Comeback Queen

Line stared at her two shoe options, as chosen by her styliste, Mona, who declared that both shoes were hot, next season, and dying for her feet.

One was a black strappy and studded pointy-toe Versace pump. The five inch heels screamed “Sex!” and she wasn’t sure if that was the statement she wanted to be making.

The other shoe was a divine silver strappy sandal, a Jimmy Choo, with crystals going up the back of the heel, so delicate, so beautiful.

Either shoe went perfectly with her short, ruffled and layered Rodarte mini-dress – which was the perfect shade of pale pink – not too nude, not too orange, and just the right amount of sheerness. Just enough to subtly show off her assets.

Lina really wasn’t overly perplexed over her shoe decision, but she was definitely trying to waste time, to push off this gala thing she had to go to – the only reason for going was to prove that she still ‘had it’, after all.

But when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t see the sexy supermodel anymore, all she saw was a scared not-so-little girl staring back at her. Asking her if she even had an ounce of “it” anymore.

It was at that precise moment that her best gay boyfriend and sometime hairdresser, Michel, walked into the room. He was wearing an ultra-tight shiny Dolce & Gabbana suit in the same colour as her dress.

“Lina!” He exclaimed in his crap ‘high society British’ accent that he put on when going to high society galas, and also when he was just a little bit too high.

“For Godssakes darling! Put on a shoe and let’s carry on! The car is waiting! The camera’s are waiting! The World is waiting!”

Lina watched his performance and his expectant face, her smokey-made-up eyes glanced at him, making her look mysterious, almost like someone else, she noted.

“Michel… I just don’t know if I’m ready. I mean, really really. I just don’t think so.” She gave him a shrug and looked back at her reflection.

“Look Darling! If Kate Moss can make it back from a little scandal so can you!”

“I guess,” Lina looked at him doubtedly, then posed a couple of times for good measure.

“See! You still got it! Now chop chop! The car is waiting!”

She held up both shoes to him, daring him to pick one.

“Hmm. The black pumps. Sexy.”

Lina slipped on the sex-bomb Versaces and left her home in the Bentley Michel had secured for the Gala Event.

Michel spent the whole ride on his phone – calling, emailing, texting – which allowed Lina to think more about the scandal that led her life to its present tense.

She thought back to when she was a fourteen year-old hot-at-the-moment model, hired for all the Euro runways, by eighteen an internationally known supermodel. Known for her long legs, her soulful eyes, and her lips, which were perfectly full, and whose slight smile made men and photographers weak at their knees – because Lina Minski didn’t smile for just anybody.

At twenty, Lina’s mysterious smile had been on every major fashion magazine cover in the world, and was a host on a modelling competition television show in her native France.

She had met Peter Winstorm at a gala function, she was twenty-two, he was twenty-four, a sexy footballer on some English team, and she fell in love.

Her wedding was featured in OK! and written about in Vogue – after a two-month  honeymoon travelling through Spain, Fiji and the Greek Islands, Lina found herself pregnant.

She spent her pregnancy decorating her two mansions, one in London and the other in Paris, two sitting rooms, two master suites, two baby rooms.

She gave birth to a beautiful baby girl named Chloe Helene, and whose pictures were also featured in OK! in a ten-page spread. The spread showcased their London home, the life she and Peter had created for each other, and their addition to their family, their gorgeous little girl.

When Chloe was six months old, pictures were leaked to the press of Peter partaking in drugs and other women while partying with teammates.

And although she was beyond embarassed, he promised her it would never happen again, and she forgave him and they moved on.

But two months later, the drugs came back, kicking him off the team temporarily, and only caused him to party and cheat more.

Lina stayed with Chloe at their Parisian home, and Peter stayed across the river in their London home. Lina became a recluse from the public eye, now the papers were rampant with stories about her and Peter almost everyday.

They eventually got a divorce, she kept her Paris home, he kept the London one, and, because of his drug addiction problems, she had sole custody, allowing him monitered visits twice monthly.

This painful and seemingly private family breakup destroyed more than just her heart.

Her body was no longer what she once had. The stories persisted aobout her and Peter for months after the divorce, and the stress had taken its’ toll. She didn’t eat properly, stopped working out and because frighteningly thin for a while. She didn’t dare step outside her property, if she did the paps got another picture of her looking scary and giving newspapers more stories about her.

What hurt most were the allegations of her own drug use, and accusations of being an unfit mother.

Now, almost four years later, most had forgoten about Lina Minski, so much so that even she had found herself irrelevant.

And yet, there she was, in next seasons frocks and shoes, on her way to a fashion gala, trying to prove that she still had “it”, that she was still somebody to see, someone to book for jobs.

Although Lina was never going to be poor again, thanks to a rather hefty divorce settlement, it would still be nice to do something with her life, to show her daughter than her mommy was a sombody to be proud of, not some washed-up has-been.

Lina was being nudged by Michel to get out of her daydream.

“Lina, darling, have a bump – You’ll be more yourself!”

She obliged, sniffing some coke, passing the silver vial back to her friend and smoothing out her hair, getting ready for the paps.

The car stopped in front of the building, in front of the red carpet, which she had begged not to walk, to which Michel insisted that she may not even bother going if she wasn’t going to walk the Red Carpet.

And so, she obliged.

Michel walked out first, allowing Lina a more demure exit out of the car. Lina was blinded for a moment stepping out of the car, and then she was reminded of the old days. Looking beyond the flashes of lights, her seductive pouty lips forming the slightest of smiles that was her signature, pushing her left hip back, extending her right leg out, and giving the paps what they wanted for exactly ten seconds.

Lina allowed herself to be led up the steps with Michel holding her arm, and at the very top, she tossed her head around, getting a high off the extra flashes, oohs, and aahs she received from the crowd and entered the building.

The night was beautiful. She mingled, drank champagne, and ate very little.

She went home late, tucked herself deep under her plush covers and fell into a deep sleep.

A week later, on a bright and sunny Saturday morning, a five year old Chloe ran into her mama’s bedroom with magazines in hand. Shouting “Mama! Mama!” and giggling and speaking so quickly in French that Lina’s could only smile her biggest smile, which she kept only for her daughter.

Lina’s “comeback” had landed all the tabloid magazines, but the satisfaction and happiness in her heart came from her daughter’s face, looking at her mama with all the stars in her eyes. Lina felt happy again.