their
wealth, but in Bethany’s world girls were cutting their skin with razor blades to escape the emotional pain that haunted them.
She’d even thought about cutting herself a time or two, if for no other reason than to see what so many saw in it. She knew
the reasoning, of course: better to control the pain inflicted by yourself than the pain dumped on you by your circumstances.
Bethany blinked. Here she was thinking about razor blades while her mother and Welsh were toasting life. There was irony.
She decided to bring them into her world.
“I’ve decided that I don’t want to pursue modeling beyond this job,” she said and sat back to hear their response.
Her mother dismissed her with a slight flip of her hand. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Why would you say that?” Burt asked, swirling the red wine in his glass.
“I just don’t think I could stomach all the superficiality that comes with it. What do people really know about models anyway?”
“What do you mean, angel? It’s not a marriage; it’s a job. A job that could lead to acting, Hollywood. This is just the beginning.
What happened to all those calls with your agent, was that all just for grins?”
The DA tipped his glass at Celine. “Your mother has a point. This could be just the beginning of something much bigger. Cover
at your age? That’s pretty impressive.”
“Hollywood stars are the same thing. I walk around school and already they look at me like I’m some kind of monkey in a zoo.
They don’t know a thing about me.”
Her mother’s mouth gaped in a show of shock. “How could you be so ungrateful? Every last girl in that school would kill to
be you right now. You just want to throw that away because you don’t have a deep, meaningful relationship with every boy in
the hall?”
Now this was more like Mother. Bethany had to admit that she wasn’t entirely ready to throw out modeling just yet, but her
claim was at least partly true. Maybe even mostly true.
“I’m just saying”—she picked at the bread on her plate—“it bothers me.”
Her mother offered Burt a condescending grin. “She’s sixteen going on twenty-one with a degree in philosophy.
Everything
about life bothers her when it suits her. Nothing is really meaningful. Our little existentialist in the making. But that
doesn’t mean she doesn’t love to shake her butt in front of a thousand boys at football games, now does it?”
A raised brow from Burt. He seemed to be enjoying the shift in conversation.
“So I play the game; you taught me that, Mother, didn’t you? Play all the angles, use your assets to take all you can from
life. Just because I’ve decided to try things your way doesn’t mean I have to like it or give my life to it the way you have.”
“My, my.” Burt’s eyes were bright with interest, and she thought his grin was more one of fascination than embarrassment.
“You’re quite intelligent.”
“For what? A bimbo on a cover? I think you may have made my point.”
“No, for a sixteen-year-old.”
“Too smart for her own britches, if you ask me,” Mother said.
Bethany decided to take it one step further, aware that she might be purposefully throwing a few stones into their perfect
little love affair.
“I love you, Mother, and I will learn whatever you have to teach me. But don’t expect me to live the same life you live, hopping
around from party to party, man to man, looking to fill the hole in your soul with social fluff.”
Both Celine and the DA sat frozen in place. She might as well have dropped a stun grenade. But her mother recovered quickly;
it was a skill she’d long ago perfected.
She uttered a short chuckle and lifted her glass. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Bethany. But don’t take your own search for
significance out on me. I wasn’t the one who left.”
Touché. She hated it when Mother played the father card. Bethany wasn’t sure how to respond.
“She’s never
wealth, but in Bethany’s world girls were cutting their skin with razor blades to escape the emotional pain that haunted them.
She’d even thought about cutting herself a time or two, if for no other reason than to see what so many saw in it. She knew
the reasoning, of course: better to control the pain inflicted by yourself than the pain dumped on you by your circumstances.
Bethany blinked. Here she was thinking about razor blades while her mother and Welsh were toasting life. There was irony.
She decided to bring them into her world.
“I’ve decided that I don’t want to pursue modeling beyond this job,” she said and sat back to hear their response.
Her mother dismissed her with a slight flip of her hand. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Why would you say that?” Burt asked, swirling the red wine in his glass.
“I just don’t think I could stomach all the superficiality that comes with it. What do people really know about models anyway?”
“What do you mean, angel? It’s not a marriage; it’s a job. A job that could lead to acting, Hollywood. This is just the beginning.
What happened to all those calls with your agent, was that all just for grins?”
The DA tipped his glass at Celine. “Your mother has a point. This could be just the beginning of something much bigger. Cover
at your age? That’s pretty impressive.”
“Hollywood stars are the same thing. I walk around school and already they look at me like I’m some kind of monkey in a zoo.
They don’t know a thing about me.”
Her mother’s mouth gaped in a show of shock. “How could you be so ungrateful? Every last girl in that school would kill to
be you right now. You just want to throw that away because you don’t have a deep, meaningful relationship with every boy in
the hall?”
Now this was more like Mother. Bethany had to admit that she wasn’t entirely ready to throw out modeling just yet, but her
claim was at least partly true. Maybe even mostly true.
“I’m just saying”—she picked at the bread on her plate—“it bothers me.”
Her mother offered Burt a condescending grin. “She’s sixteen going on twenty-one with a degree in philosophy.
Everything
about life bothers her when it suits her. Nothing is really meaningful. Our little existentialist in the making. But that
doesn’t mean she doesn’t love to shake her butt in front of a thousand boys at football games, now does it?”
A raised brow from Burt. He seemed to be enjoying the shift in conversation.
“So I play the game; you taught me that, Mother, didn’t you? Play all the angles, use your assets to take all you can from
life. Just because I’ve decided to try things your way doesn’t mean I have to like it or give my life to it the way you have.”
“My, my.” Burt’s eyes were bright with interest, and she thought his grin was more one of fascination than embarrassment.
“You’re quite intelligent.”
“For what? A bimbo on a cover? I think you may have made my point.”
“No, for a sixteen-year-old.”
“Too smart for her own britches, if you ask me,” Mother said.
Bethany decided to take it one step further, aware that she might be purposefully throwing a few stones into their perfect
little love affair.
“I love you, Mother, and I will learn whatever you have to teach me. But don’t expect me to live the same life you live, hopping
around from party to party, man to man, looking to fill the hole in your soul with social fluff.”
Both Celine and the DA sat frozen in place. She might as well have dropped a stun grenade. But her mother recovered quickly;
it was a skill she’d long ago perfected.
She uttered a short chuckle and lifted her glass. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Bethany. But don’t take your own search for
significance out on me. I wasn’t the one who left.”
Touché. She hated it when Mother played the father card. Bethany wasn’t sure how to respond.
“She’s never
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