by Adele Buck
Yeah, settle down. Maybe it’s a “no,” he told himself. He tapped his phone’s screen.
To: Colin St. Cyr
From: Alicia Johnson
Subject: Re: Gala
Wow. Cinderella is going to get to scrub all her old-age makeup off and go to the ball? Terribly exciting. You don’t know it yet, but I actually owe you one. So, I will accept. With one condition. I need to find a dress that won’t break the bank. I’ve looked at the pictures on the web from last year’s event, and it looks really fancy.
But never fear. One of my castmates has given me a lead on a place where hopefully I can pick something up that will work. Otherwise, I’ll need to consult some magical forest creatures to make me something stunning. I have it on good authority from the Disney corporation that mice and small birds are really good at that kind of thing. Do you know any? Or is it just rats and pigeons here like it would be in New York?
Yours in Woodland Makeovers,
—Alicia
Colin almost laughed out loud. He had started to wonder if he had been idealizing this woman: letting her looks and talent dazzle him while he filled in the gaps in his knowledge about her with imagined intelligence and humor.
He hadn’t been wrong. She was stunning, and she was clever. And funny. He couldn’t wait to see her again.
And there, at the end of the e-mail, she had given him her phone number.
Score.
Alicia, Kathleen, and Wendy piled into the dressing room, laughing. “A standing ovation on a Thursday!” Kathleen crowed.
“Aww. Guys,” Wendy said, her eyes bright. “Only four more performances and we’ll all be off doing other things.”
“Or doing other people,” Kathleen said, bumping her shoulder into Alicia’s as she reached for a container of makeup removing wipes. “Which…our Miss Johnson has some ’splaining to do.”
“Me?” Alicia asked innocently, plucking a wipe from Kathleen’s container.
“You, thief,” Kathleen said, pulling out a wipe and slamming the container shut, moving it out of Alicia’s reach. “You spent all of the time before curtain composing an apparently very important e-mail.”
Alicia took off her cap and tossed it on the vanity, wiping the makeup off her face. “Not much to tell.”
Wendy rolled her eyes as she unzipped her costume. “No more of that ‘I am an island’ stuff. We’re your friends. Friends share. They tell stories. So, tell.”
Kathleen pointed finger guns at Alicia. “She’s right. Dish, Friendo.”
Something warm bloomed in Alicia’s chest. “Okay. You know part of it already. That guy at the donor’s party. Thought he was a bit of an asshat, but then he came to my jazz gig with a friend. He was less of an asshat, and his friend was sort of adorably clueless about Shakespeare. He brought his friend to the production and took me out for a drink after. He was definitely not an asshat then. He invited me to the fancy-pants gala thing I now need a gown for.”
“Is he cute?” Wendy asked, pausing in removing her costume. Alicia almost laughed at how her seemingly naïve castmate was completely unselfconscious about being nude from the waist up. And then didn’t laugh when she remembered her new contract.
“No, not cute,” Kathleen said. “Hot. Kind of broodingly hot.” She turned back to Alicia. “And the friend…did he go for drinks too? Is he also hot? If so, can I meet him?” Her eyes were bright with eagerness.
Alicia laughed and ticked off answers to Kathleen’s questions on her fingers. “One: no, he didn’t come for drinks. Two: Definitely hot. But trending to cute. Kind of goofy and adorable. Three: I’ll see what I can do.”
“Mmmm. Maybe I’ll pick up something nice at Olga’s myself. What does this friend do?”
Alicia re-folded the makeup wipe to find a clean side and scrubbed at her face. “Law professor,” she said, attempting nonchalance.
Kathleen turned wide eyes on her. “Seriously? Hot and smart?”
“Pfft. How smart can he be if he hadn’t been to a Shakespeare production before yesterday?” Alicia tossed the wipe in the trash and started to remove her costume.
“He came, though. That means smart and teachable.” A predatory smile spread across Kathleen’s face. “Add eager to please and you have my favorite kind.”
“You’re incorrigible,” Wendy said, pulling on a pair of jeans.
“Hey. I just know what I like,” Kathleen said.
Alicia threw up a hand. “One thing at a time. Let’s find me a perfect dress for this shindig and I’ll see about arranging an introduction to Russell.”
“Ooh. Russell, is it?” Kathleen brought her fingers up in front of her, curled like paws. “Okay, I’m on board, Cinderelly. Let’s get you ready for the ball.”
Chapter 7
Alicia paused on the sidewalk and looked up the stairs to the green awning that had “Olga’s” in flowing script.
Kathleen elbowed her in the ribs. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”
Alicia rubbed her stomach, surprised to find herself jittery. “Dunno. I guess I just don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t find anything to wear. I really don’t have a plan B.”
Kathleen twisted her heavy auburn hair up off her neck and squinted at Alicia. “Well, didn’t you say Mr. Hot is a lobbyist? Dude must have some dough. Make him buy you a dress. Go full billionaire romance novel.”
“No.” Alicia set her mouth in a flat line and shook her head. “No expensive gifts from guys. Then they think they own you.”
“Okay,” Kathleen said, letting her hair tumble down over her shoulders again. “Unless you want to raid the costume shop for some sweat-stained old rag of a gown that’s been used in fourteen productions…”
“Appealing. So appealing.”
“…Get your butt up there and let’s get shopping.”
Alicia jogged up the cement steps outside and the carpeted steps inside before any more butterflies could colonize her stomach. The interior of the shop looked more like a retrofitted apartment. Which it probably was. Instead of one large showroom, smaller rooms presented a rabbit-warren appearance. Clothes were everywhere, on wall-mounted bars and free-standing racks, even hanging from doors. Alicia’s eyes glazed over. How was she going to find anything in this jumble? Kathleen’s face had a keen expression, no longer one of Cinderella’s mice. Now she was more like a cat who had just dropped to her belly, ready to pounce on some unsuspecting creature.
An impeccably coiffed older woman in what had to be a real Chanel suit emerged from a back room and smiled from Kathleen to Alicia and back at Kathleen. “Hello again, what can we do for you today?”
Kathleen pointed at Alicia. “Not me today, Olga. My friend. She needs an evening gown. A stunning one.”
Olga looked Alicia up and down and smiled. “Wonderful. How fun. For a specific event?”
“The…” Alicia dug her phone out of her shorts and consulted it for the name of the event. “USA Science Fair Gala?”
“Oh, marvelous,” Olga said, her pale eyes twinkling. “Your first time attending, I gather?”
“Yes,” Alicia said, feeling uncomfortable. Not just first time attending this thing. First time at a black-tie anything. She felt like a fraud.
Olga turned and crooked a finger. “Follow me. I have something in mind that I believe will both suit you and fit you beautifully.”
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Jeanette commented as Colin approached her desk, whistling. “How did the meeting with the senator’s staff go?”
“You mean my meeting with the senator?” he asked, winking.
Jeanette looked suitably impressed. “Senator Fisker actually dropped in on the meeting?”
“She did more than drop in. She stayed for twenty minutes and seemed deeply concerned about the state of STEM education in public school systems.”
“Hence the whistling. I’m surprised you didn’t stop off for champagne.”
Colin grinned. “Ah, speaking of celebrations, is the town car for the gala arrange
d?”
Jeanette nodded and consulted her monitor, clicking her mouse. “All settled. It will pick you up at your house at quarter to seven. You’ll be at the cocktail hour in plenty of time to schmooze with the crowd.”
“Time enough for another stop to pick up an additional passenger, you think?”
Jeanette’s eyebrows rose. “Are you telling me you’ll be going with a lady friend?”
“No, I’m telling you we will be making an additional stop for—how is it you Yanks put it?— ‘hookers and blow’ prior to my arrival at the gala.”
“Funny. What’s her name?” Jeanette pursed her lips and looked fixedly at her computer screen, the lines fanning around her eyes giving away her appreciation of the joke.
“Alicia Johnson,” he said. “Her flat is in Capitol Hill, more or less on the way to the Grand Hyatt.”
“Then let’s back your pickup time off by ten minutes.” Jeanette made a note. “Anything you want sent to her in advance?”
“Such as?”
She gave him a withering look. “Flowers are always a nice gesture.”
He was an ignoramus. He had frequently sent flowers to Tressa. Why hadn’t it occurred to him to send them to Alicia?
“Hm. Well, she did mention that her attendance was contingent on finding a suitable gown.” As he mulled this over, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw a text message notification. Unlocking his phone, his screen filled with an image of Alicia’s face, her head tilted back, her hair characteristically spilling across her eyes. She must have held her phone almost directly over her head. He could see a glimpse of a silvery bodice and an enticing shadow of cleavage. His mouth went dry.
“Problem?” Jeanette asked.
Colin cleared his throat and showed her the phone screen. “Ah. No. No problem at all.”
Jeanette’s eyebrows quirked up. “Is that her? Lovely. Looks like she found a dress.”
“As you say. I think flowers are in order.”
“On it, boss.”
“I thought you weren’t assisting me with personal matters?”
“Only if it isn’t fun. This is fun. Besides, you always had me send them to…well. You know.”
“If I have to do the distasteful things like take calls from ‘you know,’ then I get to do the allegedly fun things like send flowers to Alicia. Where do we order flowers from?”
Jeanette made a face. “I’ll e-mail you the information.”
Unlocking the front door of her apartment, Alicia suppressed a giggle at her luck. Over one arm she hefted a garment bag with the “borrowed” designer evening gown a television star had worn to the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. The other actress had savaged the hem with her six-inch platform heels, and the designer had refused to take it back. Having already been seen in the garment, the actress didn’t care what happened to it. Her assistant, a D.C. native, had brought the dress straight to Olga and sold it to her at a fraction of its original worth. Olga had a seamstress hem the dress again, eliminating the torn edge.
And now it was Alicia’s, at a price she imagined would make the D.C. Police run her down for theft.
Carrying it back to her bedroom, she hung the garment bag on the back of her closet door and unzipped it. A column of black silk, topped by silver and illusion netting, met her eye. Alicia pressed her fingers to her lips.
It was gorgeous.
She had felt bold and sexy when she had given in to the impulse to text the photo to Colin. Now she felt silly. He would give me his number when he asked me for mine. And I would use it for something like that.
She did know how to be provocative.
It was maybe time to finally dial that back. Her new job…cable TV. Give an inch and they’d ask for a mile. Or give them a nipple and they’d ask for…
She grimaced. Cross that bridge when she got to it.
The doorbell rang. Alicia took a deep breath, gathered herself, and moved through the kitchen and living room to the front door. A glance through the peephole showed a young woman in a drab baseball cap.
Okay…
Opening the door, Alicia was met with a large, square vase filled with an enormous profusion of flowers spilling out of the top. She blinked as she took the giant arrangement, nodding as the delivery woman said something about signing for it and setting it on the coffee table. Receiving the other woman’s clipboard, she scribbled a signature and smiled. The delivery woman merely turned on her heel and walked up the shallow flight of stairs to the street level.
Alicia turned to the mass of flowers as if they were an unexpected visitor to entertain. Or maybe an alien delegation. “Take me to your leader.” A plastic trident sticking up from the arrangement held a small envelope. Plucking it off, she pulled out the card inside.
Thank you for agreeing to go to the gala with me. I look forward to seeing more of the gown next weekend.
—Colin
Damn the man. How had she ever thought he was an asshole?
“Jeanette,” Colin called out of his office. “How do you know that a flower arrangement has actually been delivered?”
Appearing in his office doorway, Jeanette smiled and crossed her arms over her chest. “Generally speaking, you don’t.”
“Then how do you know that the delivery has been…delivered?”
“You don’t. You trust that it has.” Jeanette grinned with wicked humor.
Colin glared at her. “You seem to be enjoying this.”
Jeanette’s smile broadened. “I am. You’re generally so in control. This is amusing.”
Narrowing his eyes, Colin looked at the florist’s webpage. “Why don’t these bloody services give some sense of the…service they’re offering?”
Shrugging one shoulder, Jeanette stood away from the doorframe. “You have to have some faith, Colin. You paid for the service, you need to trust the professionals.”
“Professionals that should have GPS-enabled delivery notification,” Colin said.
“Or maybe a gentleman should just wait for a thank you note,” Jeanette noted.
“Thank you note? In the twenty-first century?”
“We haven’t descended into absolute savagery,” Jeannette said.
“And how many thank you notes have you received lately?”
“From whom?” Jeanette asked.
“How about from your grandchildren?” Colin said, a sinking feeling in his gut an early warning sign that he was engaged in a losing argument. He ruminated that Jeanette’s oldest grandchild was only six. Too soon for notes, surely?
“Amelia sent me a beautiful note for her last birthday gift,” Jeanette said, a smug expression on her face.
“She would do that,” Colin grumbled.
“She is a perfect child,” Jeanette said.
“Of course she is,” Colin said.
His phone chimed and he snatched it off the desk, unlocking it to reveal a photo of a floral arrangement on a small table. He was intrigued to see what Alicia’s decorating taste was. The photo also showed a midcentury modern-style sofa and a Turkish rug. Three dots pulsed under the photo and a message appeared.
Thank you. They’re beautiful.
“I take it from your expression that the modern version of a thank you note has arrived?”
Colin showed Jeannette the screen, and her eyebrows shot up. “Just exactly what did you order?”
“What do you mean?”
Jeanette pointed at the phone. “That is…enormous.”
“Too big?” He glanced at the photo again. It did look a bit ostentatious, now that he considered it. He could see enough of the sofa to contextualize the scene. His earlier assessment of the table as small was off the mark. It was her coffee table.
“Practically worthy of a hotel lobby,” Jeanette said, eyes wide.
Colin shrugged. “I…just told the woman on the phone the general type of flowers I wanted and the price range.”
“A word to the wise: the next time you want to impress and n
ot frighten a woman, spend less on flowers than she probably spends on rent,” Jeanette said, shaking her head as she turned and walked back to her desk.
The mood in Alicia’s dressing room that evening was quiet and melancholy. Sitting next to Alicia at the makeup mirror, Wendy’s big brown eyes sheened over with moisture as she braided her curly black hair into a coronet around the top of her head.
“You okay?” Alicia paused, her makeup pencil poised over her forehead. She definitely wasn’t going to miss old-age makeup. Though she would miss the production. The cast was a close-knit one, with relatively little interpersonal drama. They were mostly locals, people who made their living with various acting gigs in and around D.C., but they had welcomed Alicia and the other few out-of-towners without question.
“I just hate the last few performances,” Wendy said, tucking in the final pin to hold her hair in place and beginning to smooth moisturizer over her golden-brown skin. “Not the performances themselves, but the ending. I’ve always hated it when things end. I was in a children’s theater production of Charlotte’s Web when I was a kid, and I would have dreams about it for months after the run ended and wake up crying when I realized it was over.”
“Aw. Sweetie.” Kathleen, who had just entered, set down her bag and bent to hug Wendy from behind, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And here I’m just upset because I don’t have my next job lined up.”
“Ouch,” Alicia said, feathering faint lines out from her mouth and turning her head from side to side to gauge the effect in the mirror. “You have your next thing in the bag, Wendy?”
“Just an industrial so far—some corporate training thing.” Wendy made a face. “It’ll pay the bills, but…not big fun. You? Did you hear about your audition yet? Probably too soon.”
“Actually…” Alicia suddenly felt awkward and shy.
“What did you get?” Kathleen’s gaze sharpened. “Wait…it just occurred to me. This was a local audition. Was this a national call?”
“No, not a national call.” Alicia’s stomach fluttered.