Chapter 52
Tabitha
Having seen the preview last Saturday at the house—which the company had refused to change, despite numerous calls from me, and I’d heard Tim had called every executive in the company (too little, too late)—I was under no illusion how I was going to be painted at the London premiere tonight.
Worse, Tim was going to be there, and we were going to be filmed on the sofa together watching it.
But I was armed with a certainty and resolve I’d never felt before.
Maybe fueled by my fury at Tim, maybe at myself for making the same mistakes.
But I wasn’t only angry; it was more complex than that.
I’d been thinking about what happened, and I understood more about Tim’s behavior.
I was worried I’d see him and cave because I missed him so much my body felt empty and achy.
I caught myself listening for his heavy footsteps on the stair, for his rumbling laugh, replaying the sight of his slow smile and the way he leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb.
I caught myself sniffing the air for his sawdust, green grass, and salt scent.
But one thing was for certain—I was not taking anyone’s shit today. I headed for wardrobe for today’s outfit as instructed on the call sheets sent out last night. I was looking forward to seeing Poppy again, though.
“This is what Simon picked out.” Poppy’s voice seemed tentative, and she slowly, sheepishly, extracted the outfit from the racks.
Oh God. I squirmed as I plucked at the tiny bits of bright-pink fabric. “It’s a bra top? And a short skirt?”
“Yes. And here are the shoes.” She held up some red stacked-heel pumps. “Simon is thinking a fauxhawk?”
“For the premiere of a renovation show? Our show?” I narrowed my eyes. I was sick of this. Enough of me being the naive innocent—I had to strategize. “What’s Tim wearing?”
She bit the inside of her mouth. “A version of his usual work clothes.”
This was it. I wasn’t going to be rude to Poppy because I liked her, but I wasn’t wearing this. No way.
“This outfit makes it look like I didn’t do any of the work and I was just hanging around with a clipboard.
” Her slight nod told me she suspected this too.
“Instead, I was hauling stuff and doing physical labor for hours. Look, I’ll find something in here and walk out to the stage at the last minute and say I refused to wear what you gave me, so you don’t get in trouble.
” Even if I got a heap of resistance, I wasn’t changing.
She looked at me sympathetically, and her face softened. “That works for me. I do have something else.”
She shoved the pink outfit back into the racks and reached for a hanger way in the back. This gave me hope, and I sighed with relief.
She pulled out another outfit. I winced again but less this time.
“Yes to the floral shirt and the little scarf. But jeans?” I felt them; they were stretchy and high-waisted. Unconsciously, I ran a hand down my tummy, my hips, my bum, thinking of how that tight denim would expose me to critical eyes.
“Jeans that will look spectacular on you,” she said. “Please try them?”
I didn’t want to be a pushover anymore, but I always tried to encourage others’ visions and creativity. I knew, in my current mood, I’d have no trouble saying a final no.
In the changing room, I viewed myself from all sides.
She was right. The jeans didn’t disguise my figure, they enhanced it, and they looked amazing and vintage.
And they felt comfortable. With a wide belt, my pearls, the little silk scarf tied in at my throat, and high tan booties, I felt covered and comfortable.
It wasn’t as if I looked like I was going to wheelbarrow in a load of timber right that minute, but I could have.
“May I?” she said, reaching toward me.
“Yes, okay.” She slid open two more buttons.
I looked down and reached out.
“Ah-ah. Don’t fiddle. My vision is manifest. Now I’m going to do your hair in the running late half-up.
Which will take me ages. I’m a genius. But just…
” She leaned into my ear. “Could you hide in the loos and front up to the camera at the very last minute, so Simon doesn’t have time to make you change? ”
Unlike her bosses, I would have her back. We had to work together because it was a man’s world too often. “Yes, anything so I don’t have to do the fauxhawk.”