My last official act on behalf of Killer Body.” He flashes me an indulgent smile, too perfect to matter. “At Bobby W’s request.”
“I’ve got to report what happened, Lucas. I can’t soften any of this.”
“Bobby W knows that. He’s fine with it.” He looks awkward, standing there in his linen shirt and penetrating gaze, like a man about to propose marriage. But that’s not what this is about. This is about endings, not beginnings. This is about cutting one’s losses, as I am trying to do right now.
“What does he want of me?” I ask. “Just say it.”
“He thinks—hell, he wants you to be Killer Body’s new spokesmodel.”
For one moment, I feel a flush of flattery. But only for one moment.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I mean it,” he says, speaking rapidly, as his words register. “Real life. That’s what Bobby W’s decided we’re missing, and I think he’s right.”
I look at him, listen to these words that would have made Lisa’s life, her world, probably even have taken her from Pete. Iwant to ask Lucas what a Killer Body spokesmodel does all day, what the office hours are, or if one’s whole life is just handed over in return for a generous chunk of change, a poster and a red-enamel pendant.
“You’re insulted,” he says.
“No, not insulted. Sad.”
He puts his arm around me, and I pull away, refusing to give into tears and grief once more.
“You want real life this time?” I say.
“That’s what Bobby W wants. And, okay, I think it’s a good idea, overall.”
“You’ll probably never go for it,” I tell him, “but I know who your next spokesmodel ought to be.”
Tania Marie
Word of the day:Boeotian(bee-O-shuhn): Relating to Boeotia, in ancient Greece, noted for its thick air and the dullness of its people or its citizens. Boorish, dull, lacking culture.
“Real life. That’s what Killer Body is missing.”
Tania Marie sat next to Mr. Warren at the conference table in his office. Someone had brought in a pitcher of Bloody Marys and two glasses. Mr. Warren had used his to down a fistful of supplements, but Tania Marie couldn’t drink, and she wasn’t sure she could talk.
She’d left Jay asleep at her apartment and driven over here as soon as she got the call, and she hoped she looked all right in the clear, honest light that flowed in through the open glass door with the breeze from the ocean.
Better than poor Mr. Warren, at any rate. The tragedy of Julie’s death had deepened his hawkish features, and his darkeyes seemed to have sunk deeper into his head. His voice was as powerful as a young man’s, though.
“Real life,” Mr. Warren boomed again. “Not unattainable glamour. Someone who’s overcome challenging obstacles and taken charge of her destiny. That’s what we need.”
His eyes lit up, and he squeezed her thigh with his caliper fingers, no doubt tallying exactly her percentage of body fat.
“Do you mean—”
She didn’t know how to ask the question, didn’t dare, in case she had misunderstood. She’d be damned before she humiliated herself again, not for Killer Body, not for anyone.
“Yes, my dear.” Mr. Warren’s dark eyes glittered, and she knew that he saw himself as some kind of studly, refined yet still sexy Santa Claus. “We’d like to offer you the position as Killer Body spokesmodel, effective immediately.”
