Tragic

"Rook Walsh," I say weakly.

"Oh, yes. I remember now," she says as she picks up the ends of my very long hair, "Rook. You need to tell that stylist of yours that these ends need a touch-up. Antoine prefers au naturel, but it must be healthy—so trim these ends if he invites you back. Today is just a test shoot, but we've got good light coming in the afternoon and you know how Antoine loves au naturel light." She winks at me and I laugh.

"I'm Elise, by the way. Antoine's lover."

She says it so casually, this word. Lover. It implies so much more than girlfriend. Lover. It drips with sex. I smile at her. "Nice to meet you—"

But she's dousing me with water and my words get lost in the feeling of having my hair washed by a professional again. In the shelter I'm lucky if I get a shower twice a week. You have to work in the kitchen for three days to get one shower. But I had one last night, so I'm not too dirty.

Elise's fingertips start massaging my head and then she squirts some tropical-smelling shampoo on it. She lathers it up, starting at the bottom and then working the thick froth into my scalp. It feels so good I almost moan with pleasure.

Then the rinse again. The water trickles down my scalp, sometimes a stray stream will slide down the edge of my cheek and it sends a shiver up my whole body. I feel myself relax just as Elise wrings out the excess water and then very carefully works the conditioner in.

"Long day, Rook?" she asks me.

"Yeah," I reply, sedated and warm. "I got fired today."

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's hard to make it as a model, I know. When I was just starting out I had to work all sorts of odd jobs. Waitressing, bartender, I was even a tow truck dispatcher at night. Whatever it took to keep my nail appointments and have a nice wardrobe. I suppose it's that way for you now, huh?"

I open my eyes. "Sorta."

"What kind of job was it?"

"Cleaning houses."

"Oh, yeah, I've done that too, those were the worst. I got accused of stealing once, and I never even took anything."

I try to sit up but she pushes me back down. "Me too! I didn't take that ring, Delores did, and they fired me."

She clicks her tongue at me and shakes her head. "Well, you're pretty enough and skinny enough and your legs and hair are long. Antoine likes all these features you have—so if you just do exactly what he tells you, maybe you'll find a better job today. Right?"

"I'd like that," I whisper.

Elise smiles. "You're not like the others, Rook. You're calm and quiet, and a bit tragic, if you don't mind me saying."

"I don't mind it." Because it's true, I don't add.

"Antoine is hard to work for, I won't lie. But you might do, so just keep your mouth shut and do everything he asks."

I nod as the water sprays down my face again and keep my mouth shut for the rest of the time. I catch that Ronin guy walking around a little in the part of the studio I can see. He looks over at me each time, almost stopping to take a second look as Elise pulls and tugs my hair through her various brushes.

He's watching me.

Chapter Two - RONIN

I leave Elise with the new girl and join Antoine in his office. As older sisters go I could do a lot worse than Elise, and since she raised me since I was ten, I am eternally grateful and only want her to be happy. But honestly, Antoine drives me up a wall. She's been dating him forever, so he practically raised me as well, but a father figure he is not.

Describing him as an artist should really do the trick—he's got all the stereotypical attributes like selfish, ass**le, romantic, ass**le, creative, ass**le, temperamental, ass**le. I could go on and on, but what's the point. He's an ass**le.

And since he refused to speak to me and Elise in anything but French for the first five years we all lived together, we're both now fluent.

So I guess I can thank him for that.

But French is a pretty stupid language to know when you live in Denver. Maybe if I move to Quebec or Paris it might come in handy. And actually, we did go to Paris with him last year to do a show, but he hates it there just as much we did, so I doubt we'll be going back.

He speaks more English now, but that's only because he has to talk to more people than just Elise and me. Back when he was just starting out it was just us, so he could get by without speaking English if he wanted. But now, Antoine Chaput is big time and he's got a lot of people keeping this place going.

And none of them speak French.

"She'll get over it, Antoine," I tell him as I take a seat across from his desk. "Just let her walk out."

Antoine is running his hands through his hair, messing it all up and making himself look ridiculous, but he is about to flip out over this Clare shit, I can tell, so I run interference. "She's on the rag today, she told me. And you know how bitchy she is on the rag."

She doesn't have her period today, she's just a raging bitch and not in her right mind every day, but this puts the blame on her instead of him, and that's what he wants—so f**k it. I give him what he wants to keep the peace.

"She's done. I don't want to see her again! No more!"

I shrug. He says this at least once a month. Clare walks out pissed off all the time when we let her work, it's nothing new or extraordinary. They do this dance so often, it's like a couple of dorky kids doing the box-step at senior prom.

I reach over and grab an apple off the perpetual fruit basket Antoine has on his desk and take a seat in the deep leather couch that gives me a full view of the studio so I can watch for the new girl. Antoine is still mumbling about Clare.