Rock My World (30 page)

Chapter
55

Airika
waited for Alex to disappear around the corner
toward the green room, before spinning on her heel, cornering Simon.

“What’s
going on?” she demanded.

“With you
and me, love?” Simon said.

“No, idiot,
with Alex,” she could hardly contain her disgust. Short and bald was
so
not her type. She only slept with him
again because he caught her in a moment of weakness.

After her
phone conversation with Jenna, she’d experienced a new feeling: guilt (a first,
for her). She didn’t like it. Simon happened to be lurking in the lobby bar
after she left Alex’s room (where he rejected her naked emotional plea). Guilt
and jealousy overloaded her senses and, if she’d been that kind of girl, she
would have cried. Instead, she healed through sex. Again.
Ugh!
She thought, cursing her vulnerable slip.
This is why one-night stands are perfect. No muss, no fuss, no seeing
them the next day.

“Aw, come
on, you don’t still want him, do you?”

“He’s acting
weird,” she said, more to herself than him.

“He’s fine.
Back where he belongs: on the road.”

“I don’t buy
it.” She knew something was amiss and that Simon was too stupid to figure it
out on his own. Perhaps she could turn his lust to her advantage. At least then
it wouldn’t have been a total waste.

“How ‘bout
you ‘n me, nick off to my room?
Whaddya
say?” he
wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
 
He reached out to ensnare her waist but
she stepped away, evading his grasp.

“Fine. Ten
minutes.”

Luckily, he wasn’t one of those guys whose ego
needed to be stroked. In the mating and dating hierarchy, she towered above
him, and he was smart enough to be grateful.
As well he should be!
 
She wished Alex felt the same.
 
She looked around one more time, hoping to see him.

Ten minutes
later, she lay naked and panting in Simon’s bed. He whistled in the shower,
annoying her, and she hated to admit that he was actually a great lay.
 
She’d never realized that the benefit of
dating a guy from a lower rung of the dating ladder was the extra effort he
made to please her, auditioning for another night’s performance. He didn’t even
seem concerned with what she did to him. Narcissism satisfied
,
she spread out, stretching across the bed like a snow angel in the sheets.
Obviously, she wouldn’t let Simon see her so pleased.

He opened
the bathroom door, steam billowing out into the stale air-conditioned room. She
pulled the sheet over herself, his naked body reminding her of her own
exposure.

“
MmMmmMmmm
,” he said, shaking his head. “I love seeing a
beautiful creature in my bed.”

“Lie back
down, then,” she said, evoking her huskiest tone. She patted the empty bed next
to her, strategically allowing the sheet to slip off her leg. He did as he was
told. She straddled him, letting the sheet slip away, revealing her naked form.

“So,” she
said, kissing his neck. “What is it that’s got Alex so … ” she grinded on him. “Worked
up?”

“
Mmmm
,” he moaned, defenseless. “I
dunno
.
Mmmm
, yeah, like that.”

“He’s been
so tense,” she said, massaging his chest, running her hands down his torso to
his thighs.

“
Ohhh
, yeah … ” he closed his eyes. “He’s just wound up
tight.
Mmmm
…
Not
yet,” he
lifted her under the arms, flipping her onto her back, taking control. She
moaned as he ran his tongue across her nipples and down further to her …
Ooh!

Twenty
minutes later they lay, for a second time, breathing heavily. He slipped his
arm behind her neck and she flung her leg over him.
He’s a cuddly little leprechaun
, she thought.

“Was there
something you wanted to ask me, love?”

“What do you
mean?”

“You think
I’m stupid? I know that wasn’t for
nothin
’. I’ll pay
up,” he said without opening his eyes. She turned on an elbow to face him.

“What
happened? Alex was so angry and then all of a sudden he can’t wait to do as
he’s told?”

“I
dunno
. Sensitive artist type, I guess,” he folded an arm
across his face, shaking his head.

“Sensitive
about what?”

“He owes the
label a film. Jackson Jones isn’t a man to give up … ” Simon’s eyes shot open,
horrified by his own stupidity.

“Are you talking
about a porn?” She sat up straight, covering herself again with the sheet.

“Shit. You
ain’t
supposed to know who it’s
for. But yeah, he wants it to win fucking Oscars. Break down barriers about sex
in America or some shit.”

“Alex
doesn’t know, does he?”

Simon shrugged in answer and leant over to kiss
her collarbone. She felt dazed. She laid her head back down on the pillow; her
straight hair stuck out at all angles, like a lion’s mane. Her mind swam with
possibilities. There were a lot of things celebrities got used to, including
being asked to take their clothes off, but this really crossed a line. Jenna
would freak if she found out.

Airika
couldn’t tell if Simon told her to distract her or as
a sort of confessional. Alex Anders: Porn Star? Not likely.

Alex, along
with a large percentage of
Airika’s
clients, was a
serial relationship whore.
 
Most
artists were insecure, seeking validation at every turn. Being alone did
nothing to assuage their feelings of inadequacy—something she couldn’t
understand. She preferred self-sufficiency sprinkled with one-night stands.
Relationships always disappoint
.

“You know,”
Simon said, caressing
Airika’s
naked shoulder with
his forefinger. “I’m starting to fancy you.” He kissed her neck. “Maybe we can
do this again?”

She slid off
the bed, scoffing at him, giving him a look to put him in his place. “Not
likely.”

Chapter
56

Jenna was
the first up the next morning.
 
She
made coffee and went outside to get the paper. It was a banal ritual to pass
the quiet time before confronting the problems she desperately wished were a
nightmare from which she’d wake up.

She checked
the mailbox and grabbed the dewy newspaper bag. She saw a package addressed to
her and ripped back the plastic, revealing a note from the editor.

J-

Great
work! Noelle added your photo credit. Here’s the final copy.
 
Good luck in the future. Let’s work
together again!

-Henrietta

Wow
. Jenna stood, transfixed, heart thumping in
anticipation. She ripped off the sticky note, revealing the glossy cover
beneath. She flicked past pages and pages of advertisements, finally finding
the table of contents. There she saw the thumbnail version of
her
photo. She stared, overwhelmed and
elated. It was the single most satisfying moment of her life. She wanted to
stay wrapped in the warmth of its embrace forever.

She ripped
through the pages to their spread. Her name! In
Vogue
magazine! Her photo!
Wait
a second
, she thought. She recognized the framing, the angle, the light
hitting the side of the model’s face, gleaming against the bustling fabric, but
… something was different.
 
She
couldn’t put a finger on it. It was definitely her photo, but not. What
happened? She looked through the rest of the layout. Same thing.

Back in the
kitchen, she sat in front of her laptop, magazine splayed open in front of her.
Noelle had emailed her the photos to add to her growing portfolio. She found
the email, scrutinizing one image then the other. Something was amiss. She
zoomed in on the computer image and got her mom’s magnifying glass for the
magazine. Inch by inch she scanned the image and adjusted the zoom. It took a
full ten minutes of careful scrutiny. Was the model skinnier?
Her nose smaller?
Her neck longer?
Yes!

Jenna knew about airbrushing, of course, and
previously considered it one of her generation’s greatest achievements. But
she’d thought it was about smoothing blemishes and removing unflattering shadows.
Changing the features of an already stunning model was taking it far outside
her comfort zone. She didn’t remember this happening when she was a model.
 
Did
they do it to me without my realizing?

Her head
spun with questions and doubts. Her elation dissolved as she closed the
magazine, getting up to pour herself a cup of coffee. She slid open the glass
door to the deck, grasping the warm mug with two hands as she stepped into the
cool morning air.

The railing was wet with dew as she leaned on it.
The mixture of salty sea air and earthy coffee calmed her. Why couldn’t
anything be simple? Or look the way she’d imagined? All she wanted was to feel
purpose, be a good mother, have a happy marriage, and maybe lose those pesky
five pounds that seemed to have taken permanent position on her once-flat belly
(in a non-digital way, of course). Was that too much to ask?

“Yes!” an
obnoxious voice in her head shouted. She pushed it away. Every woman wanted
that. Surely it was achievable. Plenty of women had it all. Look at Oprah, for
instance: sense of purpose, check; happy relationship, check;
good
mother, not applicable; pesky pounds? Okay, maybe even
the woman who had it all had her battles too.

Ooh, what
about Sandra Bullock? Sense of purpose, check; happy relationship, not so much;
good mother, check; pesky weight, not a problem! Okay, so two women with nearly
everything. There must be someone who had it all.
Hmmmm
. Julia Roberts: sense of
purpose, check; happy relationship, check; good mother, check; pesky weight,
not even when she was pregnant!
See! If
Julia can have it all, so can we all
.

“
Mornin
’,” Shawn said, sliding the door closed behind him,
joining Jenna on the deck.

“Good
morning. I made coffee.”

“Ta.” He
said, holding up his own cup in a one-sided cheers gesture.

They watched
the morning rituals of the seagulls flying out over the ocean, searching for
breakfast, dipping and diving across the cloudless horizon.

“How
ya
goin
’?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“Why do you
American
Sheilas
always say ‘fine’? If things aren’t
shite, they’re great. It’s one or the other.”

“Shite,” she
said, chuckling. Leave it to her dad to say something insightful while lumping
women into a pejorative generality.

“What’s the
matter?”

“Everything.
Felicity. I feel so helpless … Alex … My life in general.” She sighed, not
wanting to go into detail.

“Shite,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his.
She smiled. “Sometimes you just have to let go,” he said, patting her on the
back and heading inside.

Instinctively,
she wanted to argue. She couldn’t let go of her marriage, child, and budding
career! Absurd! The little devil on her shoulder said, “So what if you did?
What then?”

Inside the
house life continued as usual. Shawn prepared his world famous flapjacks while
Anya squeezed fresh-picked oranges from the tree out front, humming along to a
familiar tune by Doris Day.
What’s that
song?
Jenna smiled when she remembered: “
Que
Sera, Sera.”
Of course.

Jenna
watched Felicity come down the stairs, into the kitchen, picking up a plate of pancakes.
Anya handed her a glass of juice and Felicity smiled. Jenna’s heart warmed, her
worries dissipating like the early morning marine layer.

Chapter
57

 
Jean-Pierre had been Anya’s personal stylist
for as long as Jenna could remember. Once a regular fixture in the
Jax
household, now he only came by before a big event, like
this Hall of Fame induction. Originally from Paris, he’d spent the last forty
years in the States, which had done nothing to dampen his accent. Jenna used to
think he put it on to seem more exotic. Maybe it was JP’s way of keeping his
identity, she mused. She could appreciate that.

“
Allo
,
mon
amour!” he trilled,
kissing Anya on both cheeks twice. She obliged, grinning.

“
Ç
a
va
?” She asked.

“
Oui
,
ça
va
bien
, now I see you again! You look beautiful, as
always.”

“You
remember Jenna … and my granddaughter, Felicity?” Anya said, waving an arm
toward them.