AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“How utterly embarrassing. That woman is practically dragging that thing across the floor. I’d leave the little tyrant here. Then again, I know better than to have devil children.” My attention snaps to the harping woman and her friend, suddenly standing next to me. The woman’s hair is as gold as the sun, and I bet as smooth as silk, unlike my brunette mop. Her makeup is flawless, her face glowing with perfection. And that outfit. God, I wish…wait—holy smokes! That’s Francesca Vaughn, the biggest influencer in Chicago! Known for wreaking havoc through all of Chicago’s nightlife. Posting everything from pictures with famous DJs to smoking pot with notorious artists. Rebecca has been trying to get an exclusive with her for months.
I mentally eek!
This could be my big break.
Ask her a few questions, get a quick shot, and be done. I can say she offered me drugs and to hang at some lavish party. Our readership won’t know any different. It’s a gossip magazine, for Christ’s sake—stretching the truth is what we do. Then I can put my focus back on the mayor’s story. If I just present the entire article to Craig, there’s no way he’ll turn me down.
I take a deep breath and compose myself. This is it. I open my mouth to lock in this lead when the mother and her flailing kid stumble and bump into Francesca, knocking her into me. Her large Gucci handbag flies from her dainty arm, items spilling across the department store floor.
“For the fucking love! What the fuck!” she screeches, taking me down. Booze and pot linger on her breath. The frantic mother continues her battle, dragging her child out of the store without stopping to assist. Francesca’s friend scrambles to the ground, grabbing her purse and helping her up. I sit up, dizzy from my body having saved her head from hitting the marble. I shake off the pain in my brain and help gather her scattered belongings.
“Oh goodness! Let me help you.” I reach for a tube of lip gloss and a bottle of pills. “People can be so pushy, am I right?” I babble, snatching up another lip gloss, trying to gather my thoughts on how to approach her. “I mean, who treats their parents like that?” Another tube… Jesus, how much lip gloss does one need? I pick up her pack of cigarettes and a—
My hand freezes.
The material below my palm is smooth—an envelope made of what feels like satin. My eyes lock on the emblem stamped on the front. The symbol from the email. She has an invitation. But how? I don’t remember seeing her name on the list. My breath catches. I try to stop time as I figure out what I do next. Francesca is still swearing as her friend adjusts her hair. Too busy throwing accusations at everyone around her and so boozed up and high, she wouldn’t notice if I slipped it right in my pocket and walked away. It’s also your way to finally earn Craig’s respect, so he’ll take your journalistic talents seriously! Ugh, it’s not ethical to steal to get ahead. Neither is sleeping your way up the ladder—take it! Shoot. Without another thought, I slide the invitation under my butt and slip it into my back pocket while Francesca is preoccupied adjusting her bra.
Not caring that she hasn’t collected all her things, she turns her nose up at me. “Excuse you too! Taking me down like that. God! People are so desperate when it comes to famous people. Someone should drag you out of here.” The elevator finally makes its appearance. The doors open, and she steps over me and walks in, turning back to snarl at me. Losing all sense of manners or work ethic, I reach up and take a quick snapshot of her just as the doors close.
Night of the Celebrity Gala
I stare at myself in the mirror, looking back at a stranger. A good-looking stranger. I barely recognize myself in the long, red silk evening gown I purchased…temporarily. It cost more than three months’ rent—hence why I have the price tag tucked away in my bra to return the moment the gala is over. I apply a generous amount of the new tube of red gloss Francesca abandoned to my full lips, smacking them together to even it out.
Get in, get the story, get out.
I catch a cab to Navy Pier, so I don’t ruin my dress on the ‘L’. The Pier is lit up like a Christmas tree with the media and their flashing cameras. So much for this being an exclusive event. Bodyguards surround the entrance, guiding people to specific lines. I fight through the chaos of screaming fans and pesky reporters. By the time I make it to the entrance specified on the invitation, my nerves are wrapped around my throat, choking me. I anxiously watch others, worried I have “I’m a fraud” stamped on my forehead. Will someone know I’m not who I say I am? Francesca is well-known. If anyone puts the name to a face, I’m toast. What if she figured out I stole her invitation and security is waiting for me? I don’t have anyone to bail me out if I get arrested for false impersonation. My skin starts to tingle with panic, a thin layer of perspiration building along my forehead.
