When I reach the doorway leading to our station, I square my shoulders and prepare myself to walk into the open area, putting on a pleasant face. I can't have Cathy asking questions. I don't want to lie to her, and I cannot tell her the truth! I cannot tell her I had amazing sex in the elevator with a stranger who then kissed The Wicked Queen. No. No way does she find that out.
With my head held high, I walk through the maze of stations set up for the participants. Each one has a vanity, a full-length mirror, a portable clothing rack, and the basic essentials for fashion models. I see Cathy pacing at our station, biting her nails. I pick up my pace, trotting to her, wanting to appear to be out of breath from the physical exertion of running, as opposed to the truth of just having had the most exquisite orgasm a woman could ever hope to obtain.
When she spots me, she waves, "Come on! Come on! Hurry!"
I trot faster to her, and when I arrive, she asks, "What took you so long? You said you were entering the garage twenty-five minutes ago. I was worried sick that something bad happened to you. You know someone was assaulted in the parking garage last week. Why didn't you answer your phone?"
"I was in the elevator when the power went off, and my phone is dead."
"What?" Her face shows her panic for me. "Oh, Sweetie! I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"
Cathy is one of the only people in the world whom I've told why I hate elevators.
"I'm fine." I hug her neck, wanting to deflect her eye examination. "I'll tell you all about it after the show over a tall flute of champagne, but the short story is I survived without a meltdown." As soon as those words are spoken, I hear my first lie. I didn't have a mental meltdown, but my defenses melted, and then my body.
"Oh, thank god! Only one of us can panic today, and I own it." She laughs. "Let's chat about nothing to take my mind off all the things that could go wrong."
"Excellent idea. You talk, I'll listen. I need to braid my hair and touch up my makeup."
"Let me have the dress. I'll unpack it, and where's your phone? I'll charge it for you."
As she chats about the weather of all things, she hangs the garment bag on the clothes rack. I hand over both items. I pick up the brush from the vanity and begin combing the tangles out of my hair.
She reaches around me for the phone charger and plugs my phone into it. "I don't know what happened in the elevator, but your hair has that 'just fucked frizz.'"
"Really?" I blurt out as my reflection in the mirror shows my eyes bulging my guilt, but I recover quickly and simply laugh as if that's the most ridiculous thing she could have said.
She laughs with me. "Right? Ever since Fifty Shades of Grey, getting fucked in an elevator is every woman's fantasy."
Lord! I close my eyes and try not to think about how hot the reality was.
Chapter 7
d’Artagnan
When I step off the elevator on the second floor, I scan the area, getting my navigational bearings. It’s more difficult than most crowded places I visit as many six-foot-tall models are milling around, blocking my usual unobstructed view. I walk around the corridor, reading the temporary banners hung along the walls, indicating where each of the auction’s participant locations is beyond the wall in the open bay area.
When I finally find Cathy’s Corner Boutique, I know Tiara had her tucked away in the rear of the room. It pisses me off that the manipulative bitch would stoop to such a low level, but it doesn’t surprise me. Although, she gave Cathy a business as a graduation gift, which made Tiara appear to be the doting, supportive stepmother. When in actuality, she gave her a dying business. She intended for Cathy to fail, and because Tiara borrowed against Cathy’s trust fund, her failure would leave Cathy entirely dependent on Tiara. Tiara could then challenge Cathy in court for conservatory control of her business too. Just like she seized control of our father’s vast fortune when he died.
But what Tiara didn’t expect was that Cathy would succeed, but she has turned the little boutique into a local powerhouse. I’m so proud of her.
When Cathy and I talked on the phone this past year, she gushed over a girl named Zella, who was a brilliant marketing strategist—giving her credit for the success. “Bubba, Zella, and I are an awesome team! She handles the marketing detail, freeing me up to create a line of gowns that ….” She laughed, stopping herself from sharing the details. Then a few months ago, she told me there was going to be an auction for a children’s charity, and the item that brought in the largest bid/donation would win the grand prize. A national publicity campaign that if she won, would elevate her brand onto the national stage, and she could tell Tiara to kiss her ass.
I smile. My sister is badass, and so must be Zella. I’m looking forward to meeting her. Cathy calls them Team C & Z.
I step thru the doorway and then move to the side out of the flow of traffic. Putting my back against the wall to scan the room, I look for Cathy and for Rapunzel.
I’ll visit Cathy first. She’s my top priority, but before I head up to take my seat at the auction and make my move to oust Tiara from her throne, I want to stop by and reassure Rapunzel that I intend to pursue her after the auction. I could tell she wasn’t sure I would. That’s why I kissed her until I couldn’t. I want her to understand. She’s not a one-time-fuck for me. If I’m fortunate, I won’t need Nancy. A relationship with Rapunzel would be a perfect scenario.
Zella
Out of the blue, Cathy asks, “Zella, why don’t you date?”
I humph her with my eyes as if now,thatis the most ridiculous thing she has implied. Not wanting her to know how close to the truth she is. I haven’t had a legit date in years. Dating apps equal disastrous results. I don’t bother with them anymore, and the only other men I’m around are those who come into the boutique to buy something for a significant other.
While some of the girls hook up with them, I don’t. I don’t like cheaters. Of course, they justify it by claiming it isn’t cheating. “We aren’t having an affair with them. We’re just hooking for fly-by sex.” But in my old-fashioned book, it’s cheating anytime a spouse steps out on the vows of matrimony.
I deflect Cathy from the truth by turning it back on her, “Who said I don’t date? I date.”
