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“Do you have any other questions?” she asked.
“Was it Hale Wheeler who put me on the press list?”
“No, it was Rix. Do you want to talk to him?”
“Rix?”
“Yes. You’re at his table.”
Rix. John Hendrix.
Hale hadn’t wanted me to come.
A man I’d never met, but once did a favor for, did.
“Are you RSVPing in the affirmative?” she asked.
No!My mind screamed.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Great. I might see you there. Take care.”
And then she disconnected.
* * *
Six weeks later…
“I still think the green,”Carole said.
“Hell no, it has to be the black, and I’m not saying that because I’ve done her hair and makeup to work with that dress and the car is going to be here in ten minutes so we don’t have time for a switch up,” Fliss returned.
I stood in my tiny bedroom staring at myself in the full-length mirror Fliss had set up.
The dress was risky.
Sheer black with sparkles all over it, it had a high neck, shoulder pads, long sleeves and a generous skirt that fell in beautiful folds straight to the floor with a small train at the back
The risky part about it was that the bodice was lined, the sleeves weren’t…and neither was the skirt. You could see my high-waisted black underwear. The denier level of the sheer was high, but you could still see through it.
Add to that a side slit that came all the way up to my waistline and a saucy, slender silver chain belt that had loops cascading down one side.
My hair was back in a dimensional braid ending in a messy bun at my nape with wispy tendrils falling at the sides of my face.
My makeup was smokey AF with a bright red lip.
And the kicker were the red Loubi Vega crystal-embellished Louboutin sandals that cost nearly as much as the couch I hit go on that now sat in my reception area at the office.
“This is a revenge dress,” Carole stated, lounging on my bed next to the green sequined gown she wanted me to wear. “She dated him once. It says too much.”
“It says just enough, and that boils down to two words. Fuck. Andyou,” Fliss replied.
Needless to say, Fliss had not only been disappointed I didn’t get laid, she’d been disappointed that Hale proved himself the bad kind of player, not the other way around.
“It’s going to be this dress,” I decided, pulling the skirt back to expose my legs, and it did, every inch of them, and letting it fall back to its graceful folds.
“This gig is already competing with The Met Gala. Everyone who’s anyone on two coasts is going to be at that event tonight, and that dress also saysElsa Cohen has arrived,” Fliss declared.
