I shake my head. “I wasn’t.” It comes out too defensive, and I know it. “I mostly wanted feedback on my performance, but he seems to be avoiding me.”
She smiles kindly at me. “He thought your performance was lovely. I’m sure he’ll tell you himself when you see him next. He’s just left to go home.”
“Oh, okay.” I try to ignore the stab of disappointment in my chest. “Thanks, May.”
“He’ll have something more for you soon, so I’ll be in touch after the weekend, all right?”
“Sure.”
On the way home I find the biggest chocolate bar I can find, and even that isn’t enough. But it isn’t like we even know each other that well. He’s my boss. We’ve never dated; there are no promises. Do I really have a right to get upset with someone over something they never offered? No. But it sucks all the same and I’m going to make sure I get some action, even if it’s solo. When I get home I relive the evening, this time with a vibrator. I recreate those phantom images of Andrew making me come, of him fucking me until there’s too much pleasure, and I don’t stop until I’m exhausted and tumble into sleep.
7
Videos of my ecstasy performance are all over the internet, and even I have to admit that it looks amazing. From the outside, the entire cast of models looks like slow-moving otherworldly creatures. And even though it’s sexy, it doesn’t look like we’re all imagining orgasms. I was afraid that it would look the way it felt, and the way it felt is not exactly something that I want on the internet. Even though the way it felt has provided more than enough inspiration to fill my orgasm quota.
It’s only been a few days since the event, and every muscle in my body still aches from the strain. I’m glad that I haven’t heard from May yet. As much as I like this job, and the absurdly large direct deposit that came right after the show, if everything I do for Andrew is going to be that intense, I’m going to need to rest my body.
Knocking on the door of the Blind Scorpion, Fleece appears to let me in. “I swear that you live here now,” I tell her. The bar is closed since it’s only noon.
“I swear, I feel like it lately.”
“When is Barbara coming back?”
A loud voice calls from the storeroom. “I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m not dead yet.”
Fleece rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”
Barbara sweeps out of the back room in all her glory. A woman in her sixties whose very essence screams ‘New York.’ She’s carrying a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vodka to replenish the stock behind the bar. “How you doin,’ Delia?”
“Good. Feeling better?”
“Oh, you know,” she grins, “five days of pulling my guts up. Will teach me to eat street tacos with a cold. It’s a deadly combination.”
I laugh even though that sounds awful. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
My phone chimes and I pull it out to see a text message from May. An invitation. “Hey,” I say to Fleece, and toss her the phone. “Want to go?”
She reads the message out loud: “Delia, Mr. Xellum wanted me to extend an invitation for you and whoever you’d like to bring to the Whitman & Crown party tonight. It is, in part, a celebration of them picking up the new swimsuit line. Let me know if you’d like to attend and any guests. If you stop by the studio beforehand, we’ll provide styling as well.” She looks at me, her mouth open. “This is one of the biggest parties of the year.”
“You should go,” Barbara says from behind the bar. “Lord knows you’ve earned a night off.”
“Sure you’ll be okay?”
The look on Barbara’s face is priceless. “Baby, I’ve been runnin’ this bar by myself since before you could walk. Of course I’ll be okay. Go have fun.”
Fleece tosses me back the phone, and there’s a sparkle in her eye that from experience I know means trouble. “Looks like we’re going to a party.”
Styling is an understatement. Fleece and I are made over from head to toe, and Fleece gets a choice of gowns to wear. I, on the other hand, had something left for me. There’s a note pinned to the neckline of the dress. It just has a few words.
The whole damn fire.
The dress itself is stunning. Exactly the same gauzy cut as the one I walked in in for my first audition, this one is all flame. The top is a deep maroon that fades into orange, red, white, and the deepest blue as it falls into the skirt. I remember the way this dress works, and I take off everything, so it’s just me and the dress. The back swoops low, and this version of the dress feels even better than the first one did.
Andrew must have spoken to Trish before he left because the make-up and hair perfectly complements the look, turning my eyes smoky and dark, and sweeping my hair back into a messy low knot. A pair of bright red heels completes the look. And looking in the mirror, I do look like the whole damn fire.
Fleece whistles when she sees me. “Damn, girl.”
I fight to suppress a giggle. “I guess it pays to be someone’s muse?”
“I’ll say.”
Fleece has chosen a daring green dress with a skirt that splits nearly to her hip, and sleeves that drape gracefully off her shoulders. She looks magical. I’m about to tell her so when May pops her head in. “Your car is here, ladies.”
“We have a car?”
“Of course,” she says. “We can’t have you showing up in Mr. Xellum’s designs walking from the subway or in a yellow cab.”
It seems almost strange, how my life has changed in less than a month. I was broke and about to be evicted, and now I’m working for one of the most famous designers in the world. “This is crazy.”
“A little,” May says, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiles. “But a good kind of crazy, I hope.”
“Definitely,” Fleece says, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the door.
I twist around to wave. “See you later, May!”
We pile into the big black car waiting outside, breathless and giggling. I feel like Cinderella going to the ball, only better because I know that this won’t evaporate at midnight.
“So,” Fleece says, giving me a look. “What are you going to do tonight?”
“I’m going to drink and dance, but I’m assuming from that look that’s not what you’re talking about?”
She shakes her head. “No. I mean about Andrew.” She mouths the last two words.
I shrug, swimming in my own imagined fantasies and trying to resist the sting of disappointment that they won’t become real. “What can I do? He doesn’t want me that way.”
Fleece snorts. “My ass. He dressed you like that.”
“I have to be dressed well,” I say, “he knows people will be watching me because of the shows.” I lower my breath so that the driver can’t hear. “I practically threw myself at him during the last show, and afterwards he avoided me. So clearly, that is going to be that.”
The look on her face says that she still doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t argue. The car pulls up to a gorgeous building in midtown, and there’s a huge crowd of people outside. Along with a real-life red carpet. “Oh shit.”
“You didn’t realize this would be part of it, did you?” Fleece is trying to hold in her laughter.
“Don’t mock me,” I say, even though I’m smiling.