But actually wearing a dress that cost what I made in a month felt weird as all hell.
“No, you don’t,” she replied absently as she gave me an appraising look. “It’ll look better once I get your hair and makeup done.” She frowned. “Put the shoes on,” she ordered.
Sighing, I obeyed. The entire day had been a lot like this. After her We find you a dress announcement, Naomi had hauled me up and down the length of Manhattan to try on what seemed like every dress and shoe in the city. It had been fun for the first couple of stores, but after the seventh or eighth it all became a blur of silk and taxis and snooty clerks. Not to mention, Naomi refused to let me dawdle and gawk at anything, except for one brief stop to watch a group of teen boys doing some insanely cool gymnastic dance moves—and the only reason she let me stop for that was because I plopped my butt on the ground like a three-year-old having a tantrum and told her if she wanted me to move she’d have to carry me.
Meanwhile, Philip and Kyle were off doing recon. At least that’s the story they gave Naomi. I envied them, especially since I had a dark suspicion part of their “recon” involved a sports bar.
That said, Naomi had redeemed herself with the last stop before we returned to the hotel: a sleek and fancy salon where smiling women trimmed and buffed and polished my fingers and toes, and a slender man with spiky black hair and a thick and fake French accent adjusted the color of my hair to pale blond instead of over-bleached and trimmed it into something other than a scraggly mess. At one point I thought the outing would end in bloody violence as Naomi fended off Mr. Fake French’s attempts to style my hair, insisting she’d do it herself later. Fortunately the man seemed to realize it wasn’t a battle he could possibly win.
However, it was the dress Naomi finally decided on that redeemed her the most. “You have to look as if you belong there,” she’d stated, and with this dress I totally would. Dark blue with three-quarter sleeves to cover my rot patch, it had a V-neckline and fitted bodice that skimmed down my hips to flare out into a floor-length skirt—wide enough to walk in easily without being so much fabric it would get in my way. But my favorite and the most awesomest feature of the dress were the billion sheer fabric petals and tiny sparkly beads sewn all over the skirt.
With the shoes on—pretty and glittery peep-toe pumps—I stepped in front of the dressing room mirror and examined my reflection again. The heels on the shoes weren’t skyscraper-high like some of the ridiculous things I’d seen women shove their feet into, but even a modest three inches was more than I was used to.
“I’m sorry,” Naomi said when I whined about the height, and it sounded as if she really meant it. “Any lower and the dress will drag on the floor, and there isn’t time to get the hem altered. Now, take all that off, put the bathrobe on, and sit.”
“Don’t mind me,” I said as I carefully hung the dress up. “I’m a little nervous.” A lot nervous. Talk about being out of my depth. This was a five-thousand dollar a plate event. A year ago I lived in a house with a driveway paved in crushed beer cans.
She moved behind me after I sat, gave my reflection a smile and started doing stuff with my hair. “I get it. Don’t worry, I’ll do my best to make you look utterly awesome while blending in.”
“But how am I supposed to get inside in the first place?” I asked, watching her as she smeared gunk into my hair and proceeded to twist and comb and pin and do all sorts of weird shit.
“Kyle and I will take care of that,” she said with such absolute confidence in her voice that I didn’t dare question further. She smiled to herself as she shifted in front of me and continued to Do Stuff to my hair. Finally she stepped back to let me see the result.
“How the hell did you do that?” I blurted. It was amazing. Somehow she’d worked my hair into awesome little finger waves, giving it a terrific twenties vibe but totally elegant. I started to lift my hand up to my hair then yelped as she smacked my fingers.
“Don’t touch it,” she ordered. “I haven’t sprayed it yet. Close your eyes.” Once I did, she proceeded to lay down what I thought would surely be a few inches of shellac, and was pleasantly surprised to find my hair not at all crunchy. “Keep your eyes closed,” she said once she finished spraying. “I’m going to do your makeup. And stop squinching your eyes!”
Sighing, I did my best to relax my face while she glooped and smeared and painted and who the hell else knew what. But
once, again, when she allowed me to see my reflection, I could only stare in astonishment.
“I look . . .”
“You look amazing,” Philip put in, smiling from the doorway.
I blushed. “Well, I was going to say I don’t look anything like myself, which is a good thing. But yeah, I look amazing too.” I smiled at Naomi. “Thanks, babe.”
Naomi preened as she put away the makeup and hair stuff. “I had to do enough socialite bullshit growing up that I developed a few skills besides asskickery.” She unzipped the garment bag that hung behind the door. “And now for the rest.”
It only took a few minutes to get me into the dress, but it was almost half an hour before I could walk comfortably and confidently in the dress-and-heels combo without looking as if I was, indeed, a kid playing dress up. At long last, Naomi seemed satisfied with my appearance, demeanor, and my overall attitude. She handed me a little purse that contained my phone and the usual crap women carried in little purses like this.
“The car is waiting downstairs,” she told me. “It’ll take you right to the Norrington Plaza Hotel, but you need to stop outside as if you’re waiting for someone. We’ll be less than a block away and will bring you an invitation to get inside.”
I clutched the purse and allowed myself to be bundled into the sleek black sedan. Once there I remembered to let the driver open the door and help me out, then couldn’t help but gawk a bit. The hotel dominated the corner, marble and glass, and dizzyingly tall when I craned my neck to look up. On the main street, beautifully dressed people exited vehicles and flowed toward the doors, or paused in clumps of three or four to talk and laugh. I casually wandered toward the small sidestreet that ran beside the hotel and did my “looking for my date” act. A Road Closed barricade stood at the entrance to the sidestreet, and a battered sawhorse and orange plastic fencing marked a night-quiet worksite about a half a block down. A chilly breeze funneled down the street, and I pulled my beaded angora wrap close, glad Naomi had pressed it into my hands at the last minute.
“Look bored and a little annoyed,” Naomi said from a few feet away, startling me. I hadn’t even noticed her there. She was tapping away at her phone and looking like a hipster chick with plenty of disdain for the gowned crowd.
Bored and annoyed. I could do that. Easy enough to turn my nervous jitters into annoyed foot-tapping.
“I’m up,” Naomi murmured, then stuck earbuds into her ears, turned, and walked toward the arriving guests. I tried hard not to be obvious about watching her, but I couldn’t resist. If I hadn’t been paying fairly close attention I’d have never seen it. Naomi, with her eyes on her phone, bumped into a tall blond woman in a skintight dress. Surprise and apologies, and as Naomi backed away she bumped into a man, then turned and stumbled into the woman again. More apologies, followed by Naomi continuing on her way down the street headed away from me.
The whole incident took barely five seconds. The man she’d bumped into continued my way in an unhurried pace. Kyle, I abruptly realized. When he reached me he slipped a stiff postcard-sized piece of embossed paper into my hand.
“Hurry and get inside before Miss Chastity Turner discovers she has a menu for Chinese takeout in her purse,” he murmured and continued walking as if he hadn’t paused at all.
I quickly headed to the entrance then followed other guests across the lobby and to a set of double doors. Once there, I gave the security guard who checked my invitation a smile that I hoped didn’t look too manic, passed through the metal detector, then slipped into the crowd even as I heard a woman’s strident voice behind me, insisting that she was Chastity Turner, and she shouldn’t even have to show an invitation because didn’t the guard know who she was?
Couldn’t be all that special since I had no idea who she was.