Fight or Fall (2 page)

"Ms. Troudeau, we're landing in forty-five minutes."

I heard Kathy, the flight stewardess, try to rouse me from sleep. It'd been a while since I slept this long on a flight. I was awake for the first four and a half hours of the flight - answering e-mails, synchronizing my schedule in my Blackberry, and catching up with Brynn. The last one took the longest and brought warmth to my heart. My best friend since first grade, Brynn, is now happily involved in a hot-and-heavy romance with the World's hottest swimmer. Judging by my best friend's giggles, Kieran's talents extended way beyond the Olympic pool. My Brynnie deserves it. She'd been through so much in her life that it was about time someone gave her the love and care that she rightfully deserved.

I straightened myself up, slowly unwrapping myself from the light blue cashmere blanket that covered my pajama-clad body. One of the great things about traveling in my father's planes was that I could wear, eat, and pretty much do whatever I wanted.

"Kathy, did Daria say anything about what I'm supposed to wear tonight?" I asked as she lifted the window shades across from me. It was routine to have the window shades lifted during take-off and landing, and Kathy knew that I loved to see the view at all times.

Daria's my assistant, personal shopper, pizza-delivery lady, and sometimes confidante. She's the woman who organizes my closet, tells me which designer to wear for an event, and ensures that I had enough orange Tic-Tacs in my matching purse to last me through the event.

Kathy slumped back on the chair in front of me. "She mentioned Lisa Kincade for tonight, Ms. Troudeau."

Lisa Kincade? Oh, the gold one. Hmm. Tonight must be special. Thinking back, Daria sounded hyper-alert and even asked me to put on extra make-up tonight when I talked to her before boarding the plane. She seemed extra bossy, making sure that I arrived on time in Vegas and almost had a conniption when Jose, the limo driver, made a wrong turn on the way to Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris.

Was it because tonight's the opening of the new business venture which my father had been trying to get up and running for the past two years? I'd been to so many events for my dad that most of the time I didn’t even recall what they were for. Luckily, I had Daria on hand to remind me and fill me in on the details.

I slowly stood up from the chair. I could've slept inside the private bedroom, but I liked talking to Kathy. She regaled me of her stories about her ten and sixteen year old daughters. I'd met them in person and they were a bunch of sweethearts. They had their mother's engaging personality and adorable blue eyes. Kathy was a single mom whose husband left her when the girls were two and eight. She was a hard-working woman, and I respected her more for raising two wonderful girls alone.

"Ms. Troudeau, would you like another glass of champagne?" Kathy inquired as I walked across the aisle so I could start prepping for the event tonight. As soon as we landed, I had exactly twenty minutes to hop in the limo, get briefed by Daria, and face the paparazzi.

"Kathy, how many times have I told you to call me Ava?" Gosh, she really had to stop calling me Ms. Troudeau. Almost everyone in the world called me that. It was exasperating at times and made me feel older than my twenty four years.

She gave a little laugh. "You know I only mean well. You are Ms. Troudeau, and I must maintain a semblance of professionalism around you."

"Come on, Kathy, my father's not here." When my father was around, everyone acted and looked their best. He was not a man to be messed with. He demanded, no, obligated everyone around him to act and look their part. No room for excuses; apologies were nothing but afterthoughts.

Giving her one last glance before I stepped inside one of the two private bedrooms on the plane that I considered my own, I enthused, "Thank you for the offer, but I better not chance it. I need my full wits tonight before I say something inappropriate to the press."

Now halfway inside my bedroom, I called out, "You can keep calling me Ms. Troudeau, Kathy, but you can't stop me from sending your daughters their favorite chocolate bars from Switzerland."

One time, I had an unopened leftover candy bar in my purse that I offered to Alissa, Kathy's youngest daughter, and she had loved it so much. I grabbed the chocolate bar at Switzerland's Zurich airport, unknowing that it would cause an obsession for Alissa. Since then, I'd a revolving quarterly Swiss account of chocolate delivered to Kathy's house. Alissa had been diagnosed with a rare neurological disorder of an unknown origin, and caused grand mal seizures at inopportune times, making her a least likely candidate for air travel. It was the least I can do for someone as sweet as her and for a mother who obviously took great care of her daughters. I was already planning on asking Tina, Alissa's older sister, for their wishlist for Christmas. Last year, a secret Santa gifted them with a new entertainment center which turned out not-to-be-such a secret after all because the delivery guys outed me. Kathy wanted to give it all back because she said it was too much. I shrugged her off and informed her that it was a last-minute sale and therefore non-refundable. She, of course, thanked me profusely, to which I had to actually put a stop to it by threatening her with termination if she kept thanking me. I'd never fire her though. She was one of my father's most loyal employees. She deserves a medal for putting up with his extremely high and unreasonable standards.

Opening my closet, I took out the silk gold dress from Lisa Kincade's new fall collection. Lisa was fast becoming my favorite designer. Her collections spoke to a woman's body - the curves, the pleating, the fabric, the details. This one was no exception. The feel of the silk was heavenly, but the crisscrossed pleats at the bodice and skirt added to the mystique of the outfit. The fitted, slight A-line silhouette was very intriguing. Usually, dresses like these were more skintight than A-line; hence my increasing admiration for Lisa. She was a risk-taker, a new force in the fashion industry. I had to make sure to text her later on how I felt about her dress.

“Miss Troudeau and Kathy, in a few minutes we’re going to be landing at McCarran International Airport. Local time is 6:22 PM and the temperature is 72 degrees. For your safety and comfort, I ask that you please remain seated with your seatbelt fastened until I turn off the fasten seatbelt sign. On behalf of Troudeau Enterprises, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip,” Peter, the pilot, announced over the plane’s speakers.

I sat back down on the chair by the window and fastened my seatbelt. After years of flying, I knew the safety precautions to take during landing. Even when no one was looking.

“And Miss Ava, have fun tonight.” I grinned at Peter’s affectionate voice over the speakers. He was a retired Air Force pilot and had been my family’s personal pilot for many years. The co-pilots alternated between Adam and George, but Peter was the captain of the crew.

I looked over at the glass window. I don't look over at the windows during take-offs. But landings I couldn’t miss. When a plane lands, it reminds me that I'm here, at my destination, ready to step out and meet the world again. Flying had never been my favorite thing. Who would want to have their life be at the mercy of a pilot, a human, a person who could fall asleep at the cockpit or have a momentary lapse in judgment and forget how to turn a knob, a control, or instructions on how to land a plane? Definitely not me.

The shimmering lights of the Vegas skyline was on full display tonight. The towering buildings, the congested traffic, the colorful billboards; I could see them clearer now as the plane hovered in the air. Vegas was a city of sin and delightful treats. It's where one can lose themselves and indulge in pleasures that may be unfamiliar to them, but had longed for. The overt extravagance of each hotel, the abundance of various foods from many different cuisines, the decadence of entertainment shows, the pre-conceived notion that anything that happens here stays here – these are the things that Vegas stood for.

Leaning forward in my chair, I straightened my pajamas with my right hand. To some, Vegas was the symbol of opulence, realization of desires, and hidden pleasures. It's a city where dreams can be fulfilled and vows can be broken. It's where the lights never seem to go out and the fun never dies. Vegas, with its 135.8 square miles of land, was a glorious sight at night. And one man was responsible for keeping all that glory intact. One man who had the city in the palm of his hand since he moved here thirty five years ago. He owned seventy percent of all the entertainment venues, casinos, and restaurants.

He was known to the world as Maxwell Troudeau.

I knew him as my father.

"Ava, you look beautiful tonight! Who are you wearing?" Kelsey Cameron, former Ms. Teen USA, now entertainment news correspondent for Hollywood Tonight, posed the question after I walked the short red carpet lined up with celebrities towards the entrance of my father's latest business venture.

Smiling at her and facing the camera, I replied, "This amazing gown is by Lisa Kincade. She's becoming a new fave. And my shoes are Louboutin's." I always gave credit to the designers who sent me clothes, shoes, and accessories to wear. They were kind enough to let me wear their creations, and it was a small favor to mention their names in front of the press.

Kelsey's blue eyes shined. "You always look gorgeous, Ava. How do you do it?"

I gave her a small grin. "Thank you. You're so sweet." If she only knew what I looked like earlier in my pajamas and messy hair before getting off of the plane, she might have changed her mind about her compliment.

What she was seeing now was the made-up Ava, all glammed up and ready to take on the world. I applied extra shimmery eye shadow with a crème color base to my eyelids and a bronzer to my cheeks to compliment my dress. My hair fell down past my shoulders after clipping it up on the sides with my mom's diamond hair barrettes. For my lips, I used a tinted pink lip gloss for a pop of color.

Luckily, I was blessed with my mother's great genes. Magazines have referred to my face as sculpted by the finest painters; the high cheekbones, the arched eyebrows, the soft, plump lips. I had nothing to do with that. Those I inherited from my mom, the woman who launched a thousand magazines and catapulted the popularity of two-piece swimsuits to the world. My 5'10", 140-pound frame was also a generous gift from my mom. I didn't have to work out in order to keep everything lean and tight. I had a rapid metabolism naturally. I just loved to work out anyways. My face, my body - these were the reasons why I was the media representative for my father's companies. Ever since I turned eighteen, my father required my presence at Troudeau Enterprises sponsored events. My father had a reputation of being a hard, difficult man, much to the chagrin of his investors. Since I became the face of the company, the public has seen his company under a new light - one that was more relatable and could be trusted. He was already an established man, but with just under a year of my presence in front of cameras, attending media and charity events, the stock value of the company he built from the ground up had quadrupled in assets.

The public loved me, and I loved being in front of the camera. Under the magnified lenses, the glittering lights, the hustle and bustle of multiple interviews going on, I was at home. In front of the camera, I shone, bloomed, and grew. I had fun with it. I loved being at the center of it all. I liked the feeling that I could talk and someone would listen, even if I didn’t hear back from them directly. I prided myself in knowing that in the usual fifteen to thirty minute interviews, I was carrying on my mother's legacy. This was her world. A world where she was at her finest, in her glory, until she met him. My penchant for being photographed, my desire to smile in front of the cameras and show off my face and body, I got it all from her. But there was one thing that was passed on to me from the other half of my DNA. The unique gray eyes that can vary from having hints of yellow and blue to almost black onyx, depending on my mood, was the one thing that set me apart from my mom. I got it from my father.