Someone I Used to Know - By Blakney Francis Page 0,31
there, she was dialed into her cell phone with a look of fierce concentration, leaving me practically alone.
The long rack of clothing sporting Madeline’s name caught my eye, and I drifted closer to it, running my hands gently down the soft fabrics. I could barely even recall a single item of clothing Madeline had worn when she was in character besides the hospital gown she’d first greeted me in. Her beauty and overwhelming personality had a way of distracting from something as trivial as clothing or accessories.
My eyes took the time to digest the clothes. They were far from what I would have ever worn, not because they were ugly or unstylish, but because they were all selected to accentuate Madeline’s shorter body type and unique coloring. Next to Madeline’s rack, there was another one with just as many hangers shoved along the metal bar. I bit my lip nervously before taking a step closer to Declan’s rack. It felt like I was doing something naughty, and I was thankful to be deserted as I ran my hand along leg of a pair of jeans I’d seen him wear a few days before. Declan’s wardrobe was much more on par with what Cam would have actually worn.
“It’s almost sinful for a boy to fill out a pair of jeans the way he does,” Fran said conversationally. She’d snuck up behind me.
I squeaked, whirling around to face her. I knew I looked guilty as hell too. There was no telling the density of the red shade my face was painted.
She wanted to laugh at my reaction, but I was thankful she didn’t. Fran officially became my favorite person in California. Her deep brown eyes contradicted the fake gleam that shined in Madeline’s mom’s gaze. They were welcoming, brimming with sincerity.
“How’s your daughter?” I instinctively wanted to connect with her, to accept whatever warmth she could give me.
“A brat…but she’s eight so she’ll grow out of it.” Fran laughed at her own joke, endearing me further. It was hard to believe she was even old enough to have an eight year old. She couldn’t have been older than mid-twenties. “Actually, right now she’s become obsessed with getting me to bring her to work so she could meet the famous Declan Davies.”
I fiddled with my hands. Just what I needed, another reminder of the boy who was already taking up far too many of my thoughts.
“She seems a little young to be a fan. Doesn’t he usually stick to more mature projects?”
My innocent act was a total scam. I knew for a fact that Declan hadn’t made a movie suitable for audiences under thirteen since he’d been old enough to drive. Thank you, IMDB.
Fran smiled mischievously, like she was about to share a secret. “Oh, Maria’s not interested in Declan. She’s convinced he’ll be able to introduce her to his sister, Brittany Davies. She stars in some television show about a mermaid princess set in Australia…I’d be a little more worried about her obsession, but it got her to stop complaining about going to swimming lessons.”
“I didn’t know anyone else in his family was in the business,” I said thoughtfully, digesting the new information.
She stared at me oddly.
“His whole family is in the industry. They practically are the business in Australia. The Davies are like their own miniature empire down under.”
“Like the Kardashians?” My interest was piqued by the idea. On the rare occasions my dorm mate Hannah and I were home at the same time, her little television was always tuned to the goings on of the Kardashians. Hannah obsessed over reality TV, and apparently the Kardashians were reality royalty.
“More like the Kennedy’s, only with actors, writers, and pop stars instead of politicians. Their pedigree is unmatched. We’re talking going back to silent films here.” Fran’s voice was lowered to an appropriate volume for gossiping. “They tend to be more scandalous than tragic, but with about as much press coverage.”
Alfred’s easily identifiable, lumbering footsteps alerted us to Madeline’s arrival, and we moved away from the clothing racks.
I was immediately sequestered to Madeline’s side as she was fitted for a fake baby bump. It was supposed to represent around six months of pregnancy. She kept her interrogation to general questions about what it’d been like to be pregnant and all the little details she thought she might have missed while reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting and three other pregnancy books. I hadn’t even done that much research, and I’d actually had