I shrug.
“I’ll call my contacts at The New York Minute, The City, and Vanity. One of them will write a profile on you if I ask. We need to start generating some buzz. Do you have anything else besides what you just showed me? Are you working on something else?”
I nod, giving him a brief idea of what I want to work on next.
“Oh! Ho, ho, ho, you rascal.” He rubs his hands excitedly. “This is going to be magnificent.”
They spend the rest of the hour going over details and mapping out each and every step in my road to success (or perdition). As their words become a meaningless buzz filling my kitchen, an image of my mom on her knees bandaging and kissing my father’s weathered and callused hands flashes through my eyes.
“You work too hard, Noel. Look at your poor hands.”
“Not at all. Stand up, Josephine. You know I don’t like you kneeling on the floor. Don’t think about my hands. I’m proud of them. They put a roof over us, clothe and feed our family. And that’s enough for me.”
“But—”
“But nothing, my love. I want to teach Ronan and Jackie that if you work hard day in and day out and never give up, everything is possible.” He cups her face lovingly, staring into her eyes. “And that dreams do come true.”
I shake my head. What am I doing?
“Wait. Hold up. I haven’t said yes. I need to think about this.”
Carl and Rachel stare at me as if all of a sudden I’ve sprouted two heads. Rachel places her palms flat on the countertop. “What do you mean think about it? I thought we went over this last night. Carl is offering you the chance of a lifetime. A chance people would kill for.”
“I get that, but—”
Relentless, she ignores me. “He’s willing to put his name on the line for you because he thinks you can go very far. Think about it, your face on the cover of magazines, articles written about you, interviews, parties, people clamoring for you and your art.” She pauses. “You won’t have to stand outside another Edgar Juarez exhibit as an insignificant guest. Next time, it will be your exhibit and people will be there for you and only you.”
Carl inspects his manicured nails. “She’s right, Ronan. Dignity and pride won’t get you out of”—he scans my apartment—”here.”
I run my hands through my hair, wanting to pull it out. “I haven’t said no. I just need time to think about it, okay? Give me a break.”
Carl pats my shoulder. “We’re just trying to help you. You make it seem as though you were selling your soul to the devil, my boy.”
Why does it feel like I am?
Later, as we’re being driven away in a black Escalade, Rachel reaches for my hand and asks, “What are you so afraid of?”
I look out the window and see a pair of blue eyes staring back at me.
“I’m a gold digger, you know? I fuck for money.” She stares at me, a cruel smirk on her achingly beautiful face. “And frankly, it doesn’t look like you could ever pay my price.”
“Of getting what I want.”
Blaire
I’M SITTING AT MY VANITY, getting ready for tonight’s masquerade party, when I hear the door open. Lifting my face, I see Lawrence’s reflection as he walks into the room.
As I stare at him, so virile yet elegant and immaculate in his tuxedo and without a hair out of place, part of me grows inexplicably sad. All traces of my caring, sweet lover from a week ago are gone. And when our eyes meet in the mirror, and I’m able to look into them, I’m proved right. The fire, the need, the passion, and the playfulness that I saw briefly in those few lovely days are gone, and it makes me want to weep for their loss. His usual cool and detached veneer is back in place. There’s something chilly in his gaze that wasn’t there before.