Avoiding Intimacy (Avoiding 2.5)

In all honesty, she was just ready to get back to her life. She wanted to leave Milan and Marco behind and start fresh here. Fashion was huge in New York, and she was sure she could top fashion here as easily as she had in Italy. Plus, she had all of her favorite places back, and tons of men that had probably missed her in the clubs. She hadn’t been available in a while, so it would be fun to get back into it.

She smiled faintly and took a seat on the south side of the MET stairs. That was all she wanted anyway, right? Modeling and men. She could live on that.

Leaning her elbows back on the step behind her, she waited, watching the tourists pass her by. A few stared at her as they passed, whispering to each other excitedly. Another openly ogled her, nearly running into the person in front of her. When a third group took out their cameras to snap a photo of her, she started getting confused. What was going on ? She knew that she was pretty, but total strangers didn’t normally pull out their cameras.

“Excuse me?” a giggly teenage girl said as she approached while handing her camera to her friend.

Chyna’s eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

“Can I take a picture with you? My friends will never believe that I met a supermodel!” she cried, nearly jumping up and down.

Chyna had the good sense not to let her mouth fall open or show her surprise on her face. She took the picture, and the girl thanked her before scurrying off.

What. The. Fuck. Was. Going. On?

She stood up and walked up a couple more steps to get out of the direct line of sight of the people passing by. She needed to uncover the truth of what was happening. How had four separate groups of people known who she was? Why had that girl called her a supermodel? It wasn’t a term she took lightly. Her mother was a supermodel. She resembled her mother, but come on, it was pretty obvious Chyna was twenty years younger!

Speaking of her mother… “There you are, darling,” Andrea said, walking briskly up the MET steps in her characteristic white pea coat and over- sized black sunglasses. She kissed both of her cheeks in greeting.

“Do you know what’s going on?”

Chyna demanded, skipping the introduction.

“What do you mean?” she asked coyly.

“Someone just called me a supermodel. Last I checked, the bill didn’t fit,” Chyna told her.

“Let’s go inside. It’s a bit chilly out here. I assume you wanted to ask me something else also,” she said, linking arms with Chyna and dragging her along.

Chyna relented to follow her up the stairs and inside.

“Let’s walk,” Andrea suggested.

“Can we just sit?” Chyna asked, not looking forward to this conversation. She looked forward to very few conversations with her mother. It was only the second or third time Chyna had seen her in the past couple of years, and she didn’t do family time for no reason.

Andrea sighed dramatically before answering, “Well, alright.”

They walked toward an empty bench in the main entranceway and took a seat next to each other. Chyna saw a woman glance in her direction, but she kept walking. She suddenly wished she had a hooded jacket. She normally enjoyed the attention, but this felt very different.

“So, how did you manage it?” Andrea finally asked.

“Manage what? Do you know why all these people are staring at me?” Chyna asked.

“They went up this morning all over the city.”

“What did?” she demanded.

“Are you certain you don’t know? I’d be shocked if you didn’t,” Andrea said, narrowing her eyes as if she didn’t believe her daughter.

Her disbelief wasn’t really out of the ordinary though.

“Would I be asking you if I knew what was going on?”

“Marco’s new advertisement went up all over the city. You’re the cover of his boutique. You’re at every bus stop, and you have a full-page spread in the New York Times. Darling, you’re everywhere.”

Chyna saw stars. No. No. No. No. No.

This could not be happening to her. “Wha- what does it look like?” she managed to get out.

“Stunning. You’re wearing a purple mermaid dress, full sequins, perfect lines.

You look like you’re ready to crawl through the camera,” she told her, eyeing her warily. Clearly, her reaction wasn’t what Andrea had been expecting.

“I’m sure someone has a New York Times around here.”

“That’s alright,” she said. Her hand dropped to the bench. She gripped it, trying to hold the nausea back. How had she f**ked-up this badly?

“Didn’t he tell you?” Andrea asked suspiciously. “They always tell you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Chyna said, swallowing. This was going to be much more difficult now. That damn man! “I came to talk to you about something else.”

“You look sick, darling. Should I get you something?” She waited for Chyna to respond, but Chyna said nothing. “Chyna, am I missing something?”

“Besides six years of my life, no,”

Chyna spat back coldly, shutting Andrea up real quick. “Please stop trying to mother me. I don’t need a mother right now.”

“Fine, what do you want then?” she asked, crossing her leg and tapping her foot in the air impatiently.

“You know Cassandra Corsa?” Chyna asked straight out. She didn’t want to beat around the bush with this. She just needed answers, and she intended to get them.

“What the hell do you know about Cassandra Corsa?”

Andrea asked, planting both feet on the ground as she turned to face her daughter.

Chyna shrugged. “I know enough.”

“Why are you even asking about Corsa? You have Marco’s line at your feet. You’re plastered on every corner.

I’ve been there,” she said wistfully.

“Now, why would someone like that need Cassandra Corsa?”

“It’s really none of your business.”

“It is if you are asking me about her.

Marco knows Cassandra Corsa. You could have asked him,” Andrea said as if seeing a chink in the armor. “So, why haven’t you asked him?”

“It really doesn’t matter whether or not I’m talking to Marco about Cassandra Corsa. I just asked you about her,” Chyna said, hating her mother’s perverse logic.

She had been married to Chyna’s father for too long.