Halfway Perfect (20 page)

November 29, 2:30 p.m.

The pictures are online by noon. Steph is lying beside me in my bed, her laptop open, a mask carefully placed on her face for fear of catching my cold. Her free hand is positioned beside the tissue box, handing me one every few minutes. I still can't believe Alex knows about my history with Wes. He just figured it out by looking at Wes's shock from seeing us together, yet two years ago, I couldn't get anyone to believe me. I should feel lighter, free of these secrets I've been holding in for so long, but I just feel trapped by them.

“Oh boy.” She lets out a low whistle. “
‘Former crackhead teen model returns to her roots and has taken up sleeping with agents to get work—too bad she's going to have to look for plus-sized
oppor
tunities.”

I blow my nose and toss the tissue into the garbage across the room, sinking it on the first try. “That might be the worst one yet. What's crack again? Is that cocaine?”

“I think it's the cheaper version of cocaine,” Steph says. “For the people in the ghetto.”

“Great.” I continue to stare at the ceiling while Steph searches the web.

“God, what the fuck? You are so not plus-sized. What is wrong with these people? Size four jeans practically fall off of you.”

“Actually, size four could be plus-sized. Six totally is. There's a lot of money in those jobs.” I find myself laughing because that's what Stephanie has found most offensive in that article. “Is Alex in the clear yet?”

“Still looking,” she says. “Oh! Here we go.
Apparently, Alex Evans isn't cheating on new girlfriend, French model Elana. A source close to the rising star says he met Eve Castle while on a shoot for Calvin Klein. Apparently she's trying to worm her way back into the industry by taking nonpaying internships.
‘
Alex is a decent guy,
'
a publicist for the agency tells us.
‘
He's always willing to offer advice and he's too polite to turn down an invitation for coffee.
'
Of course, photos reveal that Eve is now sharing intimate moments with her former agent, Wes Danes, who happens to be Alex's current agent and the man who tried to help Eve through her past drug addiction. Hopefully, i
t's past.”

“Wow,” is all I can say.

“This is so wrong,” Steph says. “You wanted nothing to do with that industry. You're a fucking Ivy League student! Are you fucking telling me none of them were able to find out that you go to Columbia? You have to counter this with something. You have to find your own tabloid person to schmooze.”

I laugh, but there's no humor in it. Steph is a journalism student. It's about time she learns the truth about her future profession. “That never works. Ever. Nobody will read an article full of hard facts with no commercial appeal. The bad stuff is always easier to believe.”

“Are you intentionally quoting
Pret
ty Woman?”

“Yes, I am. That's what I feel like at the moment. A prostitute who's falling for a nice successful guy and—”

“Wait,” Steph interrupts. “Wouldn't Elana be the prostitute? She's the one posing as his girlfriend.”

I shoot a glare in her direction and she shuts up. “What do you think are the odds that Janessa is reading the fashion and model industry gossip this weekend?”

Steph's face turns weary. “Oh shit. I didn't even think about that.”

“I hate that they called me an intern,” I say. “I'm a fucking assistant. It's insulting.”

“Actually, Eve Castle isn't an intern or an assistant. Eve Nowakowski is,” Steph corrects.

And that's why they don't know that I'm a student. That's why they don't know that I'm not interested in the least in modeling again.

“You should have seen how he looked at me,” I say.

Steph sets her laptop aside and gives me a sympathetic look through her mask. “Is it the age thing? How did you explain it to Alex?”

“I told him what I had with Wes was my choice and I wasn't sleeping with him to get jobs or being forced into it.” A lump forms in my throat just thinking about the past few days and how easy it was to be with Alex and how I'd hoped we'd be able to find a way to be together like that again.

Steph eyes me suspiciously. “You didn't tell him how Wes treated you, did you? That he hit you?”

I divert my gaze away from her. “I don't see any reason to explain that. It didn't have anything to do with age, and honestly I think I've built it up to be something worse in my head. And what is Alex going to do about it? Wes hasn't done anything but help him. He won't have any reason to believe me. Then what? He'll stay with me because he feels bad that Wes wasn't nice to me when I was sixteen?”

Stephanie's face is more serious than I've ever seen it before. “Promise me you won't go back to that guy again, Eve?”

“Who? Wes?” She nods. “Not a chance in hell.”

But I'm pretty sure Eve Castle is dating him now.

November 30, 8:00 a.m.

Wes pulls up in front of my building when I'm heading out for the
GQ
shoot. I'm not starting a fight with him today, but I can't look him in the eye without having the urge to throw a punch. My legs are heavy as I climb into the back of the car and sit across from him.

The last thing I ever expected Wes to do is start talking about Eve.

“I just want you to know,” he says, while I'm staring out the window, “I really loved her. I know what you're probably thinking. I know the issues you have with Elana's age, but this was different and I truly loved her.”

That gets me to look in his direction, but I don't have anything to say. To me, it isn't different.

“There's a lot you don't know about Eve,” he says.

I turn back to the window. It's killing me to think about her and killing me five more times to think about them together.

“Eve is messed up, Alex. It's not her fault. She's got shitty parents who sold their daughter away for cash. I was naive and I wanted to be there for her. She needed someone to look out for her. She had no one. At fifteen she had no one.”

“I get it,” I snap without taking my eyes off the car window.

“I was stupid enough to think that I could actually rescue her from herself, but I didn't know shit about dealing with girls who had major daddy issues, negligent parents, abuse. She was so insecure it started bleeding into her work.” He pauses and takes a breath like he's overcome with emotions. I totally can't look now. There's no way I'm doing the dudes-sharing-our-feelings game with Wes. “I think she panicked. She thought I'd dump her back then, and that's why she experimented with drugs. That's why she let me find the evidence. I didn't tell the agency. I just wanted her to be okay. I should have known she'd take it that far and I should have known that I was in over my head. But I loved her, and that screws with your mind sometimes. Eve is very easy to love, and I just don't want to see you get pulled under like I did. You have so much potential, Alex.”

My heart is racing, trying to process everything. It mostly goes with Eve's story. She said she left because of a guy and because it got too hard, but maybe she doesn't even know she's screwed up. How can I blame her for being fucked up if she's got shitty parents and her only help came from an agent who isn't above sleeping with underage girls? But would I be any better than Wes at helping her? And the Eve I know can stand on her own, can't she? I've never felt like us being together was an issue of dependency. Or codependency. It was like we made each other better. And I'm already talking about her in the past tense.

It's only been six weeks. It's only going to feel this intense for a little while, and then I'll be able to let it go. To let her go.

“I can see that this is hard for you,” Wes says. “I don't want to tell you what to do or who to date, but being with someone like Eve takes so much out of you. It's draining and heavy and you get sucked down this hole that's hard to get out of. I don't want that for you. I want something better for you.”

“It doesn't matter,” I say to him finally. “I ended it.”

“I'm sorry.” He sounds like he means it, but I don't know for sure. I don't know anything for sure anymore.

• • •

After the
GQ
shoot finishes up, I see Wes has decided to pick me up once again. Maybe he's worried that I'll run off and see Eve if he lets me out of his sight. I almost turn down the ride, but I'm starting to feel like shit—feverish and achy from the inevitable cold brewing in my immune system.

I thought he'd just drop me off, but that would be good luck, and I seemed to have run out of that. And now he's opening the car door, allowing a middle-aged woman to slide in between us.

A reporter. Great.

“When we scheduled this, I had no idea there would be so much drama over the weekend,” the lady says, giving me this fake laugh.

Wes lifts his eyebrows, conversing with me silently. And as much disgust as I feel toward him right now, I can't deny the fact that I screwed up big-time this weekend and he saved my ass. Totally saved it. I have to keep going along with his plan because he's very good at damage control.

“You're from Nebraska, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And you finished high school or dropped out?”

“I got my GED. My parents insisted on it if I wanted to move to New York.” I have to look at her. It would be rude not to.

“And did you know Eve Castle before you moved to New York? Did you guys date before Elana?”

“What?” I'm caught off guard by the quick shift, but I should have anticipated this, considering the way she opened the conversation. “I met Eve the same day I met Elana. She was observing the
Seventeen
shoot I did with Elana back in early October.”

Wes gives me a small nod behind the reporter's head.

“But you knew who she was?”

“Yeah, I'd heard of her.”

“Did you help get her the internship? Is she still addicted to drugs or trying to make a comeback? It would be nice if she had parents to make her get her GED like yours did. Poor girl doesn't stand a chance surviving in New York without an agency behind her and jobs booked.”

Do
they
even
do
any
fucking
research
before
making
up
these
questions?
I close my eyes and rub my temples, trying to rid myself of the throbbing headache that is most likely the beginning of a cold I caught from Eve.

“I'd rather not answer any questions about Eve, if that's all right with you.”

She glances at Wes, who shrugs like I'm too big of a star for him to be able to tell me what to do. Yeah, right.

“Okay, sure,” she says.

“And you seriously need to fire your information source. Besides the Nebraska part, I don't think you've said one true thing yet.”

Wes coughs loudly.

But the reporter lady just gives me a sly grin. “All right then, the diva emerges. I suppose it's justified, considering the campaign you've just landed.”

I roll my eyes. Whatever. I'm a fucking diva. Put that in your fucking magazine.

“So, Elana,” she says, leaning in closer. “She's great, isn't she?”

“Yeah, she's great. I just love her to death.” I give her a grin to rival the one she just gave me.

“That's so sweet!” She glances at Wes again and then back at me. “Want to add some expert sex tips? I'm sure the male readers will appreciate it, especially if they get to imagine themselves with The Elana.”

What
magazine
is
this?
US Weekly
?

I smile at her again. “We're waiting.”

Wes flashes me a thumbs-up. What a fucking hypocrite.

The reporter lady rolls her eyes. “Of course you are.”

The rest of the questions are focused on my early jobs and the beginning of my career and how lucky I am, blah, blah, blah…

I'm so ready to get the hell out of this car and go home and start being sick.

December 1, 3:00 P.M.

I can sense something is off the minute I walk into Janessa's office, and it's not just the raging 104
-
degree fever I'm attempting to keep down with both Advil and Tylenol.

She doesn't spit instructions at me like usual, with her back turned, eyes on the computer screen. Instead, she spins in her chair to face me, and even worse, points to a chair for me to sit in. Janessa never lets me sit.

I sink down in the seat, solely fueled on adrenaline.

“I told you, Eve,” she says, blowing out a frustrated breath. “I told you I was on your side but I needed you to help me out and not feed this gossip-driven industry anything new.”

My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. “Oh. That.”

“What happened?”

I shake my head, fighting tears. “Does it matter? It only matters what people think happened, right?”

“The designers saw your name on the call sheet and told me no way, find a new assistant,” she says, giving it to me straight and direct. I expect nothing less from Janessa. “I can still use you here in the office, editing and doing the preshoot work, but I can't have you on set right now. Not for this job.”

“But it's a really long job.” I'm trying not to cry, but it isn't working. “My interview is in January. What if this happens again with the next job? How are you supposed to review me if I haven't actually been assisting?”

“I can't make them allow you on set, Eve,” she says. “I can't bail on this job either. I'm right in the middle of it. I have a contract.”

I quickly wipe my face, feeling nothing but defeat. “I know. I'm sorry. It's not your fault.”

“Listen, you'll be gone for semester break soon, right? Maybe next semester, everything will have faded and you can jump in and help me.”

God. Semester break. This is getting worse and worse by the minute. The dorms close for a month, my mom's in Florida, my dad's still in jail as far as I know, and Jeff would probably be cool with me staying at his place again, but I'm not even sure I can afford to fly home. Where the hell am I supposed to stay?

None of this is Janessa's problem. She's put up with enough of my shit already. “You're right. Semester break should help.”

“You sound like hell,” she says. “Why don't you get some rest and call me tomorrow and I'll set up some times for you to do edits.”

“Okay…thanks.”

Once I'm outside, heading toward the subway, I get the sense that someone is following me, and I have to work very hard not to break down and cry or else I'm going to get a Google Alert telling me about my latest crisis.
Well, Eve Castle's latest crisis
. Maybe I'll be homeless this time or fired from my unpaid internships for sleeping with agents. 'Cause everyone knows I sleep with all of them. As many as I can get my hands on.

• • •

“You've got to be kidding.” I stare at the papers in front of me then up at the middle-aged woman behind the desk in her tiny Student Aid office cubicle.

Steph is seated beside me, and she leans in to get a closer look. “What is this stuff? I didn't know you owned a car?”

I swallow the dryness in the back of my throat. “I don't.”

My eyes meet Steph's and she says, “Your parents did all this?”

I can't do anything but nod.

“Because of your credit score being so low, getting loans for next year is going to be impossible,” the woman says, looking both uncomfortable and sympathetic.

“But it's fraudulent,” Steph argues. “That stuff can be erased.”

The woman nods. “True. But in this case, if it is your parents using your name and Social Security number while you were still technically under their care, it's very difficult to contest.”

After leaving Janessa's, I headed right back to my room to tell Stephanie what had happened, and after an hour of talking through the logic with her, I had come into this meeting ready to bite the bullet and start the process of student loans that would take me a hundred years to pay off. And now, thanks to my parents, I couldn't even do that.

“She's emancipated. Why doesn't she qualify for loans again?” Steph asks.

“Because in the last tax year, I technically had a hundred grand in my bank account.” This possibility had already been explored many times over. Hence the need for a scholarship.

“But,” the woman says, trying to inject some amount of hope into the conversation, “this time next year, you'll have a much different financial status and I imagine you'll qualify for some grant money then.”

I sat there feeling sick as a dog, nodding as she went on about a few options for much smaller scholarships that could help for next year, and then finally Steph and I left the office carrying a dozen pamphlets on student aid and a copy of my very flawed credit history.

It seemed fitting that my life in the tabloids mimicked that of my credit report: lots of experiences I never had but that my name has been attached to.

“Look,” Steph says. “This semester and spring semester are paid for. It's just a matter of next year. And you heard that woman, even the year after next will be easier. One year, Eve. Two semesters.”

“Right,” I say, nodding, trying to catch her logic, her hopeful energy. There's got to be a way. There's always a way. I should know. I've dug myself out of some very deep holes.

“Worst case,” she adds. “You find some rich family on the Upper East and become their live-in nanny for a year. People do that.”

“That's a good plan B to replace the student loan plan.” I'm shivering from the fever, talking through chattering teeth. “The Mason Scholarship was always a long shot.”

“But just being a finalist will look great on your résumé,” Steph says.

After we walk into our building and I've breathed in enough warm air to stop my teeth from chattering, I say, “There's one other much less appealing, but technically possible, option to explore.”

Steph hits the button of the elevator before looking at my face, her eyes wide with comprehension. “Oh no, you're aren't actually thinking about—”

I let out a breath. “I'm just saying it's an option.”

“Why does this feel like one of those one last jobs, gotta help your gang brothers or Soprano family deals?” Steph asks. “Like you'll go in, but never come out again.”

I shake my head. “It doesn't have to be like that.”

But really I'm not sure what it would be like to model again. Or if the Sears catalog is even hiring still.