She tried to find her spot, her eyes bleary with almost-tears-- how could she face the world with this ridiculous haircut? She readjusted her bodysuit thing--was it on backward?--pulling it off her shoulders and letting it hang around her waist.
"Jacqui?"
She turned around--completely topless. "Yes?"
"Oh! Hi! Oh!" Kit Ashleigh stood at the perimeter of the
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dressing area, his face turning purple. He was holding an enormous bouquet of flowers. "God! I'm so sorry!"
Jacqui folded her arms in front of her chest to cover up. "Kit!"
"I'm sorry I'm late. These are . . . for you," he said, thrusting them at her and averting his eyes.
"They're so beautiful! Obrigado. "
A dresser slipped the tank top--thong back over her shoulders, but it didn't really make a difference. Jacqui was still very nude.
Kit did a double take. He'd just noticed her hair. "Your hair!"
"What do you think?" Jacqui said, nervously touching the ends. "Ugly, huh?"
"You look ..." Kit's eyes shone with admiration. "You look awesome."
"You really think so?" Jacqui smiled, raising her eyebrows in a hopeful expression.
Just then, one of the production assistants spotted Kit. "No boyfriends here!" he said, ushering Kit out of the door.
"I'm not her . . ." Kit blushed again, to the roots of his blond hair. "You look beautiful. Good luck."
"'Bye! Thanks!" she called, as her dresser straightened the thong string into the back of her pants.
Then something bronze and sculpted and perfect caught her eye--Philippe, in the middle of changing, his lean, tennis-toned body naked. He was doing pull-ups on a dressing rack, hanging-- ahem --out there, for all the world to see, when Jacqui caught his eye.
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He shot her a wolfish grin. "Nice haircut!" he called.
There were so many beautiful girls backstage, but for once, he was only looking at her. She ran to her place in line. The lights dimmed outside, and Reinaldo exhorted them to think, Sex! Sex! Sex!
After seeing Philippe naked, that wouldn't be too hard.
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musical chairs isn't just for kindergarten
A FASHION SHOW WAS THE LAST PLACE ELIZA WOULD HAVE
thought to bump into Jeremy, but here he was anyway. She had been helping to keep track of the donation checks, cross-referencing them with the checked-off names on the list, when he appeared at the entrance with Carolyn Flynn. The two of them were huddled together in the second row--sponsor seats, since Morgan Stanley had underwritten most of the event-- sipping from champagne flutes and looking around with bemused expressions.
Eliza was watching them, wondering if Carolyn and Jeremy were a couple, when she saw Ryan enter from a side door and slip into his seat beside his sisters. Eliza's heart melted a little bit. So what if Jeremy didn't like her anymore--she had Ryan, and he was a great friend/hookup/whatever-they-were. Ryan winked and gave her a little wave.
Eliza waved back, just as she was accosted by a heavyset woman who looked a little familiar. "Are you in charge here?" the
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woman demanded. She was wearing a faded black polo shirt and baggy black pants, and was holding a Motorola walkie-talkie.