Participant Page 26

  The bedroom is almost the same size as my entire studio was. Smiling at the shiny star shaped glass trophy prominently displayed on my desk, I pick it up and press it against my lips, feeling the weight of it in my hands. First place. Me. I still feel giddy inside every time I think about it.

  Anyone who tells you that modeling school is just for kids doesn’t know any better. I can’t speak for every person or every school, but I know what it did for me. Life has never been more unstable and fraught with uncertainty but mentally, I feel stronger than I’ve ever been. I’m productive. I’m hopeful, and what I’m doing means something to me. I never experienced any of that while spinning my wheels in claims. I worry about money. I worry about my mental stability. I’m doing well right now, but what if my carefully crafted bubble bursts? If I crash and burn, there’s no assurance that I won’t crumble, but if I do fall flat on my face, I think—I hope—I’m strong enough to figure out a different way up.

  My eyes are drawn to the bulletin board where those awful Polaroids from that first day at Chloe Dillon’s are held up with thumbtacks. There was so much fear and doubt in my eyes. I keep them strategically placed right next to my glossy new color headshot just to remind me of how far I’ve come.

  The faint sound of my cell phone echoes down the hall. Grabbing my laptop from the desk, I head back into the living room to retrieve it from the couch. There’s a message from Mindy.

  I didn’t get the part. I haven’t booked anything in months.

  I’m so sorry! Don’t give up.

  I spend a night or two with Tessa or Mindy in LA when our schedules permit. I save gas and time, but it’s more than that. Friends have infiltrated my life and I love it.

  Mindy signed with Aqua Talent Group and is going out mostly on dance auditions for TV commercials and music videos during the day while waitressing at night. She shares a tiny little apartment with a struggling actress named Tia. Sometimes she has doubts, because who wouldn’t when you were born talented and grew accustomed to being the best, only to find out that destiny and reality are sometimes two very different things. Her confidence took a hit with the whole role reversal that transpired between herself and Molly. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be the one struggling to catch up.

  “Every dancer has a better body and is more flexible then the next,” she said to me one night as we were making up a bed for me on their overstuffed couch. “I’m totally out of my league.”

  At eighteen-years young, the combination of missing home and missing Molly gets to be a bit much sometimes, but I hope she can truly appreciate how very lucky she is.

  “Listen up, Mindy,” I said to her with an authority in my voice that comes from experience. “What would be much worse is if you were working a job you hated and always wondered what could have been. You might do really, really well and you might not, but when all is said and done, you’ll be able to say you gave it your all. No matter what, you have to keep at it until you can truly say that to yourself.”

  Mindy’s struggling, but Tessa finally got that big break she was looking for. She signed with an agency that has a hosting division, then landed a hosting gig for a reality TV show on only her second audition, which is not only completely amazing but saved her the hassle of figuring out how she was going to juggle work and auditions. She quit her job and moved to LA all within three weeks. It’s an itty bitty show, but she’s finally earning some decent money doing what she wants and the show got picked up by a bigger network, so it’s only going to get better from here.

  My cell phone rings, and I take a deep breath before I answer because it’s my agent and I’m hoping for good news.

  “This is Alexis.”

  She’s all business and doesn’t waste any time.

  “You didn’t get the lead. They went with a name, but you did well enough for ‘Under Five.’”

  She tells me she’ll be in touch with details and hangs up.

  “Under Five” is just a nice way of saying you have five lines or less. That big audition I got a callback for was an Indy feature length film. My agent warned me that it was a long shot, but that anytime you get to audition for a lead role is still a really big deal. The money I earn should finally get me that new MacBook I’ve been drooling over, and pilot season is happening as we speak. Landing one of those auditions could change everything.

  I didn’t tell my parents that Will and I were no longer engaged until he passed away, and I still haven’t told them about quitting Silver or my foray into the big bad world of acting. I know—terrible—but that’s what we do. I wanted to wait until I booked something solid; something that would counterbalance the news that I’m an underemployed call center rep who is quite possibly living in a fantasy world. With resolve, phone in hand, I take the stairs up to the roof top deck, marveling at the purplish blue orange of the sunset filled sky.

  “Mom. I have news. I quit my job.”

  “Well, it was a nice job to start with. You got your degree, you’ll find something else just as good if not bett—”

  I cut her off. We are not having that let’s make nice conversation we’re accustomed to.

  “No, mom. It wasn’t nice...there was nothing nice about it. That job was like running a marathon with a jagged rock in my shoe...no, worse. Glass. It almost tore me to shreds. No, it did...and I was miserable, Mom. Miserable, but I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want you to worry or tell me it wasn’t that bad, because it was. Things were really bad.”

  “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I never knew how to help you. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you and I didn’t do enough. I needed you to be okay.”

  I had grown so accustomed to her watching me, eyes searching, wondering and worrying. She watched me spend entire weekends in my room, emerging puffy faced and sullen, any attempt at conversation unreciprocated. When I was in high school, she didn’t tell me she’d been laid off from work until I came home sick from school one day and caught her at home. Over the years, keeping secrets became routine, but that needs to change.

  “I love what I’m doing and I’m okay now, but if there comes a day when I’m not, I want to be able to tell you.”

  “You can. Your dad and I did what we had to do, but we never wanted that for you. I’m proud of you for doing something that matters to you.”

  “Proud?” I’d always tried so hard to make them proud by trying to the right thing, but this? This is downright irresponsible. Foolish, even.

  “Honey, we’ve always been proud of you. Have we ever told you anything different?”

  “No, but you never actually said so.”

  “Sure we did, we just couldn’t get you to hear it.”

  And she’s right. I accuse her of not hearing me but sometimes, I don’t listen either. My accomplishments weren’t big enough or bright enough for me. I perceived the disappointment. It’s me who wasn’t proud of myself.

  “I love you sweetie, and dad loves you too.”

  “I love you too mom.”

  I draw my cardigan closer around my middle, angling my face towards the retreating sun. The sunset blazes fiery and red beneath my closed lids, but when I open them, purple tinted blue-orange hues settle over me like silk, folding me into a gentle embrace. Falling in love with myself is a long windy road with far too many steep inclines, but it’s happening. I can feel it. I’m calm, content, and exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  Not everyone is destined to charge into the universe boasting innate prodigious talent. Some of us don’t have all the answers, and sometimes we don’t even have goals or a passion beyond getting through the day. Maybe we’re meant to tackle life gradually, gently arranging ourselves into who we’re meant to be. Maybe that’s not something to be ashamed of. We run in place, take one step forward, two steps back and in the end, write our own fairy tale. And that’s the thing—you can’t manufacture a dream, a purpose or even a wish. It doesn’t always happen overnight and sometim
es it doesn’t happen at all, but if it does, you better hold on tight because there are some things in life you know you have to do even if you don’t believe you can. One day, it’s just an ache in your gut. If you listen, it becomes something you want, then it becomes something you try and, if you’re diligent and accepting of your path, it becomes something you are.

  —-THE END—-

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  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to my husband for believing I could write this book even when I didn’t. Thanks to my mom for slogging her way through my horrible first draft and encouraging me to publish it anyway. Little sis, you probably don’t even remember, but you wrote a few lines about water spilling out of someone’s water bottle on a bus that was so captivating it made me want to write something just as good. I’m so very thankful for my family, for being who they are, and for loving and accepting me as I am. Thanks to Tiffany for being such an inspiration and endless supply of support, which only a fellow writer and really good friend can be. I’m so grateful to Dave Lane (aka Lane Diamond) at Evolved Publishing for seeing something in my book, and making this possible. He works so hard for his authors and I am fortunate to be part of the team. A big thanks to my editor Jessica West, who challenged me chapter by chapter, line by line, every step of the way. It was so enjoyable to work with someone who cared about the details as much as I did. I also want to thank Dale Pease for making my vision for the cover come to life.

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  About the Author

  Website | Goodreads | Facebook | Twitter

  Carmen has always had a love of words, spending many summers of her childhood reading as many books as she could get her hands on. Her love of reading led to a love of writing, which started out with keeping diaries and journals since age ten, and ultimately led to her desire to write a novel. She was born and raised in Southern California, and still lives there with her husband.

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  Carmen is fast at work on developing her second book, so please stay tuned to her page at our website (linked below) to keep up to date on information.

  Carmen Kemp at Evolved Publishing

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  Sometimes we can’t escape the webs we are born into. Sometimes we are the architects of our own fall.

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  CHAPTER 1

  The sun hung like a molten pendant on the horizon as Akash rolled away from his sleeping wife. He cursed as the bed creaked in protest, threatening to wake Jaya. He tiptoed across their bedroom, heavy with the Indian heat, and stubbed his toe in his eagerness to escape the confines of his marriage and reach his lover. In his arms he carried neatly folded clothes, and he eased through the door without a look back.

  Safely on the other side of the threshold, Akash’s heart rate slowed. He dressed quickly and headed out into the daylight, where honking rickshaws already jostled for space on the road despite the early hour. He threaded his way to university through littered streets, where rats the size of his forearm fought with street urchins for the right to scraps.

  “Soraya.” Her name felt like sherbet on his tongue.

  Fifteen minutes later, he turned a corner into the university grounds, and there she sat on a bench nestled amongst roses, a woman secure in the knowledge of her own beauty and her hold on him.

  The streets pulsed with people but Jaya paid no heed as she pushed on. Her husband was up to something, and today would be the day she unravelled his secret. The note she had discovered inside the door to their bedroom, the one that proved her instincts had been right, lay like a stone inside her shoulder bag. A stranger’s elegant handwriting adorned its jagged form:

  7 a.m., the university rose garden

  Jaya passed street vendors blackened by the sun, selling sugared almonds and bright bags of turmeric and chilli. Thoughts tumbled through her head: how Akash stole away each morning from their marital bed, leaving her to wake alone in a house laden with silence; how he spurned her touch, making her question whether she knew how to please him; how even the liveliest conversation fell on deaf ears.

  A year ago, they had been strangers; a brief introduction later, betrothed; now, husband and wife. She’d spoken to Akash only briefly before their marriage, with her mother watching intently from the sidelines. She’d searched him for a sign that everything would be all right, and had taken his silence for shyness.

  Did you ever want me, Akash?

  Her parents had ensured she understood the importance of the match for their family. Her father could no longer afford to feed them all, and if she wanted to complete her studies, the marriage was essential. She would live with her in-laws, two families would be one, and her father would no longer have to pay for her upkeep. The old way, to have a marriage arranged, suited her parents, and Jaya had agreed, determined to make it work.

  The wedding had taken place in a marquee on the outskirts of Hyderabad in the height of summer. Hundreds of well-wishers had arrived in buses, dressed in sequins and bright hues, sweat-stained even before the first ceremony. Jaya’s hands and feet were painted with intricate mehndi the colour of earth. It trailed up her arms, a tattoo proclaiming to the world that she was a bride. The mehndi artist, playful and coy, had hidden Akash’s initials within the pattern in the crook of Jaya’s arm, for her husband to find on their wedding night.

  A good match, their families had said.

  Then why do I feel such distance between us?

  She wanted to hold him to account, but instead her anger ebbed and despair set in. She looked down at herself, wishing she had made herself more beautiful for him, wishing the city had not already left its mark. The dust from the Bombay streets mingled with her feet through her open-toed sandals. Chipped nails peeked from behind worn leather. At the university gates, she stopped to hand a few rupees to a street child holding a broken drum, all forlorn eyes and scraggly hair.

  She forged on through the gates, her chest heavy. Her instinct told her not to question Akash, but to test him. What could he be hiding? Jaya knew one thing: she loved her husband enough to overcome anything. If even the smallest piece of him belonged to her, she could save them.

  “I will find a way to make us work, Akash Choudry,” she said. “Mark my words.”

  The lovers stood in the overgrown alcove in the rose garden. The heady fragrance of the blooms fi
lled Akash’s nostrils, competing with the scent of Soraya’s newly-washed hair.

  She curved her body into his, her pelvis pushing against his thighs. He closed his eyes, and she shook him, laughing lightly.

  “We can’t do this here. What if someone sees?” she said.

  “I don’t care. Let them see. This is the best part of my day.”

  He didn’t feel guilty for his deception of his wife. He didn’t care if he and Soraya received censure for their public displays of affection. Their illicit meetings brought him joy: Soraya’s touch, her smell, the lilting timbre of her voice. To deny himself would have been too painful, and so, week after week, month after month, their affair had continued, wherever and whenever it could, with no regard for the vows he had taken or the damage he inflicted.

  He tangled his fingers in Soraya’s hair, still damp from her shower, and pulled her closer. Their lips meshed, and he savoured the plump moistness of her closed mouth, then pried it apart with his tongue.

  She reached up to loop her arms around his neck, and then jerked suddenly, her fingers caught on a thorn.

  “Ouch!”

  He sat down on the worn bench and pulled her down onto his lap. Then he took her finger, drew it to his mouth, and gently sucked.

  “Better?”

  She nodded, kissed his ear, and rested her head on his.

  “You know,” he mumbled into soft swaths of fabric at her chest, “you are the only person I’d happily serve all my life. Did I tell you that myth I love about Arjun, the greatest archer in the world? He was equally proficient with left and right arm, trusted and loved by Krishna, a man cursed never to be king, always to serve.”

  Soraya groaned. “You’ve only told me that about a hundred times.”