Lingering Melody

The next one is also pale, but a nice green. It poofs out around my knees just a little, with a light yellow ribbon around the bust. It’s very tight on me as I walk out.

Webster squints. “That looks a little…”

“Brilliant, oui! Marvelous! I am a genius!” Leonardo cries out, his hands waving around. “Accent with gold, yes? Yes! Strappy heels, gold chained pendant and droplet earrings, the works! Perfection!”

It makes me blush, hearing him go on. “I don’t know. Are you sure?” I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my face nervously. I look down. It might not be the best color. What if the seams rip? Or if there’s a sharp wind?

Webster nods. “Perfect.”

And only my second dress! We can go! We can- Webster’s face widens for a minute, remembering something. Which causes me to remember- I need an outfit for the interview. I blow my cheeks up as Webster talks to Leonardo.

He thinks, stroking his goatee that matches his straight brown hair that continually climbs into his eyes. “Hmm… we might have something downstairs. Not too fancy, not too casual, umhm… come!” He claps. “We must scavenge!” It sounded like sca-VENGE. Funny.
“Just a sec,” I mutter and go back behind the curtain and change back into my clothes. I come out, holding the two dresses. “Here,” I hand him the purple one.

“Down!” He claps again and marches us down, still holding my hand. He hands the dress I’d been holding the whole time and gives it to his secretary to hold onto for a short while.

The next while is spent trying to find something not too flashy, skimpy, casual, or sharp- too anything. Which is a lot harder than it looks, when you think about it. I was the only customer at the moment, so Leonardo had fixed all the mirrors by covering them with spare fabric. Over the next two hours I can’t count how many clothes I tried on. Most were cute, a few ridiculous and so on.

Finally we found one good enough. Long white-sleeved shirt was pretty basic, but we added a black vest with silver stripes. They wanted me to wear a skirt with them, but after arguing for a while, I won in wearing some black pants- they wouldn’t allow jeans. Leonardo went on to add some ‘fun’ accessories to ‘accentuate’ my eyes.

“Perfect,” Leonardo purred. “There is elegance, grace, maturity- and beauty!” He sighs contentedly. “Perfect.”

Me, it’s just good enough. They said it looks okay with my hair and I don’t have much of a choice in how good I look. Leonardo offered to show the mirrors- a little eager, I might add- but I quickly, very quickly said that was okay.

So we walk out with my packages, and some press are ready to pounce on me. Webster keeps them away, saying they could look for me at the premiere tomorrow. Great, just what I need. I keep my head down, not looking at anyone.

We drive back to my place and it’s nearing ten, which I thought was surprising. Webster brings the clothes up and I set them nicely in my closet. “All right, studio at five fifty, okay?” He says. “Can you get there by yourself?”

Of course. I walk everywhere. Still- he thinks I take a cab or bus, since that’s what I always tell when he asks. I don’t want him to know I walk or he’ll think he has an obligation to drive me everywhere.

“Yeah, of course,” I give a shrug. “Don’t I always?”

He gives me a meaningful look, probably reminding me of last- which I’d been hoping I’d forget. Guess not. “Just be careful, okay?” He asks, shuffling his feet- I suppose it’s weird for him to express affection. Personally, it’s weird to receive it since I haven’t gotten it for a long, long time.

I nod. “Yeah,” I say softly. “I will be.” And he leaves because he believes that I keep my word. I do, don’t I? Usually, anyways. When I can. It’s not like I try to rebel. I lock my door and wander around my home for a few minutes, tired but not wanting to go to bed, so I’m bored. Bored, bored, bored… cookies! Webster had bought some.

I bite my lip, staring at them in the cupboard. A ten-pack of sugar frosted cookies with sprinkles. The frosting is as thick as the cookie and yellow. My favorite, my absolute favorite. I snatch the package as though someone else might take them. This is just mean of Webster, though, taunting me with all my favorite foods.

“Duckies,” I curse, cause it isn’t opening. It takes me five minutes to figure out how to open it. Probably because I was trying to open it from the back- which I’ll hopefully never, ever, ever do again. I was mortified as it was.

“Mmmmm,” I moan in delight, high in cookie heaven- my favorite place.

My phone rings. I find it in my purse after a few minutes and quickly answer it to turn off the rap. “Yeeeees?” I mumble through the crumbs. Yummy crumbs, I might add, that I wouldn’t trade anything for. Mine.

“Shy?”

I swallow the cookie and nearly choke in surprise. “Sebastian?”

“Seb, but yeah, whatever.”

“Oh.” Oookay, then. “Uh, hi, then, Seb.” It sounds strange on my lips. Or is it just me? Sebastian is nicer. We could call him Bastie… Bastiat! My favorite writer- he writes about the political and economical world along with philosophy and human nature. If you’ve heard of him and read his works, you’re classified as SMART.

“Hey, Shy. Glad I could catch you. Uh, well, I was calling,” he deliberates for a minute. “Well, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m honestly very, very sorry, and I had no idea about the drink last night, and if I had known, I would never have given it to you, I swear,” he says firmly.

I nod as he talks. “Um, then- I accept your apology,” it sounds weird saying that. Then there is a moment of silence. “Um, Seb? Is… are the guys right there, listening?”

He pauses. “Yeeees. Here, speaker phone,” he mumbles and pushes a button so now everything will sound echo-y and all.