When in Rome: Part 11

Kimberly had done it again. She’d snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. First she’d gotten Vincenzo just drunk and horny enough to spill, telling her the story of his brief romance with Bianca Buccino, with whom he had shared one magical but kissing-only night before her rise to fame as a model. The way he’d described her, she was basically an angel in human form -- which had obviously made it all the more devastating when she refused to see him again.

It was hard to imagine Vincenzo pining after one girl for an entire year, and Kimberly suspected some exaggeration of all the lonely nights drinking alone and whispering her name to the stars, but either way, his obsession had led to him babbling about Bianca to everybody he knew, and also to complete strangers. One of those strangers had been the beautiful ex-wife of a plastic surgeon, staying at the hotel where he’d been working as a bellhop.

He’d admitted to Kimberly that he started sleeping with said woman (“To numb my pain, yes?”), but when she grew tired of his continual sighing about Bianca Buccino, she casually dropped the fact that his lost love had been one of her ex-husband’s patients. One the surgeon was very, very proud of. Maybe too proud, since he’d breached doctor-patient confidentiality to tell his wife about her.

The irony was astounding: Bianca was secretly trans, while everybody in the world assumed she was a cis girl, and meanwhile “Barbie” was secretly a straight, formerly-macho cisgender guy, while everybody in the world assumed “she” was trans. It was also exactly the kind of thing Kimberly knew she could use to blackmail their way into the Blush campaign.

Which made it even more infuriating that Bobby was being a little bitch about it. He was back from Bianca’s, sitting on the hotel bed with his freshly-tanned legs crossed at the thigh, blissfully unaware of what had gone on there just a few hours earlier, and he was shaking his empty blonde head at her.

“How would that even work?” he asked petulantly. “I mean, people are super into trans models right now. You said it yourself. So, she’ll just be, like, even more popular.”

“If her family’s been keeping it a secret for eighteen years, they definitely want it to stay that way,” Kimberly said. “They’ve probably had to pay off a bunch of people already. And we’re not asking for a million dollars or anything, we’re just asking Bianca to turn down the Blush campaign and endorse you for it.”

Bobby’s face was conflicted. “Well, what if she decides to she wants to, you know, come out? What if she just rolls with it?”

“Then the smear campaign pretty much writes itself, Barbie,” Kimberly said, sitting down on the bed beside him. “All we have to do is make sure people see how different you and her are. As in, Bianca has spent her whole life hiding from the truth, ashamed of being trans, and only admits to it after the rumor gets too big to ignore...”

“I don’t know if it’s exactly like that,” Bobby mumbled.

“Whereas you came out in front of your entire high school, faced all the bullying and teasing and whatever head-on, and became a beacon of hope for trans kids all over the world,” she finished. “Blush wants to be the hip, socially conscious cosmetics company, remember? They’d never live it down if they picked Bianca over you. The social media shitstorm would be insane.”

She’d laid it all out as clearly as possible for him. Hearing herself say it out loud had given her a very tiny twinge of guilt -- outing somebody against their will was a big deal. But winning the Blush campaign was an even bigger deal, and besides, if Bianca played along she could keep her secret intact.

Bobby was still staring down at the floor, pouty lips pursed together. Kimberly assumed he was still sulky about the Andreas thing, but right now he should have at least been relieved that she’d found a way to course-correct at the last minute. Instead, he was acting like he’d forgotten the whole point of coming to Rome in the first place.

“If we do this, Bianca’s going to fucking hate me,” Bobby finally muttered.

Kimberly blinked. “So what?” she demanded. “You can’t be that obsessed with her boobs. You’re a model now. You’re going to meet all the hottest girls on the planet and you can perv on them backstage all you want.”

Her ex’s face flushed. “They look at my boobs, too, okay?” he snapped. He grimaced. “I just don’t like it. She made being trans sound complicated enough already without us screwing with her.”

“Wait, what?” Kimberly bolted up off the bed. “She told you she was trans and you didn’t tell me?”

Bobby glared at her. “I think we found out around the same time,” he said. “Except you were, like, tricking someone into telling you. And I was just chilling with her, and she told me because we’re friends.”

Kimberly could barely contain her derisive laugh. “Friends?” she demanded. “You met her freaking yesterday. She’s just another bitchy, stuck-up model like Serena who’s good at faking nice, and the only reason she’s acting like your friend is because she thinks you’re both trans. If she knew the real you, she’d...”

“She’d what?” Bobby shouted, bolting to his feet -- the intensity of the move was a little hampered by the fact he had to shimmy his riding-up skirt back into place. “Maybe she’s nice to me because I deserve it, you ever think about that? She’s not anything like Serena, but you are.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kimberly said flatly. “Serena’s the enemy here, I’m your friend, we’re complete fucking opposites and I’m trying to help you.”

Bobby was almost hyperventilating, trembling with emotion, and Kimberly waited for him to blow up, to get all the Andreas stuff off his chest. Instead, he took a deep breath, then lowered himself back onto the bed.

“Your hair,” he muttered, folding his arms across his chest and not meeting her gaze.

Kimberly blinked, momentarily baffled. “What about it?” she asked.

“You said you went brunette because blonde is ‘Barbie’s’ thing, but that’s bullshit,” her ex said. “That’s Serena’s color. Admit it.”

Kimberly was out-and-out stunned. The whole time they’d dated, Bobby had been utterly oblivious to any changes in her hair, makeup, or clothing -- aside from always pestering her to wear miniskirts and low-cut tops -- but now, as she looked at her dark chestnut color, it looked...familiar.

“You wanted to look like her,” her ex said sourly. “You actually admire her. Even if she’s the enemy.”

Kimberly swallowed. “That doesn’t mean I’m on her side, Bobby.”

Bobby blinked at the use of his old name, but he didn’t look particularly happy about it. “I don’t want to be Serena,” he said. “I want to be better than Serena. I want to beat her fair and square.” He took a trembling breath. “I never flopped on the basketball court, no matter how hard people fouled me, and I’m not going to start cheating now, Kimmy. Especially not if it means wrecking Bianca’s life. I know what it feels like to get fucking blackmailed, remember?”

Kimberly was almost moved. For a brief second she considered the possibility that her egotistical, self-absorbed ex had suddenly started caring for people other than himself. But of course, there was a simpler explanation: even knowing she was trans, he was still completely infatuated with Bianca, and wanted to stay in her good books on the off-chance she let him touch her boobs.

“I get it,” Kimberly said, sitting down beside him and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I totally get it.”

Bobby gave a deep sigh. “Good,” he said. “So, like, may the best man win, or whatever. If I don’t get the Blush campaign…” He frowned. “I don’t know. I’ll find some other way to wreck Serena’s shit.”

Kimberly smiled, nodded, and as soon as Bobby went to the bathroom to inspect his tan-lines, she grabbed his iPhone and found Bianca Buccino’s number. Her ex was getting the Blush campaign, no matter what, and he would thank her for it later. Maybe.

#

Bobby’s mom styled his hair for the fashion show’s wrap-up party, sculpting his long tresses into a glamorous cascade of soft blonde waves, and made him redo his nails with a sparkly pale pink, but all the preparation felt a little pointless. Since he’d nixed Kimberly’s blackmail plan, Bobby knew his chances of getting the Blush deal were slim. In fact, he was sort of resigned to not getting it.

Which would mean going back to square one in his quest for vengeance, and maybe even trying a brand new tack. Something he could do as himself, instead of as “Barbie,” would be nice. He thought about it while he did his makeup, using fresh summery colors and a shiny pink lip gloss. The results gave him the usual mixture of pride and embarrassment, but as he inspected the gorgeous face in the bathroom mirror, his eyes kept straying downward.

Following a brief but fierce internal struggle, during which Bobby imagined his fellow models, all of them in low-cut dresses, snickering at him, he dug out his darkest bronzer and favorite contouring brush. Then he cupped his breasts one at a time, dabbing, blending, and highlighting to enhance his cleavage. Pointless or not, for some reason Bobby still wanted to look hotter than the catty models backstage.

When he exited the bathroom, he noticed Kimberly giving his decolletage an impressed double-take. The whole ride over to the gallery she had a slight smirk on her face, which Bobby, cheeks burning, tried his best to ignore. But now, walking into the party, he couldn’t help but stick out his chest just a tiny bit more than usual.

Bobby had made his mom triple-check the dress code, determined to avoid another neon pink bikini incident, but he still didn’t feel particularly comfortable with what he was wearing. The incredibly sexy turquoise body-con dress his mom picked out featured a very high hemline, a cut-away panel to expose his tanned midriff, and was so tight Kimberly had been required to help him squeeze into it.

Kimberly and his mom had insisted he wear five-inch heels, since strutting around like a freaking stripper was apparently his “signature” now. That meant he was perched on a pair of strappy golden stiletto sandals, accessorized with gold hoops in his ears, an arm bracelet, and several gleaming rings on his fingers.

But judging from the attire around him, he was not under-dressed. The gallery had been totally transformed for the show’s wrap-up: the catwalk had been dismantled, all the chairs had been cleared away, and a whole ton of very fashionable people were busy milling around, sipping drinks and taking selfies with each other. Kimberly had drilled him on the names and faces of some of the biggest photographers, designers, and executives, but everyone looked pretty much the same to him, just snooty and European.

“This is a great chance to do a little networking, but remember not to look like you’re networking, okay, sweetie?” his mom said, adjusting his bracelet. “Just go have fun around the right people. Maybe you could get that Instagram story with Bianca like we talked about?”

Bobby noticed Kimberly flush slightly -- she was clearly still sore about losing her made-up social media coordinator position. He wasn’t looking forward to mingling with fashion people, but he was eager to see Bianca again. He was just starting to scan the crowd for her when somebody shoved a large gift bag into his out-thrust chest.

“Compliments of Blush,” the organizer said, unloading smaller gift bags on Kimberly and his mom, too. “Hold them so the logo faces out, yes? And we have a booth set up over there which is displaying some new products, so please, take photos there, okay?”

The woman bustled away, leaving Bobby stuck holding the over-sized gift bag in both arms. “Mom?” he whined.

“Here, Kimberly, hold mine,” his mom said, passing off her smaller bag, then carefully taking the big one from his arms. “We’ll go stash these under a table, okay, sweetie? You go have fun.”

Bobby looked to his ex-girlfriend instinctively -- which was kind of weird, now that he thought about it. Kimberly didn’t seem thrilled at being relegated to gift bag transportation, but she gave him an encouraging nod.

“You look great,” she said. “And if you end up talking to Blush people, just play it cool.”

“Right,” Bobby said, still feeling a little apprehensive as he scanned the crowd. A small circle of his fellow models wasn’t far off, and he could see the brunette who’d compared him to a clipboard among them.

“Which is basically what I already told you, sweetie,” his mom said, sounding somewhat miffed. “Come on, Kimberly.”

Bobby was about to offer to accompany them to the giftbag table, when he finally spotted Bianca. She was dressed a little more casually than he was, wearing a trendy jumpsuit and heels, but her plunging V-neck managed to instantly magnetize his eyes. With a little flutter in his stomach, he gave his mom and ex a distracted goodbye wave, then clicked his way across the party to greet his friend.

“Hi, Bianca!” he chirped, interrupting a conversation in rapid-fire Italian. “You look so hot!”

The model looked up, stopping mid-sentence, seeming weirdly startled. She didn’t lean forward for the usual kisses -- maybe she’d noticed his makeup job and didn’t want to smear it. But there was also a weird look in her eye.

“Did you get attacked by the gift bags, too?” Bobby asked, smiling a little more hesitantly. “It’s like, who sponsored this show, right? So hard to remember.”

Bianca gave a funny little laugh, then turned to the well-dressed woman she’d been speaking to and said something apologetic-sounding in Italian. The woman raised one questioning eyebrow, then drifted away. Bianca, instead of warming up, seemed even more awkward, nothing like her usual bubbly self.

“Hey, I used your trick,” Bobby said desperately, pointing to his cleavage. “What do you think?”

Bianca looked at his contouring, with a glimmer of tears in her eyes, and said nothing.

“Um, is everything okay?” Bobby asked, with a growing suspicion in the back of his mind.

Bianca suddenly glared at him, an expression he had never seen on her face before. “Everything is okay,” she said. “Yes. I did what you asked. But you could have just asked, I didn’t need the contract, you could have… Could have…”

Bobby’s stomach did a somersault.

Bianca blinked rapidly, but the tears were starting to escape down her cheeks. Her next words were choked: “You are a very mean person, Barbie.”

She swept away, hurrying towards the bathrooms with her head down and her shoulders slumped, looking nothing like the girl who’d bounced happily down the catwalk just a day ago. Bobby watched her go, mouth hanging open in shock. He knew exactly what, or who, had just happened.

“Fucking Kimberly,” he hissed.

Bobby was torn between two impulses: one, running after Bianca and trying to explain that his social media coordinator and school friend Kimberly was a psycho bitch. Two, finding Kimberly and telling her, to her face, that she was a psycho bitch.

A man’s voice interrupted the decision-making process. “May I have a word, Miss Vickerson?”

Bobby turned around and saw the top of a very well-groomed head. He looked down, seeing a very small but extremely well-dressed man. He was sporting a neatly-trimmed goatee and moustache, black with just a touch of silvery gray, and wore a pair of sunglasses despite the fact that they were indoors.

“It’s not really a great time,” Bobby said. “Maybe, um, later?”

“It will be brief, my dear,” the man said, with only the slightest hint of an Italian accent. “I am Blush’s marketing director. My name is Nino Romano.”

Bobby did a double-take. He’d seen the man’s photo a bunch of times, but for some reason he’d been completely unable to recognize him. Possibly because he’d been expecting someone much, much taller.

“I’m afraid not all of us can wear those lovely heels,” Nino Romano said, clearly noticing Bobby’s confusion. “I would fall flat on my face, quite frankly. This way, please.”

#

Kimberly missed being the hottest girl in the room, and it surprised her. She’d sort of thought she was above that -- she’d come to terms with her own ex-boyfriend looking better in a bikini than she did, after all -- but apparently not. Surrounded by absurdly pretty faces, effortless glamor, and unfairly perfect bodies, she could practically feel an inferiority complex coming on.

It sure didn’t make her feel any cooler that she was stuck guarding a bunch of gift bags with Bobby’s mom, who was already on her second drink. But Kimberly figured this was as good a time as any to get Mrs. Vickerson in line.

“So, I’m fired, right?” she asked casually.

Mrs. Vickerson was scanning the party, stabbing her straw into her drink. “Sweetie, don’t think of it like that,” she said. “You weren’t really officially hired in the first place.”

Kimberly smiled. “Right,” she said. “But you still have to pay me for all those posts I already made.”

“Kimberly, please,” Mrs. Vickerson said, bristling. “You just got a weekend in Italy, all expenses paid, to tag along with my daughter as emotional support. Which is important, but certainly not irreplaceable. Don’t try my patience, okay?”

“I told you I can do more than take photos for Barbie’s Instagram,” Kimberly said flatly. “And I did. I got Barbie the Blush campaign.”

Bobby’s mom stopped stabbing her ice cubes and looked over, startled. “Excuse me?”

“Nino Romano’s here, and he’s going to tell Barbie how much he liked her walks this weekend, and how much buzz he’s been hearing, and then he’s going to sign her for Blush,” Kimberly said, coolly meeting Mrs. Vickerson’s gaze.

“Bianca is the one who’s been getting buzz this weekend,” Bobby’s mom said sharply. “They love her here. Local girl, and all.”

“That’s why I had Barbie cozy up to her, and then introduce us,” Kimberly said, shrugging. “I’m good at talking to people. So I talked to her.”

“About what?” Mrs. Vickerson asked, a little less dismissive now.

Kimberly recalled the text conversation. She’d created a burner Gmail account to message Bianca’s phone anonymously, and kept her texts just vague enough for plausible deniability in the worst-case scenario, where the Italian model decided not to play along.

Your secret makes me sick, and you don’t deserve to be happy. You’re too fake to be famous. Your blonde friend is hotter than you. Help her get what she deserves, or I tell everyone your secret.

Barbie is this a terrible joke??? If it is a joke it is NOT FUNNY.

No joke. You know what do.

This is because of BLUSH??? Oh my FUCKING GOD! Please be joking Barbie.

Make sure she gets it.

There had been a long gap, enough for Kimberly to start worrying a little, but then Bianca had caved.

Okay. Okay tomorrow I’ll talk to Mr. Romano. I am sorry I make you sick.

And that was all it took. Easy.

Kimberly looked across at Bobby’s mom. “I told her how badly Barbie wanted to get the Blush campaign, and how great it would be for trans visibility,” she said. “Bianca’s really socially conscious. We talked about it on the phone, and texted a little, and this morning she decided to endorse Barbie for the campaign instead of her. She wanted it to be a surprise.”

Mrs. Vickerson’s eyes widened momentarily, but then she pursed her lips. “Nobody is that nice, Kimberly,” she said. “This is a very sizeable contract, and even if she doesn’t need the funds, Bianca isn’t going to take money out of her team’s pockets by turning it down.” She glanced across the gallery again. “But if she did, that would be…”

Mrs. Vickerson trailed off, and Kimberly followed her gaze. A gap had parted in the crowd, and they had a clear view, for the moment, of Bobby. Her ex didn’t look the slightest bit like a wallflower -- in fact, he looked better than most of the other models in attendance. The bright turquoise dress offset his tanned skin perfectly, and his gleaming blonde hair and golden jewelry caught the light with every motion. His gorgeous face was immaculately made-up, and whatever he’d done to his boobs made him look like at least a C cup. In short, he had never looked more like a sexy little Barbie doll.

The only difference was, instead of a painted smile, his expression was one of mingled worry and surprise -- possibly because a very short but very well-dressed man was guiding him towards the couches at the end of the gallery.

Kimberly felt a surge of triumph as she turned back to Mrs. Vickerson. “If Bianca did turn down the campaign and endorse Barbie instead, that would be what?” she asked sweetly.

“Well, it would be a fantastic opportunity,” Mrs. Vickerson said vaguely, not taking her eyes off her feminized son. “For Barbie.”

“Well, in about five minutes she’s going to come back over here with the good news,” Kimberly said. “And when she signs, I want a percentage.”

Mrs. Vickerson gave a sharp laugh. “You’re a funny girl, Kimberly.”

“I know what I’m worth,” Kimberly said, putting enough Serena in her voice to make Bobby’s mom freeze. “I want to be paid, and I want a say in what happens.”

Mrs. Vickerson looked at her, and for the first time, Kimberly felt like her ex’s mom was actually seeing her. The expression on her face was suspicious, calculating, and -- the emotion Kimberly had been waiting for -- just a bit uncertain.

“Don’t tell me this stuff about ‘replaceable,’ either,” Kimberly said, pushing. “You knew Bobby his whole life, but you barely know “Barbie.” Admit it. I’ve known her longer than anyone. She came out to me first, remember? And I care about what happens to her. A lot.”

“I’m her mother,” Mrs. Vickerson said, flustered now. “If you’re implying that I… That you…”

“We both care about her, and we both want what’s best for her,” Kimberly said. “That’s why I got her the campaign. And there’ll be a lot more of that in the future.” She lingered on a significant pause. “Or a lot less, if I don’t like how how things are being handled.”

Her ex’s mom went silent for a long moment, processing the veiled threat, then drew a deep breath. “Well,” she said, with a tight smile. “If you really did get Barbie the Blush campaign, then we’d of course be willing to...to discuss hiring you to the team…” She pursed her lips. “On a more official basis.”

Kimberly felt a wave of triumph. It turned out adults were just as easy to manipulate as people her own age -- everybody had the same wants, the same fears. And she was a freaking prodigy when it came to pulling the right strings.

“Thanks, Mrs. Vickerson,” she said guilelessly. “That means a lot.”

#

Bobby flashed a nervous smile as a much taller Italian guy in a slightly less expensive-looking suit poured them drinks. He was seated on one of the bright red couches at the end of the gallery, with the man who’d steered him there sitting across from him. He was definitely being inspected, but it was different from the lustful stares Bobby was accustomed to, and different from the catty looks of the other models, too.

Nino looked more like someone at a hardware store deciding on a new lawnmower, or something. Finally he took off his sunglasses, and his intense gaze settled on Bobby’s face. Bobby felt his heart start to pound. Kimberly had obviously done her stupid blackmail plan, but what if Bianca had called her bluff?

Maybe she’d told Nino Romano about it, and now Bobby was about to get kicked out the wrap-up party and sent to Italian jail. He imagined the other models and their big perfect boobs watching as he got led away by the police, imagined Bianca shaking her head at him and telling him he was never going to see her twerk again -- and it was all because of Kimberly and her stupid bullshit plans.

Unable to bear the tension, Bobby reached for his glass, took a large gulp, and narrowly avoided spitting it right into Nino Romano’s face.

“What is this?” he demanded, sputtering.

Nino looked genuinely puzzled. “Water,” he said.

Bobby looked at the glass bottle the waiter had left behind, and frowned. “It’s got bubbles,” he said lamely. “Water’s not supposed to have, like, bubbles.”

“I understand this is your first time in Europe, Ms. Vickerson,” Nino said, smoothly ignoring him. “Are you enjoying Italy?”

Bobby blinked. Nino didn’t sound angry, which was a good sign, but his question had provoked a sudden montage in his head: tripping over cobblestones, hordes of wolf-whistling Italian men, showing up in a skimpy neon pink bikini to a pool party with no pool...

“Love it,” Bobby said, smiling through gritted teeth.

Nino smiled back. “I’m glad,” he said. “Well, I promised to be brief, didn’t I?” He leaned forward slightly, hands steepled together. “I want Barbie Vickerson to be the new face of Blush cosmetics.”

So it had worked. Kimberly’s stupid bullshit plan had worked, but still at the cost of Bianca hating his guts forever. Clearly mistaking the stricken look on Bobby’s face for normal surprise, Nino elaborated.

“We were impressed with you this weekend, Ms. Vickerson,” he said. “You have something about you that stands out. And one of the other models, who was, in fact, in the running for this same contract, vouched for you quite strongly.”

“Bianca, right?” Bobby said glumly. “I know, but…”

“We did hesitate a little,” Nino cut in, “because of the issue of your sister.”

Bobby shut his mouth.

“You may not be aware, but SoGlam, the company your sister Serena currently represents, has been one of our fiercest competitors,” Nino continued. “Tides have shifted recently, and our sales projections are, well…” He gave a modest shrug. “If things go half as well as expected in the coming season, I think we will crush SoGlam under our heel. Or stiletto, in your case.”

Bobby swallowed. “So, like, they’re the Clippers and we’re the Lakers with LeBron in play-off mode?” he squeaked.

Nino stared. “I think this is an American metaphor I’m unfamiliar with,” he said. “The reason I tell you this is that, while signing you will give us an additional marketing advantage over SoGlam, it might also put a strain on you and your sister’s relationship. She might find it embarrassing to be, well, upstaged.”

Bobby took a deep breath. This was it. Despite all the shit he had gone through this weekend, he’d ended up right where he’d originally hoped to be. He just had to say the word, and he would be on his way to taking over Serena’s life. It had been shitty of Kimberly to blackmail Bianca, but Bianca had gone along with it, and that meant her secret was safe. Nobody got hurt. Not really.

“She’ll get over it,” Bobby said -- he wasn’t sure if he was talking about Serena or Bianca when he said the words, but either way, he knew he was lying. “Where do I sign?” he asked bracingly. “I’m definitely your girl.”

“Excellent,” Nino said, beaming. “Bianca was right about you.”

Bobby faltered. “What did she say?” he asked. “Exactly?”

“I see we are fishing for compliments,” Nino said dryly. “Well, I will indulge you. She said you two spent some time together, and that she thought you were very brave. Also very kind, and very trustworthy.”

“Yeah.” Bobby gave a pained smile. “Yeah, she thought that.”

#