by Carla Blake
The woman smiled sympathetically. “I’m Maggie by the way. I take it this is your first time?”
“Yeah.”Isobel replied, remembering to introduce herself as Rita. “And it’s going to be my last as well.”
Maggie laughed. “Heard that before, but they keep on comin’ back. Must be the lure of all this glitter and sparkle.”
Isobel ripped open a packet of crisps. “So what happens after the break?”She asked. “Please don’t tell me it’s more of the same?”
“Oh, no. We’re done with all that. We stay in here now until it’s time to get changed. Then I’m afraid it’ll be all hands on deck again.”
“Great.”Isobel muttered, picturing herself in her waitress uniform and shivering.. “Do we get anything else to put on though? It’s freezing out in that tent.”
Maggie waved a hand at her. “Don’t worry about that!”She said. “By the time the party gets going, they’ll be hundreds of those little fan heater things dotted around all over the place. By the end of the evening, you’ll be roasting!”
Isobel smiled, thinking the steam she had in mind had nothing to do with little heaters.
Letting herself into the monitor room, Carrie slung her arms around Andrea’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head.
Andrea smiled at her. “Finally found the use of your legs again have you?”She teased, turning from the screens to nuzzle against her.
“Hmm, no thanks to you. You are an extremely bad girl, Andrea Stone.”
“I know, I’m hellish, but what are you doing down here? I thought you’d be closeted away upstairs, putting your face on.”
“What now? No! It’s far too early. I’ve got another three hours to kill before I even think about changing.”
“That’s what I mean! Shouldn’t you have the cement mixer going by now?”
Carrie swung at her. “Flamin’ cheek!”She said. “It doesn’t take me that long to get ready.”
“Yeah? Not according to Carmichael. He says you went upstairs to get changed one evening and didn’t come down for five hours!”
Carrie tutted. “Five hours! It was more like two and the reason I didn’t rush back downstairs to his Lordship was because I slipped in the bathroom and twisted my ankle and it took him two hours to come up and see what was wrong! Anyway, the reason I’m here is to see if there’s anything I can do, seeing as how no one else wants me. The caterers have chased me out of the marquee, Brian’s got his lot under control and Claude practically had a heart attack when I offered to give his lot a hand. Something about my ‘ delicate hands not being put to such common labour’.”
Andrea laughed. “That guy is a riot! I don’t know how you manage to keep a straight face. But if you’re looking for something to do then you’re looking in the wrong place. I haven’t actually got that much to do myself, though I did catch a guy hanging around outside earlier, trying to get a peek in through the windows.”
“What? Who was he? Paparazzi?”
“Probably. Apparently he got past security by pretending to be with Brian’s mob. Not something that overly impressess me after the big speech Brian gave. If you want my advice, babe, you’ll use a different firm next year and preferably someone I choose. Brian might be good, but he’s clearly not that good.”
“You’re telling me! But what about today? Do you think they’ll be good enough for today?”
“Good? They’ll be flamin’ brilliant after that little scare.”
“You think? God, I could do without that worry.”
“Then don’t worry, everything will be fine.”
“Okay, I’ll try. But what about everyone else? What are they up to?”
“Claude’s still knee deep in decorations, as you know and Carmichael is flappin’ around somewhere.. Oh, I know. He’s waiting for the band to turn up.”
“And Amanda? She still in the kitchen?”
“Yeap, otherwise she’d be in here, moaning about her kitchen being overrun by men in tall, white hats.”
Carrie gaped. “Chefs? We have chefs? I thought the food was being brought in ready prepared?”
“It is!.. Stop worrying! I was only joking...”
“Then, for God’s sake, don’t! I’m nervous enough already without that and what if everyone uses this party to have a go at me? I couldn’t stand that!”
Andrea pulled her close. “They won’t babe. The time for all that has been and gone and if anyone says anything now it’s just gonna sounds like sour grapes. Don’t worry. You’re safe. You have me to protect you.”
Slipping the bolt across the bathroom door, Carmichael turned to face the pretty, young waitress and smiled. Her name was Veronica, and for the best part of the afternoon she had been actively pursuing him. Not something he usually encouraged and on any other day he probably would have contented himself with flirting with her for a while before gently letting her down. But today he felt frustrated and horny, the result of having watched Carrie and Andrea screw, and he really, truly, desperately needed someone with whom he could let off a little steam and Veronica was there.
Yet, after only five minutes in her company, Carmichael discovered it wasn’t enough. Veronica was certainly lovely and she truly had tits to die for, but as she writhed and moaned beneath him and thrust those beautiful, full breasts into his face, it was Carrie he was thinking of and Carrie’s face that flooded his mind as he quickly came and hastily withdraw from her, feeling guilty and ashamed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
By six o’clock, a strange hush had fallen over the house.
Two pristine tunnels, one stretching from the gate to the house, the other from the house to the marquee, stood gently billowing in the breeze, while inside the marquee, decorated with dozens of sliver and white garlands and a silver Christmas tree, the tables, covered with a pristine, white tablecloth and laid out with places for six, held a delicate arrangement of either holly and candles or pine cones and candles, adding much needed colour to the white.
Overhead a plethora of twinkling stars attached to the canopy represented the constellations, whilst both inside and out, sweeping drifts of Claude’s favourite - artificial ‘snow’- lined the perimeter.
The orchestral players, resplendent in brilliant white tuxedos, were seated at one end. Their instruments tuned to perfection despite the trouble they’d had concentrating whilst Claude flounced and shouted in front of them, convinced that the stress was about to kill him.
A myriad of pin prick lights infused the tunnel stretching from the gate to the house and leading the way to the ‘parking areas’ situated at the sides and rear of the property, Angelic ice sculptures mounted on refrigerated blocks stood in silent prayer, their feet inches deep in even more artificial snow, which sprayed to assimilate undulating waves, gave the illusion that only moments before, a huge blizzard had swept through the area.
Carrie couldn’t have been happier and feeling like a child let loose in a Winter Wonderland, she wanted to laugh and giggle and sweep up huge amounts of ‘snow’to throw at everyone.
But Carmichael had already started to gather everyone together so that Carrie could waltz in and say a big ‘thank you’ to all those who had, or were about to, work very hard and she didn’t have the time, which was a shame, because she absolutely hated what she was about to do now.
It was so demeaning for a start, making everyone line up as if for inspection, and even though she really did want to say thank you and express her deepest gratitude for all they had done, Carmichael forcing her to swan in and grace the ‘little people’ with her presence, was not the way to do it. She wanted to say her ‘thank you’s’ individually and personally.
But Carmichael had just roared with laughter when she’d suggested it and asked her how she thought she was going to get round to everyone in time? The party would be over by the time she’d finished shaking hands. No, it was far
better to do things his way and get it all done in one, fell swoop.
Providing they got paid, people didn’t care how she said thanks.
But Carrie still thought it was rude and with the tunnel billowing and flapping around her, she held tight to Andrea’s hand.
Hearing the sound of piped Christmas carols playing softly in the background and smelling the air heavy with the smell of pine trees and tinsel, as nearing the closed entrance to the marquee, two footmen, magnificent in red tunics and white breeches, stepped forward to hold the curtain aside.
This was the moment Isobel had been waiting for and all at once nothing else seemed to matter. Not her aching feet. Not the rough collar of her shirt. Not her aching arms. Just her. Gliding into the room. Smiling. As beautiful as she remembered.
She wanted to grab her. Hold her. Gather her up in her arms and cover her with kisses. But she couldn’t! She daren’t! She had to wait and be patient and remain calm and not draw attention to herself. The hours would soon pass and then, when the party was over, she would be hers.
Her speech over with, Carrie stood blushing and feeling stupid whilst the assembled ‘staff’ clapped and whistled, and then cheered when she announced even more free food and alcoholic drinks was available for everyone at the back of the house.
Someone called for three cheers, and the hip-hips resounded around the marquee, making her blush still harder and wish the ground would open up before she thought to remind them again about the free booze and to her relief, they finally began to drift away. Even then one or two looked as if they wanted to engage her in conversation and quickly making her excuses, she grabbed Andrea and made a run for it, promising herself that next year she would not be going through this again.
Watching their retreating backs, Carmichael sighed heavily and wished more than anything that he could swap places with Andrea.
It was, he realised, the utter hoplessness of knowing he could never be with Carrie that saddened him the most. Before, he’d always thought he might be in with a chance. A slender chance, admittedly, but still a chance. But now she’d ‘come out’, there wasn’t even the faintest hope. His dream was over. Or should have been, except he still couldn’t quite let go of the idea that women were fickle creatures by nature and as a result changed their minds a lot. He’d even heard that gay women quite often slept with men. Just for a bit of variety.
But even if Carrie did beg him to fuck her, would he still go through with it? Would he? After watching her screw Andrea and seeing how beautiful and sensual they were together, would he still have the guts to get in there and try to compete?
Somehow he didn’t think so.
Ten minutes to eight.
The first guests were due to arrive at any moment and the whole house waited in fairly quiet anticipation.
In the distance, June could be heard demanding to know why there were only two waitresses in the dining hall and standing at the foot of the stairs, dressed rather stiffly in a dinner jacket and bow tie, Brian Holding quietly issued last minute instructions to one of his team.
“No one is to go up there.”He said evenly. “And I mean no one. Aside from the the lady of the house of course. Got that?”
The hired muscle nodded and standing with his hands neatly folded in front of him, looked ready to explode out of a suit stretched far too tight across his huge chest and massive shoulders.
Brian felt confident no one would get past him.
“How do I look?”
“Ravishing.”Andrea said, watching Carrie twirl in front of her.
Her dress was stunning. Cut from midnight blue satin, and entwined with dozens of tiny, silver stars, the skirt fell in luxurious folds to the floor, while the bodice, held in place with spaghetti straps, hugged itself to the contours of Carrie’s body.
“Babe.”Andrea added. “You look absolutely gorgeous! If we didn’t have a party to attend, I’d have you right now.”
“And I’d let you. Is it really okay?”
“It’s better than okay. It’s wonderful! Those poor saps downstairs won’t know what’s hit them. And, before you ask, no, your bum most definitely does not look big in it!”
Carrie laughed. “You know me too well. But might I say that you, my darling, look equally as edible.”
Andrea glanced down at herself, pleased, for once, that she felt she could agree. This slinky, little black number she was wearing didn’t look bad at all. It showed off her curves nicely and the slits at the side provided plenty of room for manoeuvre- should she need it.
Next to Carrie though she might as well have been wearing a bin liner and they had joked about that earlier. Carrie stating that they might as well both be wearing bin liners for all the attention anyone would be paying to their dresses. The ‘gawp brigade’, as she called them, would be out in force tonight, and all they would want to see was Carrie Shilling together with her lady lover. What they were wearing would hardly be noticed.
Andrea had agreed with her but inside she had withered, afraid that no one would like her and that she would be forced to endure an evening full of bitchy remarks and smutty innuendos.
A fear that Carrie had immediately stamped on. Insisting that of course they would like her and so what if they stared? They weren’t going to see anything but the pair of them playing the perfect hostesses.
“You still worried?”Carrie asked now, as if reading her thoughts. “There’s no need to be. They’re pretty harmless really and I’ll be with you.”
Andrea smiled wanly.”And there’s me thinking I’m supposed to be the one protecting you! I’m okay babe. I love you.”
“And I love you. Now come here and let me smudge your lipstick.”
Slipping into the kitchen to fetch yet another tray laden with hors d’oevures, Isobel spotted a vacant chair and gratefully flopped into it.
Kicking off her shoes she rubbed at her aching feet and winced when sharp arrows of pain shot all the way up her calves and into her thighs.
Waitressing, she decided, was nothing short of torture! To think people actually did this for a living! They must be bloody mad!
At least the party was exciting. Everyone who was anyone was here and it was difficult not to just stand and stare whenever someone like Brad Pitt or Harrison Ford walked by. But, awesome as it was to actually see them in the flesh - and boy, Elizabeth Hurley really was lush! - she really only had eyes for one person. A single lady that she had been studiously keeping in her sights all evening.
If only she could have followed her all night, life would have been so sweet, but she other things to worry about. Like how to get past the hired lump that stood at the bottom of the stairs? She’d been watching him for a while now and the guy hadn’t moved. He’d just stood there. Impenetrable. Solid as a rock. Causing her to wonder if he wasn’t just one of those fake, wooden, guards put there in place of a real person?
To find out for certain, she’d accidentally on purpose brushed against him, getting nothing for her trouble but a barely raised eyebrow, which if nothing else, did prove that he was living and breahting.
Which left just the problem of how to slip round him without being noticed? There had to be a way. She had come too far and done too much to have her plans fall apart at the first hurdle.
Behind her, the kitchen door banged open and Maggie, busily tucking in the bottom of her blouse, swept in. Seeing Isobel, she tutted and pulled a disgusted face.
“Some of them think, just ‘cos they’re famous, they can get away with bloody liberties!”She grumbled. “You wanna watch some of ‘em, you do.”
“I’ll bear it it mind.”Isobel said easing her feet back into her shoes. “But if any of them try anything funny with me I’m going straight to the papers.”
“Might work for some of them.”Maggie agreed, reaching for another tray. “But I doubt Jack Nicholson will be too bothered.”
“Dunno. There’s so many of ‘em out there, it’s hard to tell. I’m just saying watch your back. And what’s with you, sitting down on the job? If June catches you here there’ll be hell to pay!”
“In that case I hope she takes plastic. It’s been worth it just to rest my bloody feet! I can’t remember the last time they hurt so much!”
Maggie nodded sympathetically. “I know, but you’ll get used to it. You just have to grit your teeth and keep going. And I’ve got the lounge. Again! It don’t seen fair. I swear that June does it on purpose. She knows how flamin’ busy it gets in there. Still, never mind. Keep thinking of the money is what I say and maybe you’ll get lucky and some Hollywood hunk will grab your bum and give you the chance to make a fortune!”
With throbbing feet and aching arms, Isobel continued to weave her way through the assembled guests, offering nibbles and drinks as she roamed from room to room, her eyes constantly on the look out for a certain lady. Occasionally she would check the situation at the bottom of the stairs, unsure whether to feel encouraged or dismayed that the same guy was still stationed there.
Did he never rest? Or need to use the bathroom? What did he have under that jacket - a colostomy bag?
But surely, she mused, he had to be relieved at some stage, although, knowing her luck someone of equal girth was bound to replace him and she’d simply be back to square one. Therefore, the only solution had to be to choose an approach he couldn’t possibly afford to ignore and one that, hopefully, would have him scuttling from his post.
“I feel like I’m on display.”
“I know.”Carrie said, keeping her smile carefully fixed in place. “But we knew they were going to be curious and you’re doing fine. Just keep smiling and follow me.”
“Okay, but where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”Carrie winked and expertly side stepping a bunch of photographers, eager to catch her every nuance, plus a middle aged celebrity reknowned for getting outrageously drunk, she surreptitiously led Andrea through the lounge and into her study, where she locked the door behind them.