Bellamy's Redemption

“Delores, where are you from?” I asked her.

“Oakland,” she said.

“What do you do?” I asked.

“Whatever I feel like.”

I nodded and took a bite of my salad.

“Next up,” said Caj, “are salted caramel brownies, maple bacon scones, and pistachio milkshakes. Love me some food blogs, right? Fashizzle! Boo-yah! But if you’re going to be bulimic, stay away. As a model, I know firsthand about eating disorders, and I cannot condone that kind of unhealthy lifestyle. I saw a lot of girls lose their cookies, and lose their life. It’s no joke! You can’t put a price on good health and good eating habits. You know what I mean?” She looked around at all of us. Her wooden spoon hovered over her head, a blob of batter clinging precariously. “And you,” she said, pointing the spoon at me while I crunched on my broccoli, “you’re not anorexic, are you? Because that is just as unhealthy!”

“I’m not,” I said.

“Okay. Well, I really, really wish you’d have a cupcake. A cuppy cake. A cake cup. I don’t have to make just sweet ones. Have you ever had a savory cupcake? Like cheddar and chive? It is to die! Anyway, you should have one. I would just feel better, you know? I guess I’m the mother hen! Laugh out loud, right? What can I say?” She wiped her hands on her apron and shook her head in amusement over herself. “I just love a stocked kitchen! Huh? Yeah? Look at this place, am I right or am I right?”

What happened to the cool girl from the limo last night, I wondered.

“Caj, we’re so lucky you’re here,” gushed Marissa. She was drunk already. Her face was bright red and she was spilling champagne on her chest as she spoke. “I mean, you model, you bake, you sing. What can’t you do?”

“Oh, stop,” giggled Caj.

“No. I’m serious. You’re amazing. How did you get into modeling?”

“Do you really want to hear that old story? Well, I guess. Okay, so I thought when I was a little girl that one day I would grow up and own a bakery, and that was going to be good enough for me. But when I was thirteen my older brother was looking at college campuses. I went with, of course, because thirteen is too young to spend the weekend alone. We were touring Northwestern and there was a talent scout there from an agency called Bluebelles, which is not even in business anymore, and they signed me. Bluebelles! Isn’t that dippy? They were an agency based out of Nashville, and their thing was young girls ages eight to eighteen. They were strictly commercial. That means lots of smiling, lots of wholesomeness. My first few years I was in catalogs and commercials, always wearing silly flowered dresses with big bows in my hair. That’s what they like down south. And everything, I mean everything, was monogrammed! The dresses I modeled were designed with special, I don’t know what you want to call them, lace bibs I guess, just so you had a place to monogram. They were awful! Then I got signed by Elite models when I was sixteen.”

“Wow. Cool,” said Marissa. I looked up and saw that everyone was listening to Cashmere’s story, and they were all impressed. Meanwhile, more cupcakes had come out of the oven and been frosted, and more cupcakes had gone in.

“Who wants to try these? They’re chocolate with a peanut butter cup in the center, and another melted on top. Just a little something I came up with on the fly,” said Caj, holding up a tray.

“Oooh, lemme have one,” said Marissa.

“Take more than one,” said Caj. “On deck are cornflake crusted mini frittata muffins with chunks of aged cheddar cheese. Num num!”

“They sound yummy,” said Mylar, taking a break from flirting with one of the camera guys. “I totally can’t resist peanut butter and chocolate.”

“Only witches can,” said Caj.

“Me, me, me too! I’ve gotta try some,” said some other woman I hadn’t even noticed before.

Pretty soon all the cupcakes were gone.

“Vanessa, tell us something about you,” said Amy, who was unaware that she had two kinds of frosting in her hair.

“I’m too full to talk,” said Vanessa. Then she broke into her same story from the previous night about how parents never want to vaccinate their kids anymore, and what a struggle that is.

I glanced at the clock on the wall and realized that Bellamy would be showing up soon to pick up Angélique for their date. I slipped away to brush my teeth and hair before he arrived. When I returned to the living room, Angélique was sitting on the corner of a chair, dressed in an unusual strapless dress covered in a squirrel print. Since she is French, it worked.

“Where do you sink Bellaneese and me are going?” she asked us. Her accent was cute, but so heavy that she was nearly impossible to understand. I predicted just to myself that Bellamy would get frustrated and send her packing.

“To the zoo?” barked Shar.

“Probably dinner and dancing,” said Amy.

“Oooh! I love zee dancing,” said Angélique.

There was a knock at the door and Bellamy stuck his head in. “Hi,” he said. It took me a moment to recognize him since a huge cowboy hat was blocking the view of most of his face. He smiled and came into the living room, removing the hat and holding it to his chest like he was at a prairie funeral. He was dressed in black jeans with a rope belt, cowboy boots with genuine spurs, and a rodeo shirt. I thought he looked ridiculous. I noticed Angélique’s expression turn to puzzlement, but then she attempted to regain her composure. The other girls seemed a bit more impressed by his ensemble.

“Bellamy, dammit, you look hot,” said Shar.