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“It’s supposed to be symbolic,” I explain. “People from all walks of life come and go through the station. It’s a place of transience, where you can rub elbows with people from all sorts of backgrounds and who have different histories. I want it to reflect the diversity of the line and the variety of people I want to make up my target audience.”
Lana chuckles. “That’s some artsy stuff right there.”
I frown. “Do you think it’s tacky?”
“Hell, no. I think it’s great! It really lends itself to the ambience.”
“Mommy!” Felicia calls from the end of the runway. She waves at me with a laugh, standing just above the pit where the photographers will be stationed. They’ll have the perfect vantage point to snap all sorts of pics of my clothes.
I’m just about to ask Felicia to come back when I spot movement out of the corner of my eye. On either side of the runway are rows upon rows of seats, organized on rising platforms so my guests will have an unobstructed view of the show. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth row near the back, I see the silhouette of a person. I can’t quite make out their features because there isn’t enough light, but that doesn’t stop the cold shiver that slithers down my spine.
“Excuse me?” I call out. “This area’s supposed to be closed.”
The man—at least, I think it’s a man—doesn’t respond, doesn’t budge an inch.
“Hello?” I try again. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“What’s going on?” Miriam asks me with a frown.
I gesture toward the stands. “I thought you said we’re the only ones at the venue today.”
“We are.”
I turn to find Johnny, who’s lingering just off to the side in the wings. He’s already making his way forward when I say, “Can you check that guy out, please? He’s giving me the creeps.”
I pick Felicia up while Johnny hops off the platform and climbs up the steps.
“Hey, bub,” Johnny snaps. “You taking a nap or something? This is a closed set.” He reaches out to shake the person’s shoulders, only to freeze.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my stomach churning.
Johnny backs up with a deep laugh. “It’s only a mannequin, Ms. Wilson. Nothing to worry about.”
Lana laughs, too. “You had me worried there. I thought it was a creepy stalker or something.”
I sigh a breath of relief, but that doesn’t stop the discomfort crawling just beneath my skin. “What’s it doing over there?”
“Maybe one of the contractors in charge of the setup thought it’d be funny?” Miriam wonders aloud. “Oh, well. No big deal, I guess. Why don’t we go check out the makeup and hair stations next?”
I nod slowly and start to follow her backstage, but I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched.
It happens again a few hours later when Lana, Felicia, Miriam, and I head out to a café for a quick bite to eat. I can feel someone’s gaze on me, but I can’t for the life of me pinpoint where it’s coming from.
“So our model list is finalized,” Miriam says, flipping through several documents on her trusty iPad. “All the makeup artists have their call times, your designs will be carefully transported to the location the day prior to the show, and only high priority guests will be in attendance.” She turns the screen toward me. Several names stand out like bright spotlights. “After the actual show, it’d be a good idea to rub elbows with them. Networking goes a long way in this business.”
I nod, albeit distractedly. “Right. Yes, of course.”
“Do I get to sit next to a VIP?” Lana asks, pumping her eyebrows. “Maybe I can find myself a handsome celebrity boyfriend.”
Miriam taps around on the screen to pull up the seating chart. She points at one of the seats closest to the front of the stage. “This is where you’ll be.”
“I chose your seats myself,” I say with a smile. “Did you make sure to save one for Dominic?”
Miriam nods. “Oh, yes. He’ll be right here.” She points at the iPad, his name typed in an incredibly small font over the square box representing his seat. She slides a laminated pass to me, the wordsALL ACCESSprinted in bold on the front. “He’ll need this on him when he arrives.”
It’s arguably the best seat in the house. Not only will he be the first to admire my clothes as the models step out to strut their stuff, but he’ll also be at the perfect angle to see me in the wings. My heart races at the thought of him there, watching me with pride. Everyone else will be watching the models, but Dominic will most certainly be watchingme.
My skin crawls.
