by Laura Burton
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Are you going?” Holly asked. The idea of having a friendly face at the function lifted her spirits exponentially. Thatcher shrugged.
“Estelle invited me, would be rude not to go,” he said, flashing his veneers. Holly smirked.
“That’s right, I forgot you two were bosom pals,” she joked, giving him a nudge. A flush of color rose to Thatcher’s round cheeks, almost matching the shade of red in his hair.
“Well, do you want to come? I’ll introduce you to Estelle. I hear she’s looking for the next cover girl for the magazine.”
Holly’s breath caught in her chest as she did her best to conceal a squeal. Being the cover girl at Estelle magazine was a career-making opportunity. Something every model in New York dreamed of.
Then she remembered her promise to Josie and her heart sank.
“Can’t. I’m helping the caterers.”
Thatcher gave her a frank look.
“And?” he said, wagging his brows like two red, wriggling caterpillars. “Who cares if you’re one of the servers? You’ll be there and that’s perfect. I’ll come find you and introduce you to Estelle.”
Holly gawped at him. The thought of being dressed as a server during her first meeting with Estelle sent her stomach into knots. And what if Estelle remembered Holly from the event that ended in disaster? She shook her head and waved her hands dramatically to cement her answer.
“No, I’m okay. Not this time.”
She resolved that one day the stars would align, and she’d be at a mixer wearing a devastatingly gorgeous cocktail dress and dazzling the whole room. Then, Estelle would beg Thatcher to be introduced. A small smile crept across Holly’s face at the thought.
“Disappointing. Don’t you think it’s about time you do something to put yourself out there?”
Holly glanced at the material draped over her shoulder and pinned at the back to resemble some sort of dress and looked pointedly at Thatcher.
“What do you think this is?” she asked, holding up her hands. Thatcher shook his head.
“Ah, but this here is your comfort zone. You’re with me. My team. Nobody is going to reject you.”
“Hey,” Holly interjected. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Thatcher avoided her gaze and puffed out his cheeks.
“Nothing, nothing.” He waved a hand and fiddled with the dials on his camera.
“No, tell me. What do you mean about rejection?” Holly nudged him and Thatcher huffed. Finally, he looked at her.
“I know I promised I’d never bring it up. But… prom night.”
Holly’s cheeks burned and her throat clammed up. He needn’t say anymore.
Fifteen years had passed since prom night, but the memory was branded on her mind. Holly could easily recall every tiny detail of the night. From the mermaid sequin dress that scratched her arms. To the smell of the fog machine up on the stage. Just thinking about it, she could feel the music thumping against her eardrums and the vibrations underfoot.
It should have been a dream night. Arlo Brown, the most popular boy in school, was her date. And against all odds, she was voted prom queen.
When it was announced, she couldn’t even believe it. Arlo swished his chocolate brown hair, flashed her a grin and stuck his arm out for her. Holly picked up her dress and glided across the dancefloor feeling like a million dollars. There was a hush and a sea of wide eyes as they made their way to the stage.
After Mrs. Bell placed the crown on her head and turned to pick up a bunch of red roses, Arlo grabbed the microphone and pointed unceremoniously at Holly.
“Here’s to the prom queen,” he shouted. The whole room erupted into laughter. Confused, Holly waved. Doing her best impression of a winner of a beauty pageant.
“Look at her. She thinks she’s really prom queen,” someone shouted. More laughter.
Holly looked at Arlo who had his phone out, facing her.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her stomach in knots.
“You think I’d really want to take you to prom? I got everyone to vote for you so I could take you up here and show you what a loser you really are! Smile for the camera, baby. This is going in the yearbook.”
Holly tried to make a run for it, but her heel got caught in the hem of her dress and she went hurtling down the stage steps and landed face first on the floor.
“Loser! Loser! Loser!”
Holly closed her eyes and shuddered as the chant echoed in her head.
“Why are you bringing this up?” she said in a deathly whisper. Thatcher touched her arm; Holly opened her eyes to see the apologetic look on his face.
“Holly, you know I love you. I’ll always have your back. But one of these days you’ve got to fly the nest. I can’t always work with you. What are you going to do then?”
The warmth in his voice settled Holly’s nerves and she sighed.
“Live in a cardboard box on the side of the street?” she offered with a crooked smile.
“I’d hate to see you end up sad and alone,” Thatcher said. Holly chuckled.
“I won’t. We’ve got that pact, remember? If neither of us find love by the time we’re thirty-five, we’ll get married.”
Suddenly, Holly realized that was just a couple of years away. The sickly feeling returned.
“About that. I’m moving to Paris,” Thatcher said frankly.
Holly’s mouth flew open as she blinked at him, unable to speak. Thatcher had become a permanent fixture in her life. After high school, they went to the same college. Then Thatcher’s rich uncle got him working for a couple of agencies, and Thatcher was able to bring Holly along to his gigs. The two of them had been working together ever since.
“Let me do this for you, before I go,” Thatcher said, taking her hand. Holly bit back the tears.
“I’ll be fine. It’s getting late and I need to get ready for tonight.” She pulled her hand back and cradled it to her chest. “See you tonight.”
Thatcher’s sympathetic stare followed Holly as she walked away.
Chapter 3
“So, Thatcher’s moving to Paris? For how long? Surely, he’s coming back. Right?” Josie fired questions at Holly so fast, Holly didn’t have time to answer. They hurried along the sterile corridor and Holly tried to imagine the acid rising to her throat as they entered the busy kitchen.
A crowd of servers milled around wearing identical black uniforms.
“Estelle wants the drinks flowing. I do not want to see any of you walking around with empty trays. Don’t forget; keep smiling, do not talk to anyone and keep moving. Questions?” The caterer didn’t wait for any before he barked at them to take a tray and go. The servers lined up, taking turns to grab a tray and leave the kitchen. Meanwhile a whole crowd of chefs dashed around making the entrées.
“We’ll talk about it afterwards,” Holly said to Josie as they stepped up to grab their tray.
“Hey you two. Cut it out. I’m not paying you to gossip.”
Holly carried her tray of drinks and followed Josie out of the kitchen. Each step felt like it would be her last as she put every ounce of focus into keeping the drinks from spilling. How she was supposed to smile and look composed, was anyone’s guess.
A string quartet performed on stage as the entire hall was flooded with people dressed in designer clothes.
In fact, some of the designers of said clothes were there, Holly noticed. She wondered what it must be like to attend an event and see people wearing clothes that she had designed.
Holly did not venture too far into the mass of guests; she hovered around the small groups standing close to the kitchen doors instead.
A plume of expensive perfume flooded her nostrils as she held the tray out for a group of women to take a drink. Within seconds the tray was empty and Holly had not even received a single thank you. In fact, the ladies continued to exchange pleasantries, oblivious to Holly.
It was no surprise. She had worked at events like this before. The servers wore b
lack to look invisible. She was not there to stand out. And yet, she longed to appear in a Vera Wang, all eyes on her and the hall silent, with the occasional gasp. Whispers of ‘Who is that woman?’ would fly across the room and Thatcher would proudly tell everyone that Holly was his best friend.
Thatcher stood far off; his back turned. Holly resisted the urge to walk over as her eyes scanned the room, looking for the person who could catapult her career forward; Estelle.
No one ever mentioned Estelle’s last name. When you’re that famous, a second name seems superfluous.
Estelle was dazzling. She wore a tightly fitted purple gown that ruffled at the shoulder. She had narrow features, a painfully small waist, and expressive eyes. She stood poised and powerful, ever primed for hidden paparazzi to catch her best angle.
“What are you doing? Get back in the kitchen and fill up your tray, or so help me, I’ll kick you out.”
Holly jumped at the angry whisper. The caterer was at her side, staring at her so intensely, it looked like her eyes were going to pop out.
“Yes, ma’am.” Holly bobbed her head and marched into the kitchen, not daring to look back.
Working at a mixer was far less glamorous than it looked. Holly was grateful she had opted for flat shoes––even if they did look a bit manly. She stumbled more than a few times. Holly was the clumsiest model in New York. Maybe even the world, she thought. Most of her work was done in a studio, and she never took on catwalk jobs. Just the idea of wearing high stilettoes and marching up and down a stage in front of people had her chewing her lip.
Maybe Thatcher was right. She was comfortable in a studio with him and his team. If Holly wanted to work with more photographers, she’d have to put herself out there and risk public humiliation. Was that what was holding her back? But if Thatcher moved to Paris, Holly would have no other choice. She’d have to sign up to an agency and fight off other models for every gig or give up and get a desk job.
Holly absent-mindedly loaded up her tray with tall stem glasses filled with champagne. The task became monotonous and Holly’s bottom lip stung from the hour she had spent chewing on it. The image of Martina drenched in milk chocolate was ever present on her mind as she struggled to focus on delivering drinks to fancy guests.
The night was drawing on, and Holly wondered how much longer she’d have to yo-yo from the kitchen to the hall. The caterer glided around like a bad smell, always hovering close by, her beady eyes on the servers. As if daring them to slow down.
Holly’s shoulders ached; having spent the whole afternoon tensed up and posing for the camera, and now constantly on the move, carrying empty glasses back to the kitchen and returning with a heavy tray of fresh drinks. Surely, they would get a break soon.
The second hour passed even slower than the first. And by the time the third hour came along, every muscle in her body burned.
“How much longer?” she hissed at Josie as they crossed paths. Josie’s fake smile remained in place, but the slight lift of her shoulders said it all.
The door swung open and as Holly walked through, she craned her neck to scowl at Josie.
Josie was a machine. She could do this all night without breaking a sweat. Holly on the other hand, was seeing stars and had lost feeling in her fingers.
“Ouch!”
The front of Holly’s shoe scuffed the floor and she lost balance. Then, seemingly in slow motion, the tray flew out of her hands and into the air. A shower of glasses rained down on her and smashed into millions of pieces at her feet. Not that she noticed. The force of her fall had sent her flying headfirst into a man’s chest. A grunt followed.
If this is a dream, now is absolutely the time to wake up.
But this was not a dream. Holly opened her eyes and stood up to look at the face of the man she had fallen onto.
All she could see was a mop of dark hair as the man patted his pant legs. He straightened and the clearest blue eyes blinked at her. Holly’s knees grew weak.
“I’m so sorry,” she said faintly. She glanced at the yellow stains on his crisp white shirt and swallowed nervously.
“Oh, this?” the man said, gesturing to his spoiled clothes. “Don’t worry about it. This gives me the perfect excuse to get out of here. You’ve done me a favor.” He laughed. Perhaps he thought what he said was funny. But Holly had clearly missed the joke. She stared at him like a deer in headlights.
“What in the world…? Look at this mess. Do you realize how much those glasses will cost to replace? They were clear cut crystal.”
The caterer was back. And a group of servers appeared from the kitchen. Holly looked back to see the door to the corridor had swung open and Josie was standing there, frozen, with a look of horror on her face.
“That is coming out of your salary,” the caterer barked. Holly swivelled her head and stared, open-mouthed and completely unable to speak. Her body had been firing off pain signals all evening, but now she was void of any feeling at all.
“Forgive me, Daria. It is Daria, right? You’re the caterer?”
All eyes turned to the mystery gentleman as he smoldered at the caterer. Her frosty nature melted, and she broke into a smile for the first time.
“Yes. I am. I’m flattered you know my name,” she said, resting her chubby fingers on her collarbone. The gentleman gave a casual smile, his cheeks dimpling.
“I apologize. You see, I was just making my way into the kitchen to compliment you on the wonderful food tonight, when I knocked this poor woman off her feet.” He pulled out a wad of cash from his jacket pocket and handed it to the caterer, who was now blushing profusely. “I hope this will help. For the trouble.”
The caterer giggled like a schoolgirl.
Holly frowned as she watched the odd exchange.
“I feel awful about this. Do you mind if I go into the kitchen? I’ll need a brush to clear up this glass.” The gentleman sheepishly brushed some of the glass fragments with his shoe, but the caterer shook her head. Her complexion was normal again as she frowned and waved her hands.
“No, Mr. Harrington. It’s fine. You––” She jabbed a finger in Holly’s direction, sending a bolt of adrenaline coursing through her veins. And just like that, all of the aches and pains of the evening returned. “Clean this up. The rest of you… stop staring and get back to work.”
The other servers quietly sidled past the mess and returned to work. Holly hesitated. It was as if all her energy had been zapped away and all that was left of her was a hollow, aching shell of a body, totally incapable of doing anything.
“Perhaps, I could borrow this young woman for a few minutes. If you don’t mind?” The gentleman smiled again as he looked expectantly at the caterer. She gave a curt nod as the corner of her mouth lifted.
“I’m sorry. How rude of me. My name is William. William Charles,” the man said, turning to Holly with his hand outstretched. Holly took it, feeling dazed as her lungs seemed to forget how to take in air.
“Holly Barrett,” she managed to say. As William shook her hand, her lungs started to work again, and her heart worked overtime.
“You don’t happen to know if there’s a spare shirt lying around, do you?” William asked. Holly glanced at the caterer, who was watching their exchange with a strange look on her face. Holly wasn’t sure if the woman was going to scream or burst into laughter.
“There are more uniforms in the store cupboard out back. Go and help him, Holly,” she said, with a hint of warmth in her voice. Holly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The caterer had definitely not known her name until just now. Yet she was purring at her like she had known her all her life.
But then, Holly couldn’t judge. She had worked with the caterer several times and never knew her name was Daria. Simply thinking of her as the caterer was more fitting.
Holly realized she had been walking while her mind ran away in thought. William walked beside her, his arms swinging slightly, and he hummed lightly to himself.
“The cupboard is ju
st––” Holly began, but she stopped as William’s hand settled on her arm. Her eyes flew to it and she wondered whether to make a run for it or start giggling like a schoolgirl too.
“It’s alright. I just said that to get you away from that awful woman.” William’s low voice and cheeky smirk sent a rush of excitement through Holly. She broke into a laugh.
“What’s funny?” William asked. This time it was his turn to miss the joke.
“Awful woman? You were flirting with her just now.”
William’s dark brows shot up and he stood back.
“Flirting? You think that was flirting?” he dragged a hand across his jaw and sighed. His reaction was unsettling. Holly swallowed and fiddled with her watch.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice how she’s been treating all of you,” William said. “I thought you’d be happy for the break.”
Holly rested her hands on her hips and tilted her head. She was about to retort when she remembered that if it wasn’t for his help, Daria would have handed her a bill and probably had her frogmarched off the premises.
“Thanks. For what you did.”
The two of them stared at each other silently for a few moments. Then shared a smile.
“Well, I’m going to…” William didn’t finish the sentence and hovered on the spot. Holly couldn’t read him. Was he stalling? Should she ask for his number?
“Yeah. I should get back to work,” she said finally, casting her eyes down.
“Right.”
After a brief moment of awkward silence, a phone rang, and William sprang back to life.
“I need to get this,” he pointed at the phone in his hand. Holly nodded and turned on her heel to walk back to the kitchen.
“I’m not feeling too good. I’m going home.”
William’s voice grew quieter as Holly walked away and it took all of her resolve not to look back. She clenched her jaw angrily.
Thatcher is right. If I don’t put myself out there, I’m going to end up alone.
She returned to the kitchen, her heart sinking with every step.
