Someone Like You

SOMEONE LIKE

YOU

BY AMY SMOLCIC

Copyright © Amy Smolcic

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or

distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the

author.

Edited by Champagne Book Editing

The book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or bed is coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Amy Smolcic. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

Manufactured in Australia

First Edition December 2014

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following watermarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Victoria’s Secret, Rag & Bone, Vogue, Versace, Sushi Sushi, Playboy, BCBG, Rebecca Minkoff, Charlotte Ronson, Tyra Banks.

Chapter One

Chloe:

Click.

The flash is almost blinding.

Move your hand above your head. Just like that, babe.

Click.

I don’t even have time to position myself. And did he just call me babe? Ew.

Yep, another day, another sleazy, middle-aged photographer. You would think that after eight years of doing this I would be used to them, but I’m not.

Today we’re shooting a campaign for Versace. Most importantly though, I’m receiving a six-figure check.

I never saw myself becoming an international supermodel; it happened unexpectedly. I was discovered on the streets of Paris during a family vacation when I was fifteen. It was our last day of the trip and I wanted to bring back a gift for my friend. As I rushed through the streets of Paris looking for the gift, I crashed body-first into a man dressed in polka-dot pants and a green shirt. He claimed to be from a modelling agency.

That was the moment my life changed forever.

I’m now twenty-three, with enough money to live comfortably for ten lifetimes. The hardest thing I have to do is walk in a straight line, even though I’m known to mess that up every now and then.

Chloe, tilt your head. Perfect. Now look at my lens like you desire me, babe.

Oh, yeah, I really desire you.  With his receding hairline, square glasses, and way-too-tight pants, this guy is the definition of a creep.

I follow his direction—it’s my job to do so.

I pretend James Franco is the photographer. I look into the camera lens like my eyes are made of lasers.

I snap out of my daze to spot something shocking.

The photographer is getting undressed.

What is happening?

You don’t mind, right? I’m getting hot. I think it’s you, babe.

I cringe.

This guy can’t be serious. It’s absolutely freezing, does he not know that it’s winter in Madrid?

I ignore him. I would kick him in the balls, but I can’t. My agency would be pissed, this creep would blackball me, and my career would be over.

As soon as we finish the shoot, I head outside to look for my driver. You probably think I am heading to some exclusive nightclub in town or to a red carpet event.

Wrong.

I’m heading back to my empty hotel room, alone.

I’m not complaining.

I’ll be alone with a bottle of white wine and room service.

It’s part of what happens when you’re whisked away to a foreign city where you know no one.

Once I head back to my room, I grab hold of the menu. I feel like ordering everything on this damn thing, but I can’t. I know I must get the salad.

Do I feel like the salad?

Hell, no.

My agent will be pissed that I’m even eating that. According to them, any food is bad food. On the allowed list are cigarettes, coffee, and pills. They’re currently trying to get me on a pill that fulfills your appetite, yet doesn’t make you gain any weight. It’s the latest craze with everyone at the moment, especially with New York Fashion Week starting soon.

Just as I’m about to phone my order through to the kitchen, there’s a knock at the door.

With a long sigh, I answer it.

Hello, my darling, Maria says in her thick French accent, giving me two fake air kisses. I have never understood the air-kiss thing fashion industry people love so much.

Maria is my agent and the owner of Amaze Model Management. It’s a well-known fact that she spends less time helping us female models on her books, and more time in the pants of her male models.

Sometimes I think that the readily-available man candy was the only reason she started her agency. I don’t blame her.

Darling, you know Fabrizio is in town. Why are you here alone?

Fabrizio Barros, Spanish male supermodel and the fantasy of most women and many men. We have worked together numerous times, and cross paths often. His perfect jawline, crystal blue eyes, and messy hazelnut hair has caused me to flush embarrassingly on set multiple times.

The guy is the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen.

We have dated casually on and off for the last few years. Nothing serious has ever come from it. Sometimes it’s comforting to go out with someone in the same position as you.

However, I’m sure Maria has hooked up with him. Therefore, there’s no way I ever want to be serious with him.

Maria, I don’t think it’s a good idea.

Maria looks at me as if I’m crazy. Well, my darling, I think it’s a fantastic idea.

It really isn’t.

Now she looks as if she’s becoming frustrated. Chloe, you’re a pretty girl and all, but you need to work on that bad mood of yours. Fabrizio can help you, Maria responds.

I cringe. It’s like listening to your mom talking about sex.

Why does Maria want me to go out with him so badly anyway?

I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Look Maria, I want to rest. Today was a long day.

Fine, fine. But no resting, we have business to discuss.

There is always business to discuss. According to Maria, I’m on a flight tomorrow morning back to New York. In the next month I’m participating in New York, Milan and Paris Fashion Week, where I should be walking a total of eighty-odd shows. I feel exhausted just thinking about it.

Once Maria leaves, I inhale and exhale six deep breaths. I wish she wasn’t so intense. Most people in the industry are like Maria; that’s why they’re so successful.

Sometimes I don’t know what I've gotten myself into. Eight years ago I was back in Georgia, feasting on my mom’s fried chicken and sweet tea. I didn’t know what Vogue was, and I thought Versace was a restaurant. Life was simple and easy. No one knew my name, and I didn’t have the paparazzi stalking me everywhere.

I always think about what would have happened if I hadn't taken the risk. Would I be married already? Have children? Have graduated from college like the rest of my friends?

That’s something I’ll never know.

I lie in bed and my stomach rumbles. I know skipping meals is bad; I’m not stupid. But in this cutthroat industry where girls as young as thirteen are being scouted, we need to keep up.

I close my eyes and attempt to drift off. I’m starting to think that maybe it isn’t only my stomach that’s starting to feel empty.

Something else is missing. I just can’t figure out what that is.

Jaeger:

Smash.

Another plate breaks.

I notice my boss watching me from the corner of my eye. He isn’t going to like this. Jaeger, that’s coming from your pay! Eugine screams.

Great, just what I needed.

Smash.

There goes the cup, too.

This time last year my band, Atomic Nights, signed a multi-album deal with Rapid Records. Just as we completed the album, the label told us that they had had a change of heart. Apparently, alternative music was out. If we wanted to remain signed to the label, we were told that we had to change our sound to indie rock.

Fuck that.

I’ll never become anyone’s puppet.

We will never change our sound for anyone.

So here I am, stuck waiting tables to cover the rent.

Or at least, trying to cover the rent. It probably won’t happen this month with all the shit I have been breaking. This job isn’t the best one out there, but it will do.

Despite the problems the band is having, we’re still together. Tonight we have a show at Below Bar, an underground club in the city. Yeah, we’re not getting money for it, but a show is a show. Plus, we get free drinks, so I’m in.

The fact that we get to play our music for a live audience is exciting enough, so I don’t care that we’re not getting paid.

I head back to the kitchen to collect the meal that was remade from the breakage. As I approach the table, I know in my head that this lady is going to say something. It comes with working at a five-star restaurant.

The woman is dripping in jewels. The clothes she has on right now are probably worth more than everything I own.

Well, about time! I have been waiting for one hour, she says.

Sorry.

I try to look sympathetic, but it’s hard to pretend. I’m not sorry for wrecking her meal. That is the honest truth. Call me an asshole, I don’t care.

I want my money back for the entire bill.

Not happening, lady. I replaced her meal, what else does she want? Does she want me to fan her while feeding her spoonfuls of her dinner?

Don’t you look at me like that. Who do you think you are? You shouldn’t even be working here with those tattoos all over your damn arms and that piercing on your eyebrow, you…

My boss interrupts her. This will be interesting. I already know he’s going to side with her. According to Eugine, the customer is always right.

Is there a problem, madam? he asks politely.

Yes, him, she says, pointing in my direction as if I’m a piece of trash.

He turns towards me and raises his eyebrows. I shrug my shoulders. I’m not scared of him or this woman. I have dealt with far more intimidating people in my life than these two.

He smooths things over with her and offers her a refund, with food and a free dessert. She gladly accepts the offer.

Just when I thought I had gotten away with it, he calls me into his office.

As I begin to walk back to the kitchen, Eugine appears beside me. Jaeger, in my office, now, he murmurs.

Yes, boss.

I take a breath and walk down to his office in the basement. I hesitate for a moment before entering. I walk in to see him staring at me sternly. Shit.

You need to get it together. I can’t afford for you to keep slipping up, and I’m sure you can’t, either. I’m sending you home. You’re on one last warning. Another mistake and I’m firing you, got it?

Crystal, I smirk and walk away.

I might act cocky, but inside I am worried. If I get fired, I am screwed. He is right, I can’t afford to lose this job.

However, he’s kidding himself if he thinks I’m going home tonight. I’ve got a show to play and booze that needs drinking. Eugine is full of empty threats.

Even though I’m scared of losing my job, I don’t care. I don’t care if a customer gets a cold meal, if they’re unhappy, or if their food is late. Why should I care about them anyway? No one cares about me. Nobody has ever cared about me.

I decide to head to Below now. We’re due to play in approximately three hours.

I walk into the club to see that it’s a ghost town. Usually it is at around this time. I head over to the bar to have a couple of drinks while I wait for the boys.

Jaeger, what are you doing here so early? What can I get you? Marty asks from behind the bar.

I met Marty when I first moved to New York a year ago. I found this place by accident one night after getting trashed. The rest is history. I don’t know exactly how old he is; he has to be at least fifty.

Just a whisky for now, Marty.

He retrieves my old friend Johnnie Walker and pours me a glass.

What’s the matter, kid? Is something wrong? Marty asks. He always knows when something is wrong. It’s like he has a sixth sense for this stuff.

I feel like nothing is happening with my life, like something is missing. I try and hold onto hope that the band will make it, but every day it seems less likely.

I shouldn’t go into tonight with bad vibes, but I can’t help it. I have felt so stuck recently. I have all these hopes and dreams, yet I’m stuck waiting tables.

Kid, you need to take a breath and calm down. Everything will eventually work itself out, he says as he passes me a glass.

Sometimes I think bartenders learn psychology at bartender school. They always know how to give the best advice. Most importantly, they're also great in helping you forget—with the assistance of hard liquor, of course.

I keep on downing glasses until my band members arrive. I’m so trashed that I doubt I can even get onto that stage. I didn’t plan on getting smashed, it just happened. I usually don’t like resorting to alcohol when I’m feeling like this. It’s something I used to do often a few years ago.

I may feel delirious right now, but that’s okay.

The feelings I had earlier have disappeared, replaced with a daze of euphoria that can only be caused by extreme intoxication.

This feels good.

Right now I can’t feel a thing. You can’t feel empty when you can’t feel anything at all.

Chapter Two

Chloe:

When Maria said that I was flying back to New York this morning, she failed to mention that I wouldn’t be doing so alone.

I notice Fabrizio Barros making his way to the airport gate at the corner of my eye. He looks every part the male supermodel with his styled hair and designer attire. He’s being escorted to the gate by two security guards.

Of course he is.

He dismisses them and makes his way towards me.

Shit.

He greets me with a kiss on the cheek and on my palm. Have I ever told you how sexy your hair looks when it’s like that?

There I was, waiting in the airport lounge alone, and he had to spoil it. This is going to be a long flight.

Maria didn’t say you were flying back, Fab.

I wasn’t going to, but then I found out you were, so I changed flights, he says with his eyes twinkling.

Is he trying to flirt with me? He’s going to have to try harder than that. I know all his tricks.

Does Maria know?

Fab shakes his head. No, he answers.

This isn’t good. She’s definitely going to pop a blood vessel from that. There’s nothing Maria hates more than her models changing schedules without her knowing. She likes to be in ultimate control. She’s the master, we’re her puppets.

You know she’s going to freak?

Of course I know that. But I’ll fix her up later, he says with a wink, trying to brush it off.

I really don’t want to know what he means. I hope he doesn’t mean sexually. That’s something I don’t want to think about.

I try to block out any thoughts I have of Maria and Fab having sex.

We’re finally called to board. The timing couldn’t come quick enough. Maria always books her models business-class tickets. Though she does deduct it from the money we make, so technically we pay for it. We pay for everything. Flights, drivers, and accommodation are all our responsibility. Most people think we travel around the world for free. Little do they know that it all comes at a price.

Hopefully Fab won’t be next to me on the flight, since we didn’t book the tickets together. At least I hope that’s the case.

That dream is shattered when he takes a seat right next to me.

This can’t be happening.

"Well, it looks like we’re sitting next to each other, mi amor," he says with a wolfish grin.

I’m not going to give in to his charm. Without making a fuss, I respond. It sure looks like that.

I grab my handbag, hoping to find my eye mask and