Strike a Pose (Blame It on Fame #1)

5. Willow

Chapter 5

Willow

“ N

ame?” the barista asks us after we order coffee and pastries.

“Hee..” Heena starts, realizing her mistake. “Hee–eather.” The barista gives her a dubious look but types ‘Heather’ into the iPad anyway.

Even though Heena and I are wearing sunglasses, scarves, and hats for our January walk with Maple, we’re always only one misstep away from being identified by someone. She flips the screen, and three tip options appear: thirty percent, forty percent, and fifty percent.

“Fucking New York,” Heena grumbles, even though she types in a fifty-dollar tip. She’s big on tipping large at restaurants, calling it her version of wealth redistribution.

“I’m glad I don’t have to wear all that,” Maple says as we meet her at the end of the counter, waiting for our drinks. Luckily for Maple, her face isn’t well-known enough that she needs to disguise herself. Sure, there are a few photos floating around on the internet of our whole family when she was a young kid along with a few recent paparazzi photos of us with Maple in the background. But nobody really knows what she looks like—at least not enough to recognize her on the street.

While she definitely carries the family resemblance, Maple looks more like our dad than Aspen and I do. Coupled with the fact that she keeps her hair at its natural dark blonde—as opposed to Mom, Aspen, and I’s highlights—and her signature dark eyeliner, she certainly has her own look. Every once in a while, someone will tell her that she looks familiar, but no one can really place her. I don’t think they’re recognizing her when they say that…they’re probably recognizing one of the rest of us reflected in her.

“You know, Maple, every day I understand more and more why you reject fame,” I respond.

“What happened now?” Heena asks.

“Nothing, I’m just sick of the constant eyes on me. I wish I could be normal for a day.” I sigh.

“Well, that’s our day today, right?” Maple suggests. “Just three regular girls getting some breakfast and then going for a walk in the park. Normal.”

“Except for Tito,” I say, referencing the 6’5, burly man waiting outside the coffee shop with his arms crossed, staring down every person who passes.

Casual, Tito, I think. Tito has been my personal bodyguard since I was two years old. It’s kind of ridiculous that I needed my own bodyguard at two, but as the child of Robert and Isabelle Jordan, my safety was a very real concern. Since I became high-profile, he’s been especially needed and now accompanies me everywhere. Tito is practically a member of our family at this point.

“What do you mean, he blends right in,” Maple jokes.

“Mhm.” I laugh. “He blends in about as well as I do. And by that, I mean he sticks out like a sore thumb.”

“Heather?” the barista calls .

We thank her as she hands us our drinks and a bag of pastries, and then we head for the door.

“Any threats?” Maple asks Tito when we meet him on the sidewalk, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“None,” he answers earnestly. Maple chuckles.

I hand him a coffee. “A soy caramel latte, just how you like it.”

“Thanks, Willow. How much do I owe you?”

“You know better than to ask that. And here’s your plain croissant,” I say, procuring it from the bag.

“You know, not too long ago, I was the one buying you food.”

“Then I owe you.” I grin. “Take it.”

He rolls his eyes playfully before devouring half the croissant in one bite. “Thank you,” he mumbles as he chews.

After we separate our pastries, we cross the street and find the entrance to Central Park. Tito trails ten feet behind us.

As soon as we walk into the welcome embrace of Central Park, my backyard, I feel my anxiety-stiffened muscles relax. We amble down a main path, taking in the light dusting of snow that covers the bare branches and dry grass. Most people believe that New York looks best in autumn, but I disagree. It was made for winter. The city never looks better than when it’s sparkling beneath a soft blanket of snow. And, as a totally unrelated bonus, the biting cold means that there are fewer people walking the streets, and it’s easier to disguise myself underneath layers of cold weather garments.

I’ve always loved winter, but since becoming a model, January has become my favorite month of all. I get to take most of the month off since February is always jam-packed with work for me. New York, London, Milan, and Paris all have their fall and winter fashion weeks in February. For runway models like Heena and I, February and September ( spring and summer fashion months) alone comprise almost half of our yearly work. For example, next month, I’m scheduled to walk in eighteen shows, and that was after I limited myself to only the shows I felt passionate about. Many models often walk in upwards of twenty shows during fashion month.

Therefore, January is for relaxing at home in New York, preparing for the whirlwind month ahead. This year is a little different, though, since my parents took on their first joint film project in LA since before I was born. While we were growing up, my parents would take on projects here and there, but at least one of them was always in New York with us. But now, Maple is sixteen, and my parents were given an offer to co-produce a film that they’ve been interested in working on for years, with my dad also serving as the director. So, it’s just Heena, Maple, and I in the city this month.

“Is it weird having Mom and Dad gone for so long? The longest they’ve ever left you alone was a couple of days for the Oscars two years ago, right?” I ask Maple.

“Not really. I love having them home, and I do miss them, but I’m a junior in high school, and I can pretty much take care of myself. I wasn’t going to let them pass up such a great opportunity for my sake—in fact, I was the one who encouraged them to take it. They were hesitant to leave me, but I have you guys here until February, and then Grandma is going to come and stay at the penthouse with me. Plus, it’s only LA. They could take the jet and get here in a few hours if they needed to.”

“Really? I didn’t know you were encouraging them to go.” I glance over at her. “What will you do with all your time now that they’re gone?”

“Just because I’m not famous doesn’t mean I sit around hanging out with my parents all day,” Maple responds, rolling her eyes in a very teenager-y way .

“Well, I am famous, and that’s still all I do.”

“I also just sit around and hang out with your parents,” Heena echoes from my other side.

“Well, unlike you two, I’m going to graduate from high school.”

“Hey! We graduated from high school. Or close enough. We got GEDs,” I defend.

“I mean really graduate from high school.”

“And then what do you want to do?” I ask.

“I don’t know yet.” She pauses. “Maybe something in academia.”

“Academia? Wow, you’re going to put us all to shame, Syrup.”

“I don’t know if I could ever put you guys to shame,” she says, uncharacteristically bashful.

“You definitely will when you discover the ‘Jordan Method’ for curing cancer.”

Maple chuckles. “We’ll see about that.”

“If I know anyone who’s capable of making a scientific breakthrough, it’s you, Maple,” Heena says.

“Who says I want to do science?”

“If not science, then what do you want to do?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Maybe science,” she admits, making Heena and I laugh.

We fall into a comfortable silence for a minute or so before making it to a little stone bridge overlooking a pond, the skyline on full display in the background.

“A view like this never gets old,” I say, pausing to admire the scene.

“Want me to take a picture of you and Maple?” Heena asks.

“Or even better, why don’t you take one of all three of us, Tito?” I call over my shoulder.

“No problem,” Tito says, taking my phone from me. Heena and I have a silent conversation, debating whether we should take off our disguises or not. Lucky for us, the park is about as empty as it gets, and the few people who pass us are running or walking past without so much as a second look. In unison, we both reach to take off our hats, scarves, and sunglasses.

The three of us line up along the rail of the bridge for a photo, all smiling at Tito, who counts down, “Three…two…one…cheese!”

“Can we do a fun one?” Heena suggests.

“Sure,” Maple and I reply. I cross my eyes and stick my tongue out. After Tito says ‘cheese,’ I reach for my phone and see a girl standing behind him, staring at us.

Shit.

“You’re Willow Jordan,” the girl says, holding eye contact.

Tito stiffens, subtly positioning himself between us and the girl.

“Oh my God, that’s so sweet of you to say. She’s gorgeous. That’s such a compliment,” I laugh, trying to play it off.

“And you’re Heena Badahl,” she continues, turning her shocked face towards Heena.

Well fuck, there’s no getting out of this now.

“I am,” Heena admits.

“Can I get a photo?” the girl asks, taking a few steps toward us. Tito visually stalks her every move, prepared to lunge.

“Sure, we can take a photo,” I permit. Tito relaxes only slightly as the girl’s face lights up, settling between Heena and me as Maple ducks out of the frame.

“Thank you so much,” she says, hands shaking slightly.

“No worries. It was nice to meet you.” I smile, turning toward Tito and Maple, only to see a handful of other people behind them, staring at Heena and me like animals in a zoo.

Like flies to honey, more people keep joining the gathered group to see what they’re looking at .

“Should we go?” I ask Tito nervously as the crowd grows and begins closing in on us.

“As quickly as you can,” he affirms with urgency.

That’s all Heena and I need to hear, running off toward our apartment as fast as our legs will take us. Thank God being models requires us to stay in shape because we have about two miles to go.

We sprint as fast as we can, falling through the doors of my building before the doorman can even fully open them. We catch our breath once we’re past the security checkpoint in the lobby and wait on Tito and Maple.

“You’re lucky we were able to hold the crowd,” Tito scolds thirty minutes later as he and Maple stroll into the lobby carrying our abandoned accessories. “I told you it wasn’t smart to go out in New York City with just one guard. Especially when there were two models out today. Heena, you should have had your own guard.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “Next time I’ll bring one.”

“Please don’t tell my parents,” I plead. “There’s no need to worry them. Everything was fine. Nobody got hurt, and we didn’t even really get mobbed.”

“It was a close call.” Tito narrows his eyes. “I have to tell them, Willow. For your own safety, you can’t do that anymore.”

“No, if you tell them, they’re going to force me to never leave the house without multiple guards. Please, Tito,” I beg. “Come on, you don’t want to be stuck with some loser at your side, would you? You work best solo.”

“I’d be fine, don’t turn this back on me.” He wags his finger at me. “I’m sure I could get along with another guard, especially if having him there keeps you safe. The more I think about it, the more I think even two won’t be enough.” He sighs apologetically. “You might need three at this point.”

I blanch. “ Three ? ”

“I’m sorry, Willow, but it’s for your safety. I have to tell your parents about the incident in the park and make my recommendation. I know they’re going to tell you the same thing. Under no circumstances can it just be you and I out together anymore. I need help. I can’t fend off mobs of people on my own.”

I look to Maple and Heena for support, but they both reflect Tito’s apologetic yet determined expression.

“Fine. No more going out with one guard,” I mumble, mourning the loss of what little independence I had left.