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“On to logistics,” my best friend tells me. “At both the event and the after-party, the two of you shouldn’t spend any time alone, not in a corner, not on a couch, not on the dance floor. That’s too couple-y. Either join a group together and stick with them, or divide and conquer, mingling with others, got it?”
I nod.
“Next. Be very careful what you say or how you behave and how it could be taken out of context. You have to think about the worst possible way you could be perceived, then work backward from that to avoid it. You want your image to have an edge, not fall clean off the cliff of decency.”
I snort. “The cliff of—” I sober, seeing how seriously Charlie’s staring at me. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
“She sounds like a chaperone in an Austen novel,” Gigi says as she takes another pin out of her mouth and slides it along the hem, “but she’s right. It’s a fine line to walk. Our cultural narrative paints women, especially those in the public eye, with one of two brushes—sinner or saint, nothing in between.”
“Exactly.” Charlie meets my eyes in the mirror. “What you’re trying to do is exist in a space that the tabloids, let alone society, don’t generally recognize, so just…be careful.”
I set a hand over my pounding heart and rub it, trying to calm myself. “I will.”
“Also, if that creep so much as looks at your butt in this dress,” Charlie growls, “I will break his eyeballs.”
Feeling my cheeks heat, I glance over my shoulder at my backside, which, like my hips, filled out in college, transforming my beanpole frame to a pear. “Is the dress…is it too tight on my butt?”
“Hardly,” Gigi says, chuckling. “It’s perfect. Now I’m just making sure everyone will see that.”
Swallowing nervously, I glance back at my reflection, the dark-green fabric, soft and stretchy, hugging every curve of my body. “Okay.”
“Go ahead and take it off,” Gigi says, leaning back.
I step into her walk-in closet and slip off the dress, marveling at the sheer volume of clothes surrounding me. Gigi says she has more designer samples and castaways than she knows what to do with, and it sure looks like it, even after she and Charlie raided her closet for me. After trying on options and deciding what I liked, I’ve got a black stretchy romper for Friday’s event, a few colorful sundresses for future use, and this dark-green number for the event’s after-party, which, with a few minor alterations, should be a perfect fit.
“Don’t get dressed,” Gigi calls from her room, where I already hear the sewing machine whirring. “Just grab a robe from in there. Fixing this hem won’t take more than a few minutes, and I’m going to have you try this on again once I’m done.”
I glance around, finding a robe of pale peach silk covered in scarlet roses and dark green vines, and throw it on. There’s no sash to tie it, so I tug it tight around me, then step out, arms pinning it to my waist.
Gigi does a double take when she glances up from her sewing machine. “Oooh, I like that on you! Take it.”
“I—no.” Peering down at the fabric, I shake my head. “I can’t take this from you.”
“Please take it,” Charlie says. “Her closet is about to burst, she’s got so much stuff.”
Gigi throws Charlie a playful scowl before she smiles my way again. “It’s never going to get used. Those aren’t my colors, and they’re definitely yours. Take it. But first—” She stands, holding up the dress. “Try this on again.”
Dress back on, I stand in front of the mirror. Gigi is just a few inches shorter than me and has the same size feet, so I’m wearing a pair of her kitten-heel tan pumps that miraculously don’t pinch my toes. I stare at my reflection and grimace. “It’s a lot of skin.”
“Beautiful skin,” Gigi says. “Freckles are very in right now.”
Charlie tips her head, examining me. “You do look uncomfortable. And that’s not what we want.”
“Wait!” Gigi grabs the peach silk robe from her bed and slides it up my arms.
“But it’s a robe,” I tell her.
Gigi grins. “It’s not a robe, sweet pea. It’s a wrap. And it’s perfect for this. You can take it off if you eventually feel comfortable showing more skin, or you can just wear it all night. You’ll look sexy and edgy either way.”
I peer at my reflection, warming to what I’m seeing. The dress’s scoop neckline is low, but I don’t have much in the way of breasts, so it sits flat against my chest, revealing just a shadow of cleavage, which feels good to me. With the silky wrap draped over my shoulders, down my arms, I’m more at ease—a little out of my comfort zone but not too much.
I catch Charlie’s scowl in the mirror’s reflection and stare at her, puzzled.
“You look amazing,” Gigi tells me. “And now you feel like it, don’t you?”
I nod, a smile winning out. “Yeah, I do.”
Gigi swats Charlie’s shoulder. “Hey there, Miss Sunshine. Be happy for her.”
