“You don’t really know him, Daria. He’s not your type. Maybe he was your type when he was ten years old and you were seven. But now… he’s Hollywood, Daria. He’s glitzy.”
“Glitzy?” Daria laughed, but the sound was weak.
“That’s not a word I’d use to describe him. He’s very down-to-earth.”
“You’re seeing him here, in Kill Devil Hills, so, of course, he seems down-to-earth. But watch the reruns of True Life Stories. Tell me then that he’s down-to-earth.”
She had watched the summer reruns, just as she’d watched the original shows during the rest of the year, and he was the most down-to-earth the host of a TV show could be. But she could see no point in arguing that with Chloe.
“I really just want a friendship with him,” Daria said, more to convince herself than Chloe.
“Bullshit,” Chloe said in her sometimes-I just-can’t soundlikea-nun voice.
“You’re tied up in knots over him. And even if he did give you some hint that he might be interested in you that way, he’s leaving at the end of the summer. He’s a California boy.”
Daria didn’t answer. She didn’t want to fight about this, because she was afraid she would lose and that Chloe was right. She opened her book again, and Chloe did the same, but Daria’s thoughts were still on the cottage across the cul-de-sac. She had tried not to think about the end of the summer. She couldn’t bear the thought of Poll-Rory being | home again to a string of weekend renters, then finally‘1 standing cold and vacant, while she and Shelly had the;
winter cul-de-sac entirely to themselves once more.
Vy/io? was she going to do about Rory?
Grace drove through the darkness toward Rodanthe, that one thought blocking all others from her mind. She had never treated anyone this way before. Never used another person for her own gain. It had gotten out of hand, and she didn’t know how to fix it. She was driven to see him. but only because it put her so close to Shelly.
Shelly was stunning! She had been an ethereal vision, walking through those sea oats, golden in the early- evening light. She looked so healthy, and Grace clung to that reassuring fact. But Pamela had looked healthy, too. She wished Shelly was not constantly taking those solo walks on the beach. How quickly did she walk? How strenuously?
Shelly was tall and lithe, just like Grace had been at that age. She had the body and the presence of a model. She remembered what Rory had said: Grace looked like a model, too.
Oh, Rory, she thought, if only you knew.
She’d first heard those words when she was sixteen years old. She’d been walking alone through the shopping center where she and her best friend, Bonnie, had after-school jobs, when a man suddenly stepped in front of her. She’d had to stop short to avoid running into him. He was probably her mother’s age, maybe a little older. He had silver hair, but his face was relatively unlined and his blue eyes smiled at her. For someone his age, he was very handsome.
He apologized for disturbing her, then told her his name was Brad Chappelle and he ran a modeling agency.
“I’m walking through the shopping center today, looking for girls who might be model material,” he said.
“And I have to tell you that you are the most beautiful girl I’ve stumbled across in my search so far this year.”
Already shy. Grace could think of nothing to say in response to such an effusive compliment, and the man continued talking.
“You’ll have to get some photographs taken for a portfolio,” he said, “and then you’ll have to go through the training program at my agency.
It will cost you some money, but you’ll easily make ten times that in your first year as a model. I can practically guarantee it. “
He wanted money. Was that was this was about? Some sort of scheme?
“I really don’t have any money,” she said.
He studied her for a moment.
“Well, in your case, if you can spring for the photographs, I’ll cover the training program for you,” he said.
“I think you’ll be a good investment.”
He told her she would need her mother’s permission to take classes at the agency, and Grace thought that would be a major stumbling block.
Her mother always seemed to view Grace as more of a liability than an asset, and she was indeed resistant to the idea—at first. Once Brad talked to her about Grace’s earning potential, though, she readily gave her permission.
Getting pictures taken for her initial portfolio turned out to be one of the most awkward afternoons of Grace’s life as she tried unsuccessfully to relax in front of the camera. The photographer was nice about it, telling her how much more confident she would feel after taking Brad’s modeling course.
She loved the classes at the agency right from the start. Since grade school, she had been teased about her height and her thin form. Now, her height, her slender body, her high cheekbones were the envy of other girls, and she found herself walking tall. She knew she was Brad’s favorite among his students, and she felt his eyes on her as she moved through the class. Admiration was in his face, and after the fourth or fifth class, he told her that she had a natural ability in addition to her beauty. Grace overheard one of the more experienced models say that Brad was grooming her for the big time.
Her first real assignment came that summer, at a fashion show at Beck’s, a local department store. Brad invited her mother as his special guest, which told everyone who hadn’t already figured it out that Grace was his pet. It was the first time her mother had seen her model, and the show went spectacularly well. Grace’s mother could not mask her pride at seeing her daughter, a changed young woman, on the runway. Grace was no longer
