Friends with Benefits by Melody Mayer Page B

to her violet eyes and luminous skin. Inches taller than Kiley, the model wore a red and blue silk caftan cut to her navel in front, slit up both thighs to her waist. It billowed around her willowy frame. No panty line and no bra straps—Marym obviously was wearing nothing underneath. Her jet black hair was messy in an artful way that made it look as if she’d just awakened after a night of debauchery. There was no visible makeup on her face, not even a trace of lipstick on her puffy lips.
    Which,
Kiley thought,
is about the only thing we could possibly
have in common.
    â€œTom!” Marym cried, cutting in front of an older goateed producer type in a white T-shirt, black cashmere sweater, and Live 8 concert baseball cap. “You came!” She threw herself into Tom’s arms and hugged him close. Really close. For a really long time.
    â€œHappy birthday,” Tom told her, kissing her lightly on the lips. “The new place looks great.”
    Marym made a face. “Oh, I don’t know if it suits me.” Her English was perfect, with a slight, charming Israeli accent. Her friendly gaze went to Kiley. “I don’t think we’ve met. Welcome. I’m Marym.”
    â€œMarym, this is my friend Kiley McCann. Kiley, Marym Marshall.”
    The model took Kiley’s hand in her own slender fingers. “So nice of you to come, Kiley.”
    â€œThanks for inviting me,” Kiley replied.
    Then she realized what a stupid statement that was, because of course Marym
hadn’t
invited her. Tom had, but Marym either didn’t notice the gaffe or was sufficiently gracious to ignore it. Instead, she backed out of Tom’s embrace and peered at her jammed living room. “This is madness. I didn’t know so many people would come!” She smiled at Kiley. “So, what do you do, Kiley? Are you a student?”
    Kiley nodded. “In the fall, anyway. Right now I’m a nanny.”
    Marym’s eyes went wide. “You take care of children? Oh, that must be fun. I miss my little sisters back in Israel so much.” She put her hand on Tom’s arm. “You know who is here, Tom? Samuel. I should find him for you.”
    â€œDe Cubber?” Tom asked. “I thought he went back to France.”
    â€œHe’s in town to do Marc Jacobs at FAB tomorrow night. Who are you doing? Anyone besides Calvin?”
    â€œRalph,” Tom replied. “You?”
    â€œVera and this crazy new designer out of Palm Springs who makes clothes with stuff she finds at the Disneyland lost and found. That is so FAB, isn’t it?”
    Kiley actually knew what Marym meant, since FAB was as famous for launching edgy new designers as it was for presenting the work of established favorites.
    Tom and Marym chatted on about fittings and photo shoots. Kiley felt invisible. She wished she had a drink—two drinks (and she’d barely ever had a drink in her life)—just for something to do.
    â€œAnyway, I have fittings all day tomorrow.” Marym wrinkled her perfect nose with distaste. “Oh. Want some good gossip? Sam just signed to do a big print campaign in France. That could have been you.”
    Tom shook his head. “No full frontal for me. My grandmother back in Iowa wouldn’t be able to face her bingo friends ever again. She hasn’t seen me naked since my butt fit into a diaper.”
    Marym laughed. “No full frontal. Only naked from the back.”
    â€œNaked?” Kiley echoed, since it seemed like the most salient word in their conversation.
    â€œSam de Cubber is a model,” Tom explained. “And a French martial arts champion.”
    â€œYou’re missing a great career opportunity,” Marym chided. “Americans are such prudes about nudity.”
    â€œThere’ll be other gigs,” Tom maintained.
    Marym gave a little pout. “A shame. You’re not nearly as hairy as Samuel. They have to wax his