Some Like it Hotter

Right now the café was half-full, good for a Friday afternoon. Tom and Natalie were giggling like teenagers, engrossed in a fierce bout of Sorry! Eva couldn’t believe the change in both of them. As Natalie threatened, Tom had been taken for a makeover, and while he’d never be George Clooney, he looked considerably less dorky—no, he actually looked quite handsome—in stylish clothes that matched and fit, and with a decent haircut and glasses that better fit the shape of his face.

Eva would be feeling queasier about him being taken in hand like that if Natalie hadn’t also changed because of her romance with him. Outside of client appointments for which she still dressed to kill, Natalie had been wearing less makeup, letting her auburn hair dry to its natural curly state and throwing on comfortable sweaters over jeans. It was as if she didn’t try so hard to impress, as if she felt more comfortable in herself, now that Tom was adoring her for herself instead of just what she looked like.

Eva had been thinking about that a lot. Tonight was the Boyce Wines dinner at La Grenouille Laide. A few weeks ago, every piece of her soul would have rebelled at the idea of catering to smug rich people by dressing in any way that didn’t express who she was.

Now she was starting to wonder how much of her true self was really encapsulated in her clothing. Was dressing semioutrageously all that important? Did she have the right to cause ripples in Ames’s world by making a loud statement all about herself? Couldn’t she still be Eva Meyer while respecting the company she kept? By respecting Ames enough to play nice with people important to his future? For one night?

Heavy questions. She’d gone shopping the day before and found a little black dress, clingy and plain, but with a playful ruffle and bit of lace here and there, funky enough to suit her but still giving off the impression of cool sophistication. She’d put her hair up in a French twist and added a black fascinator with silver leaves and delicate feathers she’d pounced on in a vintage clothing shop. One set of earrings, one simple silver locket of her grandmother’s around her neck.

The dress looked great on her. She should be proud to wear it as Ames’s date, and she would be. But the odd thing was, now that she’d ensured she’d blend in with the crowd, the dinner party intimidated her even more. Which made her wonder if the way she dressed hadn’t been so much an expression of her true self, her creativity and nonconformity, as a strong visual statement of who she wanted to be, something she could hide behind. Tonight, dressed like everyone else, she imagined she’d feel totally naked.

Right now she felt great. To offset the supreme sacrifice of planning to wear mainstream clothing, that morning she’d put on her zebra-striped tights and a rainbow polka-dot shirt over silver platform sandals. Her hair was arranged in a sloppy pile on her head, decorated with tiny clip-on stuffed animals, puppies and kittens and baby seals. Of her four pairs of earrings, two reached past her shoulders, and she’d counted out fifteen bracelets.

She might be conforming tonight, but when she showed up at Ames’s apartment after work, he wouldn’t forget that she was still going to be this kind of girl sometimes.

Four o’clock finally came—she didn’t know if she’d been anticipating or dreading it more—and Eva was on her way. By the time she made it to Ames’s building, she was, admittedly, a wreck. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but it might not be a bad idea to have a shot of something before they arrived at the dinner. A fifth of courage.

“Hey, Frank.” She beamed at the doorman.

“Well, don’t you look colorful today? I’m cheered up just looking at you.” His grin was sincere, and Eva smiled back warmly.

“Thanks, Frank.” She still thought having a guard for a building was odd, and missed being able just to walk into friends’ houses in California without all the security, but she liked Frank, and liked that she was expected and cleared through now, without having to bluff her way in or rely on Jean.

“He’s expecting you.”

“Thanks.” She went into the elevator and punched the button for the sixth floor, fidgeting. What if she said something awful tonight? What if she offended everyone every time she opened her mouth, and they sat in a circle around her pointing and laughing? What if they fired Ames and tied her up in the alley until she stopped—