by Judy Angelo
Ali lifted his shoulders and shook his head. “I do not know, Mr. Davidoff. After she fell down she ran back to the dressing room and then she disappeared.”
“How can I find her, then? What’s her name?”
“I do not know that either.” Ali lowered his brows. “But if I may say so, sir, it will make no use to find her. This girl, she has nothing. You should have seen the clothes she was wearing. What sense would it make to sue?”
Reed glared at the man who was beginning to try his patience. “What’s her name, dammit? And don’t tell me who I can and can’t sue.”
Ali jerked back, obviously surprised by Reed’s aggressive tone, then he gave a curt nod. “Let me get you the list,” he said and turned away. In less than a minute he was hurrying back with a clipboard on which a sheet of paper was secured. He shoved it under Reed’s nose. “We hired forty-three temps for this show, some as models, some as dressers, some as make-up artists. I believe she must have been one of the dressers. Definitely not a model.”
Reed’s eyes skimmed the paper. “So which one is she?”
The man looked distressed. “I don’t know. I just grabbed whoever was closest at that moment. I didn’t ask her name. Maybe when she comes to pick up her check...”
“And when’s that? A week or two down the road? Not good enough.” Reed snatched the clipboard from the director’s hand. “Find her and bring her to me.” With that he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Ali Messam staring open-mouthed after him.
Reed strode through the milling crowd and headed back to the stage. Maybe someone in that area could tell him where she’d turned. Or maybe she hadn’t even left. Could she still be there, hiding behind the heavy curtains? A stretch, he knew, but he was willing to give it a try.
When he got to the now deserted stage there was no-one to be seen. But there, lying to one side on the catwalk lay the gold slipper that the runaway model had abandoned. Someone must have kicked it to the side and out of the way.
Reed walked down the runway and bent to pick up the slipper. Now he understood. These slippers were way too big for a girl as tiny as the one he’d seen on stage. No wonder she’d stumbled in them.
He turned it over in his hand, realizing that a way-too-big abandoned slipper was of absolutely no use to him in this situation. All he had to go on was a list of names, possibly an address that he could only hope was her real one, and the hope that she’d show up in a week to collect her pay.
Reed gave a grunt and turned to leave the platform, the gold slipper still in his hand. He knew he should just let this thing go. What girl was worth all this trouble?
But as his mind went to the memory of her guileless face, the cascade of golden hair floating behind her, he knew he couldn’t.
He couldn’t explain it but he knew he would not stop until he’d found her.
CHAPTER TWO
Golden was almost halfway home before her heart stopped slamming against her ribs and slowed to its normal rhythm. Finally, she was beginning to breathe easier. She still couldn’t believe what had just happened to her. She’d never been more humiliated in her life.
How do you get from accepting the simple job of putting clothes on models to ending up on a catwalk in front of an audience of thousands? She, who’d always been shy and reserved, suddenly pushed into the limelight – literally. If she’d only known, she would never have even shown up. But then how could she have anticipated this? It could have happened to anybody. She was just in the wrong place at the worst possible time, a time that made her the perfect target for a drive-by recruitment for the runway.
But never again. As desperate as she was for the money she was still not planning to go anywhere near that place, not even to collect the thirty-five pounds they’d said each temp would get. And, as much as she hated it, she had to admit it – she was desperate...
Since leaving sixth form and then doing a two-year diploma in business administration all she’d been able to find were odd jobs, none of which provided more than the minimum wage. She knew she was at a disadvantage, twenty years old and fast approaching twenty-one, not having entered a bachelor’s degree program. She needed to get moving on her plan but how could she leave for the university of her choice when it was almost a hundred miles away? That would require her boarding on campus and that would never do. How could she leave her mother behind?
Golden gritted her teeth as she thought about it. She would just have to hang in there a little longer, maybe just one more year. She had to keep trying to convince her mother to make that big step toward independence. It was the only thing that would save them both.
By the time she drove along the gravelly road and parked in front of the country house where she lived with her mother and stepfather it was already almost ten o’clock at night. Tired and hungry she climbed out of her twelve year old Vauxhall Corsa and closed the door gently behind her. She didn’t want to wake her mother and she definitely didn’t want to risk the wrath of the man who now fancied himself her guardian.
As quietly as she could Golden turned the key in the lock and pushed the front door open. Typical creepy old house, the heavy mahogany door groaned as she pushed it open. Holding her breath she paused, listening for the sounds of approaching footsteps, but when all she could hear was silence she let out her breath and pushed the door all the way in.
There was a single light glowing on the entrance table. Her mother’s doing, of course. It was little acts of love like these that strengthened Golden’s resolve to do everything in her power to get her mother out of this prison into which she’d unwittingly trapped herself but, as much as she knew it was the right thing to do, there was a major issue that first had to be resolved. There was hardly anything she could do until her mother realized that she’d married a man who meant her no good.
Golden was crossing the hallway on the way to her room when she heard a soft meow coming from the kitchen. Immediately the crease in her brow disappeared and a smile softened her lips. If there was one thing in the world guaranteed to lift her spirits it was a quick cuddle with Sir Winston Churchill. She headed off in search of her beloved cat.
She found him by the back door, his head down as he lapped the remaining drops of milk from his saucer. “Hey there, my love. How are you?” Kneeling beside him, she reached out to stroke his snow-white back. “How was your day?”
The fluffy Persian lifted his head and gave her a milk-mustache smile – at least it looked like a smile to Golden – then he put out a pink tongue to lick the remnants of milk from his mouth. Only then did he come to her, rubbing his head against her leg until she sat back on her heels and took him onto her lap. When she stroked his head and tickled him behind the ear she was rewarded with the gentle vibration of his deep-throated purrs.
“You’re my best friend. You know that, don’t you?” Her voice was a soft whisper, almost as if she were sharing a very special secret with her one true friend. And, like she’d said, he was just that – her best and only friend, the only one who would ever hear her fears or complaints or triumphs.
“Where were you?”
Golden jumped. She turned to see her mother, her hair full of rollers, standing in the doorway blinking sleepily at her.
“Mother, I didn’t wake you, did I?” She pushed Sir Winston off her lap and stood up. “I tried to be quiet.”
“No, you didn’t wake me. When I got up to go to the loo I peeked out and saw your car was here. That’s how I knew you were home.” She blinked then narrowed her eyes as she gave Golden a closer look. “Why do you look like that? You never wear make-up.” Then her frown deepened. “Where were you, Golden?”
“I...” Golden paused, wondering how much she could share. Her mother loved her, she knew, but the reality was, she was so concerned about pleasing her husband that she put his needs before anyone else’s. And she didn’t know how to keep secrets from him either. “I was just...somewhere.” It sounded lame but for the life of her she couldn’t come up wi
th anything better. She’d never been one to lie so when it came to making up stories she was hopeless.
She gave a shrug and turned to go. “Well, it’s late. Time to get my beauty sleep. Goodnight, Mother.”
She didn’t get far. Eugenia reached out and caught her by the arm. “Golden, why is your face made up like that? Were you out on the town...with men?” The last two words came out in a hiss. “You know your father would not approve.”
“He’s not my father.” Golden almost dragged her arm out of her mother’s grasp but she didn’t. No matter how angry she was she would not show disrespect. But she would not perpetuate the lie her mother was living. “He’s not my father,” she said again. “He’s your husband. I do not answer to Dunstan Manchester.”
“As long as you’re under his roof, you have to.”
“This is not his roof,” Golden said through gritted teeth and this time she did pull her arm away, albeit gently. “This is the house my father bought when he brought us here from Atlanta. This is the house he left for you. For us.”
“I know all that, honey, but I have another husband now-”
“A husband who wants to control everything,” Golden bit back. “Even me.”
On her mother’s face was a look of pleading that pulled at Golden’s heart strings and made her say no more. How could she hurt her mother even if she was right?
“I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh then she reached out to fix one of the rollers that threatened to slide out of her mother’s hair. “I’ll try to live by his rules.” It pained her to say the words but she knew it was what her mother wanted to hear.
Eugenia sighed and gave her a smile. “Thank you, dear. You know we only want what’s best for you. Now get along to bed. It’s late.”
Golden nodded, knowing full well that her mother might want what was best for her but her stepfather certainly did not. Still, she kept mum and headed down the hallway then climbed the stairs to her room. Tomorrow she would have to find other means of earning some wages but right now all she wanted to do was forget about her disastrous night, climb into bed and lose herself in the arms of Morpheus.
***
“Found anything so far?” Reed glanced at his watch then began to throw the documents and folders into his briefcase. His cell phone, he shoved into his pocket.
“Not yet, Mr. Davidoff.” Sharon Crow gave him an apologetic smile. “I spoke to Ms. Townsend again this morning and she said so far there are still eight girls who haven’t picked up their checks. She thinks they’ll be all gone in the next couple of days. She’ll keep her eyes open for a redhead fitting the description you gave.”
“Not a redhead. A blonde. A girl with reddish-blonde hair.”
“Oh, a strawberry blonde. Why didn’t you say so?” Sharon shook her head and just stopped short of rolling her eyes. “We’ll find her for you. I promise.”
After his executive assistant had walked out of his office Reed stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door. Was he being a bloody fool to pursue a girl who was of so little significance in the normal scheme of things? The expression on his assistant’s face said he was. They were all probably wondering why he was making such a big deal about a mere temp, one who could be replaced by hundreds of others like her.
But where he was concerned there was no other like her, none who made him hungry to see her again. It was probably bizarre that a man who had surrounded himself with beautiful models all his work life was now so captivated by the one who did not fit into that picture. But there you had it. Maybe because she was different, maybe because she was obviously out of her realm, he was intrigued. And he wanted to see her again.
It took another four days before he got any further news on his mystery woman but it was not encouraging. The staff member who had hired the agency to recruit the temps reported that all of them had collected their checks, all except one, and seeing that none of those who came in fit the description then the no-show had to be the girl he was looking for. The only problem was, the agency had a name but no address, phone number or e-mail address.
That made no sense to Reed. “Then how did she apply?” he asked Sharon when she came into his office and gave him the update.
She shrugged. “It happens. Sometimes the girls call in and ask for their names to be added to the list. The name is recorded and the girl is told to fill in her particulars when she gets to the venue. When you’re in a rush and you have hundreds of people calling in, it can happen.”
“Rubbish. Is this the kind of operation we’re running? This is not the Davidoff way.”
Sharon shook her head. “This has nothing to do with the Davidoff way. It’s the outside agency that gets the girls for the show. We can’t tell them how to run their business.”
“If they’re going to have any connection to Davidoff Fashions Inc., we can.” Reed pushed back his chair and stood up. “From here on, any agency we’re working with must have accurate personal information on anyone who’ll be working at our show, no matter what her role. If they can’t comply with that we’ll find another agency.”
Sharon gave a soft sigh. “I’m sure they’ll comply.” Then she tilted her head to one side. “So where do we go from here? Do you still want us to pursue your mystery woman?”
“No, never mind.” His tone was impatient, brusque even, but he would not apologize for it. He wasn’t liking this, not having his way. He’d failed to locate the girl and that annoyed him. He wasn’t used to failing.
But this would not end here. He’d left it to his staff to find the girl but now he would tackle the task himself. All he had to go on was a name, the name of the one girl who had not collected her pay – Golden Browne. And Reed had no doubt that he would find little Miss Golden Browne because if there was one thing he would never accept, it was failure.
CHAPTER THREE
The road surface was still wet as Golden pulled into the parking lot of Sunnybrook Nursing Home. They’d had a violent thunderstorm the night before which was unusual for the month of March but thankfully it did not last more than a few hours. Still, the windswept trees and the carpet of scattered leaves on the ground were ample evidence of the strength of the storm. She just hoped this wasn’t a sign of what was to come when the summer brought its own share of stormy weather. If there was one thing that made Golden tremble it was a thunder-rumbling, lightning-flashing summer storm.
But, trooper that it was, the sun peeped out from behind the gray clouds and now it was shining bright in the sky, putting Golden in a cheerful mood, just what she needed as she stepped inside the shadowy walls of Sunnybrook.
“A doozie last night, wasn’t it?” The receptionist greeted her with a smile that looked brilliant in her dark-skinned face.
“Terrible,” Golden said, nodding in agreement. “Let’s hope we see no more of that for the rest of the year.”
“I’m with you, hon.” She placed the register on the counter so Golden could sign in. “And Miss You-know-What has been asking for you. You’d better get up there before she sends out the troops.”
Golden only laughed then she waved her goodbye and headed for the elevator.
She’d been visiting the residents of the home for the past year, ever since she’d completed her stint as a student intern in the administrative office of the organization, assisting the marketing manager. They’d allowed her to visit with the elderly ladies and gentlemen who resided there and she’d grown close to a few of them, but one in particular – eighty-three year old Claire Bertlam, otherwise known among her fellow residents as Mrs. Crab.
The name said it all. Claire Bertlam was feisty and cantankerous and she was saucy with everyone, even the nurses who cared for her. The only person she hadn’t sliced with her razor-sharp words was Golden, to the bewilderment of everyone, including Golden. Claire seemed to have taken a liking to her, a phenomenon which could only be explained by Claire herself. The pity was, no-one dared ask her.
“Where is that child?”
“Claire, what are you doing?” Golden dashed across the room and knelt down to help the nurse whose face looked like the thunderstorm that had hit the night before. But who could blame her? Claire Bertlam would try the patience of Ghandi himself.
“Golden, my dear. There you are.” Claire’s wrinkled face broke into a smile and she opened her arms wide. “Come give me a hug.”
“Not yet, Claire. I have to help clean up the mess you made.” Golden was scolding her friend but she knew it made no difference to the old lady. She would continue to demand her own way no matter what anyone said. Only a miracle, or some twist of fate that could jerk her to her senses, would make her change.
After the nurse had left, grumbling under her breath, Golden bent over to receive Claire’s hug then took a seat beside her bed. “So what was that all about?” she asked as she smoothed the sheet covering Claire’s legs. “Got out on the wrong side of the bed today?”
Claire snorted. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Maybe if I could get up and around I wouldn’t have to be such a crabby old bitch.”
“Claire. Your language.” Golden drew back half in fun and half in genuine shock. The strongest word she’d ever heard her friend use was ‘bugger’ and that was when she’d been really angry with the chef who’d sent her shepherd’s pie so soggy it looked like soup.
“Well, I am a bitch, am I not? Ask anybody here and they’ll tell you it’s true.” Then she smiled. “You’re the only one who sees me for who I really am – a poor, lonely old woman desperate for friendship.” She laid a hand on her breasts and said the words with such drama that Golden couldn’t help but laugh at her antics. Then Claire fixed her sharp gray eyes on her visitor. “So why were you late? You told me you’d be here at ten o’clock.”
