Inside Straight

Tiff’s eyes bugged out. “Two million for a purse?!”

“Tiff, that’s in yen,” I said. “The conversion rate is, like, totally insane.” I wasn’t about to tell her that at retail in the states, Birkins could cost from $15,000 to $50,000. Which was also completely insane.

“Okay, I confess, it’s not a real Birkin,” I said. I hoped my lie would mollify Tiffani.

“I’m certain that is a real Hermés,” the tourist said. “There are certain distinguishing signs.…”

Why did I have to run into the one Japanese tourist with perfect English and an eye for overpriced accessories? I felt terrible. Tiffani had grown up so poor.

The crowd was swelling, traffic was backed up behind the limo, and I’d managed to dent the front end of a bus as well as destroy a Lexus. Our day of fun was rapidly turning into a gigantic horror show. I was trying to figure out what to do when Tiffani grabbed my hand, stood on tiptoe, and whispered in my ear. “We can’t fix any of this,” she said. “Let’s get in the car and let the PA sort it out.”

“I can’t just leave,” I said. “This is my fault. And how on earth will he be able to handle all this?”

“Please get in the car, ladies,” said the driver. Normally, the drivers didn’t talk to us—unless we initiated the conversation. “If I come back without you, it’s my job.”

I was torn. The PA was clearly in over his head, but I didn’t want to get the driver in trouble. Reluctantly, I allowed Tiff to pull me into the limo.

~ ~ ~

Tiffani and I sat in the Jacuzzi. Tiff was wearing an itty-bitty bikini and I wore the Big Girls Special. I might as well have been wearing a muumuu. We could hear Drummer Boy banging around inside the house. He was massively pissed at being taken off the Hearts team.

When we all got back from the taping—what a fun car ride that was, what with Drummer Boy alternately sulking and making snide remarks—Tiff suggested that she and I should grab a couple of bottles of wine and hang out in the backyard until things inside quieted down some.

“Wow, he’s got some stamina,” I said. “He’s been in there banging around for at least an hour.”

Tiff took a drink of her wine, then wrinkled her nose. “You’d think this stuff would taste better. Actually, I think he’s playing. Sounds like Tommy Lee’s drumming.”

“Well, I can’t taste anything,” I said. “After two glasses my mouth’s kinda numb. Yeah, you know it does sound like he’s drumming in there.”

Tiff got up and reached for the wine bottle. Water sluiced off her, ran down her back, and between her legs. I closed my eyes. It was too distracting. I imagined sliding my hand between her legs, and that didn’t help anything. I opened my eyes and Tiff was filling my glass up. “So,” she said, as she settled into the water again. “What’s the story with your purse?”

I groaned. I’d hoped we wouldn’t end up talking about it. “Okay, I’ll explain it,” I said. “But you have to promise that you’ll keep it a secret.”

She looked at me with limpid eyes. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.” Her tongue darted into her wine glass. And that made me take another big drink. I leaned closer to her, hoping that between whispering and the noise of the Jacuzzi, they wouldn’t have good enough sound to air what I was about to say.

“I’m not Michelle LaFleur,” I whispered. “I mean, that’s my real name, but I work under the name Michelle Pond. I’m a model. I mean, I was a model. I started young. You know, I was the OshKosh B’Gosh girl for like five years when I was a kid.”

“You? A model?”

I laughed. It did sound ridiculous, given my current appearance. “I know, it seems goofy, doesn’t it?” I said softly. “I was in demand, and since I never went through an ‘awkward’ stage, I kept working solid from the time I was two years old until well, just about now.”

Tiff adjusted the top of her bikini. I tried not to stare.

“Anyway, I pretty much did it all,” I said. “Runway shows, fashion modeling, the works. And I had a great career, except that I was working like a dog and not seeing any of the money from it.”

“I can barely hear you,” she said, scooting closer. She dropped her voice lower as well. “But if you were working, where did the money go?”

And there it was. The question that I dreaded. The reality of my life that was so bitter to me, I could barely stand to think about it, much less talk about it.

But there was Tiffani with such sympathy in her eyes, and the wine made me feel disconnected from myself. I drained my glass for Dutch courage.

“Well, that’s the embarrassing part.” I put my glass on the side of the pool. “My parents both quit their jobs to be my full-time manager and agent. I worked nonstop. Worked like a mule. All that stuff normal kids get to do, I got to pretend to do in commercials and pictures.” As I talked about it, I felt queasy. “For a long time, I didn’t want to believe what was happening. But when I was fourteen, I figured out how to get into their computer, and I saw their accounts.