by Kimber Chin
"And didn't want to crowd out your potential customers,” Anne joined in, fingers crossed that the booth was busy.
This seemed to satisfy the high-strung makeup artist. “Ladies, I never thought to see you here at a bridal show of all places. Is there something you're not telling me, Annie-kin?"
Annie-kin. Not her favorite nickname. Anyone else and Anne would have made a fuss.
"Just meeting up with someone, Stanley.” Her friend had a gift of knowing anyone and everyone; he'd be the one to ask. “Except I don't know what she looks like. You know a Denise Marche?"
"A Denise Marche, you mean the Denise Marche,” the man confirmed his all-reaching connections with an engaging grin.
"Yes.” Anne beamed and Nancy gave her arm a squeeze. "The Denise Marche, could you point her out to us?"
Stanley crossed his arms in a perfect GQ pose, his expression thoughtful. “Not looking like that, girlfriend. Denise is a style queen, a diamond. She doesn't associate with dross."
Anne rolled her eyes. Any excuse to doll her up. Her lack of makeup made the professional squirm. “Stanley, you can forget about giving me a makeover."
"Then you can forget about the intro, Miss Prissy Missy. I have better things to do.” He snapped his fingers and turned in a fluid motion that would have made a supermodel envious.
"Okay, okay.” Anne groaned before he could disappear. What harm could agreeing do? It would make Stanley happy and stop her from having to ask complete strangers. “Make-up only and I don't want to look like a five dollar hooker."
"A five dollar hooker?” His elfish smile caught the attention of passing females. Stanley was a good-looking man. “In that boring suit? You're overvaluing yourself, sweetie. You'd be lucky to get spare change. Come, come.” His tread was light and excited, almost skipping down the aisle. “I know exactly what I want to do."
"And here I forgot my camera.” Nancy was enjoying herself, her eyes laughing. “I can't remember the last time you let Stanley play with your face."
"I can. Your wedding,” Anne pointed out as Stanley pushed her into the fold-up directors chair, “and I ended up looking like Tinkerbell."
"Posh.” Stanley snapped out the plastic bib to protect her clothes. “You looked like moonlight reflecting off a winter forest. Breathtaking."
"I sparkled for a week afterwards,” Anne grumbled, closing her eyes as Stanley sponged on the foundation base. “Not professional."
"You and your professional.” Stanley dabbed a brush on her eyelids, smoothing it with his thumb. “Professional doesn't mean boring and it certainly doesn't mean make-up free. You don't need much, Annie, but every woman..."
"Or man.” Stanley's own good looks were aided with make up.
"Or man,” Stanley agreed, “needs a little bit of help. Even a colored gloss would change your look.” He pressed a tube into her palm. “Keep that, and don't say I never give you anything."
"You mean besides grief?” She didn't need to open her eyes to see his reaction—an overly dramatic sigh communicated that quite well. “I'm joking, Stanley. Thank you."
"And that's for you to use, not stick in the bottom of your purse."
Drat, Stanley knew her a little too well.
Anne relaxed as her friend fussed over her face, her thoughts immediately wandering to Philippe, wondering what he was doing at the moment. She missed him. Sure, he called every day, he did that with all his direct reports, she supposed, but it wasn't the same as seeing his handsome face.
Direct report or no, not all of their discussions revolved around business. He asked about Dirk and his Gremlin restoration. She told him about Ginny's challenges as a new entrepreneur. He talked about his mom trying to guilt-trip him, as only moms can do, into another trip to France. And Philippe always asked Anne what she was wearing, wanting to know in graphic detail from shoes to undergarments, especially the undergarments.
"Penny for your naughty thoughts, Annie-pie.” Stanley teased as he dusted her flaming cheeks.
"It'll cost you more than that, Stanley.” Anne wasn't about to share her secrets, though Stanley would likely find out soon enough. The man had sources.
"Can only be a man. Fancy Nancy, do you know about this?"
"Don't you dare!” Anne held out a finger in what she believed was Nancy's direction.
"That's fine.” Stanley wasn't perturbed. “She'll tell me later. Done, and in record time."
Anne opened her eyes to find them surrounded by an audience.
"Got quite a crowd here.” She gulped self-consciously. “Exactly what did you do to my face?"
"Don't fret, girlie, you look marvelous. Doesn't she look marvelous, people?” he called out to the group. They cheered, some giving her the okay sign.
Nancy's grin couldn't get any wider. Both of them, awful people that they were, knew Anne didn't like to be the center of attention.
Like it or not, she was. All eyes were on her. “I'm here for business, Stanley."
"No Tinkerbell this time, Anne,” Nancy assured her, “Stanley went natural."
Natural? He had been working, fingers flying, for about fifteen minutes. How natural could it be?
"Moonlight on a winter forest, not Tinkerbell," Stanley corrected, reaching around for the square mirror. "Voila."
Anne stared at her reflection in disbelief. It didn't look like her—her eyes were huge, her lashes Greta Garbo long, her cheekbones high and defined and her lips, they were shiny and full.
"You do magic, Stanley.” Anne was in awe of his talent. “Magic."
"Pshaw, I can only work with the materials I have, dearest.” Stanley hugged her, and then went to replenish his snapped up business cards and brochures, flitting about the table, making his audience giggle.
Her fingers folded around the lip gloss. Maybe she could do that at least. It couldn't be that difficult.
Anne and Nancy then had to wait patiently until the crowd died down to manageable levels. After the makeover, Stanley's booth was busy with women interested in having their own look updated, too busy for him to leave it untended. Instead, Stanley gave the partners an overly thorough description of the woman they were seeking, outlining everything from the designer of her fresh new outfit to the outrageously-high suggested retail price of her leather shoes.
Anne's heart sunk with each passing detail. Tall, blonde, beautiful. Exactly Philippe's style.
She had her suspicions upon receiving this assignment. Philippe hadn't exactly been as forthcoming with details about this entrepreneur, not like he had been with his cousin Henri. Now Anne was sure. This must be the one that he slept with, the past lover, the one even more gorgeous than the fabulous Suzanne. A past lover to be reckoned with. Denise had impressed the difficult to please Stanley with her wit and character.
* * * *
Less than an hour later, Denise could add Nancy and the even more hard-won Anne to her long list of admirers. Her beauty drew their eyes immediately and then Anne did a second take. This Denise looked familiar, why, Anne couldn't say.
If they had met, Anne doubted she would have forgotten the blonde. More than her classic profile impressed the women. Denise was a born saleswoman with a gift for making connections, crucial for success in small business. Anne and Nancy watched Denise mingle with attendees and exhibitors, picking up contacts quickly and assuredly. When Anne and Nancy chose to introduce themselves, their stealth research complete, they were greeted with a kind smile and a firm grip.
"You work for Philippe?” Big blue eyes lit up, sparkling sapphires in a flawless setting.
"I do.” Anne nodded, uncertain of the reaction to this revelation. Denise's romantic relationship with Philippe was over. Were there any harsh feelings left?
It didn't seem so. “He's quite a man, isn't he?” Her plump lips, tinted in the most current shade of pink, turned upwards. “Very charming. No woman alive can resist him for long. I know that I couldn't. So I have to wonder, are you resisting him, Anne?"
"He's
my boss, Miss Marche.” Her reply weakened by Nancy's not so secret smile.
"Denise, please.” The blonde laughed. “And I'll draw my own conclusions from that rather evasive answer, if you don't mind. Are you here evaluating my little request for financing?"
Little request? She was looking for a cool million to start with. Anne wouldn't call that a little request. “Yes, I believe we have a meeting next week."
"We do.” Denise smiled. “I'm looking forward to it. The project is at a standstill without financing; can't do anything without more money."
Anne noticed Denise assumed the money would be coming. “I understand your predicament. I hope to do the first evaluation,” stress on first, “quickly. When I heard you were at the show, I took the opportunity to speed the process along."
Anne's neck started to ache from looking up at Denise. She didn't know how Philippe did it—date such tall women. Maybe they didn't spend much time standing, her evil inner self prompted.
"Denise!” An equally tall brunette approached, arms outstretched. Anne faded back as the two women embraced, talking rapidly. She noted how smoothly Denise folded into the conversation the information about her new venture, careful not to share her competitive advantage but still outlining exactly what the event planner could do to assist her.
"Sorry about that,” the entrepreneur apologized, as the visitor left. “She knows everyone in the wedding business. Having her on board will be beneficial."
"Do you have many such alliances built thus far?” Anne enquired. It was all about connections in this business, word of mouth and referrals.
"Fortunately, yes, and many will be future advertisers on the site. I have a list of the interested exhibitors if you wish to see them.” Denise handed her a paper from her portable organizer.
The list was long, with some big names on it. Aware that it could be falsified, Anne passed the paper to Nancy. Her partner quickly circled the names in her own directory. They would drift by the booths later and casually confirm.
"You'll talk to them, of course.” Denise read Anne's thoughts.
"How did you know?"
"It's something Philippe would do,” was her simple answer.
Of course, Denise would know that. Any girlfriend would naturally learn a lot about Philippe's business. That should have been a relief. It would make Anne's job easier, not needing to explain the process or worry about offending the entrepreneur with the standard questions. It wasn't a relief; the feeling Anne experienced was resentment.
"Denise, I should leave you to your business.” She checked her watch. Four o'clock, the convention wrapped up at six. She'd have to get moving if she wanted to see all the booths. “I'm sure you have much to do."
"As do you, Anne.” The smile seemed genuine. “Meet back up with me before you leave. I'll wait for you by the entrance so I can answer any questions you might have."
"I'll do that.” The businesswoman was more than helpful.
"I like her,” Nancy offered her opinion once they were out of earshot.
"I do too,” Anne agreed. She was secretly hoping that she'd hate this former girlfriend, that she could point at a glaring defect in character to offset her beauty. But no, she was charming and intelligent and gorgeous.
How can I compete with a woman like Denise? Anne's thoughts were glum. Easy Answer—she couldn't.
* * * *
Denise was not alone when Anne and Nancy met up with her at the end of the day. Immediately recognizing the shorter man beside the blonde, Anne's heart started to race. Not that he was pleased to see her. Philippe looked furious.
At what? Anne didn't know.
And come to think of it, she wasn't that pleased to see him either. At first, his appearance surprised her, excited her. He was so handsome that her stomach quivered with one look from those brown eyes, but then a hard-to-accept fact sunk in. After a week away, Denise was the first person Philippe wished to see. Denise, not Anne. That hurt. But Anne wouldn't show it. Not to Philippe and certainly not in front of Denise.
"Philippe.” Anne tried to treat him casually, her face as smooth as glass. “I'd like you to meet Nancy, my business partner."
"And good friend.” Philippe kissed the redhead's hand. Nancy blushed at the unexpected action. He was a slick one, her venture capitalist, always so charming. “But what's this?” Now it was Anne's turn for a greeting. She was uncomfortably conscious of Denise watching them as Philippe traced down a cheekbone and over her bottom lip with one long finger, his brown eyes black as night. “You can't fool me, Cherie. I've seen this look before. What have you been up to while I was away?"
He had seen this look before? Not possible. She had never worn makeup in his presence. “Nothing. It's nothing."
"Nothing.” Nancy snorted. “Don't let Stanley hear you say that, Annie."
"Stanley?” Philippe stiffened.
What was he so uptight about?
"Our friend Stanley,” Nancy hastened to explain. “He was extremely proud of Anne's makeover."
"Makeover.” For some reason, Philippe relaxed, the gold specs returning to his eyes, “Anne doesn't need a makeover, she's beautiful enough as she is. Where's this Stanley that thinks she does?"
"Did someone say my name?” The platinum blond make up artist popped his head into the group.
It was turning into a party, yet Anne wasn't paying attention. How could she? Philippe thought her beautiful enough as she was. Beautiful. Her.
"Stanley, how'd you find us?” Nancy shouldn't have had to ask. Stanley could be counted on to arrive when needed and more often when not.
"Were you hiding from me, Dearest?” Stanley fluttered his eyelashes at her. “Not nice, Fancy Nancy. Oh, hello Denise.” Stanley's wave would rival a Queen's. “I see that Annie and Nancy finally found you, Beautiful."
"They did, Stanley, thanks for pointing them in my direction.” Denise reached over to kiss his cheek.
"And who,” Stanley turned to Philippe, his hands on his hips, looking the venture capitalist up and down, “may I ask, is this dashing young man?"
"Stanley.” Her wonder slipped into amusement as Anne watched Philippe's unsettled reaction. “This is Philippe. Philippe, Stanley."
"You are Stanley?” Philippe actually smiled at that as he reached out to shake Stanley's hand. Stanley, that pest, wouldn't have any of that. Having witnessed Nancy's greeting, he held out his hand expectantly, palm down, wrist limp.
Disbelieving brown eyes slid to Anne and her lips twitched. They both knew what Stanley wanted. Anne cocked her head, silently daring Philippe.
Her answer was a threatening glower. Philippe, not one to back down from any challenge, raised the offered hand to his lips, kissing the air above it and then releasing as quickly as possible, the back of Stanley's hand not even touched.
The ladies laughed. Stanley, in contrast, was completely charmed, his hands fluttering. “My, my, my, my...” he murmured.
Nancy leaned over and whispered something in Stanley's ear. His dark lined eyes snapped open, darting quickly between Anne and Philippe. “Annie, you lucky girl, you,” Stanley sighed. Anne quickly shook her head in warning.
Philippe came to stand beside Anne, his arm snaking around her waist. “You owe me big for that, Cherie,” his voice was dropped so only she could hear, his lips brushing against her skin.
"Not now,” Anne protested, aware of Denise's watchful eyes. Philippe's arm not letting her step away.
The ex-girlfriend smiled at them blandly, pretending not to mind, before turning back to Stanley and Nancy. Denise was a much better woman than Anne. If their roles had been reversed...
"I called you this morning when I got in,” Philippe shared, his comment again only meant for Anne. “You didn't answer."
He tried at least, before going to girl two. That made her feel a bit better. “I must have left the condo already."
A silver-haired security guard wandered by, giving the group a grumpy look. The convention center was emp
tying out, their group being one of the last.
"We should be leaving,” Anne pointed out, much as she didn't want to break up the party.
"Annie-kin, you are so right, girlfriend,” Stanley spouted, and Anne could feel Philippe's shoulders shake. He had better not be laughing at that inane nickname. “I'm simply starved,” Stanley continued. “and I know the most charming little bistro just down the street from here. Delicious food, but more importantly delicious waiters. They wear the tightest little black pants."
"Count me in,” Nancy piped up. “The hubby's away for business."
"That's right, Nance Valance,” Stanley teased, “free yourself from the ball and chain, you rebel you. Annie-pie, are you in also sweetie?"
Anne was hungry, the chocolate covered strawberries not making up for her lack of breakfast or lunch. Besides, not daring to look up at Philippe, as of yet, she hadn't a better offer. “I'm in."
"And Philippe, you gorgeous hunk of a man, will you be joining us?” It was Annie's turn to suppress laughter. Philippe looked like he wanted to throttle Stanley.
"If you stop calling me that, Stanley,” Philippe's deep voice rumbled, “than d'accord, I'm in."
"I'll try, Sweet Stuff, but no guarantees,” Stanley sighed, “Beautiful?” He turned to Denise.
Her gorgeous face expressed her regrets. “Unfortunately, I have a previous engagement."
"We understand, oh how we understand, Girl, when you look like that.” Stanley held both her hands, and then gave her a twirl. “We can expect nothing else."
After they said their goodbyes, Philippe drew Denise apart for a longer, more private conversation. The blonde's blue eyes kept darting back to the group, more specifically Anne.
The way Denise smiled at Philippe, the way they looked at each other—Anne almost slapped her forehead—that was it! Denise was the blonde in the photograph, the one taken a week before LWH went public, the one hanging on his wall, the one he looked at everyday.
"Something tells me they were more than friends, Annie.” Stanley noted the casual way Philippe had his arm around the blonde. An embrace Anne tried to ignore.
