Lulu woke to the noise of the apartment building’s front door opening. Even if the banging of the door slamming against the wall didn’t wake her, the immediately following shouting of her name would have done the trick.
“Lulu! You made it!” Marsha rushed up the stairs with her arms outstretched.
Lulu shook herself out of her daze, registering Marsha’s presence just before being suffocated by her heavy winter coat.
“Thank the fucking goddess you made it,” Marsha said, letting go of Lulu so brashly that she almost fell over. Marsha rifled through her coat pocket for her apartment key and added with a laugh, “Paul would’ve killed me if you didn’t show.”
Dreamily, Lulu said, “I told you I would, didn’t I? Is he really that excited to meet me?”
The lock’s click echoed through the hall, and Marsha pushed the door open.
“I’m good. I’m real good,” Marsha said, half to herself. “Baby, I’ve got you set up for life if you prove yourself to Paul.” She turned around underneath the threshold and met Lulu with a deadly stare. “You’re booked tonight. You’d better be so grateful I got you booked for this gig after all the shit you pulled this week.”
Lulu followed Marsha into the apartment, nearly falling to her knees with each word. “I am! I am seriously so thankful! You don’t know what this means to me!”
Marsha dropped her purse on the marble kitchen counter. The thud of the leather acted as a chime that struck a chord in Lulu to take in the rest of the apartment. It looked less like a living space and more like a studio. Everything was so carefully crafted to cater to a pristine, online aesthetic. Marsha’s apartment in Miami had a curated vibe that fit the content they made down there, but this was something else entirely.
This was high-end classy. White furniture and white walls, high ceilings, tons of space, and tinted windows. There were standing lights in most corners, ready to use for filming FanGirlz content. What few decorations there were served any purpose other than to set the mood for whatever would be filmed in front of them. It was a very careful setup so that nothing could be considered branding in case any company’s public relations rep happened to be a subscriber.
Marsha pulled Lulu out of her mental wandering. “It’d better mean a lot. You don’t know how many other girls you beat out of this job. It’s you and Faye.”
The statement prompted a few questions for Lulu, but the first, and most important, was, “Faye?”
It was only then that Lulu heard the shuffling of feet behind her as Faye pushed past. “Coming through,” she said, and hobbled into the apartment.
“Oh!” Lulu exclaimed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.” She looked down at the floor in an attempt to avoid an awkward catch of the eye, but noticed a hospital band on her wrist.
Faye grumbled something inaudible. The redhead shuffled through the apartment in a daze, looking as if she’d been awake for a week straight. She pushed past Marsha and disappeared into her room.
Before Lulu could ask what happened with Faye, Marsha returned from the kitchen and approached Lulu, saying, “The shoot was looking for two girls so I leapt at it! You both have great chemistry, right?” She said the final word almost like a challenge. And with her hands on Lulu’s arms, Lulu didn’t want to argue.
“Of course,” Lulu said. “So… it’s tonight?”
“Why do you think you had to make it up here?”
Lulu shrugged. “I figured this party was just for making connections.”
Marsha cut her off before Lulu finished her thought. “No!” she laughed dismissively. “It’s the holiday season! Big push for content. We’re shooting tonight! Tell me you’ve brought something festive. Anything Christmas-y?”
Lului tried to force a smile. “I… uh… no, I don’t have-”
“That’s fine. If Faye doesn’t have something- Faye!” No response came, and Marsha gave her attention back to Lulu. “I swear, that girl is nothing but trouble. If Faye doesn’t have something you fit in, we can stop somewhere on the way to the party. Just look the part, play the role, and Paul guaranteed me you’ll be set for good.”
“For good? What does that-”
Again, Marsha cut her off. “For good, sweetie. By the goddess, what did you do to your hair?”
Lulu withdrew, covering the bare side of her head with one hand. “You said to get here by any means, right?”
Marsha’s lips fell into a pout. “This is why,” she said. “This is why I fight for you. You fight for yourself.” Marsha’s arms opened in another embrace and pulled Lulu in close. “I’m so proud of you. You’re gonna steal the show tonight!”
* * *
The apartment began to empty almost as soon as Thanksgiving dinner ended. Uncle Lou stuck around, cozying up with a glass of brandy by the front window of the parlor, and a small handful of the other relatives talked amongst each other in the hall and foyer. The sun had gone down and the apartment was lit almost exclusively by candles at the request of Drake and Mark’s mother. The overhead lights were too bright, according to her. And although Drake’s attendance satiated their mother’s mood, the power of the incandescent lights was far stronger.
Drake and Mark sat at the dinner table. The last slice of pumpkin pie waited in the aluminum tray between them for someone to claim it. No one had pressed Drake that evening about his delay, but some of the pieces weren’t adding up for Mark. He just didn’t want to put him on the spot with everyone around. But now that they had a moment to themselves and a few beers in their system, Mark was trying to bring the conversation back around.
Mark popped the top off of his fourth hard cider and casually said, “It’s a good thing you started carrying your card on you again.”
Drake poked at the leftover crust of his pie, debating whether he wanted to finish off the blackened edge. “Still don’t,” he said. “Too easy to get stolen. Especially when you’re staying in crappy motels.”
“You used cash then?” Mark asked, feigning genuine curiosity. The few story details he was given hadn’t matched the kind of person he knew his brother to be. But he’d figure this one out.
Drake shook his head and dropped his fork on the plate. The last bite of the pie wasn’t worth the risk of the bitter taste lingering in his mouth.
“So how’d you stay in those crappy motels?”
The younger brother sat silently for a moment, looking around the kitchen they’d grown up in. At some point since he’d moved down to Miami, Mark had decided to keep their family’s old place instead of letting their mother sell it when she moved into assisted living. Drake and Mark hadn’t talked much, if at all, about the decision for him to stay there. In his own mind, Drake felt like Mark was content with being stagnant at best and regressive at worst. Who would want to stay trapped in the house they grew up in?
“Drake? Did you actually fly up this morning?”
“I wish I did,” Drake admitted.
“So, what aren’t you telling me? How’d you get here?”
“Does it matter? I’m here.”
Mark set his beer down on the table and leaned back in his chair. “You met someone, didn’t you?”
Drake raised an eyebrow, trying to look inconspicuous. But the instinctive twitch in the corner of his mouth gave him away.
“You acted exactly like this that summer you met that girl at camp. You remember that?”
“No, I don’t,” Drake said indignantly, then rose to get another beer.
As he did, Uncle Lou entered the kitchen. The old Italian skeleton nearly knocked Drake over in his mission to fetch the last of the bourbon from the counter.
“You’re getting a cab, right, Lou?” Mark asked with a challenging grin.
Uncle Lou poured the rest of the bottle’s contents into his glass, grumbling an affirmative and a complaint about the disrespect, then pilfered the upper cabinet for a new bottle. He took both the full bottle and his refilled glass with him back into the parlor.
“How is that guy not dead yet?” Drake asked when Uncle Lou was out of earshot.
“Stubbornness runs in the family,” Mark said. “It’s too bad it didn’t end with us. So, who’s the girl?”
“There was no girl,” Drake said, returning to the table with a cold hard cider. He handed the bottle to Mark to pop the cap off, then cheersed with him when he got it back.
“Just like there was no girl at summer camp. You know you’re an adult now, right? If you like this girl that much, you don’t have to wait until next year to see her. You got her number, right?”
Drake yielded to his brother’s prying. “On what phone? She’s got mine, maybe, but she’s not calling back.”
“Why not?”
“Look, it’s not happening, so it doesn’t matter.”
Mark dismissed his brother's words with a limp wave and a swig of his drink. “Says who?”
“Says reality,” Drake almost laughed. “Trust me, if you’d met her, you’d understand.”
“If I met her? What’s that supposed to mean? Good enough for you and not me? What, is she gross? You pick her up at one of those motels?”
“No, it’s not like that.” Drake looked over his shoulder to see if their mother was idling around the corner, then pulled his seat closer to the table and leaned in toward Mark. “She’s incredible. She just…”
Drake restrained himself, debating how to talk about her without immediately setting off alarms in his brother’s head. “Mom would never approve of her. And you’d definitely give lectures until Uncle Lou’s dead for real.”
“Murderer? Psychopath? Blue-haired liberal? Come on, she can’t be that bad.”
“She is a felon,” Drake said, a smile forcing itself onto his face.
“Oh! Alright,” Mark said, taken aback by the assumed honesty. “Well, everyone deserves second chances. I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”
“Actually, I am too now, I guess.” Drake was no longer speaking to fill in the gaps in his story for Mark. His tone was withdrawn and nostalgic. “I actually only spent one night in a crappy hotel. The other we got to spend in holding cells. It was definitely warmer than the parking lot, but way less comfortable. Crap, I never gave that cop the snow shovel back. Think they’ve got a warrant out for me?”
Mark leaned in and pushed his beer to the side. The last slice of pie may have thought its time had finally come with both of them so close to it.
“You’re serious?” Mark asked. “Did you really get arrested?”
Uncle Lou interrupted, stumbling back into the kitchen. The vodka bottle in his right hand was half full. “Where’s you keep the ice?” he slurred, sagging cheeks flapping like a cartoon dog.
“I think you’ve had enough for one night, Uncle Lou,” Mark said, lacking full conviction.
“You don’t tell me when I stop drinking in my own house.”
“It’s not your house, Uncle Lou,” Mark said as if he’d been reading the same script all night.
“Well, it’s Christmas-”
“It’s not.”
“And I’m allowed to have a nightcap if I want.”
“Go home, Uncle Lou.”
Uncle Lou harrumphed and excited again, taking someone's unfinished wine glass with him.
Drake had hoped that the distraction would get Mark off the topic of the girl, but the moment Uncle Lou was out of the kitchen again, the questions returned. “You got arrested?”
“We didn’t kill anyone if that’s what you’re worried about,” Drake chided.
“I wasn’t. I know you wouldn’t be able to. What I’m worried about is a DUI or something like that.”
“It’s nothing like that. We couldn’t get a place to stay and tried sleeping in a parking lot. We were just held up for the night.”
“And that’s gonna be a deal breaker for Mom or me?” Mark laughed. “In that case, I should kick you out of the house, too. I wouldn’t want to be harboring a criminal. Lou! Put the cat down and call a cab!”
Mark’s words were matched by inaudible shouts from the parlor.
“He’s not invited next year,” Mark said to Drake. “Remind me, if he’s not dead yet, he’s not allowed back here.”
“I have a feeling he won’t be. He’ll probably end up outliving all of us. Can we drop the topic? You’ve heard what you wanted. I met a girl on the road, and it didn’t work out. At least I still made it for dinner, and Mom got to see me. Happy?”
Instead of answering, Mark immediately replied with, “How’s work been?”
“Dogshit,” Drake said flatly.
“Who ended the job this time?”
“Who said the job was over?”
Mark didn’t dignify the question with a verbal response. He just gave Drake the Look.
Drake sighed, then admitted, “You wouldn’t get it. The way they were doing things-”
“I don’t care how they were doing things. Drake, I’m only saying this because we’re in my house and there’s no way you’re flying back tonight, but you need to grow the hell up.”
At this, Drake perked up. If it hadn’t been for all the time spent with the girl over the last few days, his reaction would have been much stronger and defensive. But at this point, after everything the road had put him through, all he could do was sit a little straighter and harden his expression. The choice of reaction wasn’t lost on Mark. In fact, he was slightly impressed by his brother’s maturity in the situation.
For safety’s sake, he still added, “I also say it because I love you.”
Drake relaxed the smallest bit. “I am trying, you know?”
“I know you are. That’s why I’m not on your ass as much as Mom wishes I was. But you’ve gotta learn to swallow your pride once in a while. This is your career we’re talking about. I support it, and I understand that you want to do… whatever it is artists are trying to do or say.”
“Very eloquent.”
“Thanks. My point is, you’re trying to live with this idealized freedom that only comes from putting your time in, embracing the shit. I’m sorry to tell you this, but you don’t get to skip the line and be an overnight success story when everyone else is working the shit jobs. That’s how the world works. You’re never going to totally agree with every opportunity that comes your way. But the right door will never open if you shut every one of them before you see what’s on the other side. Then you can be choosy. This is a job we’re talking about. Not life and death. All that matters is making sure your bills are paid, and you’ve got decent benefits.
“Make enough to treat a girl well, take a vacation somewhere nice once in a while, and at some point have a mortgage instead of renting. Hell, if you had a real job, maybe you could even get that girl from the road to go on a real date with you. I’m sure she’d find an apartment better than a jail cell.”
“Forget about the girl. This is me being reasonable, trust me. It would never work out.”
“You still haven’t told me why not.”
“Because it wouldn’t! She’s… she’s everything I want. But Mom… God, Mom would kill me if I brought her home.”
Tepidly, Mark began, “Is… is she a he?”
“No, Mark. She is… she does…” Drake paused and lowered his voice, not having realized how loud they had gotten. “She does porn. Not like heavy or hardcore stuff. Not even full-on or nude stuff. But she makes a living on FanGirlz. And she’s trying to get out of it. That’s why she’s here in the city now, for a shot at the real thing. Real modeling, I mean. Not porn.”
Mark let Drake’s answer hang in the air between them, hovering over the last slice of pie. Now, Drake thought, would be the perfect time for Uncle Lou to come back in and break up the tension. But he didn’t.
“I guess I’m still not seeing the issue,” Mark said, surprising Drake.
Drake laughed. “I thought you wanted me to be more realistic. Don’t you want me to find a nice girl who we could all be proud of me for bringing home to meet Mom?”
“No,” Mark said slowly. “I- We want you to bring home the girl that you love. Fuck what everyone else thinks. And if you truly love her, you love each other, and you’re trying to better yourselves for each other, then all the joy to you. Fuck whatever everyone else thinks.”
Again, Drake laughed. “Alright, which one is it? Be more pragmatic or chase a fantasy? Pick a side, man.”
Mark sighed. “Pick your battles,” he said.
“A job is a job is a job. Be smart about that. Be pragmatic. But love is stupid. Love is nonsense. This girl is the only reason you’re here tonight. This girl is obviously the only thing in the world that you truly care about, so be an idiot. Be stupid by being honest with yourself. Save the smart stuff for the boring stuff like a career. Settle for a career, pay your dues, and work hard for the life you want. But be an idiot with love and go get her back.”
* * *
Lulu stood over the bathroom counter fixing her hair in the mirror. Surprisingly, Marsha hadn’t given her much shit about it. What she did give her was a Christmas sweater from Faye’s closet and a festive skirt. Lulu came out of the bathroom looking like she was about to go out for a Christmas card photo. But maybe that was the idea. Marsha had said that there was going to be something like a shoot at the party. Maybe the party was at this guy Paul’s studio.
She looked around the white-walled apartment and saw she was alone.
“Marsha?” she called, and walked towards the bedrooms.
Quietly, she heard voices coming from one of the rooms. All of the doors were closed, but one of them, Faye’s door, showed light poking through underneath. Lulu snuck up on the door and leaned in close.
First she heard heavy breathing, then Marsha snapped at her daughter that she needed to “Get your shit together.”
Lulu jumped at the words, then leaned back in against the door to hear the rest.
“Lulu was able to make it after all that shit she went through. Why can’t you just tough it out for one fucking night?”
Then came Faye’s garbled reply, through what sounded like speaking through tears. “I just need a little while, okay? I just need to sleep for a little bit.”
“You’ve been asleep all fucking morning. Get your shit together for one night, then you can have all the fucking coke you want. But don’t fuck this up for everyone else. Don’t be that selfish.”
Lulu backed away when she heard what came next. Snapping, a short exclamation of pain from someone in the room, then stomping.
Lulu walked quickly back down the hall toward the living room-slash-kitchenette. A bottle of wine was opened on the counter with one glass beside it. A small amount of wine rested at the bottom of the glass. She considered pouring herself a glass, but didn’t know which cabinet to look in.
She didn’t have to bother looking anyway, when Marsha entered the kitchenette, showing no signs of being involved in an argument with Faye.
Marsha brushed past Lulu without a word and threw something into the trash can at the end of the counter. Lulu caught a glance just before it disappeared, noticing the hospital wristband Faye had been wearing.
“Is she doing okay?” Lulu asked nervously.
“She’ll be okay. Just needs a pick-me-up before the party. Can you put the coffee maker on for her?”
Lulu looked around the space, then noticed the fanciest, shiniest coffee maker she’d ever seen in her life right behind her. She could figure out how to use it. Hopefully, she thought, this would be the only kind of coffee maker she’d ever use again.
“Something happen last night?” Lulu knew she was treading uncomfortable ground, but the trip to the hospital was no secret, either. It was only a matter of how much Marsha would be willing to share.
Marsha shook her head with an audible, almost exaggerated exhale, then refilled her wine glass. “You know how she is. A little too wild for her own good. You look cute in that.”
Lulu looked down at herself and the getup Marsha had put her in. “Thanks,” she said. “Seems pretty early for a Christmas party, though.”
Marsha shrugged. “It’s the theme Paul wanted to go with tonight. You gonna make me proud tonight?”
Lulu echoed Marsha’s shrug with an awkward smile. “I’ll do my best. Had plenty of time to mentally prepare myself.” She raised two thumbs in forced optimism. “Ready to make a good first impression.”
“I’m sure you will. Just relax tonight. Go with the vibes. Paul’s good people. Besides, if you don’t get the job, you’ll still owe me for the plane ticket.” She whispered, acting like it was a joke, “But no pressure.”
“I know,” Lulu breathed as Marsha pulled her in for a hug.
Almost too loud, directly in her ear, Marsha said, “You don’t have any money now, do you?”
“Oh, I…”
Marsha released Lulu from the embrace and took a sip of her wine. Her expression was colder than it had been just before the hug. “You don’t want to arrive empty-handed,” she said. “Faye already went through all the drugs.”
Lulu started to speak, but Marsha went on. “It’s fine. I’ll get something for you on the way. Just pay me back when you can.”
“I’m sorry. I would have. It was just,” she laughed, trying to force some levity back into the room, “what a week!”
“I’m sure.” Marsha stared at the window, nursing the glass against her chest.
After a pause where Lulu wondered if Marsha would show any interest in the trip, she added, “I really didn’t think I was gonna make it. At one point I was even trying to hitch a ride out of Chicago. Wasn’t really ready for how cold it was gonna be up here. I don’t know how you do it. But, like you said, I was gonna get here by any means possible. And I did!”
Nothing from Marsha until she had another slow sip to finish off her wine.
“You did,” she finally said, then checked her watch. “And just in time. We should head out. Faye!”
Lulu jumped when Marsha shouted her daughter’s name.
“Faye! You better be dressed! We’re going!”
Her bedroom door dragged open, and Faye stumbled sleepily through the hall. Lulu staggered at the sight of her. It was like looking through a mirror at a zombie.
Faye wore a matching Christmas outfit, but while Lulu’s sweater was green, Faye’s was red. Her makeup was done in the same way Marsha had instructed Lulu to do hers, and they wore the same type of headband. But just as the sweaters, Lulu wore green and Faye red. A nagging thought in the back of her mind that they were probably even wearing matching underwear.
“Did you want to do a family photo tonight?” Lulu asked Marsha, half jokingly.
Marsha replied with a grin. “You’re right on the money. It’ll be a fun shoot.”
* * *
The three women took a rideshare to Paul’s studio in Tribeca. Marsha met a woman she recognized on the sidewalk as they were both about to enter the building. They all exchanged greetings, and Marsha introduced both Faye and Lulu as her daughters. The woman, Tiffany was her name, though Lulu barely registered it while fighting the cold, looked like she just came from an audition for an ‘80s high school movie, but was three or four decades too old for the part.
They all walked together up the stairs to the third floor. Tiffany was talking about a contract she recently got with her friend down in Dallas, so she was probably going to buy a house there, and that Marsha should come by soon.
After the second flight, Lulu had to give a hand to Faye, who was about to fall asleep.
“Hey, Marsha,” Lulu whisper-shouted pleadingly over the growing sound of music.
Marsha stopped at the third-floor landing and snapped around. “What?”
“I’m just gonna wait here with Faye before we go in.”
Marsha groaned. “I’ll see you in there, Tiff. Don’t tell Paul I’m here yet.” She stopped back down the stairs and took Faye by the arm, dragging her up.
“You’re so fucking embarrassing sometimes,” Marsha spat. “Lulu, you got that coke?”
Lulu fumbled around in the purse Marsha loaned her and pulled out the little baggy.
Marsha snatched it away and dug a small mound out on her nail. “Just a little bit, baby,” she said, holding her nail under Faye’s nose.
Faye breathed it in and found a modicum of energy.
“There we go,” Marsha said with an irritated smile and patted her daughter’s cheek. “Good to go?”
Faye jerked her head in a rapid nod.
“Good. Now quit fucking around.” Marsha pulled Faye to the doorway.
Lulu followed at a safe distance behind and was nearly thrown down the stairs by the sound of the party's music when the door opened for Marsha. She couldn’t see the face of their host, if it even was their host who had greeted them at the door, and found herself swept up into the chaos of the party before she even knew she made it to the third-floor landing.
And just like that, she was back in Miami.
It was hot in the room. Very hot. Especially under the Christmas sweater. The music beat at her ears, and bodies were pressing up against her. She’d been at a party like this, probably no more than a week ago. But after all the time spent in the car, it was this place, of all places, that felt like a different world.
Almost immediately she lost sight of Marsha and Faye. Hopefully they’d gone off to find a place for Faye to sit down and rest. Lulu would need that too, soon enough if the music continued to beat down on her skull.
She pushed through the crowd of sweat and festive strobe lights to the bar. If she was going to get through this night and be in a decent mood for when she got to meet Paul, it’d be safe to have something strong enough to clog her liver, but not something as strong as Faye was on.
Just barely squeezing up to the counter, Faye shouted to the woman behind the bar, “Do you have any claws? Strawberry?”
The bartender did a double-take of Lulu, then asked, “Are you even old enough to drink?”
Lulu withdrew at the perceived insult. Maybe it was just the atmosphere that made the question come off more malicious than it was meant to.
She tried to shout her response, but the current song playing hit an exceptionally loud note and drowned her out.
“What?” the bartender shouted back.
“I said I’m twenty-five!”
“What?” the bartender shouted back, louder.
A man stepped up next to Lulu, planting himself arm and arm with her. “She’s fine, Jackie. She’s with me.”
Lulu turned and looked up (only an inch or two) to see a new face. But something in the face felt familiar. Although she’d never seen a picture of the man before, she was able to put a name to the face. It was something in his aura, the way he met her eye knowingly and was able to wave away the bartender’s concern with a verbal snap of the fingers, she knew that this was the man she’d traveled across the country to meet.
“Lulu,” she said, introducing herself.
“I know,” he said, brushing back his long, curly, and oily hair, revealing a tattoo of snake talons just below his pierced ear. He bit his lip and said, “I’m Paul.”
So, she was right.
“I know,” she said, finally feeling warm in her chest for the first time since the train station. “I’ve been really looking forward to meeting you.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He leaned on the counter and held out his hand. Three painful seconds later, Jackie put the Strawberry White Claw in his grasp. He then stood up straight, gave her the drink, then held out his arm to lead her away from the bar. Paul spoke casually, like he wasn’t being deafened by the volume of the music. Lulu had to pull in close to him to hear what he was saying. “And I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Marsha wasn’t lying about you, was she?”
She shouted back, “I hope not! You wouldn’t believe what I went through to get here!”
“Probably not,” he laughed dismissively.
Admittedly, a part of her was hoping he would have asked what exactly she went through. If the rest of her first impression didn’t land, hopefully a show of her determination would carry some weight.
They moved back through the crowd, and she told him, “Seriously, the storm messed everything up. I almost slept in a parking lot and tried hitching rides-”
Paul nodded along and brought her to the opposite side of the room to a door.
“-and I met this- Hey! Where are we going?”
Paul closed the door behind her, sealing them off from the obnoxious music, and she realized they were back in the stairwell and Paul was leading her further up.
“We’re just gonna do a test shoot. Think of it like a job interview.”
Of course they’d be doing that. Why else would Marsha be so pushy about her being up for this specific day? They could have easily done a meet and greet over a video call, but it’d be important to see how well she works with a photographer in a real studio. And with how busy this guy Paul probably was, carving out 15 minutes during a holiday party was probably the only thing they could squeeze in. Marsha was pulling a lot of strings to help her career take off.
It was just strange that Marsha didn’t give more details.
Did Marsha even know this was happening tonight?
Where was she anyway?
“Have… have you seen Marsha, by the way?”
“Yeah, they’re waiting upstairs.”
They ended up climbing two flights, which prompted Lulu to ask, and Paul to answer that he owned the whole building.
“Oh! That’s so cool. So you must work with a lot of brands.”
“Brands?” Paul asked. “I guess. No one really calls the studios ‘brands’, but yeah. I’ll get you work with the big ones.”
Lulu was not stupid. She heard the alarm bells going off. But she was also human and knew that on the other side of the door she was approaching on the fifth floor of that building was everything she’d been patient for. And that sense of vindication was enough to dull the alarms.
Paul pushed the door open, and Lulu saw a picture-perfect Christmas morning scene. A tree was up with presents underneath it. Snowflake cutouts streamed around the room. An elf even sat on an electric fireplace. Placed around the room were floodlights that painted the scene like a TV sitcom. And sitting on the couch in the middle of the set were Marsha and a shaking Faye.
Lulu stepped into the room slowly as Marsha gave Faye another bump of cocaine.
Faye’s head rolled back, and she locked eyes with Lulu.
“Hey there…step sis.”
Lulu stopped in her tracks. “Marsha? What kind of shoot is this?”
Paul crossed the room, now carrying a DSLR camera locked into a stabilizing rig, with a boom mic hooked onto the top. He switched the lights on and paced around the set.
Marsha jumped up from the couch and met Lulu at the edge of the room. “There you are! Okay, you ready?”
Lulu couldn’t look at her. Her eyes were stuck on the set, and Faye who was trying to pull herself together on the couch.
“Marsha, what’s going on?”
Marsha waved a hand at the set behind them. She said excitedly, “You’re doing it! It’s the real thing!”
Keeping her voice low, Lulu told her, “This isn’t what I thought I was coming for. I thought this was like… like real modeling.”
Offended, legitimately offended, Marsha said indignantly, “This is real modeling. This is the real thing. I would’ve killed to be this liberated when I was your age. To be able to do shit like this without having to feel ashamed of myself. And this is money. Good money for us.”
“Marsha, I don’t want to-”
“Oh, my God. Shut-the-fuck-up!”
“Y’all good or what?” Paul called from the set.
“Fine!” Marsha called back. Then, quietly again to Lulu, “I’ve been dealing with Faye’s shit all night and day. I don’t want to deal with yours, too. Here, just…” She drew the baggie of cocaine from her purse. “Take a little bit, and we’ll see how you feel about this tomorrow. But you owe me this much.”
Marsha held her powdered fingernail up to Lulu’s nose.
Lulu breathed. She looked from the fingernail to the set. She thought about how indebted to Marsha she was for the past decade. Everything Marsha had done for her since she was fifteen, leading to this set. Did she really want to throw ten years down the drain?
Lulu lowered her head. “I’ll do it.”
Marsha snorted the cocaine herself. After a shiver, she took the alcoholic drink from Lulu and said, “Good girl. I knew I could count on you.”
Lulu received a pat on the cheek, then stepped into the lights.
Paul directed her and Faye. “Okay, we don’t have a ton of time, so let’s skip all the boring stuff. Lulu, you begin on the left, and Faye - Faye! Wake up! - Faye, you’ll come in from the right. You’ll both kneel down – Lulu, you just follow Faye’s lead and improvise – exchange gifts and get into it. Yeah?”
Paul pointed the camera at Lulu, who stood frozen in front of the Christmas tree.
“Baby, I’m gonna need a verbal acknowledgement of consent on camera. Yeah?”
Lulu nodded.
“Alright, then say you understand what’s going on.”
“Yes!” Lulu rushed to say. “I consent and am excited to be a part of this.” She raised both thumbs and forced a smile.
“Age too.” Paul added, muttering, “Holy shit.”
“Twenty-five.”
He then turned to Faye, who was still on the couch. “Your turn, Faye.”
Faye sat up straight, looked into the camera, and said, “I’m twenty-four and consent to all of the following you’re about to jerk off to.”
“Good enough,” Paul groaned, then centered his shot. “Alright, ready when you both are.”
The camera continued to roll.
Paul began with a slow pan of the Christmas tree, tilting the camera down from the star at the top to the presents underneath, then pulled out for a wide shot. He held it for a moment, waiting for his actors to hit their marks, then gave a jerking wave telling them to move.
The two girls reacted and stepped into frame. Faye’s body morphed the instant she was within the frame, transitioning from a fatigued, drugged-up woman to a girl who had just woken up on Christmas morning and couldn’t wait to tear open her gifts.
Marsh stood just behind Paul, watching everything over his shoulder.
The two girls knelt down in front of the tree as instructed.
“Merry Christmas, step-sis,” Faye said in a fake, babyish voice, and handed Lulu one of the prop presents. “I’ve been so excited to give you this.”
Lulu forced herself to keep a joyful face. As she put her hands on the side of the prop, Paul whispered, “Hold!” and skittered to the side for a medium shot of her receiving it.
“Okay, go!” he whispered again.
Lulu gave the camera a beat before resuming the scene. “Thanks, step-sis!” She paused, then awkwardly improvised her next line, “I hope it is what I think it is.
“Shit. Can I try that again?”
Paul shook his head, shifting to the other side to get a reaction shot for Faye. “No, just roll with it. Faye, you go now.”
After a sultry bite of her lip, Faye said, “I think it’s what you’ve been wanting since our parents met.”
Lulu was thankful the camera wasn’t focused on her for her reaction to the line. But she pushed through it as Paul returned to the center for a wide shot.
She tore apart the wrapping of the prop present, flinging the paper and ribbon comically into the air, then opened the box.
“It’s empty,” she said, unsure what emotion to convey in the scene.
But Faye rolled with it. “Oh! Is it? I guess I gave you the wrong box. I meant to give you…” Faye slowly pulled off her sweater to reveal her bare chest, leaned back, propping herself up on her right elbow and spread her legs, pulling her skirt up with her free hand. “...my box.”
Paul and Marsha were amazed by Lulu’s genuine reaction of surprise.
Lulu looked up at Marsha for support. There couldn’t have been any possibility that Marsha knew this was going to be happening with her own daughter, much less watching and encouraging it.
Lulu looked back down at Faye. She had a pleading look on her face, almost begging Lulu to just go with it.
She tried to speak, but words weren’t coming out, so Faye filled in the empty space. “I guess you weren’t expecting this Christmas surprise, step-sis.” She sat up, pulled Lulu’s sweater up off, and put a hand on the back of Lulu’s head, pulling her back down with her.
Lulu shook. She didn’t know if the tiny vibrations of her body were being picked up on the camera, but she felt like her whole body was shaking enough to rock the room, the building. Hell, maybe even the whole city could feel her anxiety.
Her face was only an inch away from Faye’s folds.
Maybe someone was talking. Maybe Paul was telling her to go all the way, or Marsha was yelling at her to just do it. Maybe Faye was begging her to just get it over with. Maybe all of them were yelling at her in their own way.
But this wasn’t what Louise Pratchett wanted. She didn’t feel empowered by this. She felt used, and knew that if she followed through there, that night, then she’d be continually used. She would put a price on herself, and her actions and limits would no longer matter. She would not be liberated. She would be disposed of less than a minute after some guy finished watching thirty seconds of this video, or in five years when she’d aged out of the limelight. The paying jobs would disappear, but the videos would remain, serving as a reminder to everyone who came after that her body was all that she had, but even that, she’d already sold.
Louise pulled back. She looked around for her sweater.
“What are you doing?” Marsha asked, irritated. “Lulu, where are you going?”
Louise pulled the sweater back over her head. She wiped her tears and rushed toward the door. Marsha wouldn’t get an answer. She didn’t deserve one after this.
Louise rushed down the stairs. The music rose and fell as she passed the third floor.
She burst out of the building and ran into the road to hail the first cab that came by.
She ran into the road, and Lulu died.
* * *
Drake and Mark helped Uncle Lou down the slippery steps of the building.
“Easy now. Easy!” Mark warned as he himself almost slipped on a small patch of ice.
“You don’t tell me to be careful!” Uncle Lou shouted. His words were surprisingly clear considering he personally put down a full bottle of scotch, a full bottle of vodka, at least one glass of bourbon, at most one glass of wine, and uncounted beers, without his body rejecting any of it at the ripe age of ninety-three. “This was a regular Tuesday back in Korea! And we had to make the stuff in our toilets! The shit would kill you if you weren’t smart about it!”
“Okay, Uncle Lou. Head down.” Mark guided him into the cab and shut the door before the old man could argue any further.
“I didn’t know he was in Korea,” Drake said, earnestly.
“He wasn’t,” Mark replied. “He’s just hammered.”
The two brothers made their way carefully back up the stairs. The night was full dark, no stars in the city sky. Drake kept his hands buried deep in his pockets. Even though the house was now empty of all the Thanksgiving guests, he still wasn’t ready to go back in. He felt more isolated outside than he would in an enclosed space with Mark. Their earlier conversation still didn’t feel over.
“You coming in?” Mark asked, standing at the open door.
Drake wrapped his fists around his thumbs in his pockets. “I’m just gonna take in the air for a minute.”
Mark didn’t pry. He entered the building and closed the door behind him.
Drake sat on the second step. His ass became wet with the melting snow underneath him.
He didn’t mind.
Drake didn’t do anything while sitting there. He didn’t wish for a distraction. He just stared forward, thinking.
Considering his brother’s speech – he’d had too many of those to count recently – how would he even go about finding Lulu again? He had no interest in making a FanGirlz account and putting his credit card information into their system. He’d given her his number while they were in Chicago, but she never called him, which meant she probably didn’t save it.
Lulu really was the one who got away.
Drake dropped his head into his hands.
“Still with the self-pitying?” a heavenly voice asked.
Drake looked up. He stood. Then he looked down.
“Kyle,” she said, reading his expression. “He gave me your address.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Louise shrugged. For the first time all day, her smile felt real. “I was trying to figure out what I want out of life. What about you?”
Drake couldn’t respond with words. He knew better than to let another moment go to waste.
He pulled her in close and swept her off her feet.