A Not-So-Simple Life (9 page)

“These just came in,” she explained. “From the fall collection.”

“Nice.” I nodded my approval.

“We like to show off the new lines,” she continued as she led me to an employee-only dressing room in the back of the store. “You’ll need this, of course.” She handed me a package of what I at first assumed was Kotex.

“What?” I tried not to look shocked. I mean, I wasn’t planning on getting my period for at least two weeks.

“Disposable perspiration pads to protect the garment,” she explained as she picked up a silver can of what looked like industrial-strength antiperspirant. “And you’ll need this too.” The can had been on a small shelf that also held hair spray and several other primping products.

I tried not to look too disgusted as I examined the can, but there was no way I would put that stuff on my armpits or anywhere else on my body for that matter.

“And what size shoe do you wear?”

“Nine.”

“I’ll be back shortly.” She pointed to a package of dark blue stockings. “Those go with the dress. And I’ll bring some accessories along with the shoes.”

I soon figured out that the perspiration pads had an adhesive strip that could adhere to the underarms of the dress. But I had to just say no to that scary-looking antiperspirant. I felt certain it was loaded with all kinds of cancer-causing chemicals.

By the time I was dressed, Monica returned with shoes, a wide leatherbelt, and some other accessories. She helped me with these, then stepped back and smiled.“Ralph would be proud.”

“Thanks.”

“You could model, you know.”

I sort of shrugged.

“Really, you have the right look.”

“Uh, thanks.” I suddenly felt totally self-conscious, like, What am I doing here? How did I end up like this? Then I reminded myself it was simply a temporary and desperate measure. The first step of my emancipation plan. Just bite the bullet and collect the paycheck.

“You really should consider it, Maya. Models make good money.”

I did consider that as I went back into the shop in search of the young brunette I’d met earlier. Her name was Britt, and she was supposed to train me. But as soon as I found her, she gave me one of those looks. It’s hard to explain and is probably more a feeling than anything else. But I noticed that her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and I could tell that something about me was not fully meeting her approval.

“I’m ready to be trained,” I announced, acting oblivious to the vibes I was receiving.

“I can’t believe they’re letting you wear that on your first day.”

“Is there something wrong with it?”

“No…it’s just that you’re new. I’d think they’d want to break you in a bit first.”

“Oh…well, if you’re worried that I might take off with this dress, you don’t need to be. I’m not a thief.”

“That’s not it,” she said quickly. “I’m just surprised to see
you wearing it. That line arrived only last week. It’s barely on the racks.”

I forced a smile and then shrugged. “Hey, I just follow orders.”

Britt let out an exasperated sigh. Then she began walking me through the paces, explaining what I was supposed to do and how I was supposed to do it as if it were very complicated, which seems a little ridiculous. Selling clothes isn’t exactly brain surgery or rocket science.

Anyway, it seems my job is mostly to assist the customers in finding what they’re looking for, or not looking for, in the shop. Consequently, I must learn where everything is. I must know how to present items in a way that makes a customer feel she cannot live without them. I must compliment her and show her accessories, and I must make the sale. Then, when it comes to the customer actually purchasing merchandise, I pass her along to the cashier but in such a way that she doesn’t feel like I’ve passed her on. She must feel as if we are all there to serve her. Her slightest wish is our greatest command.

“We treat the customer like an honored guest,” Britt explained. “We cater to whatever she wants. Perhaps she wants us to watch her kids while she tries something on. Or to give her husband an espresso while he waits. Or simply to tell her how absolutely fantastic she looks in an outfit.”

I nodded. “That doesn’t sound too difficult.”

Britt sort of laughed. “Maybe it doesn’t sound too difficult right now, but some customers, rather guests,…well, they can be trying. Just don’t let it show. You’re here to make them happy. Consider yourself part of the hospitality industry.”

I also got to consider myself a clothes rack. As it turned out, certain customers wouldn’t try on an outfit without seeing it on a model first. That’s where I came in. I tried on about five different outfits before the day was over. But I guess that helped pass the time.

The store was busy today. Okay, that doesn’t mean the aisles were filled with people. It means we might’ve had more than three customers in our department at the same time. Naturally, there were a few more spread out through the store. I am helping an older woman with a cable-knit cotton cardigan sweater “for cool nights on the water” when I hear someone say, “Maya Stark?”

I look up to see an attractive woman about my mom’s age smiling at me. She is obviously a customer and being helped by Britt, but she’s also vaguely familiar.

“Don’t you remember me, Maya?”

I blink at her and attempt a smile.

“You don’t, do you?”

“Perhaps you’d like Maya to help you,” Britt says in a polite tone. She steps over to my customer, giving me a glance that suggests we swap customers, rather guests.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I say to the older woman, although she doesn’t look the least bit pleased by our switcheroo, “Britt can help you with this.”

“I’m sorry,” says the woman with the vaguely familiar face. “But I’m an old friend of Maya’s father. You know the famous Nick Stark.”

Now the older woman turns and smiles at me. “You’re Nick Stark’s daughter?”

I swallow and nod. So far I had managed to keep this little tidbit to myself.

The older woman grabs me by the elbow. “I simply adore Nick Stark. My daughter got us tickets to his concert in Philadelphia. I plan to see him when I fly out there in August.”

“So you’ll forgive me for stealing her now, won’t you?” says the other woman. “I’m a friend of the family, and I’m just dying to hear how they’re all doing these days.”

The older woman doesn’t look quite ready to forgive the intruder, but at least she doesn’t make a scene as the woman pulls me away.

“I’ll get her next time.” The older woman shakes her finger in the air.

I smile at her. “Absolutely!”

Then I follow the “friend of the family” over to a quiet corner of the store, trying to recall who she is. Her voice actually sounds familiar.

“I’m Myrna Fallows,” she tells me with enthusiasm.

“Myrna?” I nod as realization sinks in. “I didn’t recognize you.” Myrna had been my dad’s publicist when I was very little. Back when he still needed a publicist. Sometimes he would take me to a mall appearance or a restaurant opening, and Myrna would keep me entertained until he was finished. I used to really like her. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

Her eyes light up. “Yes. Remember now?”

“How are you doing?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing, Maya. It’s been ages. And look at you now, so grown-up.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Well, I’ll admit that a certain pretty young woman caught my eye when I came in here. And then I noticed your nametag, and I put two and two together.” She peers into my face. “Those eyes, girl. No one has eyes quite like those.”

“Besides my dad, you mean.”

She winks at me. “Don’t we know it. My, you’ve grown into a beautiful girl, Maya. How old are you now?”

“Just fifteen,” I say quietly.

She smiles in a knowing sort of way. “Look, sweetheart, I came in here for a black blazer.” She pats her midsection.
“Something sophisticated and slimming. I’m going to New York on Monday, and it seems that everyone there still thinks that black is the new black.”

I lead her over to a rack and pull out a blazer that seems to fit her description. “How about this?”

She examines it, then nods, whispering to me her size. I search until I find a twelve as well as a ten and a fourteen, since you never know, and I lead her back to the dressing room.

“It’s perfect,” she says from behind the dressing room door. Then she comes out and hands it to me. “I’ll take it.”

As I walk her to the cashier, she asks me if I have plans for lunch.

“Besides putting my feet up?” I say quietly.

“Let me take you to lunch, Maya.” She has her cell phone out. “I’ll call and see if I can get us a table right away.”

So I agree and tell her when my lunch break is, and she tells me where to meet her. Of course, this means another quick change since I’m not allowed to wear store clothing off the premises. But the thought of getting out for some fresh air makes it seem worth the trouble.

There aren’t too many restaurants around Rodeo Drive. I think it’s because retail shops make more money. As a result, the restaurants around here are pretty spendy, and I haven’t been going to them much since times have gotten hard at home. I suspect that Shannon still meets friends occasionally. Not while she’s bingeing like she’s been doing
lately. Not only is she too broke, but her use of drugs and alcohol take a toll on her appearance, and she doesn’t like being seen by certain people when she looks like that. After all, she has an image to keep up.

“Maya, Maya,” says Myrna when I finally join her, “it is so good to see you again. And I’ve been following Nick’s comeback. Very impressive.” She shakes her head. “I wish I’d been available to represent him again.”

“I’m sure he wishes the same thing.”

“But I’m sure Jess Jordan is doing a great job. She’s good.”

I nod, pretending like I really keep up on this. To be honest, my head is spinning. I can’t believe I’m having lunch in this restaurant with Dad’s old publicist. It feels kind of surreal.

“How is your mom?” she asks in a tentative way. Like she knows or maybe just suspects the answer.

I kind of shrug. “Oh, she’s…well, you know…”

Myrna nods. “Yes, I do kind of know. And I’ve heard rumors.”

“Rumors?” Now I feel nervous. What are people saying?

“You know, Maya, the same old same-old.”

Suddenly, and despite how crazy it seems, I feel the need to defend Shannon. “She had been doing better. But then she heard that her sister had died. And she hadn’t been in touch with her for ages. I think it kind of derailed her.”

“Does your dad know?”

“Sort of…well, not exactly. I mean, I don’t want to distract him.”

Myrna puts on what seems a forced smile. “And you are working.”

“Yeah. I thought it might be fun.”

Myrna doesn’t look convinced. “Fun?”

I give her a half smile. “Okay, I need the money.”

“Addictions can be costly…in many ways.”

“I know.”

Myrna reaches across the table and takes my chin in her hand, tilting my head this way and that. “You could model, Maya.”

I jerk my head away from her hands.

“I have connections. I could set up some—”

“I don’t think I’d like that.”

“But there’s money to be—”

“So I’ve heard.”

She smiles. “I’m sorry. Listen to me, always the opportunist. But should you change your mind, you just get in touch.”

“It’s just that I’m really not into all that. I don’t like being in the limelight. And fashion is…” I hold up my hands and roll my eyes.

“Stupid?” She chuckles.

“Exactly. If I could do whatever I wanted, I’d join Greenpeace and protect endangered marine life.”

“I understand.” She pats my hand, and I get the feeling she really does understand. And suddenly I consider telling her everything. I consider confessing about my emancipation plan, about how I’m hiding my money from Shannon. My fears, my loneliness, my pathetic excuse of homeschooling—everything. But I don’t. I can’t.

Instead we move on to more chitchat, and we eat what turns out to be a pretty good lunch. Fortunately there’s a vegan entree on the menu. Finally, my break is nearly over, and I have to run.

“Thanks for everything,” I tell her as I stand.

“Take my card.” She pushes an ivory card across the table. “And call me, Maya, if you need anything. Okay?”

I thank her again, then I slip her card into a pocket of my bag. I head back to the store, and the whole time I’m wondering, Can I trust her? Can I? I so need a friend. Even if it’s an older friend. Just someone—someone I can trust…and talk to.

Now that I’m home, I’ve stashed Myrna’s card in my secret place, along with my cash and savings account card. Just in case.

T
his has been the longest month of my life. Working full-time is not easy. The good news is that I’ve been earning lots of money. And most of it is going straight into the bank. I can’t believe how good it feels to make a deposit. Then I just read the numbers on my passbook and get this fantastic rush. I wonder if saving money could become an addiction.

Speaking of addictions, the other good news is that Shannon has actually started an outpatient rehab treatment program that my dad is financing. Kim had urged me to e-mail him about my concerns, and I finally took her advice. I told him almost everything. Oh, not about my emancipation plan, but I did tell him that our finances were a mess and that Shannon was out of control. He called her, and they had a long talk. I eavesdropped for a while. Just long enough to hear Shannon finally calm down and listen. I think he pressured her some. My guess is he threatened to stop sending money or something to that effect. Anyway, it got her attention, and for the past two weeks she has been going in for
counseling sessions and group meetings. Also, as far as I can tell, she has stayed clean. At least she hasn’t gone AWOL.