On the Mountain (Follow your Bliss #5)

On the Mountain

By Deirdre Riordan Hall

Follow your Bliss Series

Book Five

On
the Mountain

Copyright© 2014
Deirdre Riordan Hall

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage
and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author/publisher
except where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products
of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Website:
http://www.deirdreriordanhall

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“If
you are faced with a mountain, you have several options. You can climb it and
cross to the other side. You can go around it. You can dig under it. You can
fly over it. You can blow it up. You can ignore it and pretend it’s not there.
You can turn around and go back the way you came. Or you can
 
stay on the mountain and make it your
home.”

—Vera
Nazarian

Part
One: Climb

“
The mountains are
calling and I must go
.”
-John Muir

Chapter One

“It’s her again,” Baskia said,
winding one long strand of blond hair around her finger, a nervous habit.

“You do realize that if you don’t
answer she’ll be knocking on the door before the end of the day,” Mellie
warned. “She’s already called three times.”

Baskia didn’t add that she’d been
avoiding the conversation with her mom for three days, never mind the last few
times the phone jingled.

“It’s better than her not calling
at all. She just wants to talk to you.”

Baskia blinded herself in the
glow of sunshine coming in through the window, avoiding the delicate topic for
her oldest childhood bestie. Baskia’s mother, Anne Benedict, had been best
friends with Mellie’s mom, Emily. They were society women who’d raised their
daughters to be among the elite—when it came to selecting a college to attend,
among other things. When Mellie’s mother passed away after a short battle with
cancer, it crushed both the Winthrop and the Benedict family, but none so much
as Mellie.

The door slammed. Kate London
entered the room, her hair disheveled. She wore a short, metallic skirt and a
fitted tank, evidence of the previous night’s party.

“What’s the problem?” she asked
without missing a beat.

“Hiya, Kate,” Mellie said with a
smile. “Baskia’s mom won’t stop calling.”

Kate, who preferred to go by
London, ignored her. She may not have come from money, but her days spent
modeling with Baskia gave her a sophisticated, or rather entitled air, that she
dispensed generously. London never warmed to Mellie, as likeable as she was, wedging
Baskia in the middle of perpetual awkwardness. But Mellie didn’t come around
often. It was only in the last month that Baskia returned from one of many long
stretches abroad, on modeling jobs in chic cities and tropical locales, which
brought her old friend for visits. 

London slouched onto the couch
and kicked off a pair of ebony high heels.

“Spill,” Baskia said, having
skipped the party the night before after promising she’d have brunch with
Mellie.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Models,
hotties, drink-drink, kiss-kiss.” London yawned.

“Yes, but you left last night
around eleven p.m.; it’s eleven a.m...”

Mellie’s eyes widened.

“Don’t worry, I was a good girl,”
London said, eyeing Mellie. “Well, not that good.”

“Who’d you hook up with?” Baskia
asked.

London tried to hide her grin as
she curled her long legs under her. “Remember that guy we did the Valentino
spread with?”

“Not Nels?”

“Yes, Nels.”

“You’re crazy.”

“He’s crazy hot,” London said,
shrugging.

Baskia didn’t mention that
between shots on the Rome set the two of them had “practiced” getting the photo
scene just right—a freeze frame of them leaning in close like they were going
to kiss—resulting in them actually kissing. Then, the following night she
caught him in a VIP room snorting something and making out with another girl.
The scene ended in a fight between Nels and the girl’s boyfriend. Typical.

Seeing that side of him told her
he was a little too wild for her refined upbringing, not that she was a
stranger to the party scene. However, the lines between right and wrong, wine
and booze, pills and drugs grew increasingly blurred in the past year. None of
it was too crazy for London who claimed the dearly coveted title of
“discovered” at a shopping mall, winning her a modeling contract identical to
Baskia’s high paying deal.

“We should probably get go—”
Mellie started, but the jingle on Baskia’s cell phone interrupted her. “You
really should answer it. She’s going to get worried.”

“Whatever. You’re an adult, do
what you want,” London countered, sniffing at Mellie. She didn’t look up from
her phone as she texted rapidly.

Baskia knew if she let it ring
once more, it would go to voicemail, again. She pressed talk.

“Mom, I can’t talk right now, but
I’ll call you back this afternoon. I’m going out to brunch with Mellie,” she
said in one breath before hanging up. She knew the mention of Mellie’s name
would pacify her mother. Although Anne Benedict had been the one to encourage
her daughter to go into modeling, she didn’t approve of some of the characters
she’d met in the last three years, namely London.

“Well, we should go,” Mellie
said.

“Let me grab my purse,” Baskia
said, peeling off the couch. Since returning from her last shoot in Buenos
Aires and walking in a series of shows, she hadn’t wanted to go anywhere: not
to parties, work, and least of all to the lunch and dinner meetings her mother
had set up with alums and high-ups from the colleges she’d selected for her
daughter. It was summer; she wanted to be on vacation—or something, she just didn’t
know what. However, that hadn’t stopped London from persuading her to party,
nearly every night. It’s what they did.

When Baskia and Mellie reached
the door, London called, “Bring me back something good.”

As the doorman to the building
swept them onto the sidewalk, the heat of the late summer morning slapped
Baskia in the face, causing her to want to retreat up to the cool apartment her
parents owned. “Want to order in?” she asked.

“Listen to you; after you finally
got
me
out of
my
house, you’re the one who wants to head back in.
Nope, we’re going out,” Mellie said cheerfully. The weight of her grief finally
showed signs of lifting. Still, she was strained; something pulled at the
corners of her eyes and the lilt in her voice.

It wasn’t lost on Baskia that
Mellie had sought comfort with her mother, Anne, the young woman and the old,
united by the grief they shared. Part of Baskia resented this. Her mother
rarely offered her attention unless she had to do something or be somewhere.
She was tired of all the have-tos and commitments that were part of the
upper-class canon. She even suspected Anne had put Mellie up to the impromptu
brunch plans to pester her about her future.

After bypassing the eager crowd
by the door and settling into the plush red chair, Baskia suddenly wanted to
trade in the formal dining room for a cozy cafe with dim light, a simple plate
of eggs and toast or at least all-you-can eat scones, muffins, and other
assorted baked goods. Her stomach grumbled; her skimpy eating habits and late
nights spent imbibing crept up on her, leaving her oddly empty.

She perused the menu, but knew
she’d order the Chef’s Salad, dressing on the side; she did have a shoot at the
end of the week. The couple at the neighboring table ate politely and all Baskia
wanted to do was stuff her face. Still, she had an image attached to a lot of
money. Keeping herself in top model form was getting exhausting. The rush of
late nights and early calls stretched her too thin, leaving her squirrelly with
the urge to hibernate. Or maybe she just wanted to escape the impending first
semester at college. But which one, stay in NYC, go to Boston like her brother,
or hop the sound to Yale?

After the two friends placed
their orders, Mellie put her hand on Baskia’s arm. “Listen, I know it’s hard to
commit to four years, but it’s only four years. You’ve practically seen the
world traveling for modeling and you managed to keep up with your tutoring.
Your mom just doesn’t want you to let all that hard work go to waste.”

Baskia bristled; Mellie’s words
sounded more and more like Anne had fed them to her. “I just think I’d like to
take a year off, a break, to figure out what I want to do.” She didn’t add, or
else I feel like I might break. She searched the busy restaurant for a
distraction.

“You don’t need to pick your
major right away. However, the window is closing. You were accepted into top
schools, but if you don’t make a choice soon, not even the strings your parents
can pull will hold your spot.”

Baskia shifted in her seat. The
subject made her want to squirm right out of her skin and into someone like
London’s. She didn’t have a mother dictating what she had to do and when she
had to do it. Unless it was on her terms, she didn’t have to be anywhere or do
anything.  

“I know I’ve been dragging my
feet about making a decision about college, but I’m not sure where to go or
what to do. What do you really want to do? I mean, you had aspirations to go
into film, but you declared you’d study business, just like your father.”
Baskia to shift the focus off herself.

“There’s no one else to take over
when he retires. My—I was asked to keep it in the family.”

Baskia had been abroad when Emily
Winthrop passed away, and she gleaned Emily had asked her daughter to pursue
business. But to Baskia that wasn’t honoring a dying woman’s wishes. It sounded
like death itself. “There’s no cousin or other relative to take your place?
Then you would be able do your own thing.”

“I don’t want to,” Mellie said,
looking down at her reflection in the gleaming tableware.

A server refilled their coffee
cups.

“The thing is, I don’t know what
I want to do. I can’t imagine becoming a lawyer or working in the corporate
world.” Baskia felt like her voice sounded weak and frail with uncertainty,
like she was a child pleading that she wasn’t ready for her turn.  

“You’d still be able to model.”

“It’s not that. It’s just—” But
Baskia didn’t know. She was frustrated at not being able to articulate what she
felt. A knurled awareness deep inside groaned and nudged, leaving her
unsettled, but it didn’t point in a definitive direction, telling her exactly
how to arrive at a decision, or suggesting her purpose.

Polished white plates appeared.
After the waiter asked if they needed anything else, he disappeared, leaving
them in boggy silence.

Baskia enjoyed being with Mellie;
her friend was relaxed, despite her intelligence and high standards. She didn’t
have to be on, as she so often did, but uncertainty prickled and prodded at
her.

“Don’t you ever want more?”
Baskia said, picking at the precious portion of lettuce and veggies.

Drawing a deep breath, Mellie
looked across the table at her friend. 

“You can’t be serious? We have
every opportunity imaginable. We’ve gone to exclusive private schools, have
rubbed shoulders with senators, royalty, execs of all stripes, you have a
high-paying modeling contract, have traveled the world, studied with top
tutors, all the colleges you applied to accepted you. You have friends who
adore you, a family who—” but Mellie stopped. “You do have
more
,” she
said in a quiet voice.

Mellie’s lidded eyes told Baskia
that she’d hit on something painful: losing her mother. But that wasn’t what
Baskia had meant at all. In fact, she tried hard to avoid the topic entirely,
however somehow it managed to slip into most conversations. What she meant was,
less: fewer requirements, lower expectations, and definitely not so many
conversations about her future. She wanted to shape it, not hand it over to her
mother.

“Just don’t throw it away.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Baskia
said with a twinge of irritation.

After brunch, the two exchanged a
hug.

“I promise I’ll call my mom
later,” Baskia said as they parted. Later was a broad word, she assured herself
as she hailed a cab and directed the driver to Saks.

As a model, she was gifted
ridiculous amounts of swag in the form of clothing, accessories, and shoes, but
when in doubt, disturbed, or in a funk, Baskia let her rectangular plastic card
do the soothing. Right then, she needed distance from real life so she didn’t have
to think about the present, the future, or the sad state of her childhood best
friend, try as she did to hide her ongoing grief.

Baskia eyed a pair of studded
Louboutins London was sure to envy. As she slipped one on her foot, she exhaled
deeply. The finely crafted heel fit her perfectly. Although there were things
she loved and hated about her job as a model, she knew one thing for sure: she
was born to wear heels, the higher the better.

As she strode across the marble,
tiled floor, she sensed people eyeing her, admiring her long legs, her fluid
stride, and the way her blond hair tossed subtly with each step. As she pulled
out her credit card, she felt the high she’d been yearning for, that moment of
escape.

Back at her building, as Baskia
rode the elevator to the penthouse floor, the reality of talking to her mother
returned. Her spirits plummeted. She hoped London was awake so she could show
her the purchase, talk about the party, and even tolerate listening to London
squawk about Nels.

When she entered, only the hum of
the climate control greeted her. Baskia walked past London’s closed bedroom
door, sighing.

She spent the next half hour
perusing her social media, Instagram-ing a photo of the studded white heels,
and uprooting half her closet to find the dress she wanted to pair them with to
go to the industry party that night. Her focus scattered to a half-finished
magazine, a chipped nail polish repair, and incoming texts. Mellie’s words and
the notion of responsibility hung over head like a noble, but very heavy crown.