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I remember standing in front of the floor-length mirror in my bedroom, tossing my hair over my shoulder and dragging my eyes and hands over my body, from the hollow of my throat to the swell of my breasts and, finally, the slope of my hips. I was young, attractive, and vibrantly alive.
Nothing had changed in my appearance between then and now, even if it seemed a lifetime ago. It wasn’t vanity, just an awareness of my body that many people didn’t have, but it was important for an excellent model. My height, dark hair, sun-kissed skin, enviable curves, and long legs had come naturally, but it had taken genuine work to keep myself in excellent shape and learn my trade.
The garden party was held at the property of one of the directors of the studio. I’d been at this house a handful of times in the past. This director was always hosting parties. He thought it was a good way to get to know performers he might want to cast in his movies.
While some directors did your typical “go see,” not this guy. He wanted to get to know actors in a casual setting. Rumor has it, he was really looking for how much of a hot mess someone might be. If a girl got drunk and belligerent at one of his parties, he knew she was probably not a girl he wanted to work with. I didn’t blame the guy for this. Who wants to work with someone like that? But who am I to judge? I’ve been that girl in the past more than a few times.
Crickets sang, somehow still audible above the soft pop music being piped over the speakers hidden throughout the grounds. The flat, perfectly manicured lawn stretched out behind the residence, dotted with tables and bursts of enormous floral displays. The director’s wife was obsessed with her gardens, and that made his place perfect for parties like these.
Overall, it wasn’t a bad event. I just didn’t like going to these kinds of parties. I hated having to be on show, knowing I was there to be judged – to be deemed worthy.
The highlight of the party was the champagne that someone handed me midway through the night, which ended up being pleasantly sweet.
I had twirled slowly for a few producers, subtly bragged about my former achievements, and fake smiled until my cheeks hurt. It was work, and it was fine. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except possibly that champagne.
It hadn’t been until I considered leaving that my future was set in stone. You hear people say that when you meet your soul mate, the world will tilt on its axis. While I noticed Trevor almost immediately, I stayed firmly planted on the ground, balancing on the balls of my feet like I had been all night, so my stilettos didn’t sink into the soft earth.
He approached me as I leaned on one of the tall tables, observing the band on stage and planning on how best to make my departure. I smiled politely as he joined me there, not taking much note of him until he spoke.
“So,” he started, causing me to turn to face him, “is it envy or ambition?”
It took me a second to process the strange question, but when it sank in, I bristled, standing up straighter. “I’m sorry, what?”
He reached out, running the back of his knuckles down my dress where it laid over my hip. Maybe the only place it covered that he could touch without me slapping his hand away. I don’t know why I let him touch me so immediately, but it had been so unexpected I hadn’t moved.
“Your dress,” he elaborated. “Forest green carries two meanings: envy and ambition. I was wondering which you were embodying tonight.”
I quickly laid my hand over the spot on my hip where I could still feel the echo of his quick caress. “It’s just a dress. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Your choice was subconscious, then.” He leaned closer. “You were drawn to this dress tonight because of one of those emotions. So, beautiful girl, are you feeling envious or ambitious?”
I know my eyes must have been so round when I looked at him, completely thrown by the conversation. It was so strange, completely out of left field. I had been hit on by so many men I had lost count, but I had zero clue what this man was doing.
He didn’t look like someone I needed to be cautious with, though. In fact, when I took the time to observe him as a man and not just another party guest, I could see why he had so much confidence. The man had deep brown hair, but when the light hit it, I could see hints of red. It was short and slicked back from his face, highlighting his impressive bone structure, straight nose, and hazel eyes.
He was putting his weight on the table we were standing around, but based on my height in heels. He was about 6’1, with a swimmer's frame, and dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.
“Ambitious,” I answered after a few moments, tilting my head as I observed him.
He smirked as if he had known the answer all along. “That’s what I assumed. There is no one at this party that you would have any reason to be envious of.”
I returned the small grin at his compliment. “Are you flirting with me?”
“It depends,” he responded. “Would you be amiable to me flirting with you?”
I crossed my arms, tapping my lips with one finger as if in deep thought. The man put his hands in his pockets, watching me as if I was the only one at the party while he waited for my answer.
“Yes, but only if you answer a question formethis time,” I said finally.
“Go ahead.”
“If you know so much about my subconscious decisions just by the color of my dress, what does it mean that you’re wearing a black suit? Are you subconsciously evil, or maybe the baron of a vast coal mining operation?”
“Oh, you’re funny.” He laughed but moved forward until he was only inches from me. My own laugh died in my throat as I looked up at him and how close those hazel eyes had suddenly become.
“Black has many meanings, beautiful girl. Power, mystery, elegance.” He took my hand in his, laying it against his chest, apparently, so I would be touching the aforementioned suit and, only by coincidence, his body. His voice had gone deep. “But if you must know, its meaning tonight … is that they only make men's suits in about three colors.”
Taken off guard, I blew out an amused breath. “Well, alright. A little anticlimactic, but at least you’re honest. I’m Rachel.”
