by Whitley Gray
“Do you have other clients here?” Translation: is there anyone else on the planet you can talk to besides me?
She shook her head. “I only manage a few people. By choice, of course. That way I can focus on bringing them up in the business. I have a very hands-on approach to my clients.” She again studied me like she was looking for viruses.
I felt sorry for every bug under every microscope anywhere in the world because right then, I knew exactly how they felt. Between that and wondering exactly how hands-on her approach was, my head wanted to explode. Finally I’d had enough.
“What?”
Her scrutiny vanished into thin air. “Nothing. Trying to get a reading.”
“Of what? Me?” I would not cry in front of this bitch. I would not. Later, maybe, but not now.
Again she waved me off. “Look, let’s face it. He’s hot, yes, but he’s also hot career-wise. Anybody with a vagina to sell would do so happily in exchange for a few good breaks. Get your name in the rags with him next to you and people notice. If this is your line of work, there really is no such thing as bad press. The American public needs to see something ten times in order to remember it. Be seen, be noticed, then break up and suddenly you’re that girl that was dating Aaron Elias. It gets you into doors more talented girls can’t.
“I have to protect my investment. He worries me sometimes. He has a good heart, and sometimes he picks up strays. I know he’s extremely good-looking, but you’d be disturbed how many women look at him like he’s a stepping stone. One night in his bed and they think it’s payday. He’d fall for it if he didn’t have me behind him.”
That much I might have taken as a compliment if I thought she meant it as one. “I’m not a stray.”
She faced me again, shaking her head. “But you’re not from here.”
“No, I’m from Philly.”
That got her brow up again. “Oh, dear. I wish you hadn’t told me that.”
“What? Why?
“Please. What little girl doesn’t grow up hearing the story about how Lana Turner was discovered at the soda counter? You never dreamed of being a movie star? Of struggling for years, hitting it big, and having it so easy?”
“No, I dreamed of fixing engines in my dad’s shop. Only he retired a year after I graduated. Now…” Now, what? What did I dream of? Hell. I had no idea. Either I was living my dream or…I didn’t have one. Everyone in this room did. Something else that set me apart and not in a good way.
“All I’m saying is, behind every man is a good woman, you know? I’ve been his good woman for ten years now. If you and I are on the same page, we’ll be fine. If not, then…” She shrugged as if to indicate indifference, but her eyes said that murder wasn’t off the table.
I looked across the room. Aaron was actively engaged in conversation with a tall gray-haired man who laughed a lot. I liked seeing Aaron when he was happy. I only wished I felt the same.
I turned to Abigail. “What did you think of Gisele?”
Abigail drained her water. “Meh. I’m not surprised it’s over. They were after different things, you know? But she was good for him while she lasted. She boosted his visibility. There are times I have to pry his ass out to promo or photo shoots. She did most of that for me. They made some beautiful photos together. They’d have made beautiful babies in a couple of years. If your career’s drying up, having babies is great way to get your face back on the rags, by the way. You have kids?”
“Uh, no.”
The flick of her brow seemed to signal another bead moving in her mental abacus. “Ah, okay. He—”
“People! If we could all take a seat.” Jason, the man Aaron had been talking to, stood at the end of the conference table with his palms raised like a priest bestowing a blessing. “Let’s get this party started.”
People around the room sorted themselves out, some taking a seat at the table while others took one of the leather chairs against the walls paralleling the length of the table. Aaron took a seat beside Jason, met my gaze, and nodded before opening his binder. I longed to reach out and touch him. I missed him. We were in the same room, and I felt like there was a canyon between us.
As she took the chair beside mine, Abigail nudged me. “Let’s talk some more later.”
I couldn’t wait.
Chapter Nine
“That’s a wrap. See you all in two weeks. Check the website for your call times.” When Jason stood, the room erupted into a shuffle of bodies, voices, and moving furniture.
I breathed easier for knowing it would soon be me and Aaron again. I couldn’t wait to get out from under Abigail’s scrutiny. As I watched Aaron read his lines, I felt her eyes on me as if she were trying to read my life story from the outside. When everyone started dispersing and she turned to talk to someone else, I almost tackled people to get back to Aaron.
But then Jason pulled him aside, and they headed for a corner of the room. My heart fell. Well, I’d waited three hours. I could wait a little longer. Except I turned to see Abigail headed my way.
“Come with me a moment,” she said. She wrapped her arm through mine and all but dragged me to the door. I couldn’t even catch Aaron’s eye, so he’d know I didn’t disappear on him, nor could I beg for his rescue.
When we were several yards from the door, clear from any other people, she stopped and turned to face me. “Look, I saw you two in there. A fool could see the boy’s twitterpated. That’s fine. I want him to be happy. A happy client means a happy manager, but I need to know your intentions here.”
“I…I really don’t know. I didn’t know six weeks ago that I’d be standing here now. This is all a big surprise to me. I’m pretty sure he feels the same. We’re taking it day by day. No long-term plans that I know of.” Except now that I’d said the words, I wondered why I was there too. It wasn’t as if I belonged here. Before she could argue with me, I shook my head. “I promise, I’m not out to hurt him. I hope that feeling’s mutual.”
She mulled that for a moment. The fire and brimstone faded from her expression. She nodded. “I guess that’s all I can ask for. He’s a grown man, and I’m not his mother. I’m trying to protect an investment here. If he’s not happy, the work suffers, and I suffer. Aside from that, I care about him. I really do.” She took a business card from her pocket and offered it to me. “If you feel like you might, you know, even accidentally do something to hurt my boy in there, you call me first. I’ll make sure it’s a nice, neat break, and no one has to shed a tear. You get what I’m saying? I can fix almost anything. Think about that.” She patted my cheek like an Italian grandma and then strode down the hallway.
Numb, I made my way back into the conference room. Aaron stood where I’d sat through the reading, looking lost. Our gazes met, and it took all my restraint not to throw myself into his arms and hide there. Then again, after Abigail’s warning, I was also afraid to. After all, people were watching.
“Where’d you go?” He took my hand.
I couldn’t breathe for being able to touch him again. “Abigail wanted to talk privately.”
“She’s a good egg,” he said, pulling me to his side and leading me toward the door. “Look, don’t worry about the car. We’ll work that out. In the meantime, are you ready? It’s time for that surprise I mentioned.”
“I’m not sure my heart can take any more surprises.”
“You’ll like this. It’s Pamper Grace Day. First we’re meeting with the studio makeup department for a facial and a makeover. Then, I’ll take you over to wardrobe, and you can try on a few things you may have seen in a film or two. After you pick one, we have reservations at Unlimited.”
My mind swam for a moment. “That’s sounds like a roller coaster.”
“It’ll be fun. Formal attire is required or you don’t even get a seat at the bar.” His thumb stroked circles in my palm, the friction creating a smooth cyclone of heat that quickly radiated through me. “I’m sorry for making you sit there all that time, but the rest of the
day is all about you: making you happy and treating you special. The works. Whatever you want, it’s yours for the asking.”
I cringed at the thought. As if attention wasn’t hard enough to deal with, but asking for it? I’d rather change oil while wearing oven mitts. But to refuse another gift he offered might cause more conflict than I could deal with in a twenty-four-hour period and probably break his heart too. I held his hand tighter and followed where he led.
“I’m good right now, thanks.”
Chapter Ten
The studio’s makeup department looked like my dentist’s office but with different tools. The drawers and tables were neatly labeled, and soft music wafted in from somewhere. A mirror covered one wall. A pretty woman with perfectly highlighted features smiled and waved me into a pink swivel chair. I only had a moment to face the mirror before she spun it in the other direction.
Aaron took a stool to one side. “Grace, this is Cindi. She’s the best I’ve ever worked with. In All or Nothing she made me look so dead, even I believed it. You’re going to love her. Cindi, this is Grace. I’m putting her entirely in your hands. We have reservations at Unlimited, and I want her to be the most beautiful woman in the room.”
Cindi shook her head, smiling at me. “Men. They don’t realize if they say you’re already beautiful without my help, they might see some action later.” Her green gaze narrowed, studying my face like an art critic assessing a canvas. “We can accent your eyes with some color here and here,” she said, drawing on my face with her finger. “Play up your cheekbones. Your jawline has a nice shape to it. That’s good. Nothing harder to work with than a weak jaw. That can only be fixed with plastic surgery, you get what I’m saying?” She nodded approvingly. “What color are you wearing tonight?”
When silence echoed in the room, I realized she was asking me. “I don’t know. We didn’t get that far.”
She shot a look at Aaron. “Taking priorities out of order again, are we? Never mind, that’s fine. I’ll try to go as neutral as possible. Let’s get started. First, a facial.”
The next half hour was a blur of steam, creams, and lotions. I wasn’t used to having a woman’s hands all over my face that much. Or, really, anyone’s hands. I only wore makeup on occasions when I cared what people thought about how I looked. Like jury duty. In a garage, people only wanted to know if I could fix their car. They didn’t care if I wore the same lipstick as Taylor Swift.
When it seemed like one more chemical on my skin would cause a volcanic reaction, she started sketching on me with pencils. The whole time, Cindi and Aaron held a conversation that only once in a while required my participation. It added to my awkward feeling. I prayed she’d be done soon, so I could see what on earth she was doing to me. My face felt like a mask, and I’d need a chisel to get all this crap off my skin.
Finally, Cindi stepped back, looking content with herself. “Voilà.”
I turned for the mirror but Aaron’s hand on my cheek gently steered my gaze away. “Nope, not yet. It’s part of the surprise. You don’t get to look until you can see the whole thing. Trust me, you look amazing.”
“I want to see.”
“I know you do. Patience.” He thanked Cindi and ushered me into the hall.
I craned my neck, searching for a reflective surface. “I don’t like this. I feel like a plastic doll.”
“You look much better than a doll. C’mon, relax. I’m giving you the Queen for a Day treatment.”
“I don’t want to be queen. I’d rather be the stableboy or the guy who fixes the carriages.”
His laughter echoed down the halls. “Today you don’t have to be. C’mere.”
Before I could tell him I really did want those things, he led me into a warehouse for clothes. The racks of clothes reached so high I suspected they needed drones to bring things down from the upper levels. “Did the outlet store explode in here? This place could clothe everyone in North America.”
“Maybe. If you were ever going to play dress-up, this is the place to do it.”
It all smelled like dust, perfume, and sweat. I reached out to touch something white and velvety.
“Can I have a blanket made of this? I bet it’s warm.”
“Ha. I know who wore that. He’ll definitely tell you it’s warm, especially when we shot on location in the Mojave. They couldn’t truck in enough water to keep us all hydrated. We suffered for our craft that week. Ah, Deborah!” He pronounced every syllable, Deb-oh-rah, like it was a magic word that, when pronounced correctly, unlocked the secret clothing vault. He held out my hand to her. “This is Grace. I hope I got her size right. What do you have for us?”
Deborah looked like a Hogwarts professor in steampunk clothing. She looked me up and down, tacit disapproval in her squinty glare. “Oh. I wasn’t expecting her hips to be so wide. I’ll have to take a few dresses off the rack.” She turned a silicone smile on Aaron and kissed each of his cheeks in turn. “How are you, dear? What’re you working on next?” Her leer made me think she’d love to measure his inseam.
“Man Cave 3. They didn’t send you the draft boards yet? We start pre next week.”
She rolled doe-like brown eyes. “Of course not. You know he never does anything until the last minute. All this secrecy. Why anyone would care what the clothes will look like in a movie like that is beyond me. You’ll be shirtless half the time anyway. I—”
“I hate to be rude,” Aaron cut in, “but we have to be somewhere. What do you think would look good at Unlimited?”
Her brow raised halfway to her hairline. “Really? How’d you make that happen?”
For his part, Aaron’s brows wagged. “You don’t want to know. It involves voice-overs. ’Nuf said. Grace, you’re about a six, right?”
I swallowed hard. A useless effort considering the way Deborah looked at me sucked the moisture out of the air. “I, um, eight on top. Ten in pants depending on the, well, the brand.” I bit my lip. I didn’t dare say “designer.” I wouldn’t know who made my clothes if you handed them to me. My coveralls were from Dickie, my jeans were all on sale, and I had a drawer full of free T-shirts. That was all I knew. Deborah surely didn’t want to hear that. I suspected her toilet paper was signed by Gloria Vanderbilt.
She looked like she’d bit down on a glob of ear wax. “Okay. Well, I like a challenge. Let’s see what we can do.” But she looked like she’d happily shoot me and go out with Aaron herself. At the moment I was tempted to let her.
Some of the outfits she offered me would’ve looked great on a queen. Victoria, for instance or Elizabeth the First. Those queens. Or maybe drag queens. Maybe queen for a day was what Aaron had in mind, but if the fabric was stiff or made noise when I moved, I wanted no part of it. By the fifth crinoline, I had to voice my opinion.
Deborah huffed. “Clearly I can’t make you happy. What are you looking for?”
I dropped the beaded, sequined mess of a bodice and tulle skirt and stood before them in my underwear. I’d been primped and pushed for what felt like hours. Dignity was a thing of the distant past.
“Something simple. Classic. What would Grace Kelly wear?”
Deborah’s eyes lit up but not in a good way. “Grace Kelly was a princess,” she hissed. Her look let me know that I was not.
“Okay, fine. How about Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca? Anything like that? Straight lines, no frills, no lights? I’d rather not go out in public with ‘Eat at Joe’s’ lit up across my ass.”
Aaron snorted and turned away.
“Ingrid Bergman wore a suit in all the scenes in Rick’s. Unlimited isn’t a place for a woman to wear a suit.” She sniffed, looking me over again. “You do have some curve to you. I might have something in the back.”
The moment she walked away, I glared at Aaron. “Did she do the costumes for Hunger Games?”
His boyish grin could’ve knocked me over if I weren’t getting pissed at him. “No, but she’ll be flattered when I tell her you said so.”
“Don’t
you dare!” I didn’t recognize my voice at that octave. “Am I really supposed to go out in something like that”—I waved at the pool of glittery fabric at my feet—“looking like this?” I pointed at my face, which I still hadn’t seen, but it felt like my skin was suffocating under the weight of God-knew-what the other woman had smeared on me. “She wants me to look like a freaking Christmas tree, and my face feels like the head on a porcelain doll. Jeez, I’d give my left tit for some degreaser. That’s probably the only thing that’s going to take this crap off.”
His gaze locked on my left breast. “Now had I known—”
“It’s not what I had in mind,” Deborah whined as she sauntered back into the staging area. “Rather plain, I think, but since that seems to be what you prefer, who am I to argue?”
She held up a very simple dress. Solid robin’s egg blue fabric with straps like linguine and a skirt cut higher in the front and lower in the back. As my eyes followed the length of it, I thought it looked like the train on a wedding dress. Even as the idea made my heart shudder, my brain focused on how to avoid tripping myself. Not walking backward would be a good start.
I looked to Aaron. I probably should’ve looked there to begin with because he looked transfixed. “What?” I said.
After a moment, he shook his head. “No, it’s great. Try it on. It’s going to make your eyes stand out.”
I took the hanger and turned rather than flash my boobs at Deborah when I took off my bra. Couldn’t get the full effect of spaghetti straps wearing my little league chest protector, could I?
The dress slid down my body from top to bottom like Aaron’s hands on a cold night. That thought alone put a twinkle in my eye when I faced him. The fabric swished nicely, not in a rip-your-skin-off-itchy kind of way.