“I think you should use yourself as the model.”
Margot looked at Tommy like she was crazy. They were discussing the big reveal for the annual Cambridge charity benefit. The who’s who in Chicago always came and auctioned off their goods and services. This year she was providing the finale item. An original Margot Temple creation. She’d designed a necklace for the body. A cross between a filigreed harness and a full torso choker, it was to be worn poolside but not in the water.
“Did you just hear me say the model is gonna be topless?” She wanted to shock, to contrast the delicacy of the necklace with a woman’s breasts, around which ropes of gold and jewels would hang. It would be a true adornment. She planned to release a mini collection based on the piece.
“Yeah. But you also said you weren’t planning on showing the model’s face.”
“Yeah, but – ”
“But nothing.” Tommy started ticking things off on her fingers. “Your tits are perfect, you said you were probably gonna use colored body paint, and even if you don’t say a word, people are gonna speculate, which will drum up a ton of fuckin’ publicity for this thing without us having to spend a dime.”
“Dude, my tits are kind of rude.”
“So fucking what? They’re still perfect. You could give La Grier a run for her money.”
“Whoa now.” Talking about Pam Grier, queen of Blaxploitation cinema was sacrilege. “First of all, your tits are bigger than mine. Second, I don’t want to. I don’t want anyone thinking it’s me.”
“They won’t, not at first. But when they see the pictures someone will inevitably make a comparison between your body and the model’s. Someone will ask about it. You’ll smile and say you can’t reveal anything because the model requested anonymity. Done deal.”
Margot laughed. “You actually mean that.”
Tommy looked at her like she was crazy. “Of course I fuckin’ do. It’s money. Stop bein’ a mope. You’re boring me right now. Is this about Nori? You think he’ll object to the world seeing those fabulous tatas?” she laughed. “God, that dude is so sexy, it’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah, ‘cuz Dom is so ordinary,” Margot snorted. “I swear every fucking eye in the room – male and female – was on them when we had dinner the other night. One bitch was so busy looking over her shoulder she actually tripped when she walked past.”
“I saw that. The shit mighta’ been staged. A modified pratfall. Who knows with these triflin’ ass broads.”
“Planned or no, it was pathetic.”
Tommy smoothed her perfect bun with an equally perfectly manicured hand. “Dom didn’t take his eyes off me though, did he?”
Margot laughed. “Nope.” Nori hadn’t taken his eyes off her either. “But Nori has nothing to do with my decision not to use myself as the model.”
“So, will you think about it then? It could be fun. It’ll be a good story for when we’re old and our tits are in our shoes,” Tommy smiled, holding up yet another dress to her friend’s body. She’d arrived with a hanging carrier full of them.
“That it would, girl. A nice little goof for my memoir, no?”
Tommy laughed. “Indeed, madam artiste, indeed.”