“It’s easier this way. We’re at eye level.”
Actually, we’re more at lip level, but whatever. All I want is for her to finish doing my makeup and get off of me. Lying next to her is one thing, but I can’t handle this much physical contact between us. If I die of a coronary, it wouldn’t come as much of a surprise.
The intercom buzzes. Mike’s voice calls up from the front desk. Unfortunately, Kendall ignores him to focus on my mascara. “Perfection,” she murmurs, still straddling me.
“Excuse me, Ms. Taylor,” Mike buzzes up again, “Ms. Atwell is here to collect you.”
“She’s here to collect me? I knew you famous people were aliens!” I guffaw.
Kendall leans into me and laughs, her forehead meeting my shoulder.
Oh, man. Move, Kendall! Please!
“All right.” she scoots off me. Into the intercom she says, “Send her up, Mike.”
As we wait for the elevator to reach our floor, she looks me over, admiring her handiwork. I spin around without her telling me to. “How do I look?”
She brings her thumb and forefinger up into a mock-pistol position and makes a popping sound with her lips. “Killer.”
There’s a knock at the door. She instructs me to take deep, steady breaths.
I haven’t been on a date in forever. It’s going to take more than breathing exercises to get me to unwind. I lean against the back of the couch, trying to seem cool for when Lauren walks in.
“Hey you,” Lauren greets Kendall with a chipper note to her voice, her slight southern drawl ringing through.
“Hey,” Kendall replies. They do that weird air-kissing-on-both-cheeks thing.
Lauren’s eyes meet mine, and I can literally see her breath hitch in her throat. Okay, it feels pretty damn good to get that kind of reaction from someone. “Payton, you are a vision,” she says.
“Thank you. You’re looking quite fine yourself.”
“Are you ready to go? I’m kind of double-parked,” she snickers. “Oops!”
I nod.
“Oh, here,” Kendall places her mirror-lensed sunglasses in my hair and smiles.
“Thanks.”
Lauren offers me her hand. I take it. “See you later, Kendall,” she says as she leads me toward the door.
I notice Kendall staring at our clasped hands. “You kids have fun,” she hollers as she closes the door behind us.
❄ ❄ ❄
We arrive at the shop on Rodeo Drive and are greeted by the designer herself. Lauren embraces her like they’re old friends. She presents me as, “Payton, my lovely date to the Time Zone Ball.”
“I’m a huge fan of your designs, Ms. Westfeld,” I offer my hand for a proper introduction.
She shuns the norm and sucks me into the Hollywood pastime of the cheek-to-cheek greeting. “Please, my friends call me Victoria.” All right, then. Ms. Westfeld it is. Victoria does an indiscreet lap around me then gets straight down to business. “How tall are you?”
“Five nine and a half, though I don’t usually count the half.”
“Models should always count the half,” she replies seriously.
That’s great, but I’m not a model. Why do people keep likening me to one? “Okay, thank you.” I leave out the “that’s good to know” I was planning to say in an attempt to quell my instinctual sarcasm.
“And you’re what, a size four?”
I bury my hands in my jeans pockets. “On a good day. Most of my clothes are a five in juniors.”
“Hmm. You found yourself a diamond in the rough with this one,” she mutters to Lauren, then disappears behind a heavy black curtain.
“What is she talking about?” I whisper.
Lauren sniggers. “She likes your body-type. I can’t say I blame her.”
“Oh.” I’m instantly uncomfortable. I feel like a piece of meat on display in a butcher’s storefront, and I really don’t appreciate it.
Victoria emerges from behind the curtain with a stack of dresses in hand. They’re all dark colors and buckles and zippers—extremely extravagant and expensive, no doubt. “Let’s start with these.” She hands over three dresses from the pile and leads me into a dressing room.
A few moments later, I step out wearing the first selection. It’s a halter top—black and dirty-gold, long and tight. Its sides can’t quite be called sides, since they’re nearly non-existent; my hips and obliques are exposed for all eyes to feast on. I might as well be naked.
No joke, Lauren is practically dribbling on herself. It’s kind of flattering, yet somewhat off-putting at the same time. Victoria is nodding her head up and down like one of those bobble head figurines on display in the rear window of ancient Volvos. “Don’t bother with the rest of them,” she murmurs. “This dress was made for you.”
Lauren leers at me for a while longer. Eventually, she motions her thumb at Victoria. “What she said.”
“Okay. That was easy,” I mumble as I head back into the dressing room. I return with the dress draped over my outstretched arms. Victoria takes it from me and zips it into a garment bag before I’ve gotten a chance to take a gander at the price tag. “Um, I’m sorry, what does it come to?” I fish through my wallet for my credit card. My mom will be thrilled when she sees the bill.
Victoria shoots an amazed look at Lauren. “You haven’t been in LA long, have you?”
“I’m sorry?” Was that meant to be some kind of insult? It sure sounded condescending.
Lauren catches the annoyance in my voice. She tries to explicate the situation to me. “Most of the time when a designer dresses someone for an event, it’s more like they’re lending the attire rather than selling it.”
“In this case, it’s my gift to you,” Victoria adds. “Think of it as a welcome present.”
It doesn’t seem right to accept a gift from someone I met half an hour ago. It’s like I’ll be indebted to her in some way. Lauren must sense my hesitation; she reassuringly places her hand on the small of my back. A groundswell of pure exhilaration runs through me from head to toe. “It’s okay, Payton.” Her voice is as softhearted as the expression on her face.
Victoria pushes the garment bag toward me. “Please, I insist.”
I take the hanger graciously. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
As we say our goodbyes, Victoria slips her business card into my hand. “Should you decide you might be interested in a modeling career, I’d love to have you in one of my shows.”
No. I have absolutely no interest in peddling my body for a living. “I don’t think so, but thank you anyway,” I reply as lightly as possible.
❄ ❄ ❄
I open the car door for Lauren. A look of astonishment warps her features.
A small, self-conscious giggle slips through my lips. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just, I can’t remember the last time anyone opened a door for me—anyone who wasn’t being paid to, that is.”
“I try to mind my manners,” I reply. I hang the dress on the hook in the back seat then slide into the front.
“You know, that dress is almost as beautiful as you are,” she says.
My cheeks instantly catch fire. I feel them redden with heat and have to bite my bottom lip to keep from calling her crazy.
She seems to notices the blush. “You really don’t know how pretty you are, do you?”
Before I can stop myself, I roll my eyes. “I’m really not, though.”
“Wow, polite and modest. I didn’t know they still made people like you.”
“You’re polite.”
“But I’m not modest?” she asks playfully.
“I’m not sure yet,” I tease back. Somewhere inside of me, a current of courage surges. I’m not ready for this outing to come to an end. If I’m going to do this whole dating thing, then I’m going to invest myself fully. “If you don’t have other plans, I’d like to take you to lunch.” I hold my breath in anticipation of her answer.
“I would love that,” she replies with a pleased sm
ile.
She chooses a restaurant in Santa Monica called Killian’s Kitchen. It has a homey atmosphere, small and quiet. To be honest, I’m surprised at the lack of attention she’s garnered throughout the day. I was expecting her to have a ton of screaming fans following close behind like Kendall always does, but Lauren is only stopped by a few people. I’m glad that her presence doesn’t send every person she meets into frenzy; it gives us the chance to talk in earnest.
Over lunch, I tell her all about growing up in New Jersey and how my grandfather gave me piano lessons twice a week until the week he died. She tells me all about how her entire family packed up and moved to California from Kentucky when she was ten so that she could go to auditions without having to commute constantly.
“My parents were so cool about it,” she says. “Both my mom and dad were professors at the University of Louisville at the time. My mom got a job at UCLA, my dad got one at USC and snap! Just like that, we moved. My older brother hated the idea at first. He’d recently started high school, making new friends and all that.”
“But he got over it when he saw all the girls strutting around town half-naked, right?” I jest.
“Yeah, basically.”
“It sounds like you’re very close to your family.”
“I am. When I got my own place, my mother insisted that it be in the same neighborhood. So, of course, I live across the street from my parents now.”
I laugh. “I get that. I thought my mom was going to have a conniption when I told her I was moving out here.”
“And did she?”
“Not exactly. She was mostly concerned that I was doing it for the right reasons. You know, for educational purposes.” As opposed to what, following Kendall around like a puppy? “So, what’s your next project and when are you starting it?”
“Actually, my brother and I are working on a screen play together right now, so I’m taking a few months off from acting until filming for The Relishing starts.”
“You’re an actress and a screen writer? That’s one hell of a resume.”
“It’s solely a passion project at the moment, but fingers crossed we’ll eventually be able to make a movie out of it.”
She tells me that her screen play is about the life of a fictional 1940’s-era jazz songstress, which leads us into a forty-five minute conversation about our mutual love of the genre. “If there’s anything I know, it’s jazz—thanks to my grandfather, of course. I think Lady Sings the Blues is one of my all-time favorite albums.”
She gasps. “Oh my god, I love Billie Holiday!”
“I’ve tried a few times to do my own rendition of ‘God Bless the Child,’ but that song is too amazing to ever be covered.”
“Let’s make a deal right now. If I’m ever able to get this script a green light, you’ll do the score.”
“You haven’t even heard me play, let alone anything I’ve composed.”
“Payton, you got into MALA without having to audition in person. Kendall practically swears by your talent. And you were taught by an underground jazz legend. That’s proof enough for me.”
“I guess I can’t refute the facts, can I?”
She shakes her head. “We have a deal, then?”
It could be precisely the thing I need to get my foot in the door, and even if it isn’t, I’d have a lot of fun doing it. I throw my hands up. “Why not? I’m in.”
She smiles. “Brilliant!”
Our waitress mistakes my gesture as a signal for the check. She places it in the middle of the table and saunters quickly away. Lauren and I burst into synchronized laughter.
“She’s eager to get us out of here, huh?” I speak through my giggle.
She glances at her watch. “We have been here for two hours.”
“Yeah, it’s time for us to leave.”
Both of us reach for the bill and our hands accidentally touch. Her lips slide into a shy grin, but she doesn’t pull away. Neither do I. It’s nice for a change, not freaking out over making physical contact with a girl.
“I’ve got it.”
“No, I do,” she protests.
“I asked you to lunch, so I’ve got it.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “I can’t refute the facts, can I?”
That’s my line, only cuter. “No, you can’t.”
❄ ❄ ❄
The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon as we pull up to the apartment building. She throws the car in park and walks me to the front entrance. I want to invite her inside, but feel like that would be moving too fast. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea or anything.
“Thank you. I had a great time”
“I did, too.” I shift the garment bag from my left arm to my right and motion it at her. “Thanks for this.”
“No problem. So I’ll be here with the limo around nine on New Year’s Eve.”
“Okay, great.”
She takes a pace toward me, closing the gap between us. My initial gut reaction is to move away from her, but I somehow manage to hold my ground. Is she going to kiss me? Should I let her? What is the proper first date etiquette? Before my inner turmoil can get the best of me, I pull her into a hug and kiss her cheek.
She’s all smiles when I let her go. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Yes, you will.”
She waves goodbye as she walks back to the car. I feel kind of awesome as I watch her drive away.
Upstairs, Kendall is lounging on the sofa reading The Relishing and enjoying a glass of red wine. She’s drinking just to drink? That’s new.
“Hey,” I interject.
She looks up from her page. “You’re home late,” she mutters then returns her attention to the book. “I suppose that means you had a good time.”
I shamble over to the couch, lay the garment bag across the back, and take a seat beside her. “I did, yeah. We went to lunch after visiting the dress shop.”
“That’s nice.” There’s a subtle note of indifference to her voice like she doesn’t actually give a damn whether or not I had an enjoyable day.
I want to say something about it, but don’t. “What did you do today?”
“Mostly this,” she gestures to the book. “It’s good. I can see why they want to make a movie out of it.”
“Is it? Cool. I’ll have to read it when you’re done with it.”
“Sure.” She shrugs. “Looks like you got your dress. Can I see it?”
“Okay.” I start to unzip the bag.
“Wait.” She reaches out a hand to stop me. “I meant I’d like to see it on you.”
“Isn’t that bad luck?”
“What are you talking about?” She laughs. “Sounds like you’re thinking of a wedding dress. Even then, it’s only bad luck for the groom to see.”
“Oh, I think you’re right.”
“So, will you try it on for me?”
I could say no, but why? Lauren thought it looked great on me. Maybe Kendall will think the same. “I’ll be right back.”
I’m so excited to see her reaction that it only takes a few seconds for me to wriggle into the dress. I nearly rush right past the mirror in my bedroom, but pause at the last second to give my hair a good brushing. When I’m finished, I inspect my reflection closely. At first, I couldn’t fathom that I had the muscle definition to make the dress work, but on second glance, it’s not too shabby. Here goes nothing, I think as I present myself. “Tada!”
She stands and her book falls to the floor, crashing on to the rug with a resonating thud. Her pupils dilate and fix on me. I swear, her gaze is boring into me so hard that I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. It’s like taking a blow to the back with a two-by-four—heavy and alarming in the most extreme way. “What do you think?”
“I think pictures of you in that dress are going to be everywhere in two days’ time.”
“Shut up,” I chuckle.
“You only want me to shut up because you know I’m right.” She whistles a cat call at me. “Fashion ma
gazines, look out.”
I snort. “Victoria Westfeld wanted to hire me for a runway show. Can you believe that?”
“Yes, I can believe that.”
“I don’t get it. I’m not nearly emaciated looking enough for that. Hello, I actually like to eat.”
“Yeah, but you also like to run. It equals out.”
“So what are you wearing to this thing?”
“A sleeveless, powder blue sequined gown. I’m picking it up from De Leche the day of the party.”
“Cool. Want some company when you go pick it up?”
She scuffles in place. “Gunner Roderick is coming with me. He wants his tie and cummerbund to match.”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know it was a date.”
“It isn’t,” she says quickly. “The Time Zone Ball isn’t a date either. Lawrence set it up with Gunner’s people. I hardly know him.”
“Maybe you’ll like him once you’ve had a chance to get to know him.” And knowing you had a boyfriend would be a huge help to me. It might finally sink in that I have no shot with you.
“Possibly.” She pats her tummy. “I’m feeling a little flabby all of a sudden. Think I’m gonna head down to the gym.”
“Okay, loony tunes. You have fun with that.” Get nice and toned for Gunner.
“Thanks,” she says acerbically and bounces out the door.
CHAPTER TEN
Kendall
Five miles in forty minutes and I’m still going strong. I’m not in the least bit concerned with the fact that my heart is pounding so hard it’s likely to explode, or that there’s a plume of smoke leaking from the treadmill’s motor. I’m going to exercise Payton out of me or die trying.
It hurt more than I thought it would, her coming home happy from a date with someone who wasn’t me. I shouldn’t be hurt. I should be excited for her and delighted that she’s getting involved with someone who isn’t a complete asshole. I’m the one who pushed her to give it a stab with Lauren in the first place. But I’m not excited or delighted at all. The only thing I feel is rotten.
I jolt off the treadmill and over to the free weights. Normally, I top out at about thirty pounds, but tonight I’m pushing myself to the max with the fifty-fives. I’m all but completely spent after a few reps with my right arm, so I quickly switch to the left one. If I keep forcing it, I know I’m going to injure myself, but I don’t really care. My forearm is just beginning to burn when my elbow snaps. Right away, a searing pain shoots down my arm and straight through to my wrist. Without a doubt I pulled a muscle somewhere, but whatever. I drop the weight on the rack, hurry down the hall to the ice machine and scoop a bunch of cubes into a towel. I stumble into the elevator with my elbow firmly packed in ice and make my way upstairs. Damn! I cannot be bruised and swollen on the Time Zone red carpet. Lawrence and James will take turns scolding me if I’m vilely black and blue in front of the press.
The Gravity Between Us (New Adult Contemporary Romance) Page 14
