She nods in agreement then turns and holds out her hand for them. “Right this way.”
When I join them twenty minutes later, Rebecca’s gone, and the woman with the buzz cut, who tells me her name is Gina, informs me that we’ll start by picking out the dress, that way we don’t ruin my hair and makeup.
Whoever hired them—probably Mason—must have given them explicit instructions about the evening because they launch right into it without really asking my opinion. I try on ten dresses in total, all different styles and colors.
“That one,” the group unanimously decides.
I look down at the red gown with its tailored bodice and fixed waist, appreciating the way it hugs my figure through my hips. The draped cap sleeves and notched sweetheart neckline mean my décolletage is bare. They fix that quickly by adding a diamond necklace—on loan—that nestles at the base of my neck. Thank goodness the gown has built-in cups and boning in the bodice.
I move gently side to side, trying to determine if the offset front slit is too risky.
“You don’t think this is too much?” I ask, looking up at the group.
I’m met with a bunch of This poor girl stares, and then finally, someone speaks up.
“Hun, if I had your figure, I’d be in that gown every damn day,” says Noel, one of the Bloomingdale’s guys.
“Yes,” his friend Steven adds with a clap. “I’d wear it to Starbucks. To brunch. To the gym. I’d be rockin’ that slit on the elliptical. Watch me.”
I chuckle and nod, taking their word for it. This is a bit more daring than what I would normally wear, but they’re the experts.
After we’ve agreed on the dress, I slip back into a robe and get positioned in a chair for hair and makeup. I’m not allowed to leave it for what feels like three days. My hair is tugged in every direction as they blow it dry and sweep it up off my neck into a careful up-do.
While that’s happening, my face is poked and prodded.
“Sweetie, these brows are killing me,” the makeup artist says.
“I thought big brows were in.”
She laughs. “Not this big.”
Point taken. It’s not like I’ve been paying much attention to my appearance lately. My art doesn’t care what I look like, so what’s the point?
“Do you even realize how lucky you are to have this bone structure?” she asks, sounding annoyed with me.
“Umm…yes?” I reply, not quite sure what answer she wants to hear.
“Oh god,” Steven groans in agony. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who doesn’t realize she’s beautiful. Am I living in a Taylor Swift song?! Please God, help me.”
“She’s not like the other girls,” Noel jokes.
“I know I’m decent-looking, you jerks.”
“Decent-looking!” Steven despairs. “DEAR GOD, she thinks she’s an ogre.”
Noel moves his hands like an orchestra conductor. “Say it with us: ‘I’m hot.’”
“I’m hot,” I repeat back at a volume more akin to a whisper.
By the time they’re done with me, I actually believe it. I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my room after the apartment empties out, and I stare at myself like a narcissistic asshole. I just…can’t help it. Most days, I throw on some tinted moisturizer with SPF and call it a day. My clothes are cute and fit me well, but they’re practical for day-to-day life.
This is by far the best I’ve ever looked. I want to plot a way to bump into every single one of my ex-boyfriends and middle school bullies (yeah, I still remember you, Laura) on my way to the fundraiser and watch their tongues roll out of their mouths.
My phone vibrates on my bed, and I see it’s a text from Mason.
Mason: Mr. Jennings is on his way to pick you up, and he’d like you to be waiting downstairs since he’s running a little behind schedule.
Sixteen
By the time I make it down to the lobby, a black limo is already idling by the curb out front. I curse under my breath, wondering how long Walt’s been waiting. As soon as I finished reading Mason’s text, I rushed to use the bathroom one last time, touch up my lipstick, and cram all my necessities into my delicate purse, but my sky-high heels weren’t as easy to get on as I thought they’d be. The little strap around my ankle gave me trouble.
I hate that Walt beat me here. I’m sure he’ll be annoyed by that.
Terrell is at the door of the building, and when he sees me rushing toward him, he whistles low.
“You’re a vision, Mrs. Jennings!”
I beam as my cheeks turn red.
“Thank you!” I say, rushing past him.
He’s quick with the door, holding it open for me.
“Sorry, can’t chat! Running late!”
“Don’t worry. He hasn’t been here long!”
Outside, icy air greets me, and I burrow down into the coat Noel and Steven brought to accompany my gown. It’s deep red with a wide collar that I pop up to help block the wind. The driver opens the front door of the limo to step out, but then the back door opens and Walt beats him to me.