* * *
After work that evening, I brave through LA traffic and arrive on Rodeo Drive just in time. I’ve lived in LA for years, but have never actually been here. Of course, I never told Lila that. She would have a fit and insist that we go there right away. Even though every single store here sells pants that cost as much as we pay for rent. Luckily, there’s street parking in front of Charlotte’s – a boutique where Dolly told me to meet her. Dolly is standing outside the boutique with a cup of Starbucks coffee, watching me parallel park. My parallel parking is not the most embarrassing thing about this moment, though. It’s really the fact that I can’t open the driver’s door and have to get out through the front passenger door. Luckily, I wore skinny jeans and nothing gets caught on anything.
“You didn’t have to wait for me outside,” I say.
“I wasn’t going to, I was just finishing my coffee,” Dolly says giving me a brief hug.
Even though she’s at least twenty-five years older than I am, I feel older than she looks. I’m haggard and tired from a long and stressful day at work, and she looks refreshed and well-rested. She’s wearing a pair of to-die-for Louboutins with the red soles, and a tight black pant suit. Again, all of her assets are on full display, starting with her hair down to her five-carat diamond ring. I don’t actually know how many carats that diamond ring is – I don’t know anything about jewelry – but it looks big. I’ve never seen anything that big on a person, but I know it’s not a fake. Even as evening falls, it sparkles with full intensity.
“Sorry, my car is still in the shop,” I say apologizing for the shitty Honda. It is in stark contrast with every other car on this street. On this street, BMWs and Mercedes look like they belong to middle-class people.
“Oh, don’t apologize honey. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re here to spend money and, as long as that’s the case, no one is going to look twice at you.”
I hear what she’s saying, but I don’t exactly believe her.
“Dolly, I was thinking,” I say, taking her aside before she could open the door. “Maybe this isn’t a very good idea. This guy you’re setting me up with, he has money. He expects to be with a woman who knows how to spend money. I’m not that girl. As much as I love fashion, this isn’t the place for me. I can’t afford a single thing in there.”
“Oh don’t be silly, Chloe. The last thing this man, or any man wants, is a woman who knows how to spend money. And you don’t have to pay for a single thing. This is an expense of running my business.”
I’m still hesitant, but I stop protesting so much. It’s getting embarrassing. I follow her inside the boutique.
“We will need to look at your evening dresses,” Dolly announces. “She has a very important black-tie event this Saturday and she needs to look stunning.”
Two women run over to us and show us to the evening dress section in the back. They offer us drinks and coffee, and Dolly takes a glass of champagne. She picks out three dresses and sends me inside the spacious changing room. Everyone waits outside. I slip on the first dress. Light blue, full-length. It’s made of airy, breathable chiffon and it flows along with me as I move. When I walk outside, Dolly smiles with her whole body.
“Gorgeous,” she says.
I nod. It’s actually breathless. I feel like a princess in it.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“Do you love it?”
I twirl around in the mirror. The dress has thin straps and holds my breasts in just the right way. I’m not very well endowed, but from the way the cups are, you’d never know.
“Yes,” I say decidedly.
“Perfect, we’ll take it,” she says, finishing her glass of champagne and taking out her wallet.
“What? But I have two other ones to try on.”
“Chloe, I live my life by a certain philosophy. If you find something that you love, you grab it and hold on to it. You don’t go around comparing it to what other people have. Those kind of comparisons can only lead to trouble. That’s my philosophy in love and in life. And especially in clothes. If you tell me that you love the dress, and I see how happy you look wearing it, then what’s the point of comparing it to something else?”
I never thought about that before, but changing back into my jeans and blouse, I realize that Dolly is right. Comparisons only make you feel shitty about what you already have. In fact, I even read this article not long ago, which said when people are presented with a large variety of choices of a certain product, they are often overwhelmed and end up less happy than if they were just presented with a few choices. Dolly is perfectly right. Wow, I can’t believe I never got this before.
I wait as Dolly pays for the dress ($750!) and the woman packs it up for us.
“And what I said before is especially true about men,” Dolly says. “Once you find the one, don’t waste your time comparing him to anyone else. There is no one else like him, and you won’t find out if he’s the right one for you by turning outward. The only way you’ll know that is by going deep inside yourself.”
“So, how do you feel about this whole thing?” Dolly asks, handing me the garment bag outside the boutique.
“I feel okay, I guess. I’d feel better if I knew who this person was. Or anything about him. What does he do for a living?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that,” she says with a shrug.
“Why?”
“Because it will affect the quality of the date.”
“Why? Is he famous or something? Are you afraid I’m going to Google him beforehand?”
“No, he’s not famous. Still, that has happened in the past on a few occasions. But that’s not why.”
“So why?” I ask impatiently.
“Because he doesn’t know anything about you, and it would be unfair for me to tell you anything about him. I want this to be as…organic as possible.”
I toss my hair from one shoulder to another while opening the passenger side of my car with the key.
“There’s nothing organic about this whole thing,” I say. I catch her staring at my key. “Hey, you might laugh about this thing now, but in the future. This car is going to be a relic. There aren’t many around that you still have to open by sticking the key into the lock,” I say jokingly.
“Be at the Beverly Hilton Hotel by 7 p.m. on Saturday,” she tells me as I slide over to the driver’s side.
“How am I supposed to know who he is?” I ask.
“I’ll think of something. He’ll find you. Do you have shoes that go with this dress?”
“Yeah, either I do or my sister does. I think I have some beige or black stilettos that will go well with it.”
“Perfect. Have a great date! I’ll text you the details.”
I drive away with the garment bag and the most expensive dress I’ve ever held in my hands in the seat next to me. Everything about the exchange today should’ve felt off. It should’ve felt strange and uncomfortable. And many parts were, but something also felt sort of right. It’s hard to explain, but I feel like I’m supposed to be there at this gala. Even though the last time I went to a black tie event, it was prom!
Just as I find the perfect parking spot, only a street away from my apartment building, my phone rings. It must be Dolly. Same area code and the first few numbers look familiar.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hi.” His voice comes in crystal clear, sending shivers down my back. No, this can’t be him. Right?
“Chloe? Are you there?” he asks.
“Who is this?” I ask. My voice cracks in the middle. I cough a little to hide that fact.
“Finn. Finn Dalton.”
So, it is him.
“Hi. How did you get this number?”
“From Martha. I told her that I need to talk to you about something. I hope that’s okay.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. What would Finn Dalton have to talk to me about?
“I was actually calling about the dry cleaning. You said
that you were going to get my stuff dry cleaned—“
“Oh my God. Yes, of course!” I interrupt him, talking way too fast. “I’m so, so sorry. I forgot the clothes back at work.”
“Oh…okay.”
“Is this an emergency? Is it okay if I get it to you in a day or two?”
“Yes, that’s fine. Perfectly fine,” he says. But I don’t believe him. There’s hesitation in his voice. He isn’t happy.
Someone honks at me. I suddenly realize that I’m sitting in the middle of the street, and I have not parked yet.
“Hold on a second,” I say and put him on speaker phone. I maneuver the car poorly into the parking spot and nearly side swipe the one next to me.
“Shit,” I say out loud.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m just in the car. Parallel parking. I’m not very good at it.”
“Oh, no worries. I just heard someone honking.”
“Yeah, there’s like four cars behind me and they aren’t too happy with how awful I am.”
I finally put the car into park and pick up the phone.
“So, is it okay if I get your car to the dry cleaner tomorrow? Or should I go back for it tonight.”
“My car?”
“I mean, your clothes.” I’m talking way too fast now. It’s like my mouth is working independently from my mind. How is that even possible?
“Oh yes, of course. I was just checking. And honestly, you don’t have to do it at all. I can get my assistant to do it.”
“Your assistant?” I ask before I get a chance to catch myself. Of course, he has an assistant. He’s a movie star. Big time movie star. What’s wrong with you Chloe?
“Yes, my assistant. She usually does that kind of thing for me.”
“Oh okay, got it. But that’s not necessary. I said I’ll do it, and I will. During lunch tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he says quietly. Suddenly, there’s a long pause. Neither of us says anything. I know that he’s just looking for a way to hang up without being too rude. But for some reason, I can’t come up with anything.
“So…what are you doing tonight?” he asks. I nearly drop my phone.
“Tonight? Um, nothing really,” I say. “Oh wait, what time is it?”
“Almost eight.”
“No, I take that back. I actually have work. My real job. It’s not too far from where I live but I can’t be late.”
“You have another job?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’m a waitress at Fat Dog on Fairfax. It’s like a bar/pub place.”
“Oh, I think I know where it is. You work there?”
“Yep,” I say.
“Well, I’ll have to stop by sometime and see you in action.”
“Okay then,” I whisper. Did this really happen? Is Finn Dalton really going to come see me wait tables? No, he’s just being nice. He has to be. Right?
“Are you working this weekend?” he asks.
“Yes. I mean, no,” I say, trying to climb out of the car holding the phone, the garment bag and my purse. I don’t have much time and I need to get home, drop all this stuff, change, get my apron and walk to work.
“What?”
“Um, I’m supposed to, but I’m doing something else Saturday night. So I have to call off.”
Why is he asking me all of these questions? And a better question is why the hell am I telling him all of this?
“Oh, hot date?” he asks flirtatiously.
“Actually, yes. I guess,” I say. “Listen, I can’t talk now. I’m really running late. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. Don’t work too hard,” Finn says and hangs up. For a second, I listen to the silence that his voice left behind. It feels like he’s still there, but he’s not. And I’m really late.
Chapter 14 - Finn
I hang up the phone. I didn’t really call her about the dry cleaning. I just couldn’t think of a better reason to call. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t come up with some smart thing to say to sweep her off her feet. The thing that sticks out in my mind now is her date Saturday night. Who is this guy? What if she really likes him?
Two days later, Chloe returns my clothes. Dry cleaned and in perfect condition. We hardly speak at all. Every time I stop by her trailer to talk about my costumes, there’s someone there.
“There’s no one else working in the costume department besides Chloe,” I casually mention to Martha one afternoon. “Maybe she needs some help.”
“Oh, do you not think she’s coping well with the stresses of the job?” Martha looks at me with a concerned look on her face. That is not what I mean. Shit.
“No, not at all. Chloe’s great. I just see how busy she is with everyone.”
“Oh, I see,” she nods. “Unfortunately, we just don’t have any money to spare in the budget for an assistant.”
That is pretty much the end of the conversation. I want to offer them some money, but I don’t really have a good excuse. I can’t very well come out and tell the director that I want her to hire Chloe an assistant because she doesn’t have enough time to flirt and bullshit around with me. Agh! I wasn’t always such a spaz. There was a time, not long ago, when I was really good with girls. Really good at making up stories to get them to do what I want. But something is different about Chloe.
For the rest of the week, Chloe and my interactions are perfunctory. There’s no better way of putting it. She does her job, I listen. I make a few jokes, she laughs, but it never goes further than that, until Friday afternoon. Things are a little looser on set, and I feel that the moment is right to ask her about her date. Poke fun a little, even.
“So, you have hot date tomorrow, eh?” I ask.
“Yeah, something like that,” she says looking up from adjusting a tie around my neck. I’m wearing a well-fitted suit in the next scene. I pretend that I don’t know how to tie a tie to have her hands around my neck. The warmth that she puts out is intoxicating.
“So…who is he? C’mon, tell me the details,” I say with a smile. Our eyes meet for a second, but then she pulls away.
“I don’t know very much about him,” she says. She’s about to explain a little bit more, but then Martha bursts into the trailer.
“I’m sorry to cut this short, but we’re having a little bit of an emergency,” she says calling us both to set.
There isn’t really an emergency. Leslie is having a fit about her marriage. She had a little bit too much to drink. I calm her down as best I can and, after a few cups of coffee, we actually shoot the scene. Unfortunately, with all the commotion, the conversation between Chloe and me is interrupted and irrecoverable. I guess I’ll have to wait until Monday to get the details about her date.
* * *
I have my own date to worry about. Saturday night sneaks up on me before I know it. Luckily, my suit gets dropped off earlier in the day and is all ready for me, hanging in the closet. My housekeeper is the best. I start to get ready around five, and I’m ready by 5:30 or so. The hotel isn’t that long of a drive from my place. I arrive just on time. After valeting my car, I walk through the lobby, toward the bar at the far end of the entrance. The place is filled with anxious guests and gorgeously-dressed women. I won’t lie. Despite the various beautiful girls who smile and wave at me, I feel a little bored. I’m not really in the mood to make conversation with some girl who I’m sure I won’t have any interest in. My mind remains transfixed on Chloe. I wonder what she’s wearing. I wonder who she’s going out with. I wonder where they’re going. And I want more than anything to be that guy. Unfortunately, I’m not. I’m this guy – someone who can’t hide anywhere from anyone. Someone who is recognized almost everywhere he goes. Someone who has to be polite at all times, otherwise he gets a reputation as being unkind to fans. A stuck up. An arrogant celebrity.
I put on my best fake smile and order a drink.
“Scotch on the rocks,” I tell the bartender. When he sees me, I can tell right away that he recognizes me, bu
t his manners are too good to say a word. I appreciate people like this the most. I take a sip of my scotch, and enjoy its delightful warmth as it runs down my throat.
I look around the room, in search for the girl who Dolly described in last night’s text. She has long light brown hair, and she’ll be wearing a blue gown. She’ll wait for me at the bar. I hate the fact that I don’t know this girl’s name. Why didn’t Dolly tell me? Apparently, because she couldn’t tell the girl mine. The bar sits in the middle of the room, and wraps around. I can’t see about half of the people who are on the other side. I take another sip before getting up and making my way to the other side.
As I come around the corner, I see someone who fits the description. She’s facing away from me. She isn’t as tall as a model, but she has a nice figure. Her hair is swept to one side, exposing a delicate and elegant neck.
“Excuse me, miss,” I say coming close to her. “I believe I’m here to meet you.”
The girl turns around, and my mouth drops open.
“Finn?” she asks. It’s Chloe. I’m stunned.
“What are you doing here, Finn?” she asks. By the expression on her face, she is clearly not understanding the extent of what’s going on.
“I think I’m your date,” I say slowly. Each word has to be pushed out with force.
“What?”
“Unless this is some sort of huge coincidence.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks.
“You look beautiful,” I say quietly. More like mesmerizing. I can’t take my eyes away from her. Her skin has a gorgeous glow. Her large eyes glisten in the darkened room. And those lips. Small, not too plump, but nevertheless breathtaking.
“Thank you,” she blushes. “Finn, I’m actually here to meet my date.”
Auctioned to Him 7: The Contract Page 69