PANDERING TO THE PATRIARCHY
FRANKIE
This week has been a total bitch. I have so many problems I lie awake at night ranking them in order of bad to worse. The easiest one to handle is probably Jennie. She’s pissed I am not as available as she wants me to be, not just for the work she gets me but for her. She’s my best friend, not just my manager, and I’ve been doing a shitty job at staying in touch. Then there’s the brands themselves that are pissed. The bathing suit company I’m working with is happy with the posts and coverage I’ve been giving them, but the liquor company is pissed because I’ve had to skip two in-person events because of the race schedule. Jennie is putting out fires and I’ve promised to devote the two week break after the Mexico race to my work with her.
And a bigger problem is my shoe deal. I don’t like some of the designs for the shoes, and they’re pushing back. And I don’t have the time to argue as effectively as I wish I did, so I’ve just been blowing it off. Now they’re talking about pulling the deal completely, and demanding repayment of the fifteen thousand dollar advance they gave me for the partnership. That’s not an issue, I can give them back the money. I just really want this shoe line to happen. I’ve had to wear flats my whole life because of my back problems, and let me tell you, the selection isn’t always great. I wanted to make some really cool, beautiful designs for people like me.
And then there’s the family feud. Lucia and Dad still haven’t made up. Since mom died, this is the very first time we haven’t worked through something in less than forty-eight hours. I’ve tried playing referee and therapist, but neither of them want to hear it. Lucia has stopped answering my calls altogether.
And then there’s my biggest problem of them all. That I can’t stop thinking about Billy James. Even with all this other stuff going on, he is constantly on my mind. Especially at night when I’m alone… in bed… then Billy isallI can think about.
So I’m stressed. And sleep deprived. And so horny I can barely stand it. I’m losing what little faith I have that this job will ever become enjoyable. Antonio and Rocco ignored me completely in the meeting after practice today. At least they aren’t being outwardly hostile anymore. They both seem to be listening, but… that actually makes me a little bit more nervous. I feel like something is brewing. I just don’t know what.
There’s a gentle knock on my door. I roll over and lift my useless silk sleeping mask off my face. “I know. Nap’s over. Time to get ready.”
“You’ve got some time. Can I come in?” It’s Adelaide, not Nick. That’s beyond weird. I get out of bed, shove my feet into slippers, and grab the hotel robe. I cinch it as I make my way through the suite and swing open the door.
“Come on in,” I say and motion with my hand not holding the door. “We’ve done fashion shows together. You’ve seen me naked so…”
Adelaide laughs. “Remember that show in Paris? The one where the designer wanted us to tape raw fish over our bits as we walked down the runway wearing his heels?”
“How can I forget that?” I ask and smile. “I said no way in hell.”
“And I didn’t and will never eat tuna again.” Adelaide shudders lightly but she’s still smiling. “I needed the cash. My parents’ assets had been frozen.”
Ah. For me, the public, that news came out in the tabloids about three weeks later. I guess I should have put two-and-two together. Adelaide’s dad is still in prison serving out one more year of his embezzlement sentence. Her mother moved to Costa Rica with a guy named Manuel, who apparently owns a bamboo farm or some crap. She and Adelaide haven’t talked since Adelaide announced her engagement to my dad.
“Speaking of which, have you told your family about the baby yet?” I ask. It’s nosy but if she wants to be family I’m gonna be all up in her business. She slips a hand over her middle, caressing it lightly, and even though she’s in an empire waist dress, the bump is detectible. I don’t know how I missed it for this long. I’m an idiot.
Adelaide shakes her head softly, her hair rippling around her shoulders. “I wrote my dad. He appreciates getting snail mail. As for my mom, I don’t even have a number for her.”
When I first met Adelaide, about six months before the embezzlement news, she and her mom were very close. They were as close as me and my mom had been and the way I hoped we still would be if she hadn’t died.
Adelaide lowers herself onto the settee in front of the bay window in my suite. “You know, when she found out I was dating Bash, she wasn’t worried about the age gap or any of that crap. She was angry that I scooped him up because, and I quote, ‘you should have given him to me. I’m the one who needs the money. You’re young and can still make money off your looks and body. I can’t.’”
I’m stunned by that revelation, but Adelaide just shrugs. “Anyway, whatever. This baby will have the best big sisters in the world. What more will it need?”
“Well, I appreciate that, but right now, Lucia isn’t exactly acting like a good sister,” I reply. “And I’m sorry. I hope I can get her to come around before the little one pops out.”
Adelaide cringes. “Can we not use pops out in reference to something coming out of my vagina, please?”
I snicker. “Pops out is better than claws its way out. Or would you prefer tears its way out?”
“Oh my God, shut up,” Adelaide groans.
I laugh. “I’m sure it will just slide out gracefully, like Lucia and I did.”
“Really?”
“No, my mom was in labor for forty-seven hours with me and I ended up breech with the cord around my neck, and she had to have an emergency c-section,” I reply casually as Adelaide’s eyes widen with every word. I smile again. “But the point is, my dad loved her more than ever. Even though I was ten pounds and left her with stretch marks like a road map that she never got rid of.”
“This is helping, but not,” Adelaide replies honestly and shakes her head. “Can we change the subject?”
“Sure.” I walk over to my closet and flip through until I find the right outfit for today. It’s qualifying day, so I’ll be in Mirabella gear.
“Are you going to wear one of those low-cut shirts again?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Why?”
