world that I appreciate a great deal more than finery , Ian.” I said haughtily, snatching a deep emerald green satin dress that had a high neckline, three quarter length sleeves and a plunging back, my hair would cover my tattoos just fine. I went into the walk in closet and pulled it on, it didn’t quite fit, it was just a little big, but it still looked suitable for my mother.
“I’m sure. Who are you trying to convince Chase?” Ian called from my room.
“Don’t call me Chase. I am not trying to convince anyone of anything. I just find your particular habits to be reprehensible.” I told him as I came from the closet and leaned over the vanity table.
I gazed into the mirror as I touched up my makeup, and applied a bit of deep raspberry red to my lips for the evening, and removed my shadow, and replaced it with a sheer white. Ian came up behind me and placed his hand on my hip. I stood up straight, spun to face him, wide eyed with rage. He moved back slightly holding his hands up, I took three steps toward him as he backed away, and slapped him across the face with a great deal more force than I had intended. He ran his hand through his hair violently, and stared at me darkly; I shoved past him and made my way down the stairs, happy to escape the close proximity to him.
My mother caught me before I could grab a second martini, and I glanced up the stairs when I saw Ian out of the corner of my eye, gracefully making his way toward his father. I glowered at him as he flashed me a dazzling smile. I despised him.
“Claire have you met my daughter Chastity?” My mother gushed to an older woman with football shaped blonde hair who wore a red dress with a matching red jacket and had clearly had too much to drink.
“Oh my, what a pretty young lady you are! Oh my , look at those violet eyes, why you look like a young Elizabeth Taylor! Thinner of course, she could be a model Silvia.” Claire added to my mother.
“I am a model,” I told her as I snagged a martini from a passing rented waiter.
I stirred it before popping the olive into my mouth and chewing on it as I watched Ian flirting with one of the female waiters across the foyer. He was all charm and smiles, propped against the wall; the poor girl was blushing three shades of red.
“Oh my , are you? How lovely, what kind of modeling do you do? Certainly not tall enough for runway.” She added under her breath to my mother. “Why you couldn’t be more than five feet tall without heels on.” She gushed. My mother’s face lost color as she turned her eyes to me, pleading.
“ Five four, I do pin up modeling.” I said simply, sparing my mother the embarrassment of having a daughter who was a nude model for websites and magazines.
“Oh.” Clair said, a fake smile pasted on her face as she blinked rapidly.
“Please e xcuse me,” I said before she could ask any more questions.
I bee lined through the crowd of guests and to the back of the house, through the door that went out into the mudroom, and out to the garden. I threw one of the thick shawls that were hung beside the door around my shoulders and stepped into the freezing air, my breath billowing out before me as I lit my cigarette. The cool air and my menthol calmed my nerves, I didn’t like spending evenings like this at home. I didn’t like big crowds of people I didn’t know, and I certainly did not like judgmental people who didn’t understand me or the people I worked with. I knew he was coming out before I heard the door open; the hairs on the back of my neck sticking up to alert me of his presence.
“Go away.” I told him without turning to look at him.
“Chase can we please just talk?”
“There is nothing to talk about. Get away from me.” I said, taking another drag from my cigarette, reflecting on our encounter six months ago at a party that was being thrown at my manager’s house in LA.
“Chase, please. Don’t be like this.”
“Stop calling me Chase!” I spun on
“I’m sure. Who are you trying to convince Chase?” Ian called from my room.
“Don’t call me Chase. I am not trying to convince anyone of anything. I just find your particular habits to be reprehensible.” I told him as I came from the closet and leaned over the vanity table.
I gazed into the mirror as I touched up my makeup, and applied a bit of deep raspberry red to my lips for the evening, and removed my shadow, and replaced it with a sheer white. Ian came up behind me and placed his hand on my hip. I stood up straight, spun to face him, wide eyed with rage. He moved back slightly holding his hands up, I took three steps toward him as he backed away, and slapped him across the face with a great deal more force than I had intended. He ran his hand through his hair violently, and stared at me darkly; I shoved past him and made my way down the stairs, happy to escape the close proximity to him.
My mother caught me before I could grab a second martini, and I glanced up the stairs when I saw Ian out of the corner of my eye, gracefully making his way toward his father. I glowered at him as he flashed me a dazzling smile. I despised him.
“Claire have you met my daughter Chastity?” My mother gushed to an older woman with football shaped blonde hair who wore a red dress with a matching red jacket and had clearly had too much to drink.
“Oh my, what a pretty young lady you are! Oh my , look at those violet eyes, why you look like a young Elizabeth Taylor! Thinner of course, she could be a model Silvia.” Claire added to my mother.
“I am a model,” I told her as I snagged a martini from a passing rented waiter.
I stirred it before popping the olive into my mouth and chewing on it as I watched Ian flirting with one of the female waiters across the foyer. He was all charm and smiles, propped against the wall; the poor girl was blushing three shades of red.
“Oh my , are you? How lovely, what kind of modeling do you do? Certainly not tall enough for runway.” She added under her breath to my mother. “Why you couldn’t be more than five feet tall without heels on.” She gushed. My mother’s face lost color as she turned her eyes to me, pleading.
“ Five four, I do pin up modeling.” I said simply, sparing my mother the embarrassment of having a daughter who was a nude model for websites and magazines.
“Oh.” Clair said, a fake smile pasted on her face as she blinked rapidly.
“Please e xcuse me,” I said before she could ask any more questions.
I bee lined through the crowd of guests and to the back of the house, through the door that went out into the mudroom, and out to the garden. I threw one of the thick shawls that were hung beside the door around my shoulders and stepped into the freezing air, my breath billowing out before me as I lit my cigarette. The cool air and my menthol calmed my nerves, I didn’t like spending evenings like this at home. I didn’t like big crowds of people I didn’t know, and I certainly did not like judgmental people who didn’t understand me or the people I worked with. I knew he was coming out before I heard the door open; the hairs on the back of my neck sticking up to alert me of his presence.
“Go away.” I told him without turning to look at him.
“Chase can we please just talk?”
“There is nothing to talk about. Get away from me.” I said, taking another drag from my cigarette, reflecting on our encounter six months ago at a party that was being thrown at my manager’s house in LA.
“Chase, please. Don’t be like this.”
“Stop calling me Chase!” I spun on
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