Your Desire

by Dee S. Knight

  Pursing his lips and tapping his mouth with his forefinger, Nigel stood silent. Edwina disappeared behind the curtain then moments later passed through the showroom and into the shop, dressed in heeled, dark-brown leather boots, a brown suede skirt that fell to mid-calf and high-necked white blouse. How does she do that? But Derica didn’t have time to ponder the question further.

  Would you be willing to pay two hundred dollars as a deposit? As I mentioned, it is one of a kind and I’d hate to lose the only pattern I have.” Nigel spoke without a trace of indecisiveness. Derica admired a person who took the bull by the horns once they’d made a decision.

  “Two hundred dollars as a deposit? That amount won’t give me ownership?” Two hundred was a steal to buy the thing, but to rent it? He was a canny businessman after all.

  “Let’s call it a lease. If you return it undamaged by the end of the month, and you’ve been satisfied with the results, your money will be refunded.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’ve never heard of any store doing this kind of thing.”

  He waved his hand. “We’re not like any other store you’ve frequented, Ms. Meadows. Can’t you tell that?”

  In fact, he was right. There was something different about this shop. Shabby but sophisticated. Quick change artists and enchanting dresses. There was a sense of something unworldly.

  “Suppose something happens to the dress. What would I owe then?”

  He looked at her, his eyes twinkling. “The gown itself is priceless, as I believe you’ve already proven. When someone wants an item as much as you want that dress, well, is there a price too high? However, I think this arrangement will work out fine.”

  His eyes captured her total attention. They blazed with power and knowledge. Deep, ancient knowledge. She couldn’t turn away.

  Then they softened. “If that dress is what you want, you should accept my offer. I assure you, there is no other like it in all the world.”

  “Will it fit, do you think?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “You’re a perfect size eight. It’s a perfect size eight. For you, the gown will be … perfect.” He ended with a smile as warm as a summer day, and she smiled back.

  “Will you accept a check?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  Shaking her head slightly at the strangeness of the deal and the suddenness with which they’d completed it, Derica preceded Nigel from the room. He then took the lead, taking her to a small counter where Edwina stood, securing a handle onto a large box. She looked at her grandfather.

  “Ms. Meadows has agreed to pay two hundred dollars, Edwina, and will return the gown to us by the end of the month.”

  Without a scintilla of surprise Edwina turned her gaze from her grandfather to Derica. “I’m afraid we don’t accept credit cards.”

  She indicated the cash register, the oldest Derica had ever seen. In fact, she didn’t know if she had ever seen a manual machine such as this one.

  “We haven’t exactly embraced the twenty-first century,” Edwina continued.

  “I see that,” murmured Derica.

  In moments it seemed, Derica found herself on the sidewalk outside the shop, holding a large dress box. The mannequin in the front window now sported a heavy wool coat with fur-trimmed collar. She snorted. That was an odd thing to advertise in San Francisco, and wondered again at the man’s sense of business. She’d never hire him, that was for sure. Imagine leasing a dress! The gown was worth hundreds of dollars, and she’d given him a measly two hundred. And in cash, too. She was honest, of course, and would bring the dress back, but a good many people wouldn’t.

  Turning away, Derica barely noticed the old woman staring with longing at the coat in the window. Nor did the tinkle of the bell on the door make an impression as the woman entered the store.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Derica virtually sailed into the lobby of the sumptuous downtown hotel, her usual confident posture becoming an almost regal bearing. It was the dress that changed her attitude, the flowing satin and lace, the beads and pearls, and knowing that the sequins caught rays of light from the lobby chandeliers and flashed them back as she took each step. Without even looking, she knew every eye was on her as she made her entrance, and it was a heady experience.

  She stopped at the directory to find the location of the MiBar event, and saw her reflection in the glass of the case. Her normally short black hair appeared long and upswept, thanks to the genius of her hairdresser. The finger she put to the glass to search for the correct room was shaped and polished in the lightest shade of lavender. Funny how a simple manicure could change a girl’s whole outlook! Rather than the professional woman, her softly shaded violet eye shadow and frosted light pink lipstick reflected a woman who was completely feminine but who knew how to use her femininity in bold and powerful ways. A woman who was hot.

  This woman didn’t mind attending the party alone because she was certain not to be alone long. There was a certain thrill in that thought. Oh, she wouldn’t be interested in attracting any of the married men, but the woman staring back at her might have fun throwing out a few lures to the single guys who happened to be there. There was a strange stirring in her to let loose and live large for a change. Reach for a brass ring she’d never noticed before. The urge to do something different—be someone different—had never been so strong.

  The Wives, expecting the normal Derica-in-Black-Pantsuit, would be scandalized by her look and the aura of womanly force she projected, but they’d have to get over it. Tonight she was Deri, not Derica, flirt and vamp, not conservative, cautious executive, a seeker of adventure, not a practical “do what it takes to get ahead” follower. No, tonight she would throw caution to the wind!

  Frowning at the woman in the glass, she revised that. She’d throw caution to the wind within reason. Maybe she’d toss a tiny bit of prudence to the breeze. After all, this was just a party and only for this one night. She didn’t want anything that happened in one night to affect the rest of her career. Or her life.

  Derica nodded to her reflection, smiled and headed past the huge arrangement of flowers on a carved table in the center of the lobby. The bank of elevators was to the rear of the ornate, red-carpeted stairway, which was blocked by a horde of people around cameras and photographic lights. Slowing only a bit, she picked her way through the crowd. It seemed these days film crews were everywhere, using the fabulous city views as backdrop for their work. She spared only a moment to wonder what this crew was filming.

  “Hey, you!” A man’s voice rang out from the other side of the stairway. “Stop, lady!”

  Someone touched her arm as she tried to get by. “I think he wants you over there,” a woman standing next to one of the lights said.

  Derica looked up, puzzled. A burly man with thinning red hair and a fluffy auburn beard streaked with gray charged toward her, a frown on his face and anger in his eyes.

  “Madeline Watson? Where in hell have you been? You’ve kept us waiting for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes! Do you know how much that costs?” He stepped back and gave her a quick look from head to toe.

  “You’ve got me…”

  “Hair’s a little different but it’s still okay. At least you’re dressed and ready. That’s one good thing. Get your butt over here so we can get started.” He spun around and stomped off.

  Derica stood her ground, wondering why he had her confused with someone else, but angry that he hadn’t let her explain. It would serve him right if she just slipped away and didn’t tell him anything. In fact, she turned to do just that when she felt him beside her again.

  “Where are you going?” he practically bellowed. “We need you on this side of the stairway for lighting.”

  There wasn’t a sound at that end of the lobby, as though everyone waited to see her reaction to him.

  She drew herself to her full five foot ten inches and raised her head like the queen she’d felt herself to be earlier that evening. “I don’t know who y
ou think I am, but my name is not Madeline Watson.”

  The man closed his eyes and shook his head. “God spare me from temperamental actresses,” he moaned. He looked at her. “Okay, so what’s your name this week?” He waved his hands. “Never mind! We’ll straighten it out with the agency after the damn shoot.” His voice rose on the final words. “Now, come on.”

  Without the slightest attempt to listen to her protests, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her through the crowd that had surrounded them, to the other side of the lobby.

  “Wait, damn it!”

  Wrenching her arm from his hold, she stopped and glared at the man. He jammed his fists on his hips and glared back.

  “I’m not who you think I am. My name’s Derica Meadows, and I’m here for…”

  “Samantha! Get over here and touch her up, and bring a contact and release form,” he called over his shoulder. He looked at Derica again. “Look lady,” he started, weariness touching his voice, “I don’t know what your name is, I really don’t care what your name is, as long as we get it on the release form correctly. All I know is, you’re wearing the dress, so you have to be the one the agency sent us.” He thrust something into her hand then walked away.

  Derica looked at the cardboard drawing. The woman portrayed could have been her. Slender, long neck, and black hair pulled into an upsweep, although the style in the picture was different than hers. Actually, except for the hair style and color, the drawing looked like the girl at the dress shop. That girl … well, whatever her name was, it looked like her.

  But the dress. The dress was a duplicate of what she wore, down to the sequins hidden on the skirt. The logical side of her brain tried to analyze what this was about. The man had told her the dress was old and one of a kind—an original he himself had made. Obviously that wasn’t true. What was true was that the drawing had the same appeal, the same magical, almost mystical sense about it.

  “I’m so glad you finally got here,” a young woman said as she ran her hands over Derica’s hair, smoothing it and tucking in a few loose strands. “Ben has been beside himself.”

  Derica shrugged. “Look, I don’t know who everyone thinks I am, but I’m not the person you’re all waiting for.”

  The woman pursed her lips while she turned Derica’s head toward the light. She whipped an eyeliner out of an opened case and ran it efficiently under Derica’s eyes, then examined her work. With a satisfied nod, she took out a lip liner and worked on Derica’s lips.

  “You have to be the right person, don’t you see? This dress is a designer original, one of a kind, made just for this campaign.” With a finger of her free hand she tapped the drawing. “The dress is unique, you have on the dress, therefore you are the right person. Now purse your lips.”

  Derica did as she was ordered.

  “Don’t worry about Ben. That’s the guy who yelled. He’s just nervous because this is such a big account. And you are late. Okay, let me take another look.”

  Derica watched the woman stare at her face and then her body with a critical eye. She thrust a clipboard with a form on it into Derica’s hand. “Here, honey, sign this while I finish up.”

  “What campaign is this anyway?” Derica dutifully filled in the blanks and signed, all the while uncertain why she did it.

  The woman smoothed the waist of the dress and tugged the sleeves until they stood out from Derica’s arms in perfect puffs. “The Violet Passion campaign.” She frowned. “Jeez, something this big, you’d think the agency would tell you something. You know that romance novelist, Violet Sampson?”

  “No, I don’t read that stuff.”

  “Well, maybe you’ll start after you get your first check from the campaign. You’re beautiful and this is probably just the start for you.” Professional and thorough, she continued inspecting, fluffing, and pulling on the dress as she spoke. “Anyway, she’s a New York Times bestseller and she’s branched out into perfumes. And maybe other stuff, if this is successful. This shoot is for the book cover and the TV trailers, but Ben hopes to sell them on the perfume label, too.” She took the storyboard and gave Derica a nudge toward the stairs. “So get over there and break a leg!”

  Looking around once more for someone to whom she could explain her predicament, Derica glanced up to the third step. And held her breath.

  He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. The old saying is that clothes make the man. Well, this guy wore a tuxedo that fit perfectly, but she had no illusion that it was the clothes making this guy. He’d look great even without the tux. Maybe especially without the tux.

  People bustled around but all she saw was him, talking to another man standing one step below him. Hair as black as her own hung to the bottoms of his ears and touched his jaw, which was darkened with five o’clock shadow. She was too far away to see eye color, but she’d bet they were blue. Their intensity could be felt even though he wasn’t looking directly at her. He looked trim and fit. The diamond stud in his ear winked through raven-black hair as he moved his head in conversation.

  At that moment he looked up and met her eyes. She licked her lips.

  A smile barely brushed his mouth. He said a few more words to the man, but never took his eyes from her. When the other man left, he slowly descended to the bottom step. Then he crooked his finger, bidding her to come the rest of the way to him.

  And she did, as though she never had a choice.

  Derica held out her hand. He took it in his larger one. His skin was cool, unlike his eyes, which blazed with heat. She sucked in a breath, certain that if it were her last she could die happy now that he’d touched her. Of course, now that he’d touched her, dying was the last thing she wanted to do. He pulled her closer as he stepped to the floor.

  “My name is Kailen.” He gave her a thorough male appraisal. “So this is the famous gown.” He leaned to her ear. “The dress is beautiful, but you give it life.”

  Derica hardly knew what to say. She’d never been swept off her feet before, or so completely aroused by a simple touch or few words.

  “I’m afraid this is all a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here at all.” It was hard to speak over the pounding of her heart.

  A smile touched his lips and he gave the same answer to her protest she’d heard since arriving. “No? But I’m sure you are. You’re wearing the dress, after all.” He didn’t relinquish her hand. Instead, with a glance over her shoulder and a nod at someone behind her, he tucked it into the crook of his elbow and turned her to the stairway. “Time to earn our keep,” he said.

  The chubby guy with the beard stormed up to them. “Okay, Kailen you’ve studied the boards and know what to do, right?”

  Kailen nodded.

  “And you, What’s-Your-Name, the agency gave you the boards, right?”

  Derica held up her hand to stop him from saying anything else. “Enough. There’s been a mistake. I’m not the person you’re expecting. I’m simply here to attend a company party upstairs in the Rosemont Room. I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not a model.” There! She’d set him straight at last.

  He stared at her for a few moments. “So the agency didn’t get you the storyboards. That’s great.” He threw his hands into the air. “Of course! Why did I think this would be an easy shoot!”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I said…”

  Kailen stepped forward, holding his hands up at Derica and Ben. “Ben, it’s okay. Remember your blood pressure. I can show…” He looked at her questioningly.

  “Derica,” she supplied.

  “I can show Derica what to do. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

  With a glare at her and a look of resignation at Kailen, chubby Ben shook his head and walked away. “Get ready!” he yelled.

  Blowing a breath, Derica looked up into Kailen’s dark blue eyes. “Doesn’t anyone listen to anything I say? I’m not a model. I’m not supposed to be in this commercial, or whatever it is.”

  “Look, maybe you’re nervous or something. Is
this your first job? Just relax. We know you’re in the right place because you’re…”

  “Wearing the dress,” they said in unison.

  He smiled. “See? Now, you evidently didn’t get the plans, so I’ll tell you what to do. Go up about twenty steps and turn. When Ben calls ‘Action!’ you start down the steps, slowly, looking only at me.”

  No hardship there.

  “I’ll be coming up. When you’re on the step above me, just do what comes naturally. Then they’ll stop the camera and have us change positions. Don’t worry, don’t be nervous, but … we have to get this right. We only have the stairway for a certain length of time, and since you were late, we’re cutting it close.”

  Her eyes widened. Horror must have shown in them because he took her hand and raised it to his lips. “There’s no need to worry. You’re beautiful, the dress is beautiful. You walk down steps all the time, right?”

  “Right,” she murmured.

  “Anytime, people,” Ben called.

  “Go on. It’ll be fine.” Kailen gave her a nudge.

  There wasn’t anything to do but turn, lift the hem free of her feet, and march up the steps before the little guy, Ben, had a heart attack. She’d try to straighten the mess out later. Besides, as soon as the camera started, they’d know for sure they had the wrong person because she hadn’t a clue what to do. What would happen then, she didn’t want to know.

  “Fine, fine. Don’t go all the way to the top.” It was Ben yelling at her again. Her head began to ache. She wanted nothing more than to yell back at him, but something kept her from it.

  She turned, seeing the full picture for the first time. Below her were four cameras, all aimed at the stairway from various angles. Dozens of people milled about inside the roped off area, and many more lingered outside the rope, watching. Ben stood to the left of the stairs with a clear view of all action. She looked down at them and silence descended over the crowd, as though they waited to hear what proclamation she might make. All eyes were on her.