Avoiding Intimacy (24 page)

“And, isn’t that strange? I mean, all things

considered,”

Chyna

snapped,

knowing it was a better defense than denying the charges.

“It is,” Cassandra admitted.

“Right,” she said, popping the
t
at the end of the word, as she rose from her chair. “I would think about what I said.

You’re the one letting him win.”

Cassandra slowly stood, too. She extended her hand toward Chyna who reluctantly shook it. Chyna was surprised she was even receiving this much hospitality. It wasn’t quite the warm welcome she had received at the Glam Ball.

“I’m sorry about Marco,” Cassandra finally said.

“Don’t be,” Chyna said viciously, trying to pull her hand back.

“I think he was madly in love with you,” she whispered, staring intently into Chyna’s green eyes.

Chyna’s mouth popped open in surprise. She was not expecting that.

“Then, you don’t know the first thing about love.”

Cassandra sighed and shook her head, releasing her hand. “I wish
you
did.”

She wrenched her hand back from Cassandra. How dare she! What a nosy little bitch! She had no right to presume anything about her or Marco. She certainly had no right to dash her dreams and then shove the stupid L-word down her throat.

How would she even know if Marco loved her? He was a player, and she wanted to be played. When she didn’t want to be played any longer, she left.

There was no added complication and no secret devotion between them. They were just two people who wanted to be fucked as they tried to get ahead.

Chyna grabbed her purse off the ground, took one last fleeting glance at Cassandra Corsa, and then left the restaurant with her last shred of dignity.

She was barely keeping it together.

By the time she made it out of Barneys, Chyna thought she was going to combust.

Her hands were balled into fists and shaking. Her jaw was set, and she thought she might scream any second. Short angry bursts escaped her mouth, and people passing by glanced at her nervously. She let out a string of expletives, cursing everything under the sun for her existence today. More people stared, but she didn’t care. She was seeing red.

She took a seat on an empty bench and pulled out her phone. Alexa would make it better. She would understand…except Chyna hadn’t told her everything that had happened. They had breezed over the details when she had landed at her door.

Of course, she knew about the cover spread, but that was what she had been in Milan for in the first place. Not that she was trying to hide it from Alexa. She had told her about Marco, but Alexa had assumed, as most people would, that it was a just a fling. Nothing more. She just hadn’t gone into the details.

Plus, Alexa was leaving for Atlanta today. Another harebrained idea to deal with her men. Why couldn’t either of them manage relationships?

Chyna figured that at least she had one person left whom she could always vent to. Pressing Frederick’s number, she waited for him to answer.

“Sugar, it’s been a while since I’ve heard your sweet voice,” Frederick crooned into the phone.

“Hey,” she said, her voice lacking her normal pep. “Can you talk?”

“I’m at work but sure,” he said, kind of taken aback by her somber tone.

She usually took her lows to Alexa, but she couldn’t right now. Maybe she just wanted him to call her a bitch and be done with it.

“I can’t sugarcoat it,” she said, swallowing. She had cried once before, and the crumbling of her dreams should have warranted the same emotional breakdown. But she would not cry over this. At least this time, she found her anger. “I really fucked up.”

“What else is new? Tell me?” he said.

She could hear him adjusting the phone, likely holding it up against his shoulder while he reupholstered a couch or sewed a pillow or wherever his interior decorating skills took him.

“Where to start?” she grumbled. “I fucked Marco Moretti.”

“Shut up!” he cried.

“He likes it kinky.”

“Shut up!”

“I let him chain me to the bed naked, photograph me, and make a sex tape.”

“Shut the fuck up, you dirty little slut!

Can I have your life, please?!”

“Please take it,” she told him, trying hard to keep breathing properly.

“What could
possibly
make you want to give that shit up?” he demanded.

“That’s the thing…I did give it up. I stole a million-dollar dress, the pictures, the sex tape, left him, and came back to New York,” she whispered the whole explanation. It sounded less and less believable every time. How had she actually gone through with that?

“You…what?”

he

asked,

nearly

dropping the phone.

“He’s ruined it all. He’s blacklisted me across the entire design market. I’ve been termed unhirable. I had a job offer for modeling in the fall, and they retracted it! They actually retracted the fucking offer!” she cried, unable to believe what she was saying. How could he be so cruel?

“I hate to say this,” Frederick said, suddenly serious, “but…he didn’t ruin it all. You did, baby girl.”

“What?” she asked, standing straight up off of the park bench in astonishment.

“You walked out on him after all of that? Sweetheart, I’d do
way
worse!” he told her honestly. “If he’s going through the effort to fuck you over so thoroughly, he had it for you, and he had it bad. I’d go through hell and high water to make sure you were miserable without me.”

“Fuck!” she cried angrily. “Can’t you just fucking sympathize with me? Why do you have to be so logical?”

“Look, bitch, if you can’t take the heat, get out of the fucking kitchen!”

“Fine! I will!” she yelled through the phone.

“Whatever. You’ll come crawling back for more. I’m the only man you ever keep coming back to.”

She felt that like a slap to the face. She needed to remind herself never to fight with Frederick again. He fought dirty, and she was too sensitive right now. What he was saying hurt! And all she wanted to do was stop feeling.

“Just wait until you see what I do to my apartment,” she growled into the phone.

“Find another designer to clean up your mess!” he snapped, the double meaning clear in his words. He hung up before she could get the last word in.

Of all the things she had been expecting from Frederick, anger and judgment were not among them.

Without him, whom else could she talk to about this? How could she make them understand that she had lost something special to her…something that had really mattered to her? People didn’t think anything mattered to her besides drinking and random hook-ups. How could she prove them wrong now? The industry wouldn’t let her stick with modeling, and it would all look like just another thing that Chyna quickly got tired of.

She sat back on the bench, her anger seeping out of her like sand through a sieve. There was one person. One person who would understand what she had given up to get to where she was in modeling.

One person who would understand what she was losing by giving it up.

Her hands were trembling as suspense stole her stomach. This shouldn’t be so difficult. She used to talk to him every day.

She waited for the line to click over to voicemail. He wasn’t going to answer.

Just another disappointment
.
She heard him clearing his voice before anything else. It was so familiar that she nearly smiled.

“Hey,” he muttered into the phone.

“Now really isn’t a good time. Can I call you back?”

She sighed. “Can we talk?”

“I…uh, do you…think that’s a good idea? We kind of…” he trailed off.

“Please,” she begged. “I’m not asking for much, just some of your time.”

He paused, releasing a sigh that said he was going to give in. “When you didn’t call after you got back, I thought it was over,” he said softly.

“Isn’t that what you want?” she asked, her desperation palpable.

“How could you think I wanted that?”

“You ended it.”

“You were leaving.”

She sighed, thinking about everything that had happened since she left New York. A lot of it was pretty fucked-up, but a lot of it wasn’t. She loved modeling.

Wasn’t it better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all
?
Even if it hurt like hell?

“I’m glad I did,” she finally responded softly, “but not that I lost you in the process.”

There
.
She had admitted it.

PRESENT

Chyna watched Alexa walk away from her town car toward the airport. After her conversation with Adam earlier, she had felt a lot better about what had happened to her. She had wanted to tell Alexa about what

had

happened

with

Marco,

Cassandra, Frederick—with all of them— but she had so much else to deal with right now.

Going to this wedding was a terrible idea, and as much as Chyna had tried to talk her out of it, she couldn’t reason with Alexa. If Chyna had unloaded all of her problems on Alexa today, that would have been really bad for her friend. Chyna wanted to tell her, but timing was key. It could wait until she got back. It was just one week.

Plus, Alexa was hiding things from her anyway. She wouldn’t tell her whom she had been secretly seeing. She thought she was so clever, but Chyna saw it all over her that she was into someone new.

Eventually, she would get it out of her, but perhaps, that was a conversation for later as well. After that godforsaken wedding.

Adam would be off work soon, and he had promised to come over to talk. She was picking up Chinese food, his favorite take-out. It felt really normal, and she kind of liked it. She needed some normal in her life after the whirlwind that had taken over.

Carl drove her back to her place, and a weight seemed to settle on her shoulders as she took the elevator to the top floor.

She’d had to keep it together for Alexa, but she couldn’t keep the act up. What had happened was eating away at her slowly but surely.

She had officially hit rock bottom.

Before this, she had never really known what it felt like. She had lost Adam of her own volition. Hope still sprung up between them, but she didn’t know what would happen once they started talking.

Would the old feelings blossom again?

Or, would he realize what she had known all along—that she wasn’t good enough for him? It seemed fitting, considering everything else.

She had lost Marco. She had lost the Corsa contract. She had lost modeling all together. Frederick was mad at her, not that she thought that would last.

Chyna hated sounding like the poor, little rich girl, but she had never put herself out there before long enough to let everything fall apart. It was an eye-opening experience to…fail.

She heaved in a deep breath and entered her apartment. She stopped in her tracks at the living room. How had she forgotten that she was tearing the place apart? She and Frederick had gotten into a lover’s spat last week, and the place was still only halfway back to normal. She had threatened to take it back to its earlier form of distaste, but now, it felt dramatic.

Staring at her messy apartment only made all the fresh memories wash over her.

What had she been thinking?

She had a lot of work to do.

As she waited for Adam, she placed the take-out in the refrigerator and did something she should have done a long time ago. She walked through her living room and back into her massive closet.

Hanging in the back, hidden behind hundreds of other garments, was the million-dollar dress.

She removed it from the hanger and carried it back into the living room. She grabbed an empty box from her latest purchase that was discarded on her floor and placed it on her black leather sofa.

She smiled forlornly at the dress as she fingered the precious material. That part of her life was over, and it was time to let go of the past. She sighed heavily, letting it all out.

Carefully folding the dress, she placed it into the box, sealed it, and wrote Marco’s address on the shipping label.

Once she mailed it tomorrow, that would be the end of it.

Satisfied with her decision, she went about actually cleaning her apartment before Adam’s arrival. It wasn’t dirty.

She still had housekeepers after all, but she was tired of the clutter in her life. She took the bamboo blinds and a few other random environmental pieces she had acquired on a whim and hid them in a side closet. She would get rid of them properly later. She grabbed a stack of old framed black-and-white photographs from the same closet, happy to place them back on the wall where they belonged.

The collage she had built over years from collecting pictures of obscure locals finally came back into shape. She hung up the next one, adjusting it to make sure it was straight, and then grabbed one of the last pictures. As she stood up and glanced at the picture, her breath caught, and she nearly dropped the picture.

She had completely forgotten that she had brought back framed photographs from Milan. When she had returned to New York, she had been furious for even using all that space in her suitcase for them, so she had hidden them in that closet. She was a collector, and even then, leaving the pictures had seemed like a waste.