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“It was crazy busy this morning, not that I’m complaining because business is good. Luckily things have slowed down a bit so I’ll be able to keep a watchful eye over you while Nikki helps you find the perfect dress that’ll knock ’em all dead tonight.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Michelle.” I grimace. “I’m just hoping to find something that fits this body and that doesn’t look too matronly.”
“As if I’d ever allow you to walk out of my boutique looking like an unfashionable old lady.” Michelle looks almost offended by my suggestion.
“I mean, I don’t have as many options as you and Jess do,” I babble.
“See, Michelle, I told you she’d put herself down before even stepping into the first design.”
My best friend Jessica stands five feet eight and has fashion-friendly A-cup breasts. She wouldn’t have the slightest clue how challenging it is to dress a petite woman like myself. Every single time we go shopping together, we butt heads. The reality is that most designers don’t cater to a petite woman with 34DD breasts and a big round butt—both courtesy of my Nona Antonina. My grandfather, Allen Palmer, always loves to joke that I’ve inherited my figure from his Italian bride. He’s always quick to remind me women on his side of the family don’t have my grandmother’s enviable curves and I should be proud of mine. As much as I love my grandfather, it’s impossible for me to explain to him that most men prefer figures like Jessica’s and her model sister’s. He just wouldn’t understand.
“I don’t want anybody to be disappointed if we can’t find the right dress. That’s all,” I retort, slightly annoyed.
Michelle, who is five ten, grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me closer to her. “You should know by now that I’m a miracle worker when it comes to fashion and so is Nikki. Did we not find you tons of amazing work clothes a couple weeks ago right after you found out you got that amazing new position?”
“Michelle, that was different. We’re talking about a skirt here, a dressy tee-shirt there, a few blouses, pants and a couple smart blazers, but an evening dress is a whole other ball game.”
“You’re worrying your pretty little head for no good reason. We’ll find something that looks smashing on you.” She just loves using that British term. “I stake my reputation on it,” she adds when she sees me pinch my lips together. “If I had been blessed with your huge boobs, I’d never complain. You may think that being tall is the be-all and end-all, but I’d gladly give an organ in exchange for your tatas.” She laughs.
“Okay, you win.”
“That’s the attitude. Make yourself comfortable. Ray just went across the street to get us all some much-needed caffeine. Unless he’s flirting with that cute blond barista again, he should be back any minute now.” Michelle drags me to a high-backed zebra-print chair next to the matching one my best friend is already sitting on. She’s pretending to flip through a magazine with her left leg crossed over her right, but as soon as I approach, she flashes me a told-you-so look that speaks volumes.
I’ve known Jessica Edgewood for the better part of my life. We’re both from Savannah and we’ve been neighbors since we were twelve when I moved back down South with my mom to live with my former stepdad.
Jessica has always known that she wanted to be a makeup artist. Two and a half years ago, her sister started tapping into her connections to get her a number of really interesting gigs out here. For a while she was traveling back and forth because she was desperately trying to make a name for herself. The trips were exhausting because sometimes she’d get called at the last minute and she’d have to take the red eye from Savannah to a Hollywood set at the drop of a hat. After six months, she decided to start planning her move to California. It didn’t take much convincing on her part for me to follow her. Since my dreams of becoming a chef had been shattered, I hoped that Los Angeles would offer a fresh new start.
We moved here together two years ago. Michelle, Jessica’s older sister, has been living out here for much longer. She’s ten years older than we are. After a somewhat successful career in modeling and in the movies, she opened Glam Studio, a popular consignment shop, five years ago in Venice Beach. Her connections and easy access to celebrities and models have paid off big time for her because a lot of them visit her shop when it comes time for them to let go of old clothing. Of course, in the world of the rich and famous, ‘old’ often means barely worn. Most times the items are brand new and rich women bring them in with tags still attached. Amazing. In my world, it means striking gold at a price that fits my budget.
“So how was your morning at the—”
“Miranda, darling, love the hair.”
Nikki, Michelle’s assistant, waltzes in from the backroom, interrupting my best friend in mid-sentence.
“Hey, Nikki. Thanks. I just got it done.”
“Colton?” she asks, rolling in a rack of clothing.
“Jessica insisted on it.”
“I swear to God, the man has magic fingers. Pun very much intended.” We all laugh. “As much as I’d hope that my advances would have him change camps, even for one day, I’ve resigned myself to the brutal reality that he’s gay.” She sighs.
“Uh-huh.” All four of us nod in unison.
Michelle’s assistant, Nikhol Holt, is the type of all-American girl from Cali I’d normally hate—tall, thin, sandy blonde wavy hair cut in the perfect long bob, piercing blue eyes, dimples, small boobs that fit into anything without ever looking indecent, a nonstop smile and of course perfectly aligned white teeth. She has the Los Angeles casual-chic style down pat. I guess her nerdy-girl glasses are her way of giving us mere mortals a respite from her gorgeousness. As much as you’d like to despise her for being born this way, you can’t. Despite her stunning looks, Nikki is an absolute sweetheart and she hasn’t got a clue how often men have whiplash when she walks by.
“I honestly think that every woman in LA has tried at least once to seduce Colton, but has failed miserably,” Michelle says pensively. “I stopped a long time ago because I’m very happy in my relationship with Dominic, but I agree with Nikki, it would be like hunting season if that man were ever to declare that he’s open to women... even for twenty-four hours.”
“Well, I haven’t tried,” I say. “Even if he were straight, he’d be totally out of my league.”
“Girl, we so need to work on that self-confidence of yours,” Nikki scolds. “When you see what I have lined up for you, you’ll be able to get any man you want wrapped around your little finger at this party tonight.”
“I’m happy you’re the one who came down hard on her instead of me for a change,” Jess says, looking up from her magazine.
“Don’t worry, Jessica. Give me an hour and we’ll transform this little insecure pumpkin into a smoldering hot Victoria’s Secret model wannabe.”
As if.I snicker to myself at Nikki’s comment.
