Etoile (The Mannequin Series) (8 page)

Eleven

The sun shone brightly on Saturday morning and woke Elodie up to the tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee and, much to her surprise, bacon in their apartment. She followed her nose out to the living room and was shocked to see a shirtless redheaded accountant making breakfast in the kitchen. Tatiana was perched on the couch, staring at him in wonderment.

What the hell?

"Oh, Lo, you awake. You want American hotcake and coffee?" she asked with a bright smile. Elodie gave her roommate a questioning look, which Tatiana waved away dismissively.

The redheaded accountant looked up from the skillet. They owned a skillet? "Good morning! I don't think that I ever had the chance to introduce myself. I'm Daniel. It's nice to meet you."

She smiled at his genuine sincerity. "Nice to meet you too. I am Elodie."

"Yea, I know. My buddy James couldn't shut up about you," he joked.

Her heart stopped for a millisecond as she tried to hide her goofy smile. He had talked about her to his friends? What had he said? She wondered what he had referred to her as. That girl he had spilled a drink on inside of a rowdy club? The future mother of his children?

"So, how did this happen? I mean, how come you are here making breakfast at noon?" Elodie asked after clearing her throat.

Tatiana looked over at him with dreamy eyes. "Daniel not banker, he is accountant, so he have weekend off to spend with me," she explained. "We run into each other at SP and he cannot leave me alone. Chase me all night." She grinned like a third grader who had just won a spelling bee.

He looked at her adoringly. "She's not modest, this one."

A million questions crossed her mind as Elodie gave them a small smile. Why were they here in the shoddy apartment? Why weren't they at his place? Pancakes and bacon? Really? Didn't he know that Tatiana would just march over to the toilet and throw it all up afterwards?

More importantly, they had gone to SP yesterday? Dammit, Elodie grumbled to herself. The one day that I wanted to stay in! Why couldn't I have just joined? Had James been there?

As if reading her mind, Daniel gave Elodie a teasing look. "Just so you know, James wasn't with us. He was working until past midnight so far as I know," he said with a knowing grin.

"Oh no, I wasn't..." she trailed off as she mumbled nonsense. The Russian and the Redhead ignored her as they yapped about his Michelin star-worthy cooking skills.

At the mere mention of James' name, her heart had begun to rattle in her chest again. What was it about him that made her so unnerved? Speaking of which, she only had eight and a half hours to get ready for her date. How would she ever get ready in time?

Elodie left the two lovebirds to their carbs as she went back to her room to ready herself for a hectic day. She didn't bother to shower, choosing instead to gather her rumpled hair into a messy ponytail while leaving her face bare. Her all-black blasé outfit du jour consisted of a Free People slip dress and Isabel Marant ankle boots, accompanied by a giant pair of Prada sunglasses.

Running late, she scrambled to a last-minute casting in Midtown around two, where she was sure that she made a terrible impression due to her careless appearance and distracted brain. Even the haughty attitude of the rude boutique owner couldn't get her down, however, as the only thing on her mind was her magical date that was to take place that evening.  

The rest of the day was spent running from manicure to blowout to bikini wax appointments, and Elodie was now standing in front of her closet, decked out in lingerie that left nothing to the imagination. With thirty minutes on the clock until James was to arrive, she simply could not decide on what to wear. Should she go casual? Seductive? Model chic? Her mind whirled.

With ten minutes to go, she decided on a simple white sleeveless shift dress that showed off her pin thin arms and legs. Surely he wouldn't be able to resist himself, or at least she hoped so. Pleased with her reflection in the mirror, she artfully applied her baby pink lipstick as she pulled on her booties and rushed downstairs.

"You look great," James grinned as he kissed her on the cheek. Close contact! Elodie could have died then and there.

"You too," she replied in as steady of a voice as she could manage. And he did, in his navy sweater, dark jeans and dark brown derbies. His hair was, once again, perfectly styled without a single hair out of place. Standing together, they looked like a limited edition Manhattan Ken and Barbie doll set.

“I hope you're hungry,” he said as he opened the door of a waiting cab for her.

“Where are we going?”

“My favorite Italian place. I hope you'll like it. The pasta is mind-blowing,” he told her with a big smile as he climbed in after her.

“I love Italian!” she chirped as she screamed inwardly to herself. Italian? Was he crazy? Who the hell takes a model to eat pasta? Shit, she thought as she attempted to conjure up a mental list of possible alternatives that she could order. What the hell would she eat?

“Yea, they have the best olive oil cake. You'll love it,” he beamed, obviously proud of his choice of locale.

“I
love
olive oil,” she blatantly lied with a huge grin. Fuck, she thought to herself as she racked her brain for the nutrition facts that had been hardwired into her memory. One tablespoon of olive oil had almost 200 calories!

The cab whisked them off to the trendy Italian restaurant in the West Village, where they were shown to a candlelit corner table. After ordering a nice bottle of Syrah, cod for her and steak for himself, James leaned forward and smiled at his date. "Kind of risky for me to order red wine when you're wearing a white dress, don't you think?"

The corners of her lips raised into a flirtatious smile as she turned on the charm. "Perhaps I should keep my distance then?"

His leg brushed ever so gently against hers. "Oh no, that's the last thing that I want."

So this is how I'm going to die, Elodie thought to herself as she giggled as charmingly as she could. By exploding from excitement all over the white tablecloths of a cute little restaurant off of Bleecker Street.

The server brought out their wine and bread, and James raised his glass to hers. "To new friendships," he proposed.

Clinking her glass against his, she gave him a shy smile. "To new friendships."

"So, tell me all about your crazy modelling life. I'm sure you get all of the good jobs," James said, looking eagerly at her as he dipped a piece of bread into the olive oil that had accompanied the plate. Elodie watched him eat and felt sad. She missed bread. She missed carbohydrates. She missed most food groups in general.

Shaking her head slightly, she furrowed her brow as she thought about her relatively unimpressive portfolio. "It is hardly like that. Modelling is not very glamorous or exciting. I have done a few fashion weeks in Milan, Paris and New York, but they are very tiring. I only have a few small campaigns that I did in the past, but usually as a background model," she admitted.

James shot her a look of disbelief. "No way! You're stunning. I'm sure you'll book something huge in the near future."

Did he just call her stunning? Please don't explode, she begged of her body. "I hope so!" she said with a nervous laugh.

He smiled genuinely at her. "You're still young. How old are you, like twenty-one? You still have a lot of time to accomplish whatever you want."

She winced. Should she tell him that she was only nineteen? Was he really that unfamiliar with the nightlife scene that he didn't know that the majority of the models partying at the clubs and bars were barely legal?

"Well, modelling is not really what I want to do," she blurted out as she changed the subject, shocking herself as the words effortlessly came out of her mouth. She had never said it out loud to anybody. "I mean, it is a nice job for the time being. But I still would like to go to college and maybe even work in an office one day."

He shot her an incredulous look. "No way. Corporate life is terrible. Why would you want to be stuck in an office when you're doing something so much more glamorous? I'm lucky if I make it out by midnight on most days."

"But did you always want to go into finance?" she asked curiously as she picked at her brussel sprouts. Why did they have to be literally covered in cheese? She pushed them around on the plate so that it looked like she had eaten some, placing the occasional morsel in her mouth and chewing it into oblivion.

"Well, I was raised in Manhattan. My grandfather was in finance, and so were my dad and all of my uncles and cousins. I went to UPenn for college and just kind of fell into it, I guess. I mean, it was pretty much expected of me. So I've just been at it for about two years, trying to get through it one day at a time. It's really frustrating not being able to have a set schedule. My time pretty much belongs to the company. I could go on and on about how much I hate my job, but I'll stop there. Anyway, enough about my boring life," he laughed as he looked at her over the flickering candle. "Tell me more about you. Everything about you."

Her cheeks reddened and he laughed at her again. "You're adorable," he said, as if he couldn't resist letting her know.

After downing her glass of wine, she found the courage to look at him again. "Well, as you know, I am from France. My agent in London scouted me when I was fourteen. And I have been modelling ever since I turned fifteen. I only came to New York about two years ago, but I worked all over Europe and Asia before that. Travelling is great, but sometimes I think that modelling is so... fake. I do not really see the purpose of it all, I suppose. I am actually not really sure if I even want to continue on with it."

"So what would you rather be doing?" he asked with genuine interest as he refilled her glass.

The alcohol was getting to her head and she blurted out her answer without her typical routine of analyzing and picking apart her response beforehand. "I want to create beautiful things, like jewelry or couture gowns, instead of imitating them."

"I don't think you're imitating," he said with a soft smile.

Redness overtook her cheeks and the tips of her ears, and he grinned at her flustered expression. Thankfully, the server soon came and set their main courses down. It looked delicious, but Elodie felt an uneasiness in the pit of her grumbling stomach. Since she didn't want to reveal her neurotic eating habits to James this early on, she gave in and took a bite.

The sauce was so frighteningly amazing that she feared her mouth would have an orgasm right then and there. She hadn't eaten real food in so long that she had forgotten how incredible it could taste.

"Good, huh?" James asked with a bemused look. 

“You were right,” she said with a sheepish look. “It is amazing.”

“You should have really tried the pasta,” he told her as he scrunched his nose adorably. “Maybe next time?”

“Definitely,” Elodie replied, her heart thumping at the prospect of returning to this decadent place on another date with James. Maybe it would become their “spot”. Maybe they would become regulars. Maybe they would hold their engagement party upstairs...

“Elodie?”

Shit, she thought as she mentally scolded herself. She had been daydreaming again mid-conversation and had missed what he had been talking about. “Sorry,” she replied with what she hoped was a charming smile. “My mind is all over the place today.”

“I guess that's a sign that I need to work harder to keep your attention,” he teased as he bit into a piece of steak.

“Maybe,” she answered as she batted her eyes in an attempt to flirt back.

James gave an appreciative laugh as he continued to gaze at her adoringly. “So why jewelry or couture gowns?”

“I do not know. Sometimes, when you see a particular piece, it can take your breath away. There is just something... extraordinary about it. As if it is not of this world. I want to be able to take people's breaths away. It sounds so silly when I say it out loud. I am not sure how to explain it. Do you know what I mean?” she asked, feeling self-conscious when she replayed her words in her head. Did she just sound like some air-headed bimbo babbling on about nonsense?