Natalie Dunbar - A Model Spy

“Daddy, how are you?” she said, kissing his cheek.

“I’ll be better when this deal I’m working on goes through,” he noted irritably. He paused and a charming, apologetic smile transformed his face. “Sorry, sweetheart, that has nothing to do with you. How’s school?”

“You know I took the summer off to concentrate on my charity work with the Gotham Rose Club.”

“Vanessa will have her degree in another year and a half,” her mother said, taking Vanessa’s hand and urging her to a spot on the couch. “Want something to drink?”

Vanessa wet her lips. Tonight she needed all her faculties. “Ginger ale?” At the bar, Robert was already filling a glass for her.

Her father’s hazel eyes regarded her thoughtfully. “So what will you do when you get this degree from Columbia? You want a job with the company?”

Vanessa felt the walls closing in. Working for the family business would put her right under her father’s thumb. “No—at least not right now. I was thinking that I could manage my portfolio.”

“There’s not much in it, is there? Nothing except for the stock you’ve gotten for Christmases and birthdays,” he remarked. “You don’t get control of the trust fund until you’re thirty and I’m pretty sure you haven’t saved any of your family allowance.”

“There’s the money my mother left her,” her mother put in quickly.

“That wasn’t enough to cover Vanessa’s clothing allowance for more than a few years,” her father countered.

Normally, it would be true, but Vanessa had plans for independence that went a long way towards helping her pass up on that extra pair of designer shoes or the latest bag. “Actually, I used some of the family allowance toward the Gotham Roses and for schooling and living expenses.” Using the condo she’d inherited from her grandmother as her home, she’d tied the inherited funds into investments that she used to pay the taxes. Accepting the ginger ale from Robert and thanking him, she spoke up for herself.

Newfound respect crept into her father’s eyes. “Good. I parlayed less into enough of a fortune to win the business over your Uncle Marvin.”

Having heard the particular story of how he made his wealth more times than she cared to count, Vanessa held her breath. Her mother rolled her eyes. Relief came from an unlikely source. Dressed in a pink tank and crinkled silk miniskirt, Michelle burst into the room, interrupting her father’s lecture. A couple of pages of the newspaper dangled from Michelle’s fingers and her gaze skewered Vanessa.

“Michelle, how many times have I told you, it’s not ladylike to run about the house?” Lonette Dawson’s voice carried an edge.

“Sorry, Mama. I’ll try to remember next time. I was just so excited about what I read in the Rubi Cho In the Know column in today’s New York Reporter. She says that the ink on the contract is almost dry and the most memorable sweetheart from the Sweetheart Dreams Catalog is coming back to star in the Inside Sports swimsuit edition.” With a hand on one hip, Michelle turned accusing eyes on Vanessa. “That’s you, isn’t it, Vanessa? Are you going to be in the Inside Sports swimsuit edition?”

Vanessa had signed the contract only yesterday. How had Rubi Cho gotten wind of it so quickly? For the second time that evening, her voice stuck in her throat. “I—I—” She cleared her throat. There was nothing to do but own up to it. “Yes. I was going to announce it after dinner,” she admitted, facing her family with her head up and her shoulders squared. “Keifer Jonas, the photographer who did several of my most famous shots, asked me personally,” she lied. “They’re paying a lot of money that I can put in my portfolio and it’s a really good opportunity. I’ll be back before next semester starts. Mom, Dad, I—I just couldn’t pass it up.”

Brows drawing together like thunderclouds, her father’s eyes sparked with anger. “Vanessa, I thought that phase of your life was over. The last thing this family needs is our version of Paris Hilton in the limelight. It’s time to think of starting a family or helping expand the family business. Aren’t you getting a little old for modeling?”

Vanessa winced, his words burning her like acid.

“Mannie…” Lonette’s soft voice halted her husband’s tirade. She moved over to Vanessa on the couch and took her hand. “We’re concerned about you, Vanessa. We certainly have enough money that you don’t have to work. You know that, and your father doesn’t ask that much in return. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, and I’m not planning to do anything to make headlines or embarrass the family,” Vanessa answered, her voice confident.

“I’m still remembering ninety-five percent of your body on display in a popular magazine, and the gossip headlines when you were a minor, having an affair with the head of that modeling agency. And what about the wild parties and the boyfriend-turned-stalker? I can’t see you doing anything without attracting headlines,” her father said, snapping his fingers and reaching for the paper still dangling from Michelle’s hand.

Vanessa cringed. Who but her father could dismiss her life with such negativity?

“What about me?” Michelle asked, giving her father the paper. “I want to go into modeling, too. People my age model all the time. I could go down on location with Vanessa and make some contacts—”

“Michelle, we’ve already had this discussion,” Lonette said, regarding her daughter sternly. “That’s not the sort of life we want for you.”

Steeped in déjà vu, Vanessa knew how Michelle felt. The life her parents demanded was comparable to a padded cell.

Right now though, with her current assignment and what she knew about the modeling world, she was glad her parents were keeping Michelle out of it. She couldn’t stand the thought of Michelle going through all that she had.

“You guys never let me do anything!” Michelle whined. Tears filled her eyes. “When Vanessa started—”

Manfred Dawson’s heavy voice cut through her objections. “Michelle, the answer is no. Don’t ask again.”

Just then, Robert appeared in the doorway to announce dinner, and as the family headed for the dining room, a pouting Michelle ran off to her room.

Vanessa sat through a strained, awkward dinner with her parents. Her appetite gone, she pushed grilled salmon with creamed dill sauce, stir-fried green beans and a twice-baked potato around on her plate.

Her father frowned every time he looked at her. It was a silent reproach. Nothing she said reached him. She found herself wondering, when had he ever smiled at her and been supportive? Only when she did as he dictated. He wanted a puppet, not a daughter.

Her mother chattered on about things—the next ball, the garden club meeting and her church work. When her gaze met Vanessa’s there was a sort of desperation in her eyes. Lonette really hated discord among her family. After an initial effort to resolve things, her usual solution was to try to act as if nothing had happened and hope it would go away. It never worked.

Vanessa refused the crème brûlée dessert and got ready to leave. She loved her parents, but she had a job to do. A job she couldn’t tell them about.

Before she left, Vanessa stopped by Michelle’s room to talk and try to smooth things over. At first, Michelle was too angry to say much, but when she heard that Vanessa was leaving for Miami in the morning, she turned red-rimmed eyes on her sister and said, “I thought you said that you’d never go back, that it was full of nothing but bad memories?”

Vanessa nodded. “I did, and I meant it, but I have something important to do. I’m not just going back to model, I’m going back to do something for a friend and I gave my word.”