See Jane Fall (17 page)

“Janie!” Samara exclaimed in a breathy,
delighted voice, three steps from the bottom of the escalator, as
Ray hung back, talking on his phone.

Jane looked up from her thoughts and her
breath caught for an instant, as Samara offered her most beautiful,
beaming smile. There were times that Jane was still blown away by
the beauty of her cousin, even after twenty-five years. Looking at
Samara was like looking at a wonder of nature: a blooming rose,
dappled with mist, at the height of its exquisiteness; the perfect
reflection of a mountain in a still pool, majesty mirroring
majesty; the clouds when the sun sets, ablaze in reds and oranges
and impossible lavender. That was Samara. You stood in awe of
nature’s bounty when you beheld her impossibly beautiful,
heart-breaking perfection; it almost hurt to look at her and once
you did it was almost impossible to look away. Jane had never known
a day of her life without Samara, but she still stared, stunned
that such natural perfection in another human being actually, well,
existed
.

Samara pushed her large, expensive
sunglasses up on her head and Jane noticed that she had put makeup
on, something she generally didn’t do when traveling.

“Janie! I missed you so much!”

Okaaaaaaaay. We’re doing “loving
relatives.”

Jane hadn’t seen that coming. Samara must
have decided she
really
wanted Lars. “Loving relatives” was
an act Samara generally reserved for world-class photographers and
other industry giants with soft spots for Jane. It was Samara’s way
of disarming them, by showing how much she loved her drab little
cousin, Jane, of whom they were already fans.
We both love Jane,
so naturally we’ll love each other too!

Samara was casually elegant in simple black
sandals, a straight black column skirt in soft cotton that
undulated against her body with every step, and a long-sleeved grey
t-shirt, deeply scooped, showing off her magnificent collarbones,
hugging her pert breasts underneath. She wore several silver
bangles on her elegant wrist and a simple necklace of braided
silver and corded brown leather around her swan-like neck. Her dark
hair was long and loose, parted in the middle, falling in shiny,
lustrous, touchable waves.

She held out her willowy arms and giggled as
Jane stepped forward, wrapping her in an expensive-smelling
embrace. Then she stood back, putting a long, tapered, manicured
finger under Jane’s chin. “Mmmm. Look at you, my sweet little
cousin. I could just eat you up.”

Then softly, leaning down until her lips
almost grazed Jane’s ear. “Introduce me to him. Now.”

Jane stepped back, taking a deep breath and
sighed, looking up at Samara and forcing a smile that didn’t quite
reach her eyes.

“Flight okay?”

“Mmmm,” Samara breathed, eyes narrowing just
a touch when Jane didn’t immediately offer up Lars.

She put an arm around Jane’s shoulders and
turned, as if surveying her kingdom, and caught sight of Lars,
feigning surprise, all wide eyes and voluptuous smile. “Well, now.
Who in the world is
this
, Janie?”

Jane turned to Lars, who was doing a very
bad job looking unimpressed. His eyes were wide and dilated as he
took in Samara’s beauty, and Jane saw a thin bead of sweat over
Lars’s lips, which he licked quickly as Samara met his eyes
again.

Samara looked him up and down, lazily,
suggestively, her eyes smoldering. His eyes flicked down to
Samara’s chest briefly then quickly back to her eyes. Jane saw the
ends of his lips tilt up, staring at her cousin.

Jane forced herself to watch. She forced
herself not to react. She reminded herself that she’d seen it all
before.

“Samara, this is Lars Lindstrom. He’s our
ground operator. Lars, this is Samara Amaya.”

Samara put out her hand, and Lars took it,
staring at her face, mesmerized.

“M-Miss Amaya,” he stammered.

“Oh, no, no, no,” she purred, clasping his
hand. “We’re going to be friends, Lars. Good friends. It’s
Samara.”

“Samara,” he repeated, still holding
Samara’s hand, staring at her face. He hadn’t even glanced at Jane
since Samara had arrived.

Suddenly Jane couldn’t bear to watch
anymore. She ducked out from under Samara’s arm and left them
alone, turning to Ray, who enfolded her in a warm embrace.

He whispered in her ear. “Miss Thang
looooove her cousin…when it suits her purpose. And what a purpose.
He is dee-viiiiiine, honey.”

Jane leaned back, and Ray looked at her
face, wincing. “Oooo! It’s like that? You got it bad for him, huh,
Miss Jane Mays? Well, Ray-Ray’s here now. We’ll work it out,
girl.”

Ray kept his arms around her, and Jane felt
grateful for her friend’s familiar, sympathetic presence.

Jane took a deep, shaky breath, refusing to
look back over at Lars and Samara. “How was she on the flight?”

“‘Ray do this, Sebastian do this.’ You know
how she gets. But, honey, I just put on my mask and say ‘You wreck
my beauty sleep? I wreck your beauty.’ Bassy didn’t get off so
easy.”

Jane looked up to see Sebastian step
cautiously onto the escalator, wobbling under the poorly
distributed weight of several bags. Two leather bags on one
shoulder that appeared to be slipping down his arm, plus another
bag on the other shoulder, and two shopping bags in each hand.

“Poor Sebastian!”

“He charges a lot more than I do, honey. He
can help with the ever-lovin’ bags.”

Ray looked over at Samara with a sour
expression on his pursed, shiny lips. Jane followed his glance and
realized that Lars and Samara were still holding hands. Samara was
putting on quite the coquette-style show and Lars was eating out of
her hand. “Look away, sugar. We’ll see what we can do about
that.”

Jane turned her back to them, looking back
at Ray glumly, but was soon accosted by Sebastian, who practically
fell into her with a desperate whisper.

“She. Is. A. Monster.”

Jane gave Ray a disapproving look, then
Sebastian, warning them both to button it up. They were all in
unspoken agreement in their disdain toward Samara, but both men
knew better than to be that overt in their dislike of her. Samara
was their bread and butter and Jane more or less insisted that they
keep their true feelings carefully concealed.

Jane took two of the shopping bags from
Sebastian and then hefted one of the three leather bags onto her
own shoulder so that he could mop his forehead with the sleeve of
his silk shirt. “
Goddamn it
, Jane. She just
left
everything on the plane. Just got up and walked off. And
you
…” He pointed one stubby, neatly manicured finger at Ray,
scowling.

Ray put his sunglasses on languorously,
smirking at Sebastian. “Girlfriend
know
better than to ask
Ray-Ray to carry her stuff. Boundaries, Bassy, honey.”

Then he turned and sauntered over to
introduce himself to Lars.

Jane smiled at Sebastian sympathetically.
Six hours next to Samara was more than anyone should have to
endure. Carrying her mountain of baggage through several terminals
must have been the breaking point. She smiled at him gently.

“Well, you’re here now.”

“Glad to see you, Jane. No more leaving us
three days early. We
need
you back at home, especially with
Laney down.” He readjusted the luggage, sweating.

“We couldn’t have known she’d get sick,
Bass. Any intel on that? And how was the weekend?”

“Saw Laney on Saturday afternoon, Jane. She
looked awful. She could barely speak.” Sebastian combed his fingers
through his thinning hair, finally composing himself. “The MoMA was
tame enough.”

“What about the vodka launch on Sunday
night? She sent me boob shots.” Jane raised an eyebrow at
Sebastian.

“Wild after-party at the Mondrian.”

“Anything I need to know?”

He shook his head. “Press wasn’t there.”

“Did we meet anyone?”

“Some kid from one of the newer boy
bands.”

“Please tell me he was over 18?”

“Barely, but yes.” He looked sheepish.
“Laney’s better at screening these guys than I am.”

Jane nodded. “No harm done, I guess. I
would’ve seen something by now. Any checked bags?”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Whadda
you
think?”

I think Lars is going to need a bigger
van.

She turned to see if the baggage claim belt
had started spinning yet and had a quick flashback to her own
arrival three days ago:

Miss Mays?

Mr. Lindstrom.

Lars. Yeah.

She looked at Lars, who was chuckling at
something Ray was saying. Ray gesticulated madly, and then put his
manicured hands on the hips of his sea-green, slim-fit jeans,
pretending to pout. Samara chuckled prettily, but Jane could see
she was shooting Ray daggers whenever Lars’s face was turned away
from hers, which wasn’t much. A moment later, Lars turned his
attention entirely back to Samara. Ray looked to Jane and
shrugged.

Thanks for trying, Ray.

Jane was already a speck in Lars’s rearview
mirror.

Just as she had predicted.

***

Lars had to admit two things:

One, Samara was incredibly charming which,
two, wasn’t what he had expected.

Jane had led him to believe that she was a
real dragon-lady, but he was finding Samara to be warm, funny,
self-deprecating, and hands down the most beautiful woman he had
ever seen in his entire life. He had been wrong about her pictures
being airbrushed to perfection. Samara
was
perfection. Tall,
with a tiny waist and breasts a man couldn’t help fantasizing about
because he knew they’d be perfect, like her ass, which was a
rounded, pert masterpiece. To say nothing of her face: rosy red
lips, pillowed and feminine, and lavender eyes fringed with thick
black lashes. She was utterly stunning, and his body couldn’t help
but notice.

He was grateful for the few minutes of
physical labor in dragging the bags off the belt, and packing them
into the back of the van. It gave him a moment to clear his head.
She’s not the first celebrity you’ve ever met, for crissakes.
Get a hold of yourself, Lars.

He shut the doors of the van and leaned back
against it for a second. Jane had barely broken things off before
his blood had heated up for Samara.
‘Not that guy,’ huh,
Lars?

He didn’t like it that Jane might be right.
He didn’t want to be the sort of fickle guy who was led around
solely by his pecker. He
wasn’t
that guy. He forced himself
to remember Jane’s sweet face this morning then reminded himself
that sweet face belonged to the same Jane who
didn’t
want
him. The same Jane who had barely said a word to him since they
left the parking lot after her “ice” speech. Aside from politely
asking for his help recovering the bags from baggage claim, and
giving him the claim tickets, Jane had kept her distance after
introducing him to Samara. Even then, her eyes held no warmth. She
didn’t touch his hand as she handed him the tickets, or wink or
smile or anything. It was almost like last night, like the last
three days, never even happened. It was like he was just “the help”
now.

There’s nothing you can do about that right
now, so get Jane out of your head. You’ve got a job to do.

He grumbled as he sat down in his seat,
fumbling with his keys, distracted, confused.

“Is this…okay?”

He jerked his head up, surprised to find
Samara sitting next to him in the passenger seat of the van,
waiting.

She smiled at him. “I thought we could get
to know each other better.”

“N-no! That’s fine! You can sit wherever you
want to.”

He glanced in the rearview mirror as he
backed out of the parking space and caught Jane’s eyes for a
second, but she turned away quickly, unreadable. He braced himself
against the wave of pain he felt from her rejection, but anger
quickly followed on pain’s heels, and he turned to Samara, smiling
back his most winning smile.

Jane doesn’t want you? Fine. Looks like
someone else is interested.

Samara leaned forward and turned on the
radio and the Beach Boys started singing. She turned to him and
smiled, raising her eyebrows. “Do you mind?”

She doesn’t like ’60s music.
No big
shock there.

“No, please. Find something you like.”

“Oh, I
adore
this,” she smiled. “I
was going to turn it up a little.”

That surprised him. She liked the same music
he and Jane did. Lars tilted his head to her, staring at her face.
Man, she is stunning. It would be physically impossible for her
to be more beautiful.

Samara flipped her hair and buckled her
seatbelt as they left the parking lot, beaming at him.

His body was reacting to her, sending blood
to all of the obvious places, making him hard and hyperaware of her
beside him. From her violet eyes to the tips of her red, lacquered
toes, she was a living, breathing goddess.

He glanced in the rearview mirror before
merging onto the highway and caught Jane’s eyes again. Her face was
impassive, but she looked away quickly—too quickly maybe, and he
couldn’t help feeling a little guilty, like he was somehow
betraying her by sitting next to her gorgeous, captivating cousin,
listening to the Beach Boys just as he had with her.

No. Screw that. She doesn’t get to make me
feel guilty. This is what she wanted. Anyway, what am I supposed to
do? Make Samara Amaya go sit in the back?

“So! I ran into Gisele at the Mondrian on
Sunday night and when I told her I was shooting in Minnesota, she
told me to watch out for lions and bears.” She laughed and it was a
high-pitched, breathy, tinkly sound—nothing like Jane’s hoarse,
raspy tone. “Now, there aren’t any lions and bears where we’re
going, are there?”