Strike a Pose (Blame It on Fame #1)

9. Willow

Chapter 9

Willow

“ W

hat do I say to him?” I ask Heena as our green tea face masks harden.

It’s been two days since we were at the Grammys, and we’re currently at a spa.

It’s become our tradition to pamper ourselves with a full-body spa day before we start the fashion week grind.

“You know,” Heena says, giving me a side eye through her mask, “friends don’t get anxious about texting other friends.”

“I’m not anxious. I just don’t want to scare him off. Or give him the wrong impression.”

Another side-eye.

“Fine, just to prove I’m not anxious…” I say, hitting send on my first message to Riley and showing the screen to Heena.

“‘It’s Willow’? Really? That’s what you went with? What is this, some kind of covert mob deal?”

“Well, you didn’t tell me what to say!” I start to laugh before abruptly stopping when I feel my mask crack.

“Because I didn’t know you’d start like that . I thought you’d say something like, ‘Hey, how’s LA been treating you?’”

“Then he wouldn’t know who was texting. ”

“How many women does he give his number out to in the span of two days?”

“I don’t know, that’s his business.”

We’re interrupted by my phone buzzing.

Riley: Hey Willow, what’s up? Still in LA?

“See? That’s normal.” Heena laughs, reading over my shoulder. “And a quick texter, too. That’s always a green flag.”

I type out a new message, ignoring her.

Me: you know, the first rule of fame is to never trust a new number. you should ask for a photo from me for proof.

Heena laughs even harder as I press send, her mask breaking into a thousand tiny creases. “Willow!” she squeals. “You’re the worst flirt I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not flirting,” I insist, laughing along with her. “And besides, it’s true. I’m supposed to train him for fame, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“ Train him? Like a dog?”

“You know what I mean.” I roll my eyes as my phone buzzes again. This time, I hide the screen from her prying eyes as I read his next message.

Riley: But I was the one who gave you my number?? I’m pretty sure it’s you.

Me: pretty sure? alright, this is going to make my 40-year-old-living-in-my-mom’s-basement life! texting with superstar riley coleman!

He responds immediately, sending me a photo of himself in a tour bus with three other men in their early twenties, one I recognize from the other night.

Riley: Well, here’s me.

Me: no, you don’t have to send the photo, I messaged YOU. I’M the catfis h

“Let me see what you’re saying,” Heena begs, peering over my shoulder.

“Want to be in a photo?” I ask, showing her the messages.

“Not my best look,” she says, glancing down at her fluffy white robe and bare feet. “But, then again, my worst look is anyone else’s best.” She smirks.

I take a photo of us and send it to Riley.

Riley: You don’t look like a catfish to me. You look like an ogre.

Riley: Because of the green I mean

Reading those texts makes me laugh out loud.

Me: thank you for the clarification

“Heena? I’m here to take you back for your mud wrap whenever you’re ready,” a spa attendant says.

“Don’t say anything too embarrassing to him while I’m gone. I still haven’t deemed him trustworthy yet,” Heena says lowly as she stands.

I nod. “Good to know that you need to approve the people I talk to.”

“Well, with the way the media’s been desperate for stories on you lately, I’d be cautious, that’s all.”

“I appreciate the concern, Heena, really, but Riley wouldn’t sell me out.”

“Just be careful,” she says as she walks out, the attendant resting a warm, weighted, lavender-infused pillow over her shoulders.

Riley: Who are you with?

Me: my friend Heena, another model. you might have seen her face around. and yes, i'm still in LA. today is my last day here before i leave for new york for fashion week

Riley: I’ve heard of her but the green threw me off. What is that stuff anyway?

Riley: That sounds fun. I’m off to San Francisco for a show tomorrow night.

Me: it’s a face mask…you’ve never used a face mask before?

Riley: Um…no?

Me: you need to do one. another rule of fame, everyone does face masks

Riley: Are you seriously telling me your dad, THE Robert Jordan does face masks?

Me: regularly. and botox and filler too. he’s a high-maintenance man.

Me: i’m glad to know you did your research on me, too

Riley: Nash told me. I think he’s a superfan.

Me: remind me to give him an autograph sometime ??

Riley: I will literally take you up on that. One for his sister too. Not to be greedy.

Riley: Is the all lower-case a famous thing too, or just a Willow thing?

Me: a willow thing.

Riley: Why?

Me: why not?

Me: but really, i don’t know, it makes me feel less intimidating

Riley: You’re not really that intimidating

Me: ‘not really’

Riley: Well, you are on the outside, but once you get talking you’re less scary

Me: i’m scary on the outside?

Riley: I mean you are a supermodel…

Me: you didn’t know that when we first me t

Riley: You still looked like one. I was still intimidated.

Me: you didn’t seem like it when you were trying to take my drink from me

Riley: I was actively shitting my pants

Riley: Not to get graphic

Me: good to know i have that effect on men

Riley: Hahaha

Riley: But speaking of men

Riley: I don’t want to be weird and I don’t mean this in any presumptuous way

Me: i don’t have a boyfriend, no

Riley: Oh, thank God. I didn’t want some 7’5 NBA player beating me up for talking to you

Me: don’t worry

Me: even if I did have a 7’5 NBA player, i’d make sure he didn’t beat you up for talking to me ??

Riley: Can’t blame a guy for worrying though, right?

Me: nope. you don’t have some super strong scary country girl coming to beat me up either, do you?

Riley: Nope. Just a weak country girl

Me: oh

Me: okay, just tell her not to hit my face, it’s a precious asset

Me: insured for 1 million

Me: sorry i don’t know why i told you that, that’s weird

Riley: Is it really???

Me: yep. because it would end my modeling career if my face gets fucked up

Riley: Maybe you could be a hand model

Riley: Or a foot mode l

Me: is this your way of telling me you have a foot fetish

Riley: HAHA

Riley: No I don’t, please don’t slander me like that.

Riley: Also, there is no country girl, weak or strong. None at all, just to clarify. I was joking.

“Willow?” a spa attendant calls, entering the spa’s solarium. “I’m here to take you back for your algae wrap.”

“Oh, sure,” I say, shooting off a quick message to Riley before following the woman out.

Me: got to go, spa is calling.