Chapter 28 #2
Holden grabs the offered champagne sitting on a tray and heads straight for the cream chair sitting outside our dressing room, his last name printed on the wall next to the curtains.
“Do you want one, miss?” The styling assistant asks.
I nod and grab the flute of champagne from him.
“Yes, thank you,” I say, taking a large gulp.
I glide my fingertips over the different textures of fabric before heading to the chairs that have been set up outside the dressing room.
Rebecca is dressed head to toe in all black, with her hair in an asymmetrical blonde bob. In the mirror, I see only the frizz that has poofed up my hair from walking for the last fifteen minutes in the blazing sun.
My idea of “effortless” is a tank top and denim shorts. Rebecca is wearing pure silk and tailored pants that are custom-made for her elongated torso and even longer legs.
My eyes widen, taking in every aspect of this room. A space that was so elusive that I had to reach out to five different contacts till I landed on a coworker’s best friend’s mom who’s married to another woman who owns this place.
I point my feet toward the stylist as she looks me up and down, trying to evaluate what to do with me.
“Is this your natural hair?” she says, twirling my thin, wiry strands. All I can think is, Please don’t Pretty Woman me.
“Wait, you look familiar.” She squints her eyes at me while putting a few color swatches against my skin. I feel more exposed than ever with each new “test” she conducts on me.
The strange sounds she mutters—“mm-hmm,” “ughh,” uhhhh”—each sound progressively more unsettling than the last. It takes a while before she finally comes out with a full sentence.
“You’re Charlotte Tate, right?”
“Yeah, I booked an appointment with you the other day.”
“No… No, I mean—” She pulls out her phone to show a picture of Holden and I kissing at the garden party. I never bothered to analyze our kiss, but now that it is up close in front of me, I’m not sure what to make of it.
“I guess—”
My thought remains fleeting as the next thing she says is, “You’re pear-shaped,” before walking away to fetch something.
When she comes back, she brings the shorter, male version of her by her side. He doesn’t say his name or make a polite greeting.
No, he is just as prickly as she is.
“How tall are you?” He grabs me by the hand, lifting me to the podium to twirl me.
“Five foot six,” I reply.
Rebecca points at Holden. “How tall are you?”
“Five foot eleven.”
For the first time, I feel relieved that he didn’t do what most guys do and round up to six feet. He only looks at me, amused at being puppeteered by both stylists.
It’s the cheesy grin on his face that puts me at ease. When Rebecca clasps her hands with excitement, I prepare for another prickly question.
Instead, she says, “Perfect,” then disappears to the middle of the showroom where all the racks of clothing are. The man moves over to Holden with a measuring tape.
I stand there awkwardly, waiting for her to come back. When she does, she has several dresses laid against the crook of her arm. She pushes me behind the curtain and throws her first dress of choice at me.
“I am going to go get matching heels. Don’t come out until you have them on.”
I quickly get undressed, every untrimmed edge of my body exposed to the mirror. A diet consisting of coffee, Taco Bell and hating the idea of physical fitness with every fiber in my being.
I was nowhere near rail thin, but I hoped the designer of these dresses had magical shaping powers that can make every dress look perfect.
The first one is white and mid length. Fitting it over my head is a whole workout. When I see my final form, I accept that I am now a fluffy cupcake with large sliver stilettos.
“Come on, let’s see,” the stylist asks.
“Absolutely not,” I say quickly before throwing the cupcake back over my head, heaving from the weight of it.
Rebecca shoves the next one at me. This time, the dress is shiny and metallic. A floor-length drape that sits heavy with a million and one beads sewn into it.
“I am a human disco ball,” I mumble to myself.
“What was that?” she calls from behind the curtain.
“Is there anything more simple that you have out there?”
“Is she always this difficult?” I hear her grating voice, directing her comment to only Holden, as if I am not there.
Behind the curtains, I sit on the little bench, stripped down to my bra and panties, until she comes back with other options. Her hand jumps through the fabric.
This seems promising.
Over my head, it slides down with ease. When it finally makes its way over my hips, I start to turn my body in different directions to get a better look in the mirror. One side angle at a time, moving my hair in different directions to get a better vision.
I even do my princess wave once the black scarf is thrown over my neck, ready to open the curtain for them this time.
Opening the curtains with my eyes closed, I wait for her grunts and sighs.
Dead silence.
I open one of my eyes slowly to see her sly smile looking right at me. “I love my job,” she says, clasping her hands again before walking away and signaling for Holden to follow.
Holden mouths the word “beautiful” as he stands up, making my cheeks flush. A lump catches in my throat.
Behind the curtain, I take one last look at myself in the black silk chiffon with the matching peep-toe heels, the fabric clinging to my body, shaping my every curve.
It feels effortless.
Not too much, and very much me.
I am left on the chair, waiting.
I send the new photos from earlier today that have just come in to Lens and Vine. As I press send, I guzzle a second glass of champagne. The glass is completely finished by the time Holden strides over in his new suit.
“So, are you excited to be going to a premiere?” He asks.
His shoulders are broadly pulled back as he does a half spin to show off the tailored suit that fits him perfectly.
“Define excited.”
“Oh, come on, isn’t this a perk?”
“Yes. Very much so. It’s the other stuff that seems exhausting. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes kind of girl.”
I stand up, looking at myself again in the mirror. Wondering how well I would photograph in a sea of people.
“Should I practice my smiles?” I say, displaying the most unflattering look.
Holden leans in, whispering behind my ear, “No, you have a great smile.” His hand reaches over to the small of my back, painting circles with his fingertips, sending a full-body shiver through me.
This feels too good. This feels too soon. This feels—
“I don’t think you need to try on any more of them. This is the winner,” he says as we watch each other in the mirror, unable to move.
“I only tried on one.”
“That’s what happens when you find a winner.”
He grabs my hip and pulls me into him. Our bodies are perfectly aligned with each other. He caresses my wiry strands of hair in his hands as if he has done this time and time before.
I give in.
I turn my body to face him, tilting my head toward his mouth, leaning in all the way, waiting patiently for him to close the gap.