“Yes. Do whatever you can.”
“I’m going to need nipple tapes here,” another stylist said. “Just to be on the safe side.”
“Let me see,” Jenna turned the model from side to side. “Make sure to match her skin exactly.”
The sheer fabric panel was a little too close, but then again this was a substitute model, and she had no time to adjust.
The photographers were clamoring to get dressing room shots, and hair stylists and makeup artists crowded around each model, primping and touching up.
Jenna was sweating bullets, and she hadn’t put on her outfit yet, a strapless metallic dress with ruffles running down the center that shimmered and curved like the flowing fins and tails of a Siamese fighting fish. It ended above the knee and curved up the back with an overlapping slit.
The fashion magazine editors and reporters were already running amok, laptops and tablets in hand, scratching out notes and live blogging.
“Jenna, a word with you?” Quint, her fashion magazine editor friend, elbowed his way toward her.
“Later, I have to get dressed and start the show in twenty minutes.”
He gave her a hug and kissed her, too close to her lips. “I’m sure to give you an awesome review. I’m amazed at the designs. You’ve got bombshell and avant-garde down.”
Quint was always like this when he thought he’d be gracing her bed. She’d worry about him later.
“I’m sure you will,” she replied. “Don’t wait for me after the show. I have charity work to do.”
“You mean the bachelor auction?” He grinned. “Don’t tell me you’re bidding.”
“No, not bidding, but I have to dress up the bachelors.” She air-kissed him. “Can’t wait to see your write up.”
“I always show you the first draft early.” He wiggled his eyebrows and ran his eyes up and down her figure. “Better go get dressed. Can’t wait to write about your first solo show. I’m so proud of you, even if this is a charity show.”
“I’m proud of myself for pulling all this together.” Jenna waved him off. The thing about fashion people? Always playing head games with each other. Most everyone from editors, designers, buyers, photographers, bloggers, talent artists, and models hated everyone else, but were forced to sit and work in close proximity—all scrabbling for recognition and success.
Jenna turned toward her dressing area. A blast of hairspray caught her, and she barely avoided tripping over a step stool. Perfumes, nail polish, the scent of mustard from the finger foods and veggie wraps and cigarette smoke was almost too much to stomach.
She was starving, dizzy, dehydrated and sweating.
“There you are,” her model wrangler, Ana, rushed toward her and spoke in a headset. “Jenna’s here in Area 3. Get her set up.”
A team of stylists and beauty specialists descended on Jenna. They stripped her and wiggled the shimmering metallic dress over her head. She was dabbed with concealer, her hair was curled and teased, and makeup was applied to her face at the same time. Forget private dressing rooms and modesty. The areas were separated by thin curtains and racks of clothes and gowns.
People flitted in and out. Every hand and eye had the aim of showing the dress, making the skin and face beautify, styling hair. It wasn’t uncommon to see models being shampooed behind the curtains to take out sprayed on color before being styled for the next round.
A fashion show literally took only ten to fifteen minutes, despite the months of designing and preparation, and hours of beauty primping and getting the decked-out celebrity stars seated and in order. Once it started, it simply flowed to the end—no interruptions.
Adrenaline pumped through Jenna’s veins as she readied herself. Her feet were shoved into silver strapped stilettos, and her handler placed her at the end of the line of models.
Upbeat electronic music pumped outside and the lights were dimmed, except for the elevated runway. This helped the models walking up and down the catwalk from falling off the raised platform.
“The firemen are here,” Ana shouted. “You, number one, go with him. Number two, get ready.”
She checked off each model and one by one they departed the backstage area, escorted by a hunky fireman wearing a black tie tux.
“Where’s my dog?” Jenna asked. “I’m supposed to carry a dog. That’s my signature.”
“Your firefighter has him.” Ana pushed her toward the stage entrance.
Truly, the walk up and down the catwalk took barely any time. There was no speech or long-winded welcome. Once the models started walking it was one after the other. Nothing but walking. The only difference in this show was the presence of a firefighter, who’d escort the model halfway down the catwalk and wait for her as she turned around at the end and walked back.
That was it. Jenna had no time to worry and wonder what anyone thought about her designs. She couldn’t be distracted by photographers and flashes, or all the pandemonium backstage. As any model knew, all she had to do was focus on walking up and down the catwalk without falling. That was it. One foot in front of the other with a practiced, casual walk, not too stiff and not too loose. Just walk.
She was next. And there was Larry with Harley. He was so big and handsome, she almost lost her breath. She blew him a kiss and he grinned, handing her Harley’s leash.
Together they strolled from backstage onto the brightly lit runway. She walked easily to the halfway point where Larry let her go on her own. Since she was the designer, people applauded and cheered her on.
Casually, she put one foot in front of the other and led Harley down to the end of the catwalk. Someone must have trained the basset hound, because he wasn’t pulling on the leash, but he was slower than she would have liked.
A spotlight shone on her as she stopped at the end of the runway. She accepted the accolades of the guests, waved and picked up Harley.
Behind her, all the models walked out by themselves, one by one and lined up on the catwalk. This was her moment of glory. The show had gone off without a hitch. All that remained was the bachelor auction and the Valentine’s dinner and charity ball in two days.
“Woof. Woof. Waaarooh.” Harley lifted his head and barked before gracing her with a wet, slobbery kiss.
As the last model turned and walked back to the curtained area, Jenna also did a one-eighty. She put Harley down and strolled back as Larry met her halfway.
The show was over and hopefully it had been a success. That depended on the all-important write-ups by the fashion rags, as well as the photographs which were being blogged and put up on social media.
She took Larry’s arm and squeezed it, then together, they walked off the runway and into the backstage area. As soon as she bumped into Connor, she handed Harley to him. “He’ll help you win the highest bid.”
“Sure, no one can resist a man with a puppy.” Connor winked at her and headed toward the curtain to wait his turn at the bachelor auction.
* * *
Once they were backstage, Larry tucked Jenna into a big, bear hug. “You were great. They loved you. You should have seen the cheers.”
“I couldn’t have done this without you.” She hugged him back, kissing him. “You guys have to get back out there for the bachelor auction now.”
“I don’t really want to be in it, unless you’re going to bid.” He pressed another kiss on her lips. “The only woman I want a date with is you.”
“I’m not giving away my plan,” she winked at him.
“How do I look?” He wiped his hand through his hair and straightened the lapels of his tux. His heart pounded with anxiety, not because he wouldn’t be able to get a date, but it would hurt if he got no bids and didn’t raise any money for the charity.
“You’re the most handsome man out there.” Jenna tipped her toes and kissed him again. “I don’t want to let you go either, but you’re going to rock it out of the park.”
“I hope so.” Larry wiped dog fur off his black jacket. “It’s exciting all th
e same.”
The handler tapped his shoulder. “You’re last since you guys are appearing in the same order you walked.”
“Great, that gives me more time with you.” Larry held onto Jenna. “You look like a goddess in that dress.”
“I hope it photographed well.”
“I’m sure it did. Your friend was all over you, jumping up and down to take pictures. Does this mean you can eat now that you’re done with the show?” He beamed at her, hopefully. She still had a raincheck to taste his lasagna and cannelloni, and he’d made a run to Little Italy to buy supplies, including a bottle of Chianti.
“Not for another two days.” She pouted. “Valentine’s Day benefit dinner and ball’s on Sunday. That outfit’s even trickier to pull off. No room for a single fat cell.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll look awesome. I still think you need to eat. How about some gelato after this?”
“We have the after-party. I’ll be sure to nibble something.” Jenna smiled and tickled his cheek. “You worry too much.”
A photographer stuck his camera lens at them and snapped a few pictures, all without asking for permission. Another man approached Jenna. He had a notepad in his hand and he narrowed his eyes at Larry.
“Jenna, care to give me an exclusive interview?” the man horned in on them, acting as if Larry were a piece of furniture. “What was the theme of this show?”
Jenna gave Larry an apologetic smile and moved with the man to a more quiet corner. Larry told himself it was all part of her job. She needed a good write-up in the fashion rags. Her business was all about publicity and popularity, but something about the way the man had acted like he owned Jenna rubbed Larry the wrong way.
He kept his eyes on them, but before long, the handler tapped his shoulder. “You’re next.”
Larry’s heart sank. Not only would Jenna not be bidding for him, but she wouldn’t even see who he was auctioned off to. Maybe she didn’t care about him as much as he cared for her. She liked him, that was one thing. But she also liked Harley, too.
Maybe it was for the better. No one would bid for him anyway. He was the last one, after all. The filler for the show. He’d go out there and be a good sport. Grin and bear it. After all, it was to help the widows of firefighters who had given the ultimate sacrifice. Who was he to feel sorry for himself when they had given their all?
Larry ran the gauntlet of his former firefighting buddies who slapped his shoulder as he walked by, wishing him luck.
“You got a date?” Larry asked Connor who had gone first.
“Yep. Raised five thousand dollars. Highest bid of the evening,” Connor bragged with Harley in his arms. “Who could resist this puppy. You want to hold him for luck?”
“Sure, thanks.” Larry took the puppy and hugged him. “I’ve missed you. Hope you’re happy at the firehouse.”
Little Harley licked him all over his scarred face. Larry had resisted the makeup artist who had touched up all the firefighters before going on the runway for the fashion show. The man had offered to put a thick scar concealing cream on his face before he appeared on stage with Jenna. He looked around for the makeup artist, but it was too late now. Time to go.
Drums rolled on the soundtrack and the announcer said, “Our last bachelor is a hero. Larry Davison was not only a model firefighter, but one who almost lost his life saving five children from a house fire. He was burnt over fifty percent of his body. Please welcome, former firefighter of Station 22, the one and only, Big Larry D.”
Larry walked out onto the catwalk. Spotlights were trained on him, and he felt exposed, every inch of his scarred face in full view. There were probably TV cameras on him too, zooming in for a closer look. Lights shone all around him and there were no shadows to hide his bad side.
The announcer asked him to turn around full circle at the end of the runway, and he complied, keeping his posture straight and tall. This is for Jenna. To make her show successful.
“Bidding starts at one-hundred dollars,” the announcer said. “Do I have a starting bid?”
A young woman, one of the models raised her hand. “A hundred over here.”
“Great. We have one hundred, anyone for two?”
Quickly, a voice from the back shouted out. “Two.”
The model raised her bid, and another voice upped it.
The bidding ping-ponged back and forth between the slim blond model and various female voices through the auditorium.
Larry breathed with relief. At least he wasn’t going down without raising any money. Harley wiggled in his arms, wanting to be let down, but Larry held onto him tighter. He probably needed to go potty.
The young model raised her bid to two-thousand dollars. Larry couldn’t help gawking at her. He’d heard models didn’t make much, especially the no-name ones that Jenna could afford. Did this young lady have a rich backer? She seemed determined to have him, topping each bid immediately without thought.
“Two thousand dollars,” the announcer said. “Do I hear a three? Three thousand takes this hero home.”
Silence. Larry swallowed and waited. This was still under Connor’s five thousand, but a good chunk of change. He heard some of the other guys getting in the range between two to four thousand, so he wasn’t the lowest.
“Three thousand here.” It was Jenna. She stood straight and tall as she marched from the curtain and waved at him.
Larry couldn’t help the smile that swept his face. So, she’d managed to finish her interview in time to bid. Her three thousand should do the trick. No one would want to outbid the designer herself.
“Four thousand,” the model quickly retorted.
“Five,” Jenna said, raising her hand as she walked toward the model who was standing in front of a row of photographers. Meanwhile all other voices had hushed and no one threw in another bid.
“Six thousand,” the model raised her hand.
“Seven,” Jenna said, two steps away from the model.
“Eight,” the model said, then shrugged at Jenna, both palms out.
Jenna made a motion with her hand and then shouted, “Eight thousand five hundred.”
“Nine thousand?” the model said as she cast her head about looking for backup. “Are you sure?”
“Is there going to be a fight for this fine fellow?” the announcer said, picking up on the two women’s back and forth. “I’ll take the young lady’s bid for nine thousand.”
“No, take mine.” Jenna glared at the thin model, one hand on her hip. “Ten thousand dollars.”
“Wow,” the announcer said. “Our designer herself wants this firefighter with the big heart. Do we have a winner here? How about you, young lady? Want to go higher?”
The model shrugged and shook her head. There was a murmur in the crowd, but no other bids, as Jenna stalked down the catwalk and hooked her hand around Larry’s arm, taking possession.
“Ten thousand bucks! The highest bid for a date with one of our city’s finest firefighters,” the announcer crowed. “Going once. Twice. Sold, to our fashion designer, the lady with the heart, Jenna Hart.”
Jenna looped her arms around Larry and threw herself at him, kissing him and squeezing Harley between them.
Larry’s heart felt full to bursting as he kissed Jenna back. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of, a real go-getter who didn’t hesitate to execute on her plans. Not only that, she was hot and she liked him. What a bonus.
A cheer rang from the crowd and the show was over. Harley struggled and whined, squirming between them. Yep. He definitely had to go potty.
Larry broke the kiss and whispered in Jenna’s ear as they walked off the catwalk. “Harley has to go potty, so I’ll meet up with you?”
“After-party’s in the gallery. They’re going to hang all the gowns on mannequins.” She squeezed his hand. “Oh, Larry, I’m so excited. I saw buyers from London, Paris, and Shanghai in the front row. I have to freshen up and go schmooze now.”
“Sure, catc
h you later. This little one has to go.” Larry rushed backstage, grabbed Harley’s leash and ran out the side door. This day was just about as perfect as it could get. He’d raised big money for the charity, and Jenna wasn’t the only one who bid on him. Otherwise he would have felt like the kid entering a walk-a-thon whose only donation was his foster mother.
He hadn’t struck out, and for this evening at least, he was again a firefighter for Station 22, accompanying the firehouse puppy and dating the fire chief’s sister.
This was as good as it was going to get.
Chapter Fifteen
Jenna rushed through the dressing room, checking the mannequins her assistants were dressing. She adjusted the fit of the clothing, added the planned accessories, and along with Ana, her model wrangler, she double-checked the descriptions to be displayed with the mannequins.
The photographers were everywhere, catching behind-the-scenes shots of the frenzy before the cocktail party. So were the editors of the fashion rags. They caught up with models, asked them questions, and hounded anyone they could talk to. Others were outside gathering reactions from the celebrity crowd.
Jenna arranged a red flamenco-styled gown with drop shoulders and floor-length red-and-black asymmetrical ruffles at the hem on a mannequin, pinning a piece of lace that had slipped loose.
One of her interns, Carmen, a design student held up the flared skirts. “That pop singer, Aleen Dee wants to buy this one. I heard it on the floor. She wants to wear it to the ball.”
“That’s awesome. This is one of my favorites.”
“Mine too. Those 3-D effects you did at the neckline and around the waist are one of a kind.”
Carmen always kissed up to her, but it was still good to hear. Jenna smiled to herself. If she could sell some of the gowns outright, she might be able to pay the ten thousand she bid for Larry.
“Hope she gives you good money. How are you going to pay for the fireman?” The intern quirked an eyebrow, apparently echoing her thoughts.
“I have no clue,” Jenna admitted, in case Carmen thought she had actual money to pay her, too. The interns worked for free and Jenna had had to borrow money to pay for unexpected expenses. Her boss had given her a budget, but that hadn’t included top photographers like Gustave and the champagne and caviar for the A-list celebrities who’d get private showings before the after-party.
Valentine Hound Dog Page 9