by Alexis Ayres
Black pants, white button-down shirt for both girls and guys. Ladies, be sure to wear your hair back.
Now, remember to be on your best behavior. Like I said, there will be a lot of VIPs during the next three days. Let's make sure we start this thing off on a good foot.
Toodles!
KATRINA
"Argh, Ruby! What did I do to deserve this?" I griped, while I desperately tried to track down my black pants in the closet.
I'd never really been a "black pants person," preferring my clothes to be more colorful. But I did have one pair of black pants, which were always hiding somewhere mysterious. After locating them, hopping into them,(and breathing a huge sigh of relief), I gave Ruby a kiss, then ran out the door.
Traffic was a bitch, but luckily the random rich person's house wasn't too far from my apartment. I made it to the parking lot with five minutes to spare. Of course, Katrina had to make a little comment at the check-in desk.
"Ella, you're late!"
"Uh, last time I checked, you guys start paying us at three...so actually, I'm early."
"Whatever!" she snapped, handing me a wristband. "You'll be in the last group to go up!"
She must have been having a bad day. Even Katrina wasn't usually that snappy. What was the world coming to? I joined the line in front of the check-in desk, behind a dozen other people. Some of them looked vaguely familiar. All crazy, for the most part.
There is an interesting niche of people in Los Angeles, and this niche exists mainly to support the wealthy. Working as caterers, drivers, assistants, gardeners, and the like, this group of people helps to ensure that our Los Angeles slice of the one percent...remains there.
Now, this would all be fine, if most of the people in this niche hadn't initially moved to Hollywood with dreams of becoming the next big director, executive, actor, etc. -- you know, joining the ranks of the jet-set themselves. When you think about it that way, their lot in life becomes rather...depressing.
Which was why I really found myself missing Daniela as we waited for the shuttle. Having a friend to work with was crucial. It made me feel sane, like this was just a temporary situation.
As the white van approached, I said a silent prayer that the gig would be okay. It was Good Friday, after all. I figured someone up there ought to be listening. We piled into the van, and I was forced to sit next to a stand-up comedian I'd met on a couple of previous catering gigs.
"Hey! Ella, right?" he asked, sticking out his hand.
"Yes," I smiled, trying to muster some enthusiasm. "What's your name again?"
"John!" he grinned. "Hey, I haven't seen you in a long time! Why haven't you been picking up shifts?"
Talk about nosy.
"Uh...well, I'm primarily an actress, so I audition a lot and stuff."
"Huh. Really? Haven't seen you on anything."
"Yeah..." I sighed, as the van whipped around corners.
"This has got to be some crazy big event," John whispered. "Fifty of us have already gone up here."
"Fifty? That's a lot. Damn." I groaned, as the van navigated yet another hairpin turn.
It was enough to make us all carsick. Finally, after ten more torturous minutes, we arrived at the top of the hill. A huge compound loomed in front of us. We had arrived.
The house, if you could call it that, was truly extraordinary. It was so huge I couldn't even see where it began and ended. It felt as though we were suspended in the clouds above Los Angeles.
One of Katrina's minions was waiting for us as we exited the van. I was looking up at the compound when I was jarred out of my reverie.
"Ella?" she barked at me.
"Yup," I nodded.
"You'll be working the patio, giving out wine and beer. Follow Travis here."
An awkward, gangly-looking guy led me to the patio area. It seemed as though we had lucked out, as the patio did not appear to be nearly as bustling as the rest of this house.
"I got everything ready before you came," Travis said. "So all we have to do is wait."
I breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed as though (as catering co-workers went) Travis was a gem. It would make my life a million times easier. Way better than being assigned to work with stand-up comedian John, who would no doubt be messing around, testing out his material and not doing any work. Working with aspiring stand-up comedians was almost always brutal.
"Awesome," I nodded. "So...this place is unreal."
"Totally," Travis smiled. "I guess it's some fashion designer's place. Anyway, I'm just glad you're normal."
"Tell me about it!" I laughed. "Me too! Sometimes these dumb little jobs can be so hard. Too many crazy folks."
"Yup," Travis agreed. "Like doing extra work -- oh wait, I'm sorry -- the people who do it professionally call it 'background work'!"
"Ha!" I cackled. "So true. Like, what's the damn difference? No matter how you slice it, you're not the lead actor. Get a grip!"
This small exchange obviously made Travis feel more comfortable with me.
"Hey," he whispered, looking around. "Do you wanna share a beer? We're not starting for like forty-five minutes."
"I would love nothing more," I assured him. "Please, for the love of God, open up a beer."
Travis opened up a fancy microbrew bottle, and we hid it under the bar area, each taking discreet swigs whenever we saw that the coast was clear. Almost thirty minutes had passed when I saw the woman inside the house take notice of me. And I was fairly certain that she'd seen me drinking the beer.
When she came out of the house, I started cursing my luck. Why did I always have to get caught? It was so unfair. Worse, I would have to fabricate a way to excuse poor Travis from this whole mess. And then try to figure out how I'd make rent, without acting work or even stupid catering work.
These were the thoughts that were running through my mind when the thin, impeccably groomed blond woman in her forties approached us. She gave me a once-over, and I found myself hoping that my black pants weren't impossibly wrinkled or something like that.
"Hi, I'm Debra," she grinned, sticking out her hand.
"Ella."
This didn't seem so foreboding. Shaking Debra's hand, I figured that maybe she was one of those people who had to prove how "down-to-earth" they were by bonding with the staff. But it quickly became clear that Debra had other intentions.
"Hey, Ella" she said in a stage whisper. "Can we go in the corner for a sec and chat?"
Now I was super confused. Was she hitting on me or something? Not that there was anything wrong with that, but I didn't swing that way. Well, not since college, anyway.
"Sure," I smiled cautiously. "Let's go chat."
Travis looked at us curiously, but I simply shrugged and then followed Debra to the corner of the patio, right next to an impossibly gorgeous fountain and koi pond. Crazy rich people.
"Okay, I know this is going to sound super odd," Debra said, "But bear with me a sec. Do you know about this event?"
"Uhhh...not really. They didn't want to share too much."
"Listen, Ella, I have a really unorthodox proposal for you. And if you're completely offended by it, please feel free to forget I ever said it, and just go on with your day."
"Alright..."
"So, this is Dash De Maio's house, the sporting apparel designer."
"Ah, okay," I said, my synapses finally starting to fire.
I recalled that Dash De Maio was the designer who'd recently made the crappy comments about plus-sized women. It was so odd that I'd just been listening to the news story about him. Daniela would have a field day -- she was always harping on and on about the "law of attraction." I was yet to be convinced, but this coincidence certainly was kind of strange. And I still didn't know what Debra wanted from me.
"Okay, so...we're kind of in a pickle," Debra continued. "Part of the reason for the party this weekend is to bring some people together from the line, and hash out a plan for our new plus-sized athletic apparel, swimwear, and lingerie col
lection."
"Wait, isn't the whole thing that they don't want to cater to plus-sized women?" Now I was confused as all hell.
"No," Debra shook her head emphatically. "His comments were completely made up by the media. Anyway, now the planning for our plus-sized line is more important than ever."
"Alright..."
"And that's where you come in."
Finally, she was getting around to the point.
"Where I come in?"
"Our fit model just canceled."
"Oh...crap."
"Yeah, and we really need someone to help out." Debra was giving me the once-over again, and I slowly started to realize what they wanted from me.
"Well...I have done some modeling before."
"This is different," Debra interrupted me. "It's fit modeling. Kind of invasive. You'll have people sticking their hands down your yoga pants and stuff like that."
Now, I'd never been a modest person. But there was one issue that we needed to cover before I agreed to sign onto anything.
"What does it pay?"
"See, that's the thing," Debra whispered, looking around. "That Katrina lady who runs the catering company is insane. I've worked with her several times before.We can't let on that any of this is happening, or she'll want a cut or whatever."
"That's fine with me," I nodded. "What are you proposing?"
"Okay, so obviously you'll be on Katrina's payroll for the three days. We'll make up a story about something you're helping us out with in the guest house..."
"Dyeing Easter eggs!" I suggested quickly.
Not to brag, but subterfuge has always been one of my skills. I think that maybe, in a parallel universe, I could have been a fantastic CIA operative, or something like that.
"Perfect!" Debra grinned. "I'll tell Katrina that I stole you from the patio to dye Easter eggs in the back house."
"And the extra pay?"
There was no way I was having someone stick their hands down my pants for twenty bucks an hour, which was basically what the catering company paid.
"Fifty bucks an hour!" Debra proposed, looking me straight in the eye. "Cash. So you'll be making four hundred extra per day."
"One hundred per hour!" I shot back. "Eight hundred daily rate!"
I did have my back rent to pay, after all. And these people needed me. What would they do without a fit model?Also, an acting class friend of mine had been a fit model, so I wasn't ignorant about their amazing salaries. Fit models could command rates of seventy-five to one hundred and fifty bucks an hour. Shocking fact, but absolutely true. And this was a holiday. They were lucky I wasn't charging double.
"We have a deal," Debra agreed begrudgingly, sticking out her hand again.
After shaking on the deal, Debra led me down to a little cottage behind the main house. No one else was in there.
With separators, clothes, and drawings on the wall, it was a fully functioning design studio. There were tiny changing rooms everywhere, with a little staging section and a couch in the main room. It reminded me of one of those bridal studios that you see on television. But much more elegant, with dim and sexy lighting.
Off to the side, there was even a kitchen. I breathed a sigh of relief once I got in. I had been saved. The next three days would be tolerable, and I wouldn't even have Katrina breathing down my neck.
"Okay!" Debra grinned, rolling a rack of underwear towards me. "Here are your first items! This is the easy part. We don't even need to be here. You're going to try on each lingerie set, make a comment about it on the clipboard, then snap a quick polaroid of yourself. Thanks again for helping us out."
"Sounds easy enough."
"Oh, and there's some champagne in the mini-fridge," she said, winking. "Help yourself."
This was definitely my kind of job.
CHAPTER FOUR
FIT MODEL
As the day progressed, I discovered that it really was my kind of job. Trying on each lingerie set and filling out the questionnaire was highly satisfying. It made me feel like I was actually doing something productive for other plus-sized women. There were tons of sets that I rated low for being "too grandma" or having "way too much coverage."
I became familiar with all of the brands, and quickly realized what De Maio Designs was doing. By getting my feedback on their competitors' designs, they would be able to move forward with the concepts that worked for real women. It really was a brilliant idea.
By the time Debra returned, I'd already tried on about three dozen outfits.
"Whoa!" she said, picking up one of my feedback forms. "You've really put a lot of feedback on here!"
"Sorry, I'm super opinionated," I smiled.
"No, this is great!" she smiled, gathering up the photos and forms. "I'm gonna take these down to Dash right now."
Dash. I was becoming curious as to whether or not I'd get to meet this mysterious man, who'd inflamed the anger of practically every woman in the country.
"How's the party going?"
"Oh, great!" Debra smiled. "Are you okay being stuck back here all by your lonesome?"
"YES!" I said emphatically. "Believe it or not, this is the best thing that's happened to me all week."
"Crack into the champagne," she gestured towards the mini-fridge again. "You've given us a ton of feedback, and you're going through the sets really fast."
As Debra took off with my feedback and pictures in tow, I meandered over to the mini-fridge. She didn't need to ask me again. When I opened the tiny door, I was shocked to find the fridge completely stocked with Dom Perignon.
"Don't mind if I do!" I sighed, popping open a bottle and pouring some bubbly into one of the champagne flutes nearby.
There were still so many outfits to try. There were even some costumes, which I found really fun. One of them, labeled, "Rainbow Faerie," was beyond adorable. The sheer, multi-colored fabric panties were high-cut and extremely flattering, matching the push-up bra that was connected to a pair of tiny wings on the back. I decided to put on a pair of heels that were hanging out in the corner, then checked myself out in the mirror before I took a quick polaroid.
It was so cute I didn't even want to take it off. Twirling around in the mirror again, I grabbed my cell phone and took a quick selfie to send to Carlo. While I was composing an appropriately sexy text to go along with the picture, a deep male voice from the front of the cottage suddenly interrupted me.
"You get to keep all that stuff, you know!"
"Oh, God..." I was so embarrassed.
Taking a selfie during a modeling job? How unprofessional. I wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere.
The man revealed himself, stepping into the light of the staging area.
"Hi, I'm Dash."
Dash De Maio himself. The enemy of beautiful bigger women everywhere. In the flesh. And damnit if I didn't think he was gorgeous. Standing at about six-foot-four, his olive complexion was perfectly complemented by a mane of strawberry blond hair. He looked younger than I expected, and his intense green eyes appeared to search my soul as he reached forward to shake my hand.
"I'm Ella -- Ow!" His hand shocked me.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," he burst into laughter, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. "I'm sure it's not the first time I've shocked a pretty lady."
Sometimes in life, someone can walk into a room and completely change the energy, disrupting your pattern forever.
The glass of champagne I'd imbibed started to function as a truth serum. Something about Dash's presence was so magnetic, even more intoxicating than the alcohol. I didn't know if it was charisma or animal attraction, but it was something...different. And completely unexpected.
"You're not at all what I expected," I blurted out.
"Well, don't believe everything you read," he grinned, quickly appraising my breasts, which were practically thrust in his face by the magic of the rainbow costume push-up bra.
For a moment, we were just staring at one another, completely oblivious to the outside
world. Then the cottage door opened, and a gaggle of people entered, led by Debra.
"Great! You're here already, Dash!" Debra said. "We've got so much stuff to get to before you guys need to go back to the party and mingle with the Europeans. Ella, you can pop a squat while we go over some of your pictures and feedback sheets."
I settled into a recliner as the design team went over my notes. It was actually flattering how much of my opinion they were taking into account. The operation was very professional. Everyone was taking notes, and sketch pads and iPads were out, as the team went over this detail or that. I was impressed.
About forty-five minutes into it, Debra looked at her cell phone and screeched.
"Crap! It's already time for dinner. Come on, everyone, let's get a move on."
The entire group began to pick up their stuff and leave as quickly as they had come, completely forgetting about little old me sitting on my recliner. But Dash didn't forget.
"Uh...hey! Debra, what about Miss Ella here? Our fit model extraordinaire. Do we need her for the rest of the day?"
Debra looked stressed.
"Crap. We don't, but...let me take care of it, Dash. You go out to meet with the Europeans, and I'll take care of Ella."
"Got it," he grinned. "What would I do without you, Deb? Oh, and make sure she gets paid her entire day rate, even though we didn't need her for the rest."
After Dash took off, Debra revealed what I had been thinking all along.
"He has no idea that you're not the originally scheduled fit model," she whispered.
I had to laugh. Debra was clearly a woman after my own heart. She knew how to "make it work," regardless of what she had to do. In this case, we had to work out how I would leave the event early, while escaping the notice of Katrina's Katerers. Debra contacted a plan, in which I was being sent into Beverly Hills to procure more "egg dyeing supplies" from Whole Foods. The white van would pick me up and deposit me at the parking lot, where I would hop in my car and drive home.
It was genius. Debra handed me the eight hundred dollars, and I breathed a sigh of relief. It really had been a good Friday.
"Oooh, and don't forget the stuff you tried on!" she said, gesturing towards the rack of bras and panties.
