Page 30 of The Sun Sister
‘Maybe order me up some wasabi noodles with a side of kale.’
‘Will do. Now, I have to go see Susie, but I will be back here to pick you up at two thirty. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
Back in my apartment, I did a couple of lines because my nerves were jangling, and washed down lunch with my friend Grey Goose. Then I drank a pint of water, gargled half a bottle of mouthwash and chewed minty gum as I sat on my bed trying to relax by practising the breathing exercises my therapist had given me.
They didn’t work. Nothing worked except the Goose and its powdery companion, which I’d nicknamed White Heaven.
‘Why are the good things always so bad for you?’ I complained as I took another couple of snorts of the only medicine that I knew would calm me down.
‘Hi, Electra, you’re looking as gorgeous as always.’ Tommy, my super-fan, approached me as I stepped out of the building.
‘Thanks.’
‘Is there anything I can do for you today?’ he asked.
‘No, but thanks for asking.’ I gave him a smile as I passed him, before climbing into the waiting limo.
‘He is such a sweet man,’ Mariam commented as she got into the back of the car with me. ‘And so protective of you. Maybe you should hire him officially as your bodyguard. Underneath those old sweatshirts he wears, you can see he’s ripped.’
‘Mariam!’ I turned to her and raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m shocked.’
‘Honestly, Electra, I might not drink or swear, but I do have a pulse, you know,’ she smiled as we pulled out into traffic. ‘So what are you doing this evening that’s so important?’
‘Oh, it’s just a private dinner with a friend.’
‘Well, we will do our best to get you back to your apartment on time.’
I arrived home just before eight, with a shoulder that ached from having to hold my arm in exactly the right position until they got the perfect shot of the watch. I was relieved to see that Tommy wasn’t in his usual spot – he normally liked to see me home and safe before he left. The last thing I needed was anyone spotting Mitch walking into my apartment building, although he was a master of disguise, with a closet full of fake beards, moustaches and wigs. After the porter let me into the penthouse, I ran to the tub to fill it then surveyed my post-shoot make-up to decide whether it was worth keeping on. I knew Mitch preferred me au naturel, so I scrubbed it all away then sank into the water, careful not to get my hair wet. How I longed forrealnaturally silky hair. Maybe one day I’d have mine razored off like Alek Wek – another model whom I’d met a few times on the runways – which would be so much easier.
Once out of the bath, I padded to the kitchen to add some ice to the Goose to water it down.
‘Shit!’ I said, seeing that Mariam had been right when she’d said my refrigerator was empty; Mitch could barely go for more than a few minutes without a shot of iced green tea.
On the other hand, who gives a shit what he drinks?I told myself as I went back to the bathroom and brushed my teeth.He dumped you, remember? He broke your heart.
‘Too right!’ I added aloud to my reflection in the mirror as I dabbed some Vaseline on my lips. In the living room, I looked at the clock and saw it was a quarter to nine. As I wasn’t getting dressed apart from my towel, there was little else to do except fill an empty plastic water bottle with vodka so I had emergency rations at hand without him realising what I was drinking. Grabbing my portfolio, I pulled out the best of my recent shots and arranged them haphazardly on the coffee table to make it look as though I was trying to choose one. Then I went over to the sound system, but couldn’t decide between Springsteen – who Mitch idolised – or eighties pop, which I loved and he hated. So, I compromised on nothing.
‘Jesus! I’m stressed,’ I muttered as I sat down on the couch. I detected a hint of acrid sweat and immediately went back to the bathroom to wipe myself down and spray on more scent. I hadn’t been this nervous since my first trip down the catwalk in Paris.
And what if he does want you back? Will you just go to him like a lamb?
You know you will, Electra...
I had no further time for self-illumination as the concierge phone rang to tell me a ‘Mister Mike’ was downstairs in the lobby.
‘Yeah, send him up,’ I said, then slammed down the receiver, ran back to the bathroom and sprinkled my shoulders with some water from the bath. Checking my reflection, I waited for the doorbell to ring. It didn’t for ages, and then I heard a familiar voice from the living room.
‘Electra? Are you here?’
Jesus! Mitch was in my apartment!
‘Just coming!’ I made loud swishing noises with the bathwater, dribbling more of the scented water over my shoulders as I did so. I checked that the white towel was positioned seductively before walking into the living room.
And there he was, as large as life – the guy who had left me heartbroken. He’d taken off his baseball cap and false beard and looked (irritatingly) as tall and sexy as I remembered him, in dirty jeans, a checked shirt and the cowboy boots he always wore. If any man was all American male, it was Mitch. I noticed his hair was longer than the last time I’d seen him and he obviously hadn’t shaved in a while because his chin was covered in stubble. I just wanted to reach for him and tear his clothes off.
‘How did you get in?’
