My sister is a bastard.

No, she isn’t a bully. Being a bully would mean that she cared in one way or another about another person. She’s completely egocentric and she does what she thinks is necessary to get what she wants. If I happen to be collateral damage, if I’m hurt or humiliated, too bad. That’s why I was appalled to learn that I was going to spend the summer at the beach in Florida.

I had managed to keep thousands of miles away from my sister last summer. I stayed in my small hometown in Minnesota and while my sister went to visit our uncle and aunt and our cousins in Florida. My best summer ever! Unfortunately my sister also had a great summer. She went away a mostly demure 14 year old girl and returned in somewhat more “advanced” state and very conscious of the fact that the world is much bigger than a small town in Minnesota. This year I was forced to go as well. I was supposed to act as a “sea anchor” for my sister Mary. Not even my parents thought that anything could “anchor” her but at least the drift could be limited. She was told very firmly that she was to include me in all activities and not let me stay alone reading a book. Bummer!

I should be free to do what I want. I was a teenage boy. So what if it was only as of the week before going to Florida?

To make things worse my uncle and aunt were away for the first two weeks. The “responsible adult” in the household was my 20 year old cousin Matthew. Since going to college Matthew had become a devoted convert to Keg-ism. He and, fortunately, his fellow acolytes were never seen at the house except at breakfast (for us)/late evening snack before tumbling into bed (Matthew). Admittedly a zombie stumbled around the house early evenings before heading to another night of devotion to the Great Keg.

This left the rest of us free to do whatever “we” wanted. My sister (15), my identical twin girl cousins (16) and their big sister (17) were not exactly too happy to drag around a much younger nerdy boy. The problems started already the first day. The girls had been invited to a pool party at Marc’s. Marc had been Mary’s boyfriend last summer. Marc and family was part of the beautiful people. No way the girls could come dragging with a small, nerdish boy in tow. The solution was simple. Last summer my sister had got herself a completely new, and much edgier, wardrobe. Since there was no room in the suitcase going home her old clothes were still at my uncle’s house. To my horror the clothes turned out to fit me. With their combined skill (and force) I was turned into a cute girl. Possibly 15 years old. Shy. Not like my cousins but presentable enough at a pool party. With a new name (Heidi), dressed in my sister’s second hand clothes and instructed how to tuck into the second hand one-piece bathing suit we set off.

The pool party was great. At least the girls thought so. Marc’s cousin was there. Like Marc Louis-Philippe had an exotic French accent. A well-developed 17-year old body in top-notch condition, a smile to die for, a father who was the CEO of a modelling agency… Well, the girls were like flies around him. Marc was completely forgotten. A pity, since he was a really nice boy. We talked a little bit, not much though. Since I had no interest in buzzing around Louis-Philippe I spent most of the time just dozing in the sun. I got a baaad sunburn.

With embarrassing tan-lines like that I put up little resistance to don the one-piece (and LOTS of sunblock) when we headed to the beach next day. I have to admit that the girls were much nicer to the girl me. I had forgotten to bring something to read as well as money so they let me have their old magazines and whatever in the way of ice-cream and snacks they didn’t want. I was realizing that this was something that would be the theme for the summer. Second hand clothes, second-hand stuff in general, second-hand experiences. Well, it could have been worse.

That evening we walked over to Marc’s again. There was a standing invitation. Basically it was the same as the day before. The girls tried to impress Louis-Philippe. I and Marc were kind of left out so we sat down and talked. He really was a nice boy. I was not surprised my sister had dumped him. He was just too much the boy-next-door type. After a while we changed into swimsuits. I didn’t want to change with the girls, especially since there were other girls there as well. Marc’s mother understood very well that the shy Heidi wanted to change in seclusion. She told me to use Marc’s room. If only she had told Marc as well.

When Marc entered his room it was a case of full frontal nudity. Embarrassed silence and then Marc smiled. At first the smile was - amused. After I had explained everything the smile became – devious. He explained that my sister really had broken his heart. Worse, he was at a disadvantage socially without a girlfriend to be seen with. He made me a decent proposal. He wanted me to pretend to be his girlfriend. He didn’t really want a new girlfriend. That would hurt too much. He wanted somebody safe he could be seen with without any feelings involved. Being a boy I was safe choice. He also explained that I was cute enough to give him kudos. He was surprised to learn that I was only 13. He explained that no one would believe I wasn’t 15, though a bit shy.

Oh, great! Now I had my sister’s second-hand boyfriend too!

Everybody was happy. Louis-Philippe and Marc became a part of our group, or was it the other way round? We went to the beach together. We went to the same parties. The girls adored Louis-Philippe. Louis-Philippe adored to be adored. Marc had his social credibility. And I? Well, I had to admit that I had much more fun as Marc’s girlfriend than as “the tag-along”. The first time Marc kissed me was a bit of shock though. Marc liked kissing. He was good at it. I kind of liked the feeling of the actual kissing so I didn’t object. However, I never felt anything romantic towards Marc.

I HAD expected the charade to end when my uncle and aunt returned but their reaction was just: “Hey, this works. Why upset people?”

So the lazy summer weeks slowly passed. I had become firmly established as one of the “crowd” we spent time with so even when Marc finally did fall in love, though not with me, things didn’t really change. Marc and I remained very good friends and Marc and Jean-Marie were just the cutest couple.

The local mall arranged a modelling contest. The winner would get a small cash prize but most importantly she would also get a chance to do a professional photo shoot. The girls entered all of us. The contest people did a first casual visual cut and shy, demure Heidi didn’t make it. They wanted 20 girls that could get people engaged and excited. However, they did let me into the changing room since my sister and all my girl cousins had been accepted. The contest had already started when one of the other girls got upset about something and left in a huff. Now they were a girl short. Actually a short girl short. I was there. I was the right size. Yes, I got a second-hand spot in a modelling contest. I was terrified when getting out there. Well, fake it till you make it. I made it. It took only ten seconds and then it felt so right. All the people were looking at ME. That had never happened before. It felt good. It gave me an extra spring in the step. I felt joy and confidence. I radiated joy and confidence. I won.

My sister got second place. She did what she had to do. She said to the contest manager.

“That’s no girl, he’s my brother”

Poof went the photo shoot. I got the cash though. I HAD won the contest. My sister still got nothing. She was really not happy that evening.

Towards the end of the summer adults congregated. Mother got a week to spend with us and Henri, Louis-Philippe’s father, arrived. I had expected him to be a bit sleazy, judging from Louis-Philippe. He turned out to be ok. However, he did have a roving eye. Not in a sexual way though. Even when on vacation he couldn’t help himself evaluating all teenage girls he saw from a modelling point of view. Occupational injury. Since we used to hang around Marc’s pool he saw quite a lot of “us girls”. After the modeling contest I had become much more confident moving around as a girl. I had even got myself a (modest and padded) bikini instead of the one-piece. To tell the truth Henri was more interested in my mother, from a strictly non-professional point of view. Good thing Mum wasn’t interested. I’ll never know if he tried to get on Mum’s good side or he really was serious when he offered me a preliminary modelling contract. Unfortunately he did it one evening by the pool in front of everyone and Sis screamed:

“That’s no girl, he’s my brother”

Dead silence. Everyone looked at me. I did the only thing I could do. I fled.
(For readers with possible triggers: skip until the sentence in bold some 10 lines below)

I ran into the nearby park. A girl in a bikini very like mine ran past me. I could hear someone coming from behind.

“Betty, stop you bitch”

And then I was tackled

“Hey, you’re not Betty! Doesn’t matter, I’ll get me some pussy anyway”

Oh great, even a rape is second-hand. One pair of ripped bikini bottoms later.

“I’ll get me some ass”

That’s when Sis turned up. Sis had taken karate classes and didn’t hesitate for a second. Too bad Sis had only taken a few karate classes. She got beat up pretty bad but she finally managed to hold the would-be rapist down long enough for help to arrive.

“Sis, I’d never have thought I’d say this but you’re my hero.”
“Hey, NOBODY picks on my brother but me”

Somehow she managed to smile despite the split lip.

Next day we were at Marc’s place again. Mary wore some impressive bandages. I wore my old second-hand one-piece again. I had been a girl all summer so I could finish it as a girl. So what if everyone present knew what I had tucked away. Marc came back to the point where I had run away the night before. Henri said it wasn’t possible since I’m a boy. Absolutely NON. Matter closed

Marc turned to his father

“Dad, isn’t Heidi exactly what you have been looking for for that big contract? That sweet innocent young teenage next-door girl with an impish glint in the eye that you haven’t been able to find?

Henri, shouting: “NON, absolument NON! Il est un garçon! Pour cette démographie, IMPOSSIBLE!

Charles, Marc’s father: “Marc, you’ve got a point. Heidi really is what we have been looking for. And if we make sure that nobody knows…”

Henri: “Je refuse. Je n’accepte pas ça!”

Charles: “Shut up Henri. You may be the CEO but I own the agency. And speak English. We are among monolingual Americans. You have to admit that Heidi is perfect for that contract. Strictest secrecy would be required of course”

Henri: “He’s a BOY!”

Charles, smiling: “I’ve always wanted to say this Well, nobody’s …”

Marc: “DAD! Please, not “Some like it hot””

Charles, pouting: “Spoilsport.”

To me and Mum

“Are you interested? If we can convince our customer the job would pay you something like” and then added an absurdly high amount.

Mum looked at me: “Your call Andrew.”
Stunned I nodded my head not really knowing what I was doing.

Charles: “Please, could you find another name than Heidi though. That name haunted my childhood”

Me: “Well, I’d really like to be called …”

Mother: “Stop there young lady. I’m your mother. I name you. If you had been born a girl you’d have been named Amy. And surname: Amstel. You were conceived in a small hotel by the river Amstel on your father’s and my wedding night.”

Me: “MUM, too much information!”

Sis: “and you can’t believe the noise they made. They really had a roll”

Despite clamping my hands over my ears I could hear my mother reply

“Oh, shut up Mary! You were only a year old and sound asleep in your crib. We didn’t even wake you up”

Hey, Sis was born before my parents married. Well, what do you know - she really IS a bastard.

This is a sequel to ”My Date as Teenage Girl Model”. You really should read that first (can be read as stand-alone). This time it’s told from Darius’ point of view.

I had really enjoyed my date with ”Amy Amstel” but I thought that was it. I was mistaken. The (very) local TV-station got hold of it and made a silly piece about it. This caused me and Andrew some discomfort. Andrew made a joke out of it and I – well, I just let it blow over and that was it, I thought.

A couple of weeks later I was asked to come over to Andrew’s place. Why? We never interacted. Well, apart from the “date” but that was definitely with Amy and not Andrew, remember. When I got there I was getting very worried since a representative from Amy Amstel’s agency was there. Had I got myself involved in some breach of copyright or anything like that? Honestly, it was just a bit of fun! So what if I’m a bit obsessed with Amy Amstel? I’m not a stalker. At least I don’t think so. The situation was worse than I thought at first. They offered me a summer job. A completely outrageous, ridiculous job bordering (on the wrong side) of lunacy.

Actually the offer was for both Andrew and me. Apparently they had been keeping me under observation as a “potential stalker”. I was not very happy about that but given how I had tried to get in contact with Amy Amstel I could hardly blame them, could I? Anyway, that had made them notice the local TV piece. That was the birth of a notion. “Amy” would come out of seclusion. It was well known that Amy could have been much bigger modelling star if she wasn’t such a recluse. Never moving around in the “right” circles, being seeing in the “right” settings, making the “right” connections. The agency wanted Andrew and me to fake being Amy and her “boyfriend”. They needed someone that could fool everyone that she (or he) really was Amy and someone to partner her continually to minimize the risk of being discovered. That someone had to

1) be reliable
2) look good enough to be believable as a model’s boyfriend
3) be charming (after all this was all about promoting Amy)
4) be able to keep quiet about the whole thing.

They claimed to have been satisfied by their background checks on me. I wasn’t sure they had got their money’s worth for that. Anyway, it didn’t matter. The idea was absolutely ridiculous and I told them so in no uncertain terms. They agreed. They also mentioned that if I had agreed Amy would have been very grateful to me and just for the sake of procedure they gave me the contract to read. I admit I was just enough smitten by Amy Amstel to briefly, very briefly, reconsidering.

I went home wondering why they were smiling when I left. I was just about to throw the contract in the bin when I decided to have a look at it. I read it. I read it again. I read it a third time going through every clause in detail. I went into my father’s office to get his opinion. My father is a lawyer, only a public defender and not a highly paid contracts lawyer but anyway. He read the contract. He looked strangely at me and asked

- Is this some silly joke? Is there something outside the contract you are hiding?

I assured him it was all legit. He read every clause in detail with me. His real concern was the Non-Disclosure clause. It was quite draconian. My father thought it a bit over the top. Me, I found the part about my pay to be the ridiculous part. I expected to be offered a place at Harvard but only with a partial scholarship. We could cover one, possibly two years of living expenses with savings but not a complete degree. The “Summer Job” offer would take care of that with a wide margin. After making sure that I understood the consequences I decided to accept. My loving mother kissed me on my head and said

- I’m so proud of my son, the escort.

In a way she was right but I’d really have preferred if she hadn’t put it just that way.

I checked with Andrew. He told me he’d do it if I did. He trusted me. He wouldn’t do it without me.

The day after graduation I started My Summer Job as Eye Candy in the Fashion World. The agency provided me with clothes and everything else I needed. I stayed in the same fancy hotels as “Amy”. Separate rooms of course. Anything else would be inconceivable given Amy Amstel’s reputation. “Amy” and I attended parties, premieres and so on. Actually the reasons for the parties didn’t matter and for me they blurred and not from alcohol. I was very careful with drinking. I was also handsome and charming. I discovered that the whole environment was ridiculous. Shallowness, point scoring, intrigues, over-blown egos, sucking up to potential “benefactors”. I was appalled. I was even more appalled to discover how good I was at navigating in this artificial world. “Amy” was supposed to be recluse so if Andrew as “Amy” was a bit silent nobody was surprised. It sufficed that “Amy” was gorgeous, she was, every time no matter the occasion. Andrew could have been born to the job. How did the boy do it?. Me, I schmoosed. I went over and beyond my duties. I made connections the agency could follow up. I enjoyed promoting Amy Amstel. I dazzled ladies and occasionally made them lust for me. I impressed men. Unfortunately I also inadvertently dazzled and made some men lust for me.

There were breaks in the partying and schmoozing. When Amy Amstel worked the “stand-in” couldn’t be seen and I couldn’t party. I needed the breaks. On what would turn out to be the last break I was invited to a shoot where Amy wasn’t involved. I was invited by the very famous designer involved. Since Serge was one of the men that I strongly suspected wanted to get into my pants I wasn’t too happy but the agency was ecstatic. Amy Amstel modelling Serge’s girl lines would be a great opportunity. I dithered but the agency used the ultimate argument: It was for the good of Amy Amstel. I was a sucker for that argument. My infatuation for Amy was as strong as ever.

I had misjudged Serge. Oh, he was most certainly interested in getting into my pants but he was very civil about it. He also saw potential in me. He made his photographers play around with me for a day (not THAT way). Apparently I’m a natural. Serge started to hound me. Who knows what would have happened if Andrew hadn’t made THE FATAL MISTAKE. He was caught, on camera, getting out of a car in a too short dress and hadn’t tucked properly. Given the target audience for Amy Amstel, young teen girls, this caused a scandal.

The agency called a damage limitation meeting. The result of that meeting was a decision that I would take the blame. I was to meet the press and read a very carefully worded statement that while not exactly being literally untrue gave the impression that

1) The scandalous pictures were of a stand-in for Amy Amstel
2) The real Amy Amstel had been present in the “scene” until just recently and then been overwhelmed and once more withdrawn.
3) I was the one that had insisted and practically black-mailed the agency to hire Andrew as a stand-in for Amy Amstel (with more than a hint of romance thrown in as well)

You wonder why I’d agree to this? Primarily, of course, “for the good of Amy Amstel”. Secondly, my master’s degree was now financed.
My meeting with media was a bit marred by the fact that I was giggling when getting up on the stage of the small theatre used. I was prepared to fall on my sword but I hadn’t expected to do it literally. I had tripped on a prop sword just before entering.

Before leaving I had a last private conversation with Andrew.
- Darius, how come you were prepared to take all the blame and save me from harm?
- I love you Andrew.
- You love – me? What about Amy?
- How can I love Amy without loving you?
- You knew? For how long have you known?
- Ever since that time by the lake. You just knew too much about Amy Amstel. And later on the hill-top the way you reacted to me kissing you. I can’t explain but I just knew that it was the one and only Amy Amstel that held back.

And I proceeded to kiss Amy/Andrew and she melted into my arms just the way I suspected she had wanted to do that day by the lake.

Well, that was two weeks ago. A week is a long time not only in politics. Things have happened since then. Back in town “My Summer Job as an Escort” has been the big issue. People are convinced that I’m gay. I don’t really care since I’m leaving town anyway. Right now I’m loading my car to go to Harvard. Yes, I got admitted with a partial scholarship.

I’m bit disappointed that Andrew has kept his distance from me since we got back. Somehow the gay label only got stuck on me. Andrew just slipped past. Andrew has let it be known that hi is going to finish high school with an equivalent education in France, only doing the two final years in one.

By a strange coincidence Amy Amstel will also spend the coming year in Europe. The events during summer have left her with a very full calendar of shoots. Something that I contributed substantially to but no one mentions that. Am I still infatuated with Amy? Of course I am but I think I have matured a bit.

Me?
I’m going to study hard. Between my studies and my extra job there will absolutely no time to party at university. Nor any other extracurricular activities connected to university. You see Serge really is a darling. He’s got a thing for me. Almost as bad as I used to have for Amy. He is determined to help me. Oh, he never got into my pants but he got me into his. His rather provocative underwear collection. He realized the commercial potential of the whole scandal and arranged a very nice contract to model his (male) clothing lines. Amy’s agency helped me getting a good deal. Don’t get me wrong, they didn’t sign me but got me a good deal with another agency. The underwear ads will appear in media just as term begins. Great timing! I’m sure that my fellow students will love that. Some more than others. Those will be disappointed. However, I must admit I look really hot in those pictures. Serge and friends of his have me lined up for work all the free time for the next year which is why I’m going to forsake normal student life. I don’t intend to make a career in modelling. I’ve had enough of that world but I desperately need the money. Next year I will get an apartment next to campus which isn’t cheap even if you share. Why an apartment and not stay in the dorms?

Next year Andie will start her studies at Harvard.

This is the conclusion to the interconnected Amy Amstel stories started in “My Date as a Teenage Girl Model”. If you haven’t read the earlier stories I suggest you start there (330+ Kudos clickers can be wrong but the odds are in your favor). The stories about Amy Amstel are mostly self-contained though.

Transatlantic flights seldom are fun. If you start from Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport terminal 2 you don’t exactly get off on a good start either. If you really are a bit too tired to work it’s even less fun. Flying west I try not to sleep on the flight since that really messes up my sleep-cycles. I was a bit surprised to find a scraggy teenager in the seat next to me. Not the usual passenger in first class. I decided that a long chat with the boy would be preferable to pretending to work. It didn’t start too well. When I introduced myself, Harry Howard, and told him that I was editor–in-chief of the most important fashion magazine for men the boy looked horrified. Apparently not a fashion aficionado. Well, I could have told that from his clothes. Jeans and white T-shirt as well as disheveled hair. Despite that he had a “groomed” look if you looked closer. Actually if you looked very closely he was kind of “pretty”. Shaped eye-brows, holes in his ears, just a hint of mascara remaining on those very impressive eye-lashes. Intriguing.

Despite his first negative reaction I kept telling him about my work and the world of male fashion. He relaxed a bit and asked

- You work exclusively with male fashion, not female?
- Exclusively male fashion. I completely turned my back on female fashion many, many years ago.

From that point we started having a really nice chat. The boy introduced himself as Andrew McPherson. As the conversation went on I gathered that he was a business administration student at Harvard and that he had a boyfriend who also studied business administration at Harvard. Andrew also complained that those studies combined with his extra work were a bit too much. He also let slip that he just had spent the summer in Paris for his extra work and was completely exhausted. What kind of all-year round extra job would a college kid have that included intensive work in Paris over summer? I didn’t want to spook him again so I didn’t pry. There were tell-tale signs of incipient burn-out. I have seen those before. Well, if I could give the kid some relaxation for a few hours as well as getting a pleasant flight, so much the better.

As we were talking and I got a good look at his face I got the feeling that I had seen this kid somewhere else before. He was intelligent. He was well-read. He was up to current affairs. How did he manage that at the same time he apparently was over-worked? He came across as a highly ethical person. He was nice. He was just like the son I wished to have had but never did, to my great regret. As a matter of fact the conversation was the most interesting I had had for a very long time. After a while Andrew started to lose concentration. The kid really was run-down. That fatigue was not just a transient thing. To give him some rest but at the same time not losing the pleasure of the conversation I started to tell him about the fashion world, the people, the intrigues, the scandals. At times I could see him smiling in a knowing way which intrigued ME. As I was comparing models completely swallowed up by the business and those who managed to keep some distance to the swamp. One of the latter was a new star that modelled clothes designed by Serge, great friend of mine. The model was called Darius. He had become quite a hit, especially among young gay men. More than one teenage boy heart had been broken when it became known that Darius had found a girlfriend on campus – at Harvard. As I was talking I realized where I had seen Andrew before, at a party in Boston where Darius had been accompanied by his girl-friend Andie. Andie McPherson! Oh, my Darius wasn’t as straight as he had led everyone to believe! And wasn’t there a scandal about a male stand-in for a girl model connected to Darius just as he started modelling?

I must have said “Andie McPherson” out loud since Andrew reacted. He admitted that he was Darius’ girl-friend. He insisted he wasn’t Darius’ boyfriend. I told him that everything we talked about during the flight was strictly off-the-record. Then he opened up, talking rather silently to be on the safe side, about his (her?) relationship with Darius. She very subtly became more feminine. She told me how worried she was about how much time Darius spent with Serge. There I could assure her. I know Serge very well. He can be ruthless. He certainly tries to bed most male models modelling his clothes, and any other handsome young man willing. However, on the rare occasions he CARES about someone there is no more honorable man. I know for a fact that Serge CARES about Darius. If Darius is in a serious relationship Serge would never make a move. Serge was also one reason Darius had been able to keep some distance to the fashion world. In many subtle ways he had been shielding Darius in the guise of trying to keep him for his own brand.

Well, the hours passed in a most agreeable way. Best Atlantic crossing ever. I may have been a bit hasty in promising off-the-record but on the other hand what I learned about Andie and Darius and their life was fascinating, even if I didn’t get to know what Andie’s extra job was. As we were approaching Logan International Airport he mentioned that he was catching a connecting flight to the Twin Cities to go home for a week before the next semester started. I was surprised and delighted since I also was going to Minneapolis. Even if we weren’t going to sit next to each other on that flight at least we could spend the waiting time together. Before landing Andrew, his male persona had reasserted itself once more, swallowed the last peanuts. That’s when it happened. He choked on them. While I never imagined that I’d ever need it I had learned how to do the Heimlich manoeuvre. I still don’t know how I could react that fast. As I let go of him afterward he totally collapsed. It was as this incident had deprived him of his last strength. An hour later, sitting in a secluded corner of the lounge, Andrew visibly came to a big decision.

- Harry, since you saved my life I will give you a scoop. It’s something I’ve been thinking about revealing for a long time to put an end to things. Look closely at me. I know you don’t follow female fashion but look closely at me. Do you recognize me?

I looked carefully. I couldn’t see anything I hadn’t seen before. The he angled his head and shaped his mouth in that iconic way and I was struck by how blind I had been. AMY AMSTEL! Andrew, a nobody boy from Minnesota was AMY AMSTEL, the teenage girl model catapulted to supermodel status over the last two years, going from catering to young teenage girls to older girls/young women featuring more daring clothes (though, strangely enough, never lingerie or swimwear). Amy Amstel was a boy! He had fooled the entire fashion industry for YEARS. No wonder Andrew’s “extra job” was grinding him down.

Our flight was called and “Andrew” rose.

- I want this to end and I figure if I create a big enough scandal I will burn all bridges. I want to be only Andie and no one but Andie. Nowadays I’m only Andrew when I’m risking to be recognized as Amy. In order to study Business Administration on top of everything else I have to be damned disciplined and structured. If you ever watch “Hannah Montana” again don’t ever believe the part about “The best of both worlds”. A life like this is hell. Here is my contact information. I’m willing to give you, and only you, an on-the-record interview.

I was still stunned as Andrew disappeared. I was sitting some rows behind him on the flight. I looked at him for long time. I really only could see the back of his head, tilted in a rather awkward angle since he had completely blacked out. I was beating myself mentally not having appreciated that glorious hair earlier, even if it was disheveled. Had I needed any confirmation about what Andrew told me I got that at Minneapolis–Saint Paul International Airport. The young man meeting Andie definitely was Darius. I had met him too often not to recognize him even in a hoodie and dark glasses. I was pleased watching the passionate kiss they greeted each other with. Young love!

I called my personal assistant.

- Peter, cancel all my appointment for the next three days. Get me a rental car for tomorrow I have to go to (I looked at the piece of paper and read out the name of a town I‘d never heard of before). Book me on a flight to wherever Henri Dupond is and get me an appointment with him. DO NOT TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER. If necessary remind him about “that thing” we said we’d never mention again.
- Yes, it’s THAT important.
- He’s in Florida vacationing with his brother? That’s the brother who owns the agency?
- EXCELLENT! Make sure I meet both of them

I was going to do something I’d never done before in my 40 years in the business. I was going to commit professional malpractice. Andie had NO idea was she was letting herself into. How could she still be so naïve? Really an endearing trait but sooo stupid.

Revealing that teenage girl supermodel Amy Amstel in reality was a boy, and had been doing it for YEARS, would blow up the fashion world all right but not in the way Andie hoped. What would have been a scandal a few years ago when targeting younger girls, and their mothers in particular, would make her the focus of the entire world’s attention as a model for twenty-somethings. And that attention wouldn’t be limited to the fashion world. There will absolutely no way she can pull out after that. The media attention will be incredible. The pressure, the money! So what if she’d be a wreck in two years’ time? Possibly the agency, but wouldn’t the short-time gain outweigh the long-term?

Well, "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do." No matter what.

Headline One Week Later

"Supermodel Amy Amstel killed saving life of King of Ruritania."

The article detailed how supermodel Amy Amstel threw herself at an assassin that was trying to kill young King Carol of Ruritania and how she was shot and bled to death within a minute in the arms of the king. The article managed to imply that King Carol was about to announce his engagement to Amy Amstel. The Ruritanian court declined to comment. The assassin was killed and no motive was found.

Three Years Later, Christening Cermony in a Small Town in Minnesota

Looking at the two babies about to baptized I couldn’t be more proud and happy. The proud parents are extremely good-looking and radiant. Neither of them is a model any longer. Darius stopped after Andie also had got her degree from Harvard. And Andie? I HAD intended to persuade her and persuade/blackmail Charles and Henri to just let Amy Amstel disappear. Andie wouldn’t see reason. She wanted to go with a bang. I have to admit I sort of liked her dramatic exit. The prime minister of Ruritania was all for getting his small country a bit of publicity and twisted the King’s arm. The assassination? The body of the asssassin? The Police and official investigation? Let’s say that law and order in Ruritania is somewhat “flexible” and at times very creative. Charles and Henri were a bit more difficult to deal with but essentially they are good people. Of course it helped that Serge paid them extra for the last Amy Amstel shoot (some done “posthumously”). After all it was his collection that was Amy Amstel’s last. You can’t imagine how popular that collection became. I’m told even lovelorn boys bought items to remember her by.

Over the years I have grown very close to Darius and, in particular, Andie. That’s why I was standing in that church. I consider her as the daughter I never had. I totally engrossed myself in my work for years and years and then … it was too late

Of course Darius and Andie had had to use egg donors and a woman willing to host their babies. The baby resulting from Darius’ sperm was a boy. The baby resulting from Andrew’s sperm (frozen since before Andie had her operation) was a girl. I’m her godfather. Well, it’s rather fitting considering I sort of arranged to have her mother murdered …

The mother who asked me something that made me deliriously happy. She asked me to donate one of the eggs I had had harvested and frozen before I changed sex.