"Jacqui is moving to Paris," Eliza announced in grave tones before soaking a piece of bread in a pool of olive oil on her plate and taking a delicate bite.
Mara took her seat and unfolded her napkin on her lap. "What? Why?"
"Marcus wants me to go to Paris," Jacqui explained a bit defensively as she perused the menu. "It's the next step for me, he said. There's a chance I could be on the cover of Elle."
> "But what about NYU?" Mara asked. She reached into her
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oversize Alexander McQueen tote bag and removed a large white envelope with the purple NYU logo on the right-hand corner. "This came for you today. You're never at the house anymore, so I thought I'd bring it tonight."
"Oh." Jacqui accepted the envelope. She opened it and its contents spilled out--registration forms, cheerful color-coded information memos on housing and meal plans. "It's the orientation packet," Jacqui said flatly, brusquely stuffing all the papers back into the envelope.
"So wait--back up--you're moving to Paris and not going to NYU?" Mara asked, completely floored. All Jacqui ever talked about for two years was how NYU was her dream. She remembered how ecstatic Jacqui had been when she called Mara to tell her she'd just been accepted. "Just so you can model?"
Jacqui shrugged. "NYU will still be there when I'm done with modeling." She was miffed that her friends weren't more excited for her, but if they weren't going to be supportive, she preferred they not talk about it at all. "Have you guys had the salmon here? Is it good?"
Eliza snatched the menu out of Jacqui's hands. "You can't be serious," she said. "Jac, I hate to break it to you, but modeling is not that easy. The world is full of models who never made it living in, like, ghetto apartments. You're better off going to school."
"I have twenty pages in Vogue," Jacqui said defensively, reaching back for the menu and scanning the pages with an annoyed look on her face.
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"Granted--but think about it. Most girls don't get paid for anything until they score a cosmetics or designer contract. Editorial pays for shit. You might never hit it big, and then what?" Eliza raised her eyebrow haughtily. She didn't meant to rain on Jacqui's parade, but she'd seen too many of her friends in New York fall into the same trap. They left for Paris, Milan, or Tokyo with their portfolios and dreams of magazine covers dancing in their heads, wasting years appearing in beer ads in Ginza rather than the Galliano runway before giving up completely.
Jacqui grimaced. Eliza could be so bossy sometimes. She knew Eliza was right--Marcus had explained to her that she had to work for the lowest pay scale until she joined a proper agency, her rates went up, and a huge brand signed her. She knew her friends had good intentions, but she hated the way they always thought they knew what was good for her. Well, Jacqui could think for herself, and she thought Paris sounded pretty grand, thank you very much.
"And anyway, I think there's something off about Marcus," Eliza added, thinking about what Jeremy had said after he met him briefly earlier in the summer--that he seemed like a player. How could Jacqui just run off to another country with a guy she'd only known for a matter of weeks? She and Jeremy had been dating for three years, and they weren't even living together.
She motioned to the waitress to refill their bread basket. All this talk of modeling was making her hungry, almost as if she were unconsciously rebelling against the strict diet Jacqui would
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have to adhere to once she officially signed on. Eliza remembered being accosted by a modeling scout herself and being told she had to lose another ten pounds to be considered runway ready. Hello, she was already a size zero--she wasn't about to get into the negative figures. No thanks, she'd rather dine on pasta than on promises.
"How can you say that?" Jacqui asked, now completely irritated. "That's ridiculous. He and Midas are making your career."
"What?" Eliza cried, turning pink. Now it was her turn to feel the sting. "Jac, I can't believe you don't think I wouldn't be able to make it on my own."
"That's not what I meant." Jacqui backed off quickly. "But you guys have to understand--it's not every day that regular people get handed opportunities like this. Some people spend their whole lives waiting for their big break." Jacqui looked down at her hands and bit off an errant hangnail.
Mara looked at Jacqui curiously. Regular people? Since when did Jacqui consider herself ordinary? Her otherworldly good looks always saved the day for her. The girl had never had to pay for a meal, a cab, or a drink in her life. She quietly took a sip of her water, not wanting to get involved.
"If you flake out on NYU, you'll hate yourself," Eliza pronounced, her voice carrying to the other tables so that the well-heeled patrons turned around to glare at her for breaking through the restaurant's cozy murmur. She closed her menu definitively, as if closing the book on Jacqui's character.
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"How can I expect you to understand--you've always had it too good," Jacqui said sourly. "Where is that waitress? I really need a drink."
"Hey!" Mara said, unable to watch from the sidelines anymore. "Stop it, you guys. Let's not spend the evening bitching at each other. C'mon, are we ready to order?"
"No, I'd really like to hear what Jacqui meant by that," Eliza said, her color high. She took a furious gulp from her water glass. Always had it good? Hadn't she suffered humiliation when her father lost their fortune and her family had to hightail it to Buffalo? It wasn't such ancient history that Eliza had forgotten what being poor was like.
"Nothing," Jacqui said sullenly, refusing to meet Eliza's eye. She usually didn't seek out confrontation, but if Eliza pushed, she would give it to her.
"No, go ahead. Please. Tell me," Eliza challenged.
Jacqui put down her napkin. "I don't know. It's just sometimes you take everything for granted. Didn't you pay for your store with your trust fund? I'm sorry, Eliza, but some of us don't have parents who can buy them careers."