See Jane Fall (19 page)

“I never took anything away from you,
Sara.”

Samara raised one perfect, delicate eyebrow.
“You took
everything
away from me.”

“I had nowhere else to go. I was ten years
old.” Tears filled her eyes, as she remembered the awful day she
had been told that her life as she knew it was over. That she’d
have to move to Boston to live with her uncle, aunt and cousin.
But, her uncle’s face, identical to her father’s, had been so
beguiling, so familiar, the only thing that comforted her and made
sense in a world that had tumbled down around her. She had bound
herself fiercely to her Uncle Mays, staring at his face unobserved
for long moments, trying to persuade herself that he was her father
returned to her. And her uncle, who grieved terribly the loss of
his brother, endeavored to treat Jane as much like his own daughter
as possible. Which was the problem. Sara had never forgiven Jane
for it.

“Poor little Janie.” Samara cooed, reached
out, running the back of her hand over Jane’s curls. “Poor little
orphan. Plain Jane, my poor, pathetic, unloved, little cousin.”

Something snapped inside of Jane and she
reached up and took Samara’s wrist, firmly moving it from her head.
She met Samara’s eyes, angry. “I may have the
distinct
misfortune of being your cousin. And I may be plain and little. But
I’m
not
pathetic—”

“And not that little,” Samara mocked under
her breath, wrestling her wrist out of Jane’s grasp and massaging
it.

“—and I’m
not
unloved, Sara,” she
added, twisting the knife. “You know that better than anyone,
Sara
, don’t you?”

Her comment hit its mark soundly and she
watched as Samara raised her head slowly, eyes narrowed, her lips
in a tight thin line.

Jane’s heart skipped a beat and her face
flushed.
Where had that sudden backbone come from?
Jane knew
she
had
a backbone, but rarely did it surface in reaction to
her cousin. Almost never. She had made it a point to treat her
position with Samara with as much calmness, professionalism and
forbearance as possible because she knew it was what her uncle
expected from her. But, it felt wonderful—and so liberating!—to
strike back, and she could feel one of several small, tight threads
binding her to her cousin snap. The relief of it made her quiver,
almost made her sigh.

Until she looked at Samara’s face. She
shivered, taking in Samara’s flinty expression, and while she
didn’t regret her words, she braced herself for a slap, either
actual or rhetorical.

Unexpectedly, Samara’s face neutralized
before her, but her voice was a low, spiteful whisper when she
spoke. “You can’t have him, Jane. You know
that
better than
anyone, don’t you?”

For a moment Jane wasn’t sure if they were
talking about her uncle or Lars, but Samara continued before Jane
could figure it out.

“I tell you what, sweet, little cousin…if I
have to stay here in this shithole, you’ll have to stay here too.
On the couch. In case I need you.” She smiled at Jane before
turning on her heel and heading back to her bedroom. When she got
to the bedroom door, she looked back at Jane and winked. “Front row
seat for you, Janie. Hope you packed your earplugs.”

***

I hate her. IhateherIhateherIhateher.

Jane took a deep breath and plopped back
down on the couch. Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it.

If Miss Thing gets on ur last nerve, come
find me at the Ritz.

Ray must be settling into the Best Western.
Lars would be headed back up to Bozeman by now to pick up the rest
of Samara’s team; Franco, Shanelle and Margot would be here by
tonight and Jane would walk over to the motel to make sure they
were all settled in and up to date on tomorrow’s schedule. The
Trend
people were coming in today too, but they were renting
vans at the airport and Sebastian would coordinate with them. Jane
was really only responsible for managing Samara’s personal
team.

For the remainder of the afternoon, Jane
busied herself finalizing shoot details on her phone, verifying
that Samara’s on-location trailer had everything she needed and
avoiding her cousin as much as possible. Luckily, Samara stayed in
her room, drinking water, smoking cigarettes and watching TV.

Jane had to get out of the stifling
closeness of the cottage, so she took a short walk around the four
cottages, peeking in the windows of the other three. They were
rough shells compared to the one Samara was staying in: the walls
and ceilings weren’t finished and the floors were concrete slabs.
Pipes jutted out from the walls without fixtures and electrical
wires went nowhere. It made Jane realize how much work went into
fixing up Samara’s cottage in the week or two before her
arrival.

Jane thought of Lars’s face the first time
he showed her the cottage and how she had laughed out loud. She
winced at her bad behavior.

She hated herself for breaking things off
with him. She hated herself for not being strong enough to roll the
dice and see what happened. For not being confident enough in his
words and intentions to believe that he might actually want her.
But he was already falling for Samara; Jane could see that. Knowing
it would happen hadn’t made it easier, though. Predictable, yes.
Easier, no.

Looking out at the meadow where she and Lars
had seen the bison, she felt that heaviness holding onto her heart.
It felt like a million years ago. Waking up with him in her bed
this morning felt like a million years ago.

A sudden, terrible thought took hold of her
as she turned and headed back to the cottage. What if he
was
the exception? What if he
would have
chosen Jane? What if
breaking things off this morning had
pushed
him into
Samara’s arms? Could he have been true to Jane if Jane had been
able to give him her trust?

She caught her reflection in one of the
picture windows as she passed by the cottage, and stopped to look
at herself. She looked like a short, dumpy high school boy. Average
height, baggy clothes, baseball hat. Shoulders rolled forward. Head
down. Defeated posture. Towel thrown in before the first inning is
even played.

What if he
was
the exception?
she asked herself again.

She took off her baseball cap, folded it in
thirds and shoved it in her hip pocket. She ran her hands through
her curls, until they stayed back off her face. Her face was hazy
in the glass, which made it easier to see the
Felicity
thing
he had alluded to. She tilted her neck to the side, and caught the
twinkle of her diamond studs in her ears.

She took off her sweatshirt, straightened
her back and tied it around her waist. Underneath she was wearing a
simple V-neck t-shirt, and underneath that, the sheer black bra
she’d been wearing last night. She couldn’t bear to take it off
yet.

She twisted back and forth, checking herself
out: her long neck, the way her curls caught the sunlight. They had
some golden highlights, no doubt from being outdoors more than
usual over the past few days, and the unexpected glimmer of color
surprised her, pleased her.

She glanced down at her jeans and wrinkled
her nose. They were shapeless, awful baggy things that she had worn
in college when she was fifteen freshman pounds heavier. She could
do better.

Always a choice, Sugar.

No, Jane couldn’t compete with Samara, but
she could do better than this. She
was
better than this. She
thought of Samara’s spitefulness, the way she was going after Lars
not just because he was hot, but because she probably suspected
Jane had been interested in him first. And maybe Jane couldn’t have
him in the end, but then again…maybe giving up preemptively hadn’t
been the right play either.

***

Jane waited until after Samara had eaten
dinner and settled herself in the bath before she walked back into
town to speak to the crew at the Best Western. She didn’t mind the
walk; she was getting used to it and sort of liked the fresh air
and exercise.

The crew always bonded like a family on
these editorial shoots, and Jane was always glad to see everyone
assembled in one room; she appreciated their camaraderie. They met
in the small conference room off the hotel lobby, and after
exchanging hugs and greetings, they sat around a small table going
over the shoot schedule. Jane reminded them to be alert, prompt and
efficient, and to do whatever it took to make Samara shine. She
also reminded them that most of them would be fired over the next
two days, but that they shouldn’t worry. Jane herself had lost
count after being fired twenty-six times in the first six months of
her employment.

“You all know she doesn’t mean it. She’s
just stressed, like the rest of us. So, take it with a grain of
salt and keep doing your job unless you hear from me, okay?”

“Girl, we all know the drill. Here’s what I
want to know. Is there a pool going yet on how long it takes her to
get the Viking into bed?” Shanelle, Samara’s sassy hair stylist,
stood beside Ray, sucking down a Diet Coke.

Jane rolled her eyes. “Really, Shan?”

“He is
fine
, honey. Mm-mm-mm.”

Ray nudged Shanelle in the side, and she
looked up at him. “Why you pushing me, Ray-Ray? Don’t be
pushing
me around.”

Margot, Samara’s stout, cheerful costume
mistress, gave Shanelle an air-high five. “If I was sixty pounds
slimmer…”

“Girl,” purred Ray, looking at Margot over
his sunglasses, “you all sorts of foxy, sexy, fine just the way you
is.”

Margot beamed at Ray, absentmindedly playing
with her fingers, which seemed bereft of a needle and thread
whenever she was without them.

“No bets, folks. Let’s just keep our focus.”
Jane turned to Franco. “She’s going to need you in the morning. Tai
chi at 7:30 and I got everything you need for her shake.”

Franco’s muscular physique was further
accentuated by his perpetual uniform: a crisp white t-shirt under
an expensive, navy blue Dolce and Gabbana track suit, and he owned
those threads with the same aloof professionalism with which a
financier wore a thousand-dollar tailored suit and tie. Everything
about the over-groomed, handsome, Italian trainer screamed
confidence
. He’d only started working with Samara over the
summer, but she was already dependent on his health regimen and
vigorous workouts, insisting that he join them on shoots longer
than two days, which was fine with Jane. The harder the workout,
the more docile her cousin.

“
Everything
I need?” he asked in his
accented English, the ever-present trace of suggestion in his
mildly flirtatious tone.

Jane nodded crisply. “Per your request.”

Franco’s smile was languorous and approving
as he nodded at Jane before looking away to flick lint off his
sleeve.

“We all done here, Superstar?” asked Ray,
winking at her. “I need me some
Brokeback Mountain
action.
Some of us want to go find a local martini attached to a local
cowboy.”

“Well, good luck with that,” said Jane,
wondering where exactly Ray thought he was going to chase down a
martini in Gardiner. If anyone could, however, it was Ray. “Let’s
keep it to
one
, though, okay? Plenty of time to check out
the local color this weekend while Samara’s in Jackson Hole. By the
way, Franco, you’re going with her. Sebastian, you too. You two
will share an adjacent suite. She’ll have her own.”

The Amangani at Jackson Hole was one of the
most exclusive resorts in the country; Samara’s suite alone cost
$1,300 per night, and the one Sebastian and Franco would share cost
$975 per night. The Amangani had a spa, workout facility, fine
dining, boutiques, and every amenity a world-class pain in the—um,
supermodel
could ask for.

“You’re staying with Samara, Jane?”
Sebastian typed the details into his calendar.

Jane looked down, thinking. Yes. Yes, she
generally stayed with Samara, on a cot somewhere unobtrusive in her
suite where she could be available, if needed. She was sure Samara
would ask Lars to join her, though. Remembering how chummy they
were today, Jane felt certain Lars would accept her invitation.

And I’ll be damned if I’ll sleep on a cot
listening to them!

Without any warning, Jane felt the second of
those tight threads snap inside, and a shutter of relief passed
through her, making her sigh then chuckle softly with the pleasure.
She felt herself shaking her head slowly back and forth.

“Um…no. I’m not going,” she murmured. It
felt exhilarating to utter the words, even as she ignored the
low-grade, creeping uncertainty that accompanied them. Samara would
be pissed.
Yes, she would be, but the world wouldn’t stop
spinning.

Five sets of eyes were glued to her face
when she looked up. Ray slowly lowered his sunglasses. Sebastian
looked like he might weep. Margot looked at Shanelle and Shanelle
looked at Margot, then back at Jane, wide-eyed, at a total loss.
The only person who seemed unaffected by this news was Franco, who
simply stared at Jane, mildly amused.

“I’m going to…um…” Jane tried to organize
her thoughts.
What am I going to do?

The answers came swiftly: turn off my cell
phone, play euchre, sleep in my own room at the heavenly Best
Western, and be a normal, regular person who isn’t at anybody’s
beck and call for two days. “…I’m going to take a few days off.
Yes. I’m going to take a vacation.
Sara
will go without
me.”

Ray’s eyes were as wide as saucers, and
Sebastian adjusted his glasses, looking apoplectic, but Franco
nodded at Jane with respect, his brown eyes thoughtful as he stared
at her.

She smiled at all of them with more
confidence than she felt and added. “So, Franco, Sebastian, if you
need anything from me between now and Friday afternoon, please let
me know. I won’t be available next weekend.”