by Sierra Rose
“Hang on.” I hadn’t made it past the door, locked in a staring match with an eyeless mannequin. “This one’s trying to tell me something.”
“Oh my gosh, could you just come on already?” She trapped my wrist in her wiry fingers and pulled me farther inside. “And try not to embarrass me.”
I picked up an equestrian riding crop labeled “business casual” as we rushed past. “I always try.”
Chapter 5
An hour and a half later, I had self-exiled to a changing room. Wondering, literally, what in the world had I gotten myself into.
I liked to wear nice things. I liked to wear them just as much as any girl who wasn’t either kidding herself or on some existential cleanse liked to wear nice things.
But this...? This had taken that sentiment to a whole other level.
I looked as though I had been painted, skin to skin painted, in shimmering metallic lace.
Amanda called it silver, but I had promptly dubbed the color gunmetal—hearing one of the salespersons mutter the word as I walked past. It was slightly darker than your average winter snowflake—with darker, stormy tints that gave it a bit of an edge. It clung to my body like a second skin but was in no way unflattering. In fact, it made my skin practically glow translucent white under its reflective swirling tints. It wound its way up around my neck like an elegant halter and then plunged down into the lowest neckline I’d ever seen. It was delicately beaded over a thin empire waist, but rather than flaring out in a loose skirt the way most dresses I owned tended to do, it hugged around my tiny hips and then fell straight down to the floor.
Enchanted, I snapped a picture and sent it to my mom before venturing out into the waiting room mirrors.
“Oh my gosh!” Amanda gushed all in one breath. “You look so different! You look beautiful!”
I paused a moment with a frown, considering her statement. “Thanks...? I’m not going to lie. I absolutely love it! I already sent a picture to my mom.”
Amanda’s eyes sparkled as she prepared to try on a gown of her own. “What did Sharon say?”
Right on cue, I glanced down at my phone as it beeped a reply. “She told me that grand larceny is a crime, and I’d better put it right back on the hanger,” I answered with a crooked grin.
Amanda laughed and disappeared into a changing room. A minute later, I heard her rustling around.
“Okay,” she opened the door with a flourish, “what do you think?”
My hands flew up to my mouth as I gave her a round of girly applause. “You look stunning. That green is the perfect color for your eyes.” I snapped another picture on my phone, knowing she’d want a “changing room reaction” immortalized for all eternity. When I was done, I gave her another once over, and my face softened into a thoughtful smile. “Seriously, Mandi, you look perfect. Gosh—sometimes it feels like yesterday that we were playing dress up in our moms’ closets and look at us now. I don’t even know what to say.”
She gave me a long look. For a moment, I thought she also imagined our childhood days. But then she gestured to herself impatiently.
“Oh!” I exclaimed, remembering my scripted lines. “And it makes your boobs look amazing!”
“Yeah, it does.” She grinned, adjusting her sweetheart neckline to show off her cleavage. “I think this is definitely what Billy had in mind when he said to make a good impression.”
I came to stand beside her in the mirror, gazing confidently at our reflections. “Two good impressions.”
“Yes, two good impressions,” she said, keeping her eyes trained on her breasts. “You’re right, Bex, I shouldn’t play favorites.”
I rolled my eyes and dragged her to the counter to pay.
IT MIGHT HAVE DAMPENED our arrival just a little that we showed up in a Volvo we borrowed from a friend who owed us a favor. But we parked it just inside the gate so that we could walk the rest of the way across the grounds to the front entrance where the socialites and paparazzi were having the time of their lives each pretending they didn’t care about the other. On second thought, “walking the grounds” to get to the house might also have been a bit of a mistake.
“How much farther could it possibly be?” I demanded as we tramped over the carefully manicured grass toward the lights up ahead. “It didn’t look this far.”
“Yeeps!” Amanda shrieked and flew to my side as a peacock made its way out of the dark underbrush, examining us suspiciously with its beady little eyes. “Becca, get it!” She slipped off a lethal looking stiletto and held it up like a knife. “Back, you beast, back!”
“Mandi! Stop!” I said. “It’s not a pit bull.”
“Yeah, you’re right. It’s worse! It can peck me to death!”
“We’re not hurting the poor peacock,” I said. “Now put your shoe back on.”
The peacock rolled back its head with a languid caw, and I could have sworn there was pity in its eyes as it shuffled off slowly toward the valets at the main door. We followed it at a safe distance and ditched it quickly amongst the parked cars as we wound our way through to the bouncer at the gate.
“Hi,” Amanda said sweetly, turning on the charm. “I’m Amanda Gates, and this is my friend, Rebecca White.”
The man scanned down his list, surprisingly unaffected by her foolproof charms. It must be all the beautiful women here tonight, I thought as I smoothed my dress and waited.
It was only then that I really took in the house for the first time. I’d been far too concerned with the rogue peacock to notice it until now. House wasn’t really the right word. It was more like...compound. Headquarters. Lair. Something like that.
It looked like exactly what you’d imagine when you thought of the most ridiculous, opulent wealth in a place like the Hollywood Hills. Sculpted lawns, sparkling fountains, exotic lethal wildlife. You name it—this guy had it. And much more.
“Here you are.” The bouncer finally found us and scratched our names off the list. “You with William Colson’s Talent Agency?”
“That would be us.” Amanda smiled as he lifted the velvet rope for her. “Thanks. You have a good evening.”
The man looked surprised, like he didn’t get many thank yous or well wishes in his line of work. Looking around the people climbing out of their foreign sports cars, I could easily believe that. The crowd here looked like they’d been purchased to go with the house. Not a calorie or polyester thread among them. PETA would have a field day...
A little nervous for the first time, I followed Amanda inside. It was everything I could do to keep my jaw from dropping open like an idiot.
And I thought it had looked big on the outside...
It was like stepping back in time to the place that fairy tales and fantastical balls were based on. Ten diamond chandeliers glowed like ethereal orbs from the ceiling, reflecting off the white marble floors in watery golden pools. A huge winding staircase led to an upper level that seemed to be off-limits, but I think that if I were given the entire night, I still wouldn’t have had time to explore every room just in the downstairs. A massive foyer led to a sitting room, led to a parlor (is there a difference?), led to another sitting room, led to a dining room, led to a dancing room, and so on and so forth. The walls were hung with what even an art apathetic like me could identify as priceless pieces, adding the only bits of color to an otherwise extravagant but sterile environment.
Caterers appeared from nowhere and faded back into the walls, balancing silver trays with bubbling champagne as Stravinsky leaked down from invisible speakers. Um—scratch that—it was a live orchestra out on the terrace.
I almost laughed as I imagined being in a place that required my mental narration to use the word “terrace.” We were certainly a long way from East Hollywood.
“Well...it’s smaller than I imagined.” Amanda turned to me and sniffed with disdain.
I shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “What? No coat rack? That’s rude.” We grinned but stuck close together, a little thrown off balance by our
statuesque surroundings. “But seriously, I bet this guy loved to play with Legos when he was a kid.”
She snorted. “All right, well we have our marching orders. Mingle with as many people as possible.”
“Check.”
“Drop the Colson Agency’s name as many times as possible.”
“Check.”
“And don’t get too drunk.”
I hesitated, and we turned to each other. “Let’s...just see how the night plays out.”
She nodded in relief. “Agreed. But no swinging off the chandeliers drunk.” With a quick smile, she started weaving through the crowd. “Call if you need anything.”
“Yeah, I’ll just flicker the chandelier—” But she was gone. With a nervous glance around the ballroom, I grabbed the nearest champagne flute hovering toward me and downed it in three large gulps. Swapping it out for another, I sipped far more demurely, floating through the crowds like the caterers did, hoping to chance my way into a conversation or two.
“...same every year. We have this huge get together—everybody and their mother wants to come—and he never shows up on time. Honestly, it’s like...why not just wait until you’re going to be home to throw a party?”
A musical hum of polite laughter followed the statement, and I drifted closer, blending my way into the back of the crowd. A woman stood at the center—one of those snake-like women who men thought was attractive and I thought was frightful. She was soaking in all the attention, squeezing her manicured nails around her champagne flute and positively bursting from her dress. I watched her with a small smile. She was something my mother would call a trollop.
She held up her glass of wine. “And seriously...the service?”
The smile faded from my face as I peeled off my champagne-tinted glasses and saw the tittering lemming crowd for what they really were.
“I mean, where does he find these people? I’ve had steadier hands getting a bikini wax.”
“Would you like some cheese with that whine?” I interrupted, turning the heads of the crowd unintentionally toward me. The woman’s face soured as she took in every inch of me. She had clearly been going somewhere avant-garde and edgy with her waxing reference, but I had turned it into a classless one-liner with my joke. “I mean, I did see this huge platter loaded with various cheeses.”
“And who might you be?” she hissed with a painted smile.
A little voice in my head told me to be careful—that this woman would gladly eat me for breakfast if it weren’t for the carbs—but I continued forward. It must have been my coffee shop win, bolstering my sails.
“Rebecca White,” I said with a pearly smile, causing the people standing nearest to me to smile as well. “I only thought that it seems like a lovely gesture to throw such a magnificent party for a room full of strangers. I think the least we can be is grateful to our host and not pick on his staff.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “I see why you’re so upset. You’re the help as well.”
Yeah, I guess I was. Kind of. Maybe the agency was getting paid, but I sure wasn’t.
“Yeah, I saw her driving some piece of junk,” the redhead said. “We couldn’t stop laughing. We were dying. I almost peed my pants.”
She must’ve been in the limo that passed us before we parked. “There is no reason to be mean,” I said.
“You might be dressed up like one of us, but you’re nothing like us. You stick out like a sore thumb. You’re obviously one of the hired models. And your car screams you’re from the wrong side of town. But the agency sure shined you up with fancy clothes, makeup, and hairdos. Did you come here to land yourself a millionaire? Because nobody at this party would touch you with a ten-foot pole. How much are they paying you anyway? Your hourly wage to be with us?”
“Hourly wage? Nothing.”
“That’s even more pitiful,” another woman said snidely.
“She’s working on commission,” the blonde said with the silver dress. “She gets a thousand dollars for every client she brings to the agency.”
“That’s even sadder.”
There was a low murmuring of assent, and all eyes flashed back to snake-woman like a tennis match. A muscle was grinding way back in her jaw, but she kept that same Rembrandt smile plastered on her face.
“She’s not out there busting her butt to earn a commission. She’s obviously here to land a rich guy,” the brunette said. Her light tone wasn’t enough to mask the venom in her words, but to be honest, I didn’t blame her. I was the one who had initiated here—she had every right to be angry.
It’s just...the jab about the caterers? The shell-shocked bouncer at the door? Even the condescending peacock on the way in. It all snowballed into one fateful comment. A comment that would serve to haunt me for longer than I could have imagined.
“I’ve already landed a rich guy, so I assure you that’s not why I’m here.”
Her gaze narrowed at me. “You’re a liar. So why don’t you scram? Get back in that piece of shit car of yours and drive off.”
“Markus is actually my boyfriend. And I think he’d want me here at his party by his side. I might not have a lot. But Marcus loves me for who I am. And what girl doesn’t want that?”
Just kidding, just kidding, just kidding. Fucking say it, Becca!
But I didn’t. I just kept my gaze evenly on ol’ snake eyes who looked like she’d swallowed a bug.
“You’re Marcus Taylor’s girlfriend?” Her stenciled eyebrows were in danger of disappearing completely into her hair, and I hurried to defend my work.
“Yes, I am,” I said to the astonishment of the crowd. “Marcus,” I added for good measure, feeling like saying the word somehow bolstered my claim. A dozen pairs of wide eyes fastened onto me—far too exposed in my ridiculous lace. I felt the warmth of a telltale blush coming on fast and decided it would be best if I made a quick exit. “Excuse me.”
“There’s no way Marcus would date that trash,” the woman said. “I know that for a fact.”
“Oh, honey. She’s beautiful. Maybe he found her irresistible. I bet she’s just the flavor of the week.”
“Not a chance. She’s lying and I’m going to prove it. I’m going to make her the laughingstock of the party.”
With no further ado, I hurried off through the crowds to find Amanda. Just make a good impression. Sure. No problem. I’ll just claim to be sleeping with the host. Honestly, I didn’t think it could have been worse even if Amanda had stabbed that peacock with her stiletto.
I found Amanda in the center of a group of men, laughing and talking like she’d woken up at the mansion and had just happened downstairs. As casually as possible, I wound my fingers through the crook of her arm and summoned her attention.
“Could I talk to you for a minute?” I asked with a hoarse whisper and a huge smile.
She sensed trouble and the muscles in her face froze. “Sure,” she said just as cheerfully.
We delicately extracted ourselves from the crowd, and she pulled me away a couple feet away, prepared to fully let me have it, but I beat her to the punch.
“We need to go. Now.”
“Becca,” she said testily, “I forced myself into Spanx. Now, what happened?”
I threw up my hands with feigned innocence. “Nothing that could have been prevented, let me tell you that! It all started with this girl who was impersonating a python, and—”
A sharp tap on my shoulder cut my story short, and I turned around with a sinking feeling of dread. Sure enough, it was my Medusa. Smiling and ready for Round Two.
“What is it again?” she asked with a stabbing grin. “Becky?”
I narrowed my eyes, brave now that Amanda was by my side. “It’s Rebecca, actually.”
“Well, Rebecca, you’re in luck.”
The dread was back, gnawing a hole in my stomach like an ulcer.
“And why is that?” I asked.
The girl flashed me another wicked smile.
“Your boyfriend just
arrived.”
Chapter 6
“Your boyfriend?” Amanda said it like an accusation.
Snake-eyes grinned like a mouse had been lowered into her tank. “Her boyfriend.”
A clammy chill started climbing up my toes before losing itself somewhere in my hollow stomach. My mouth and eyes went simultaneously dry as the belated taste of nail polish remover burned inexplicably in the back of my throat. I wondered if I was being retroactively embalmed.
“Yes,” I bristled defensively, “my boyfriend.”
Two pairs of false eyelashes fluttered angrily in my direction. Two pairs of perfectly manicured nails looked like they wanted to curl in and punch me in the face.
I decided to excuse myself once again.
“Well then, I better get his gift.”
“Gift?” the woman asked.
I stepped backward onto the foot of a caterer who was able to re-balance his tray of booze only by a miracle. “There’s a welcome-home gift I have to get ready...and, um...excuse me.”
The lies just keep piling up! What the hell is wrong with me!
William Colson’s Talent Agency be damned, it was time to abort. Amanda could drive the Volvo home. I’d just catch a taxi. With the disjointed pacing of a frightened gazelle, I darted this way and that—searching for a way out of this gilded labyrinth that seemed designed to keep people in. An easy escape presented itself as people began streaming outside, but as I eagerly followed, I saw a helicopter landing on the grass and decided that was the last direction I wanted to go toward. Instead, I pushed my way through the crowd to what looked like the service entrance.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” I murmured over and over, tapping uniformed shoulders as I tried to weave my way through an army of caterers. But each time I did, someone just tried to hand me another glass of champagne.
Eventually, I was hoisted back into the main room along with a sea of others. My ears hummed with a muted spattering of applause and I felt the noose getting tighter. But at that moment, a woman in a chinchilla muumuu stepped aside, and I suddenly saw a clear path to the front door. My eyes closed in momentary relief, and I silently promised never to sin again.
