by Freda, Paula
The Girl in Blue Velvet
Who Fell From the Stars
by Paula Freda
© June 23, 2014 by Dorothy P. Freda (Pseudonym - Paula Freda)
Smashwords Edition
Bookcover photos and interior photos Licensed
by Dorothy Paula Freda from iStockphoto
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof. This is a work of fiction; names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Dedication
With thanks to my Dear Lord Jesus and his Blessed Mother Mary whose strength, guidance, and her Holy Rosary, are my anchor in this troubled world, I dedicate this book to my husband, Domenick, whose love, patience and kindness over the past 44 years have kept my dreams and view of the romantic alive and vibrant.
The Girl in Blue Velvet
Who Fell
From The Stars
by Paula Freda
Prologue
The room was dark, the blinds shut and curtains drawn to keep out the dawn's light, so as not to interrupt Ben's much needed rest. The loud thump, closer to a crash, shook his bed and rattled the dozen spaceship models on the upper shelf of his bookcase opposite his bed. His body jerked awake. His gasp slurred through lips dry from a night's sleep. "What the—"
Silence. Ben groaned. He must have been dreaming. He peered drowsily at his wrist watch. It was 5 a.m. He yawned drowsily, pulled the covers tighter about him and went back to sleep, missing the bright colors seeping from behind the edges of the drawn curtains.
CHAPTER ONE
The girl in blue velvet
who fell from the stars
to earth,
in my backyard, among the mimosas,
with a blue rose for an anklet
and a smile and a wink....
Ben adjusted the angle of his drawing table to accommodate his lean torso and long legs. He had overslept this morning, and his new assignment was due by noon — a sketch of a beautiful woman draped in blue velvet. He'd mulled over the project since its assignment two weeks ago. The fashion magazine that employed him, located in the heart of Billings, Montana, considered him an innovative artist. It was not his job to design the original garment; he simply created sketches in color with suggested backgrounds that the lens man might choose when photographing the woman or man modeling the garment.
Up until this morning, his mind had struggled with a creative block with regard to this particular assignment. The ideas that did come to him felt timeworn. They'd all been done before. The park background, the ocean front background, the skyscraper background, and so on. True, he admitted, as the old adage went, there is no such thing as an original idea. Somewhere, sometime, it's been thought of and done, except perhaps for the thinker's creative style unique unto him or herself.
He did like the design of the dress — a simple dark blue velvet sheath with a matching long flowing shawl attached to one shoulder. The shawl could be thrown over the shoulders as a cape, or angled around the waist, and attached to the side with a Velcro hook, so as to turn the dress into a full length gown.
The garment begged for an exotic and evocative background. They say ideas often come during slumber. Early this morning his subconscious had finally offered an acceptable solution — an alien background. Now the problem was to create an out-of-the-ordinary unearthly one on which to draw the model and the dress.
Ben closed his eyes and willed himself to relax in order for his mind to re-visit again the dream, luckily a vivid one. He was not in the least psychic, or had any paranormal ability, except perhaps for a penchant to notice and expound on details.
The first thing he remembered was the girl. She was what he considered beautiful. Definitely not thin as a rail. Curves well formed and distributed in a medium frame. He would have to draw her taller to accommodate the models that the fashion magazine employed. The girl in his dream had lovely dark blue eyes and long, silky, honey ash blonde hair, attractive, at least to him. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. He tried to imagine what his editor would think. In truth, Ben thought, it did not matter if the editor liked the girl in the sketch. Besides the fact that she only existed in his thoughts, an employed fashion model would wear the dress for the shoot.
He recalled more details of his dream. The sky and the terrain. Yes, he nodded, alien. The colors in the morning sky reminded him of the Aurora Borealis. In the distance, loomed the upper part of a large green and brown planet with two small suns and several moons. The terrain was sandy gravel, mottled with the reflection from the undulating colors above.
Ben imagined himself on this strange world and realized that he was standing on one of the moons. The air was a bit thin, but surprisingly breathable.
He tried to see further into his dream, amazed at how real it had felt. He recalled seeing buildings and towers in the distance, not one shaped the same as the other, but none ostentatious. Rather, pleasant to view.
Dots and dashes flew above the buildings. Ben squinted to see better. Air ships traversed the sky above the buildings. His head was starting to hurt. Enough, he thought, returning to the girl. The sheen of the blue velvet garment seemed to undulate along with the colors from above.
Ben shook his head to clear it. He'd best stop forcing his mind before the strain turned into a full-blown headache.
He applied himself to sketching what he'd remembered. He drew the girl last, with her hair and the shawl blowing behind her. When he was finished, he sat back in his chair, studying the sketch, a puzzled look on his face.
His wrist watch signaled half past eleven. He stood up, rolled up the sketch and fitted it into a cardboard tube, shrugged into his tan leather blazer, then headed for the door.
It was the middle of June and a warm, clear day. Outside behind the two story garden apartment complex, a small crowd of resident's had formed. One of the favored mimosa bushes lay flattened, white petals scattered everywhere. Ben took a quick look. No doubt the work of some prankster. But he was late. He continued to the open air parking lot toward his car. In a hurry to meet his deadline, his eye for detail failed to notice the girl in a gray t-shirt and jeans, standing in a corner of the lot, watching him. The half-smile on her lips was sure to have intrigued him.
CHAPTER TWO
Ben's editor accepted the sketch with kudos. Lester Edwards liked Ben Jameson's work. The only thing he would like better for his fashion magazine "East Meets West" was if he could find models that were as beautiful as the women in Ben's sketches. Or at least the expressions on their faces, like the one on the face of the girl in his most recent sketch. Hers was the best yet. The department would settle for one of their loveliest models to showcase the dress in the pages of the magazine, but they would share his opinion that it was just that, settling.
Not for the first time, he asked, "Where did you find this one?"
The same answer. "I didn't. I just made her up."
Lester Edwards regarded him thoughtfully. "Ben, what do you have against the models in our Fashion Department? You rarely use them in your sketches."
Ben responded, "They are all beautiful. Just didn't feel right for this dress, or for the background I imagined." He added politely, "I'll be happy to re-sketch around one of the magazine's models."
"No, no," Lester shook his head, resigned. This sketch is too fine to redo. But I tell you what," he said, a corner of his mouth lifting, "how about you visit some modeling agencies and see if you can find someone who resembles this girl in blue velvet?"
"Me?" Ben asked, startled. What do I know about mode
ling? Any girl can wear this dress—"
"I beg to differ," Lester interrupted. "Maybe any model worth her ability can walk down a fashion aisle, but not in our magazine. You know we pride ourselves on creating images and backgrounds that attract and impress, and will bring readers back. And," he added, his expression beaming with enthusiasm, "attract new ones. That's why," he demanded, "I want you to find the face who fits your sketch and can model the dress beyond all expectations, against the background you've created."
Ben's mouth tightened and his brow furrowed.
Lester noted Ben's discomfort. He asked, "So how does it feel being on the other end of the quest?"
"Quite a challenge," Ben replied. But truthfully, how hard could it prove? Somewhere there had to be a model who resembled the one in his sketch.
Lester continued, "I'll give you a letter of introduction. The agencies will be more than happy to let you browse through their database."
Ben nodded. "You're the boss. I'll do my darndest."
"Good," Lester said. He buzzed his secretary over the intercom and instructed her to promptly prepare a letter of introduction for Ben.
An hour later, Ben left the office and began his tour of modeling agencies in a fifty mile radius. By the time he returned to the parking lot of his apartment complex that evening, his head pounded and his eyes were bloodshot from all the photos he'd looked at. And all he could remember was that they were all lovely and slender, but none stood out enough to make him take a second look. After a while, the faces blurred.
Ben parked his car and sat behind the wheel for a few moments, rubbing his eyes and his forehead. Sighing deeply, he opened his car door and stepped out. He tapped the lock button on the remote on his key chain, and began walking toward his unit.
From the corner of a tired eye, he spotted a figure standing on one side of the parking lot. It wasn't the figure itself that made him pause, turn and look, but the feeling that the figure was watching him. At this distance, he couldn't tell if it was male or female. He honestly was too tired to bother finding out. About to turn back toward his apartment, he noticed the figure beginning to move towards him. A paranoid thought ran through his mind. Was he about to be mugged? But that thought gave way to curiosity as the figure drew closer and he saw that it was a young woman in a gray t-shirt and jeans.
By the time she stood at arms length, he couldn't take his eyes off her face. Her eyes were dark blue and her long hair tied in a pony tail was honey ash blonde. She greeted him with the quaintest smile and a suave "hello."
The words escaped his mouth before he could reflect. "You wouldn't perchance have done modeling?" Ben asked. Oh my God, he thought grimacing. That sounded like a pick-up line, or worse, a predator's pick up line."
The girl raised her chin and met his gaze head on. "Yeah, I might have," she replied lazily, a playful tease in her voice.
Ben thought suspiciously. Maybe she was the predator.
"Do I know you?" he asked.
"No, not likely."
Ben asked, "What's your name?"
The girl tilted her head, her expression saying, let me think. "Oh, of course. My name is Jessica — Jessica Simmons. At least that's as near a translation as I can give you."
Ben peered closer at her. Her features and her accent were American, though not Montanan, more northeast coast. New York. He had attended college in upstate New York on a scholarship.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
"Oh, it's pretty far up. You wouldn't know the place."
"Northeast?" he pressed.
Again she thought before answering. She glanced upward. "Yeah, Northeast. Definitely Northeast."
She wasn't very forthcoming, Ben thought. But why should she be, he reasoned. It was clear to him now that they had never met before.
He had to ask, "Was there something you wanted from me?" After all, she had approached him.
"No," she replied. "You asked me — if I'd done modeling."
"Yes, but..." Ben ran a nervous hand through his hair.
She remarked, "It's brown, dark, rich, like the soil here."
"Yeah," he laughed. He'd never heard his hair described that way.
"Listen," he said. "I'm sincere about the modeling. I have my card here." He dug into the inside pocket of his blazer. "I work for a top notch fashion magazine. The name is on the card. Certainly if I was in your place, I wouldn't trust a stranger. Take the time to investigate. The magazine has been around for years, and is well known in fashion circles."
The girl examined the card, front and back. She sniffed it. "Paper, nice, shiny."
Ben swallowed. He hoped she was not an escapee from a mental institution. Or perhaps, he allowed, she was simple-minded. In either case, he must be crazy to be having this conversation with her. But the girl fit his sketch, even without makeup. And after viewing hundreds of photos of beautiful women, none of them had come anywhere close to fitting his sketch like this girl.
"Jessica, my boss' name is Lester Edwards. You can verify everything I've told you before you come to the office, as well you should."
She smiled at him, warmly. "I'll be there," she promised, her voice earnest. "You go and rest now. You look exhausted."
Ben watched, befuddled, as she turned and retraced her steps, and disappeared around a bend in the parking lot.
CHAPTER THREE
Next morning, when Ben entered his boss's office to inform Lester of his good fortune in locating a model that resembled the girl in his sketch to a tee, he froze, mouth gaping. Jessica stood at the side of his boss' desk. His eyes opened wide and he stared dumbfounded at the girl in blue velvet.
Lester's chuckle broke his startled silence. "Nice work, Ben. Miss Simmons arrived about an hour ago, and explained."
"What do you think?" Lester said, flourishing a hand in her direction. "She knows the designer, and since the dress is already in the stores, she let her borrow one to wear for a photo to include in our database.
"Oh, I-I didn't know she knew the designer," Ben stammered, still reeling from the shock of seeing the woman in his sketch come to life."
"Yes," Lester continued. "Apparently, the woman is an old friend of Miss Simmons." He glanced at Jessica, "you were schoolmates, you said?"
Jessica nodded. "Yes, old friends for many years."
Ben couldn't help but notice the nostalgic tone of her answer to his boss. "How old are you?" he asked. He doubted she'd passed her twenty-first year.
Jessica gazed into his eyes in that manner she had yesterday in the parking lot. He willed his body to forget how beautiful she was, and reminded himself he had no business being sexually attracted to her. When she replied, he had the weirdest sensation that she knew what he was thinking.
Jessica glanced from one man to the other. "Ah, I'd say in human years, twenty-one. Yes, close enough, twenty-one."
Lester chuckled. "Human years?"
Jessica smiled. Ben felt his knees grow weak.
"Well," she added, "I like to be as specific as possible."
Ben thought, the girl is crazy, but there was no denying her effect on him. Even on his editor who simply laughed off her explanation.
To deflect his mind away from the attraction overcoming his reason, he asked Lester, "What about my background sketch?"
"Jeffrey is painting the matte for the backdrop using your drawing. Brian will do the initial shoot against a green screen. I want you to come up with a few more alien backdrops. Jessica asked if she might discuss them with you. She has some interesting ideas of her own that I'd like you to listen to, and consider using them." He added with a weighty pause, "... over lunch."
"Jessica, sweets, leave the dress with my secretary. She'll make sure no other model wears it until we're done with your sessions." He waved his hand in dismissal. "Now go on, you two. I have plenty more pages to worry about before the cut-off date."
Jessica's smile to Lester was benevolent, the kind of smile one bestows on a parent.
"S
hall we go," Ben asked, extending his arm to escort her.
On the way out from the editorial department, Lester's secretary, Fiona, returned Jessica's clothing. Ben sat down on the black leather couch and waited while Jessica changed inside the ladies room back into her t-shirt and jeans. When she re-entered the department, and handed the dress to Fiona, the two women exchanged pleasantries that gave him the impression, they were definitely renewing a long-time friendship. Of course, Ben thought, making friends with Jessica was easy. Her personality was pleasant, despite the girl might have a few loose turnkeys in her head.
Her simple attire prompted him to treat her to lunch at a fast food restaurant. On line, she hung behind him.
"What would you like?" he asked.
She hesitated replying, as she had done several times since he'd met her. She seemed nervous.
He urged, "Whatever you like. I'm treating."
She scanned the menu boards hanging high on the wall behind the main counter. Finally, she said, "You order for me. I'm not a meat eater, but if there's nothing else..."
"There's plenty of vegetarian meals. How about a soybean burger ... or a salad with cheese and fruit?"
She nodded eagerly. "Yes, those sound great. I'm actually famished. Haven't eaten since yesterday morning."
Her words shocked him. The girl must be broke. That must account for her simple attire. He wondered if she even had a place to stay.
"Not to worry," he told her. "I'll order you both, and a milk shake as well. What's your favorite flavor?"
"Something dark and sweet?"
Not for the first time, he eyed her curiously. Dark and sweet, he pondered. "Chocolate?"
Her eyes widened with pleasure. "Yes, yes, I tasted that once. I liked it very much."