Mine Are Spectacular! by Janice Kaplan Read Free Book Online Page B

“Are you okay?”
    â€œYeah, but I forgot. My client Kirk. Or former client. I said I’d meet him at a photo shoot today in Manhattan to lend my support. He’s going to be one of
People
magazine’s Fifty Sexy Young Stars. Do you want to come?”
    â€œWhich one is he?” I ask, trying to click through the clients Berni has told me about.
    â€œThe hunk I discovered working in a Santa Monica car wash. He had his shirt on but I could still recognize his talent. Now he plays Dr. Lance Lovett on that medical soap opera. You know the one—
Days of Our Knives.
”
    â€œThen let’s go,” I say, jumping up. Even a sweaty car on Metro North would be more appealing than this Arctic igloo. The place feels like the set for
The Day After Tomorrow.
Now that I know global warming makes the world colder, I might stop using hair spray.
    Consuela comes in with the hood on her parka pulled up tightly now, carrying a silver tray. “Hot chocolate?” she offers, holding out steaming mugs.
    â€œThanks, Consuela, but we’re going out,” I say, trying to stifle a laugh.
    â€œRight,” says Berni. She gets up and looks longingly one more time at the Victoria’s Secret catalogue before tossing it into the wastebasket.
    Berni and I hop on the train and arrive at Grand Central Station in the advertised thirty-eight minutes. We head down to a huge studio loft by the Hudson River, where dozens of photo assistants, lighting assistants, and cappuccino-fetching assistants are all busily scurrying around. At the center of the activity is a beautiful dark-skinned girl with multicolored hair wearing a tight white sparkly dress.
    â€œThat’s Eve,” Berni whispers to me. “Very happening rap star.”
    But what’s happening with Berni right now is that she’s already exhausted and goes across the studio to sit down. I stay mesmerized where I am, watching in fascination as Eve poses in the light box, three feet from the photographer. Her skin glistens and a makeup artist rushes to dust her face with powder and polish her arms and shoulders.
    â€œIs this the place for the Sexy Stars?” someone behind me asks in a deep, masculine voice.
    I turn around, and find myself looking into a chiseled face framed by blond, spiky hair. “Apparently,” I say. The hunky guy in front of me is broad shouldered and muscular. When he gives a little smile, his liquid-blue eyes twinkle.
    â€œAre you one of the stars in the photo shoot, too?” he asks, flashing a bright grin.
    â€œI’m . . . I’m . . .” apparently I’m stuttering. “I’m just a friend,” I say, collecting myself.
    â€œSorry, I thought you were one of the sexy stars,” he says.
    The man must have a PhD. from the George Clooney Charm School. But I find myself smiling.
    Just then he spots Berni, who’s sprawled in a canvas-backed director’s chair.
    â€œYou’re here!” he says, rushing over and throwing his arms around her. “And you look fabulous!”
    Berni waves her arm dismissively but still looks pleased. What is it about a handsome guy slinging a compliment? Even fake flattery is a better mood enhancer than two Zolofts and an Entenmann’s coffee cake.
    I come over to join Berni and she quickly introduces me to Kirk.
    â€œWe’ve already met,” Kirk says, smiling and turning to me. “Sorry if I’m a little sweaty. I didn’t get to the gym today so I power-walked over from the set of
Knives.
”
    Power walking usually means going fast—but with a soap star, it could mean he got to walk with the director.
    Kirk’s supposed to be next up with the photographer. The frazzled wardrobe mistress—dressed in a silver Mylar micromini layered over tutti-frutti tights—comes over and, completely ignoring Berni and me, grabs him by the arm.
    â€œWe have to get you into some clothes,” she says hurriedly,