SHOOT: A Novel (4 page)

 
I wondered what it would be like to look out my
window and see something completely different.

It was about
10:30am and the house was quiet enough that I could actually enjoy my green tea
at the kitchen table without interruptions. I had gone to bed early, but didn’t
actually get any shuteye until late at night. My mother stepped into the
kitchen to clean up now that breakfast was over, but she didn’t bother me at
all.
 

“Let me help you,”
I said, moving to stand up but she shook her head.

“It’s okay. Just
sit and enjoy your tea,” she responded warmly without looking back at me.

 
It was the norm for my mom to take charge of
everything related to breakfast, the cleanup included. We had all come to think
of it as her domain for some reason, but it just worked. The noise of dishes,
water running, and scrubbing was like white noise to my ears as I enjoyed the sun
shining through the big, open windows of the kitchen. It was a beautiful warm
day.

That sense of
peace wouldn’t last long as Zoey came running down the stairs with something
clutched in her hand. Making all sorts of cooing noises, she plopped down on
the chair right next to me and stared at me with wide eyes. She was clearly up
to something so I tried to get a good look at whatever she was holding, but she
put her hand behind her back.

Then she turned to
look at whatever it was she was holding before asking, “Who is Sawn-Jah My-Er?”

It took a moment
for me to figure out what she just asked, but the moment I did, the blood
drained from my face. How could I have fallen asleep with the card clutched in my
hand, but have forgotten to put it away in the morning? In a flash, I tried to pry
the card out of her little hand, but she put up a good fight, giggling loudly
and taunting me.

“Give it to me!” I
warned her hoping that somehow, magically, my mom wouldn’t pay us any mind. Zoey
stood up and wiggled away, I lunging behind her. That was when mom saw what was
going on so she walked over immediately in an attempt to break up the commotion
between the us.

I gulped as I
watched her take the card from Zoey. She looked at it before reading aloud, “Sonja
Meier – Model Scout – Shoot High Fashion Modeling Agency – New York City.”

There was a very
pregnant pause in the kitchen as my pulse stood still and my throat went dry. She
stared at the card, but it was impossible for me to figure out what was running
through her mind. Zoey was smart enough to pick up on the mood of the room and
she quietly walked out, heading up the stairs to leave me alone with mom.
 

It felt like ages
before she finally looked up. “Where did this card come from, Chloe?” Her honey
brown eyes were piercing into my emerald green ones. I tried my best to stay
composed. I wasn’t afraid of her, but I had absolutely no idea how this
conversation would go. No matter how good our relationship was there was no
denying it was a nerve-wracking situation. My mother and I almost always got
along, but there was a constant elephant in the room. That elephant being me
wanting to leave Iowa. She always wanted me to stay and continue the family
farm.
 

“Um,” I finally said
in a timid whisper. It was time to just tell her the truth.

 
“I got it yesterday.”

 
I knew my mother wanted the whole story so I
launched into it, telling her about the woman who looked out of place, how she
approached the stand, and repeating the conversation I had with Sonja.

“I see,” she said
when I was finished, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. She rubbed her
hands on her apron after placing the card on the table. She looked down at it then
met my gaze again, “And what do you think of it all?”

I was very aware
of my heart racing against my chest and I was sure it beat right out of my ribs.
This was the moment to be completely honest with her. The opportunity to tell
her how I felt had practically been forced into my hands by none other than my
little sister.

“It’s
unbelievable,” I finally said, the awe and excitement in my voice was
completely obvious. I did my best to ignore the discontent in my mother’s eyes.
“I honestly can’t believe this woman thinks I have a real shot, mom. It’s like
a dream,” I paused and sat down. I looked straight into her eyes, hoping to
appeal to her soft side. Maybe if she saw how much her daughter wanted this she
would soften up a bit. It was a long shot, but I had to try.

“Mom,” I said
quietly, “I really want to go.”

She sighed and
leaned forward, placing her hand briefly over mine before shaking her head and
placing it back on the clean surface of the kitchen table.

“I know it sounds
like something amazing out of a movie, darling. I know that glitz and glamour
can have you high as kite in La-La Land, but you should think carefully. Be
practical.” She paused with a frown, bordering on a scowl. I knew I wasn’t
going to like whatever was coming next. “I think it’s best if you stay here and
help run the family business. Find a boy, settle down, have children. There’s
nothin’ good outside of Iowa.”

“This could be my
big chance to do something different, something I couldn’t have thought
possible in my wildest dreams! You really want me to stay here to sell pies?” I
was in disbelief and reaching desperation mode. This was a once in a lifetime
shot.

My mother looked
both hurt and angry, but her voice was steady when she spoke up, “You should be
proud.”

“I
am
, mom. That doesn’t mean I don’t know
there’s more out there in the world beyond this small town. I may know where I
come from and I appreciate everything, but it doesn’t mean it has to stop me
from wanting to explore something else,” I tried to reason. I had calmed my
tone of voice significantly because I wanted her to take me seriously. Getting
worked up and out of control never helped anyone.

After a long
silence, I scooted my chair away from the table and stood up.

“I’m going. I
have
to go.”

 
I took one last look at my mother’s upset face
before turning on my heel and walking upstairs to my bedroom, my ticket out of
there clutched securely in my hand.

I arrived in New
York a month later, coming in at the famed Grand Central Station by train. Although
I was offered a plane ticket, I had declined due to my fear of flying. Even
though I had never been on a plane before, I was pretty sure I’d hate it. I
felt like a complete country bumpkin admitting I had never been on an airplane,
but a sense of relief had spread over me when the booker told me it was
understandable and offered me a train ride instead.

The journey was
long, but worth it. Naturally, I had tried to sleep during the long trip, but I
was brimming with too much excitement and anxiety to have much luck with sleeping.
I ended up walking along the silent halls of the train at night, holding on to
the rail to keep from falling as it swayed from side to side.

My jaw dropped in
awe the moment I stepped out from under an archway and into the main lobby of
Grand Central Station. I saw a large twin staircase to my right. Up there I
would have the perfect vantage point to truly admire the place. I practically
scurried over to it, trailing my luggage behind me on its busy little wheels
and tugging it up the marble steps as I climbed them. I placed my hands on the
rail and looked down to admire the scene before me.

My eyes darted
from the display board, the lights, the ceiling, and the people walking in a
rush. It was all so amazing I couldn’t believe I was seeing it with my own eyes
rather than staring at it through a computer screen. It was even more grand
than it appeared in pictures and movies. It took every ounce of self-control
for me not to squeal out of sheer excitement. My dreams were finally happening.

Finally, I walked
outside Grand Central and, almost immediately, the sights and sounds of the
city overwhelmed me. I had never experienced anything remotely like it. The
fact that it was a busy weekday afternoon made the impact even greater. Despite
having seen the rush of people in the station moving in a flurry, it didn’t compare
to what I was witnessing now. I flattened back against the wall of the building
to stay out of the way from all the people on the sidewalk. I felt as if I
could get pushed forward and carried off at any given moment. I couldn’t help
but gawk at all the men in suits and women in heels walking around.

 
Everyone was so done up, maybe not quite as
glamorously as Sonja, but still enough to astound me. I stood there for a few
minutes just taking everything in, the sounds of the busy city deafening. I
finally came to and realized my hotel room was waiting and ready to be
checked-in to. That was when it hit me—I didn’t have the slightest idea how to hail
a cab.

I teetered close
to the edge of the sidewalk and peered around nervously in hopes someone would
hail a cab near me so I could watch how it was done. A handsome, clean-cut man
in a black suit with a royal blue tie walked up to me with a smile. I felt my heart
speed up. I gulped nervously and tried to give my best and friendliest smile.

“Need some help?”
he asked in a deep, but kind voice. I hadn’t been out on the street for more
than ten minutes and I had already seen a man more handsome than any of the
guys in my hometown. He had short, well-groomed black hair and deep blue eyes
that made my breath flutter. He was quite a bit taller than me so I had to look
up. The tall buildings were an overwhelming backdrop to the type of guy I
thought only existed in magazines. Yet, here he was, going about his day like
anybody else and offering a helping hand to a complete stranger.

“Ye-yes,” I
stammered, mentally scolding myself.

He smiled and
stuck his arm out, lifting up a finger and whistling. A few seconds later, a
cab pulled up beside us. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“Oh, uh,” I
stuttered, scrambling to pull out a piece of paper from my wallet. I suddenly
felt embarrassed at the messy scrawl of paper but I looked at him shyly, “The
Gramercy Park Hotel.”

The man opened up
the back door for me after helping with packing my luggage in the trunk and
told the driver where I was headed. He wished me a good day, closed the door,
and watched the cab peel away from the sidewalk. I turned to look at him and
waved before reveling in my first taste of a real, New York City man. I liked
how gentlemanly he was, but was annoyed that I felt a bit embarrassed to have
had to ask for help for such a simple task like hailing a cab.

I knew it made
perfect sense that I didn’t know, seeing as how this was my first visit to a
big city and New York was really being thrown into the deep end. I let out a
deep breath and leaned my head back, eyes closed for a moment until I calmed
down.

“Everything okay
back there?” the cab driver asked, eyes fixated on the rearview mirror so he
could look at me.

“Oh, yes,”

I straightened up
and eagerly started looking out the windows, not wanting to miss even a second
of everything I was passing on my way to the hotel. It was quite obvious I was
a tourist. If it wasn’t given away by my gaping astonishment at everything,
then it was by the way I dressed. It wasn’t so much that I was so
country
just that I didn’t quite look
like the women walking busily up and down the streets. I was too casual,
something I regretted the instant I walked into the main lobby of Grand Central
Station, but there was something to my appearance that was a dead giveaway.
 
 
 

“Are you here on a
visit?” the cab driver asked. He was making simple small talk on the drive,
which I appreciated because it made me feel a bit more at ease.

“Yes!” I
exclaimed, placing my hands flat on the back of the passenger’s seat headrest
and leaning forward to look out the front window. There was traffic everywhere
like I couldn’t believe and even that was exciting for me. “This is my first
visit here ever!” I gushed. After some time at the same stoplight I asked the
driver if he was originally from New York.

He chuckled and
shook his head, “I’m from Pakistan.” It was only then that I picked up on his
accent. I had been so enthralled by my experience so far that I had completely
missed it earlier, but now this was yet another thing to be amazed by. Already,
I loved how different and worldly New York was compared to my small farm town
in Iowa. Already I felt like I was really experiencing the big world I always
knew was out there and longed to explore.

Although I hadn’t
been there long, I couldn’t help but think that I would love it in New York. It
was already
better
than I imagined it
would be. The cab pulled up to the curb in front the luxurious and historic Gramercy
Park Hotel. Booked on the agency’s expense account by Sonja, I couldn’t even
fathom what my room might have cost per night. From the outside, it was a tall
and clean brick building. Its location was spectacular and it looked different from
the brick buildings I was used to seeing. But when I stepped inside, I was
instantly stunned by the beauty and grandeur of it all.

The
black-and-white checkered marbled floor was covered at the center by a huge red
rug with the letters “GPH” emblazoned on it. It led up to a magnificent
fireplace behind a set of chairs and couches the likes of which I could only
imagine how expensive they were. The chandelier hanging from the center was
tasteful and adorned the lobby quite nicely.

I took in my
surroundings before turning and heading to the reception desk where I tried to
sound as calm and confident as possible when giving my name for my reservation.
After being asked a few personal details for verification, the young woman
behind the desk smiled, “Your Gramercy Suite is ready for you now.” She nodded
to the bellboy standing behind me, ready to take my luggage and guide me up to
the suite.

“Thank you,” I
replied with a big Iowa smile, taking the key card from the receptionist. I was
thankful for the instructions printed on the back of the card. I didn’t count
on being booked into a suite, but was too embarrassed to act excited for
everyone to see. As soon as the bellboy left me at the room I practically jumped
up and down, shrieking excitedly and looking around in complete amazement. A
real suite in a luxury hotel in the most famous city of the world and it was
for me.

“I can’t believe
it!” I stretched my arms and looked around. The wall was a bold red-orange
color, the couch a deep lustrous red with a simple wooden table in front of it
and two fancy, embroidered dining chairs with tassels hanging off the corners. I
thought it was the sort of furniture for royalty and felt a rush of delight. I
turned to my left and saw French doors wide open to display the bedroom. The
wall leading into it was green, but it matched the red-orange wall opposite and
I noted the same red-orange was on the wall behind the bed.

“The bed,” I
muttered, eyes popping as I saw the king-sized beauty just waiting for me. I
ran and threw myself onto the plush surface, squirming like a little girl. The
linen was clean, white, and soft.

There was a red
throw blanket on the corner and I pulled it over me, shutting my eyes and fully
basking in the moment. I’d never known luxury like this. I never even imagined
it. My only experience with anything like it came exclusively from the movies I
had seen.

 
“Can this really be happening to me?”