Playing Her Cards Right: Choose Me. Jo Leigh

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СКАЧАТЬ Come on. It’s … fashion Nirvana. The single event after which I could die happy.” She turned, briefly, to gape at him, to verify the smile she’d guessed at. “I’ve been sewing since I was twelve.”

      Then she was staring again, at the klieg lights, at the people. Glittering, gorgeous, famous, glamorous people. Her heroes and heroines. In one small clump standing near a police barricade there were three, THREE, designers. Designers she adored, well, maybe not her, because she was kind of derivative, but still, Bree was going to be in the same room, at the same party as Tommy Hilfiger, as Vivienne Westwood!

      She turned again to Charlie, almost spilling her drink. “We are going to the party, right?”

      “Yeah, we’re going to the party.”

      “Oh, thank God. That would have been really embarrassing. If we were going to a concert or something.”

      He laughed in a way that made her shiver and reminded her again that this wasn’t a dream. The limo was in a long line of limos, and Bree guessed it would be a while until it was their turn. Which meant that she had a window of alone-time with Charlie. She leaned back in the luxurious leather seat so he was the center of her attention. “I remember reading about this last year. It sounded as if you had a good time.”

      He nodded. “I did, considering it’s part of the job. I think this year will be better.” He spoke casually, as if they were talking about stopping at the corner market. As if they knew each other. Casually, but not bored or above it all. This was a typical night for him. A night to look forward to but not to panic over.

      Speaking of panic. “We’re at Fashion Week, and I’m wearing a homemade dress. My shawl …” It had cost fifty cents at the thrift shop but he didn’t have to know that. “Oh, God.”

      He studied her, grinning. She couldn’t tell if it was because he thought she looked adorably out of her league or laughably ridiculous. When he leaned forward, Bree wasn’t sure what to do until he crooked his finger for her to move in closer. Conspiratorially closer. “The whole point of fashion is originality and talent. Everyone will look at you, at your dress, and wonder who the new designer is. I suggest you milk that till the cow’s dry.”

      She had to laugh, because well … “That’s a very nice thing to say.” She touched the back of his hand to make sure he knew she wasn’t kidding, only the second her hand was on his, she realized how they were mere inches apart. She could feel his breath on her cheek, the warmth of his body sneaking into her own.

      That he could think she was capable of pulling off something so outrageous was … awesome. “I’m not sure I could keep a straight face.”

      “Look bored,” he said. “That’s the key. Act as if you’d rather be anywhere else on earth, and they’ll all think you’re the next big thing.”

      “Bored. I can do bored.” She had to lean back a bit because being this close to Charlie was making it hard not to hyperventilate. “Actually, no, I can’t, not here. My God, no one’s that good an actress. But I can be observant. Which almost looks like bored.”

      He moved back, too, his smile lingering in the way his eyes crinkled. “Observant can work. Remember, though, that there’s no one here you need to be intimidated by. Well, almost. But you probably won’t meet them, anyway.”

      Oh, he was good. This was effortless charm, the true heart of tact and perfect manners. To put her at ease as they inched their way to the Mount Everest of her aspirations? Wonderful, wonderful. But she’d better bring herself down a notch, because at this height, a fall could kill her. “I read an article once,” she said, “by a woman whose passion was movies, and she went and got herself a job in the business. She said that in the end it was kind of sad. That what she’d loved were the illusions, the characters, the fantasy. Once she’d looked behind the curtain it was never the same again.”

      Charlie finished off his champagne and put his flute back in the space next to the ice bucket, slowly, as if he were giving deliberate thought to what she’d said. “I can see that. Most terribly brilliant people I’ve known are also terribly troubled. Not all of them, but a lot of them.”

      “I don’t think I’ll be disappointed. I know it’s all illusion. And that’s okay with me. I had normal. A whole hell of a lot of normal. It wasn’t for me.”

      “Where was that?” he asked. “Your normal.”

      “Ohio,” she said. “Little tiny town. Great big family. Happy. Well-adjusted. My folks had lots of siblings, I have lots of siblings, everyone else in my family wants to get married, if they aren’t already, have a bunch of kids, live within driving distance of the family home. We’re a Norman Rockwell relic, with small rebellions and modest dreams. I can’t tell you how much I hated it. Not my family, they’re great, but that life. Knowing what the day would bring. The Sunday dinners and the baby showers, knowing every person at the Cline’s SuperValu and never having to look at the menu at Yoders. I wanted out.”

      She took in a deep breath of Manhattan limousine air. “I want unpredictability and crowds of people, all of them in a rush. I want to go to clubs and stay out till 4:00 a.m. when I have to be at work at eight and I want to eat things I can’t pronounce and I want to have my heart broken by callous men who wear gorgeous suits.”

      She looked away, feeling foolish. Talk about TMI. It was all nerves, of course, but there was no way not to be nervous given the circumstances. The line of limos, hiding their secret passengers, was still impressive.

      “I think you’ll be great here,” Charlie said, and it occurred to her that the timbre of his voice wasn’t the biggest surprise, the kindness was. “They’re all divas, and what do divas do best?”

      “Get free swag?”

      Charlie laughed as he shook his head. “They think about themselves. They’ll be far too preoccupied to focus much attention on you. The only reason they’ll notice me is because they can use me. So relax. Enjoy it. You’ll have a great time.”

      She was already having the time of her life, and they hadn’t left the car, so the possibility of enjoying herself for the rest of the night wasn’t out of the question. She wouldn’t necessarily trip or spill something down her dress. She’d already decided she would eat nothing that could possibly get stuck in her teeth. And she’d make sure she didn’t get drunk.

      Charlie leaned forward until he had his driver’s attention. “We’re going to be at least a few hours, Raymond,” he said. “Feel free to leave. I’ll give you some warning when it looks like we’re ready to go.”

      “Will do, Mr. Winslow. Thanks.”

      Bree shook her head. When she’d first come to the city she’d been prepared for mass rudeness, cynicism and impatience from every corner. Hadn’t happened. Not that there weren’t more than a fair share of ass-hats in residence, but the proportions had been off. Mostly the people she’d met, whether it was asking for directions or standing on line at Starbucks, had been nice. Pleasant. They could be brusque but they were more than willing to help, even when she hadn’t asked. Those were the regular folks, though, not people like Charlie. If television shows about rich New Yorkers were to be believed, he should have been a complete bastard.

      Instead, he’d brought her to Fashion Week. She’d been a slave to fashion since seventh grade. Her walls had been covered with her collages, a perfect pair of shoes from Vogue, with a particular skirt from W and a top from Seventeen. СКАЧАТЬ