Beneath Beautiful (10 page)

Alys shuddered. “I couldn't go out with James. It would be like dating my brother.”

Cassie gave her a look. “No it wouldn't. And, anyway, you don't have a brother.”

“Ugh!” Alys cried out in frustration. “Why are you being so annoying? Just admit it. He's lovely. And the timing! He's fallen right into your lap at the perfect moment! He's just out of a two-year relationship,” she said, triumphantly. “
And
it was a mutual break-up.”

Cassie groaned, knowing Alys wasn't going to let up anytime soon. The truth was, Cassie
had
thought James was good-looking, intelligent and funny, which would have usually been a lethal combination for her. But right now, her head was filled with Cameron Callahan. Both in the kind of way it had been ever since she’d first set eyes on him in
Père Lachaise,
and in the kind of way that she knew James was a dangerous person to be around indeed, especially if she wanted to steer clear of media attention. “Fine. He was really nice,” she finally told Alys.

“Really nice? Really
nice
?” Alys retorted.

Cassie shrugged.

“He's perfect for you! I've been wanting to fix you up with him for simply
ages
. He's a writer, you're a writer . . .”

“He's a
journalist
,” Cassie corrected her. “They're two very different things.”

“Picky, picky.” Alys waved a hand.

Cassie sighed. “Look, like I said, he was really nice. I thought he was funny. And smart, but . . .”

“But?” Alys egged her on. “But what?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Cassie checked her watch, her thoughts drifting to Cameron. Again. But, no. Enough. Cassie shook her head. “I have another hour and a half before I need to head to this meeting. Let's go shopping.”

“Works for me,” Alys said, turning on her heel. “This way. I've been wanting to take you to New York Vintage ever since I first went in there months ago. You're going to die and go to heaven the minute you step inside the door.”

C
assie handed the scribbled address to the taxi driver, who nodded and passed it back after reading it. “The meatpacking district,” he said, pulling out from the curb.

This sounded ominous, but on arrival seemed to be a very normal looking street, apart from the ear-splitting building work going on across the road. “It's the new Whitney,” the taxi driver explained as Cassie paid the fare. “Feels like it will never be finished.”

On exiting the cab directly outside the address she had been given, Cassie stood and stared up at the building before her. Its brickwork was painted white, and there were large silver numbers and a matching silver-barred high gate.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and pressed the buzzer, located on a silver panel just below a small, round inset camera. Even before she announced herself she was buzzed inside, the silver gate opening automatically with a
click
. It closed again behind her quite smartly and she was met with another door, made of thick glass this time, and another camera peering down at her from above. Security, it seemed, was tight at Casa Callahan.

Just as quickly as the gate had, the glass door clicked open, and Cassie was granted access to a small, white vestibule with a single white door. The fact that there was no handle on the door instantly intrigued Cassie. It was as if the room were testing her. Or maybe Cameron was testing her? Just as she was wondering if either of those things were true, she heard voices talking directly behind the door. “It's fine. Cameron wants me to get it,” a woman's voice spoke, and the door opened soon afterward.

“Cassie!” A small, young woman with a perfect black bob beamed at her, closing the door once more. “I'm Marianne, Cameron's assistant. It's lovely to finally meet you.” She held out her hand and Cassie shook it, realising the person before her was privy to everything that had been going on between her and Cameron since they had first met. Cassie tried to gauge Marianne's thoughts on this strange relationship of theirs from her expression. But if Marianne thought anything, she didn't show it. “You haven't visited us before, I understand?”

“No,” Cassie said. “Never.”

“Well, then. Ready to come inside?”

“I . . . think so,” Cassie said, suddenly unsure. She was beginning to think Marianne would open the door once more and something approximating Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory would appear before her, complete with a running stream of who knew what? Strawberry lubricant, maybe?

“Great,” Marianne said. “Cameron's expecting you. He's very excited to start work on this piece. He's practically spoken about nothing else lately.” With this, Marianne brought a small remote control out of her pocket, pressed a button, and the door opened wide. “After you,” she said to Cassie.

Cassie managed around three steps into the all-white room with its huge void and glass walkway suspended above her before she stopped short, something startling her. “Oh . . .” she said, her hand shooting up to her chest. “I thought for a moment there . . .”

“That she was real?” Marianne said, gesturing toward the sculpture. “Yes. Most people do. Her name's Monica. Cameron worked with her for around six months to get this piece just how he wanted it. She'll be part of the new exhibition, which is what Cameron would like you to sit for. I'm not entirely sure he has time, but then again, he rarely worries about things like that. Take a closer look. You can touch her if you like.”

“Really?” Cassie said. There was something about the life-sized sculpture that begged for you to touch it. She—Monica —truly did seem real at first glance. Now, Cassie took the few more steps forward that she needed to begin circling the piece. As she did, she was astonished at how perfect it was. Monica sat upon a stool, her feet crossed demurely and her head turned outwards, tilted, staring at the door they had just entered from.

What surprised Cassie most of all was that Monica was obese. Morbidly obese. Folds of flesh enveloped each other, fighting for space, beginning at her dimpled knees and swallowing the stool. They rippled upwards, her breasts cascading over the top of more waves of creamy white flesh. Finally, her head sat on top, her long, gold, wavy hair cascading down her back. Her mouth was full, with a perfect Cupid's bow, and her green eyes were large and set off with grey eye-shadow and mascara. “She's really beautiful. Like a pre-Raphaelite model.” Cassie shook her head as she completed the entire circle. “And the detail is amazing.” She stretched out her hand to touch a vein on Monica's neck. “Truly amazing. Her skin. It's almost . . .”

“Luminescent?” Cameron called out from the walkway above. “Monica was one of a kind. Her skin . . . really, I've never seen anything like it before, and I doubt I will again.”

“I really love her. It. Her.” Cassie wasn't sure what to say. She stared up at Cameron, entranced by both seeing him in his natural environment, and by the fact that she had not expected this of him—this morbidly obese sculpture. She hadn't realised he could be taken with other forms of beauty. Now she knew she was in danger of wanting him more than she already did.

As she watched him above, she saw the difference immediately—Alys had been trying to entice her with James, the type of male she usually went for. James, she saw now, was lovely, but also nice and safe. Cameron, however, was the stuff of obsession and addiction. Jo had been right to be worried about her. This was a man who was the stuff of unknown tangents.

As Cassie stared upwards, someone else appeared on the walkway—a woman. With her long, lean limbs and super-short cropped hair, she looked like she must be a dancer or something similar, especially with her tiny boy-leg stretch shorts and matching black crop top. “Ah,” Cameron said, stretching an arm out toward her. “Freya. This is Cassie. Cassie, Freya.”

“Hey.” Freya gave a short wave.

“Um, hi,” Cassie replied, wondering who she was, and also hoping that Cameron wasn't expecting similar feats of . . . well, anything, really, from her body.

“Cameron is finishing up a piece based on Freya,” Marianne explained.

“Oh,” Cassie said. “That's nice.” It was all she could come up with in her overwhelmed state.

“It's going to be amazing.” Freya nodded.

“It
is
going to be amazing!” Cameron seconded this with a laugh. “Now, I just have something that needs about ten more minutes attention, if that's all right. Maybe you could get to know each other?” He glanced between Freya and Cassie.

“Sure,” Freya said. “I'll meet you downstairs, and we'll grab a drink. It's okay, Marianne, I'll show Cassie the way.”

“Thanks, Freya,” Marianne said. “If you need me, I'll be in my office. It's great to be working with you, Cassie.” She leaned in toward her slightly, turning her back to Cameron. “And by ten minutes he means half an hour, so take your time.”

“I heard that,” Cameron called out. “I'll see you soon.”

“Thanks,” Cassie replied, not really sure who she was saying it to. As Marianne and Cameron disappeared she focussed in on Freya, tripping lightly down the steel stairs. When she'd reached the bottom floor, she ran across the golden wood effortlessly, in the sort of way that Cassie knew her body never moved, and would never move. “Are you a dancer?” Cassie asked Freya when she stopped in front of her.

“Used to be,” Freya said. “Modern. I'm a yoga instructor now.”

Cassie nodded, then smiled. “As you can tell, I'm not.” She gestured up and down her body. “This is a physique made for writing.”

Freya laughed. “That's funny. That's pretty much what Cameron told me—that his body is a body that's made for sculpting other bodies.”

“That is funny.”

“You know, it's weird that he's adding in another piece. He's not supposed to. Marianne's been at him about it. It's really too late. I was supposed to be the last.”

“Oh,” Cassie said, realising she was doing a lot of “oh”-ing today.

“Hey, do you want to see what it looks like? I'll show you.”

“I . . .” Cassie started. But before she could get any further, Freya was on the floor in front of her. She balanced herself on her rear in a sitting position, her back to Cassie. Slowly, carefully, she brought her legs up in a wide
V
-shape in the air, her arms reaching out to touch them. And then she stayed there, every muscle perfectly symmetrical and toned. As she looked on, Cassie wondered what it must be like to have limbs that did things like that. “You have a really beautiful body,” she said, then realised she'd spoken the words out loud. “Sorry,” she added quickly, “I hope that's not rude.”

Freya laughed as she snapped upright again. “How is that rude? It's a compliment! Of course, I'm not wearing anything at all in the sculpture itself.”

Cassie's warning radar was immediately set off. “No?”

“No,” Freya said. “But the funny thing is, the piece is meant to be shown flush against a wall. So, no stickybeaking. Well, you can see the very sides of my breasts as you look at my back, but that's it. It cracks me up every time. I can imagine all these people trying to peak around my corners.”

Cassie smiled at the idea of it. It was very . . . Cameron.

“It's the same as Monica out there, though.” Freya jabbed a thumb. “Just as real. I wish I had her skin, though.”

“I think we all do,” Cassie replied.

“Anyway, let's get a drink,” Freya changed the subject. “He's had me working all morning. This way.” She pointed down a long, white hallway and trotted off again leaving Cassie to follow behind her, painfully aware of every galumphing step she took.

Thankfully, it didn't take long until Freya pushed open a door to a small sitting room, complete with a fridge, and plenty of magazines strewn across a long bench. Freya immediately opened up the fridge and began to dig about inside. “Coconut water?”

“Um, sure,” Cassie said.

“Mango or plain?” Freya held the two small boxes of liquid up above her head, behind the fridge door.

“Mango?” Cassie replied, not having much of an idea of the difference. She certainly wasn't in Cornwall anymore, that much was for sure.

“Here you go.” Freya shut the fridge, and came over to pass Cassie her drink before flopping into a nearby armchair. “I'm beat. It's not easy to sit like that for hours on end.”

“I'm sure,” Cassie said, quite sure Freya was telling the truth. She doubted she could even get her legs up there in the first place. Cassie sat down in the armchair opposite Freya. “I was wondering . . . Can you tell me more about what it's like to sit for Cameron?” she asked, biting the corner of her lip.

“Or balance, in my case,” Freya joked.

“Yes.” Cassie smiled. “I mean, how did you meet?”

“I was doing a demonstration at a street fair about six months ago, for the yoga school I teach at. Cameron saw me there.”

“And what happened then?”

“Well, I started to sit for him.”

“Immediately afterwards? You didn't . . . go away, or anything like that?”

“No. I just started coming here. I mean, he pays me, and everything. Really well.”

“Oh.” Cassie nodded. It seemed a different sort of transaction to the one she had with Cameron, which, for some reason, pleased her.