Lingering Melody

I put together some make up, the lightest and most natural that I own. I take some Tylenol, to finish off the last of my aches and my eyes don’t feel bloodshot anymore. I fix my hair into Shy’s mode again and go through my closet.

A tank and a long-sleeved slim shirt in purple with green seams. Plain dark jeans. Pearl necklace and earrings. The simplest and nicer of my things to wear. Have to keep to the ‘good girl’ look, because that’s who I am- I want to cry and laugh at those who complain that they don’t like the ‘good girl’ image. There’s nothing wrong with it, and we can still have fun. ‘Bad girls’ tend to ruin their lives, go to jail and die from drug overdose or something equally ridiculous. And someone has to be a role model for the little girls of the country.

Except for last night. That turns what was a hopefully good mood to muck. I scowl, mad at myself. So stupid! It wasn’t even funny. I’ll never, ever go to those parties again!

There’s a knock on the door and Webster walks in, talking on his cell. “Yeah, okay, great,” he mutters and puts it away. “All right- they know we’re coming. Ready?”

Perine’s. The closest to having my favorite style of clothes, so that’s why we go. And they also have a fine selection of dresses, so… why not? I pull my hair back in a clip and nod.

“Ready,” I mumble, grabbing my bag and shoving in my keys, water, apple and my wallet. “Me drive?” I ask him innocently.

He mock-glares at me. “Fine.”

So I get to drive! Webster tells me the directions and we head off. Then follows a ten-minute argument on who gets to choose the music- and he finally wins, saying I have to concentrate on the road and such.

So there we are, listening to the Pet Shop Boys and AC/DC. Eugh. I could kill myself in misery over it. So nearly an hour later, we reach it- with a whole passel of cameras and people who have no life.

Stepping out, I’m surrounded.

“Are you dating Sebastian?”

“Are you starting the crazy life?”

“What are your plans for being a rebel?”

“Are you changing your character?”

I close my ears to it as Webster shoves the people aside so I can get in. I manage a small smile and a half wave before ducking in. “That was awful,” I say through my teeth as Webster comes over.

He nods as we head over to find Leonardo. “We need to get you another guard,” he says. “I shouldn’t be doing that.”

“You do such a good job,” I tell him with a mocking smile. I turn back to see Leonardo come over. “Bonjour!” I greet him with the usual two air kisses.

He wraps me in a big hug. “Bonjour, ma petite! It has been so long!” He adds dramatically. “Weeks and weeks of misery without you!”

So maybe he’s why I come. He’s a very open guy of twenty-five but he doesn’t act his age always. Still, he’s a professional and no suck up- he lets me know when it doesn’t look good and lets me know when he has something I would look ‘fab’ in.

“Now,” he puts me back at arm length. “Look. You like?” He shows off his pink silk shirt and gray pinstripe vest. “New, oui. Good?”

Strangely, he likes my advice. I don’t know why, but feel free to ask. “It’s excellent with your hair,” I scrutinize. “Cause a black vest would have ruined it,” I explain. “The belt does look wrong, though,” I frown. He’s wearing jeans that are mussed at the bottom and a small hole at the knee with a big belt buckle of a skull. I shake my head. “A no go, Leo.”

He chuckles, because he finds that- and almost anything else- funny. Very optimistic open guy and you can’t help but like. “Oui, oui, I was afraid you would think that,” he admits and takes it off, handing it to his secretary near by. “Now, you!” He claps happily. “I have some things very, very good for you.”

Although him saying that? It scares me sometimes. Like now. “Lead the way,” I try to hide my nervousness. He grabs my hand and leads me around, and up the stairs.

Finally, the huge room. This is where he stores his very, very, very best work and only his favorite clients are allowed up here. [I tend to come here around…say, twice a month. Unless he calls, so make it three- and he’s promised he’ll make me my wedding dress, no matter how many times I keep saying that will never happen.]

“Here we go, ma petite cherie! What do you think?” He asks brightly, his finger absently stroking his goatee. He’s touching with his fingers, a bundle of dresses on a long twelve-foot pole. “Oui?”

Okay, so I got help with French from him. Somehow. He only shoves in the most common words now. But still. I look at the first dress. It’s pale lavender, off the shoulder and… slinky silk all the way down- a lot like his dress shirt, as a matter of fact. I cock my head. “I’m not so sure…”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course not! You never were,” he adds sympathetically as he grabs the dress. “Try, try! No time to waste!” And shoves me behind the curtain. You know, one of those Chinese curtains? He put it in when he discovered I never look in the mirror. He’s such a sweet and considerate guy…

I look at the dress uneasily, but I do as he says. Three minutes later I stumble out, holding the hem up a little because it’s two inches too long. “Well?” I ask them. Webster is sitting on a sofa put there for those who get bored while others are changing.

Leonardo scrunches up your nose. “Oui, you were right,” he admits. “Not yours.” His eyes scan the next dress. “This should do!” And he shoves it in my arms and I hurry back before he can shove me there again.