by Young, M. L.
I sat around for most of the day looking over my syllabi for my upcoming classes that the professors posted online, then perusing the textbooks and trying to fill my time. I was already going to have an assignment tomorrow night, the first day, which I thought was a little cruel on the professor’s part. Wasn’t there a law somewhere that you can’t give homework on the first day? It was supposed to be getting to know one another and going over the rules.
“You should start getting ready,” Nicolette said, as she peeked her head into my room.
“It’s only three,” I said.
“Yeah, but you need to shower, do your hair, do your makeup, and touch up your nails. I have a good polish that will work with the outfit you’re wearing. You also have to get dressed. It’s going to take a while,” she said.
I grabbed a fresh pair of panties and a bra before getting an older shirt and sweats that I’d wear up until I got into my dress. Our shower handle was hard to twist from the calcification that came with hard water buildup over who knows how long of a period of time. I twisted it, and a few flakes fell into the roaring stream of water that came from the faucet. One good thing about living in this apartment was that the water pressure was always incredibly high, like it was going to blast the skin off your body.
I stepped into the shower, feeling the rubberized pink flowers we had for grip, as the tub floor had nothing in terms of grip or support. Nicolette fell her first time in here, and I knew if I had gone first that day, I would’ve been the one on my ass.
I hummed to myself softly as the warm water cascaded down my body while it grabbed onto suds from my shampoo. We had a little window that looked at the back of the next building in the shower, but I never opened it because of how cold it was outside. The glass was frosty, but I still looked out of it, my nose filled with the scents of my coconut lemon conditioner I had just gotten a few weeks ago. It was so soothing, which was something I needed on a day like today.
I took about twenty minutes in the shower before turning off the water and drying off. My hair was so much more manageable now that it was shorter, and even though I was nervous at first, I was starting to actually like it—if not just for the convenience. I towel dried it a little and slipped into my clothes before opening the door and feeling the much cooler air of the apartment against the cloud of humidity I had built up inside the bathroom.
“Finally done?” Nicolette asked.
She walked in behind me and I sat down on the toilet lid as she opened her bags and pulled out all her hair products, which were bountiful and a bit overdone.
“What are you going to do with it?” I asked.
“I’m thinking something with very loose waves and curls. Kind of that beach look, but very classy. It will be very well put together,” she said.
“I trust you,” I said, before she grabbed a product and squirted it into her hands.
She ran it through my hair before grabbing another product and combing it through my hair while I kept my eyes closed. I heard her rinse off her hands before plugging in the blow dryer and turning it on. The warm air hit my face as I felt the waves from her jerking the dryer from left to right. I breathed in as she did, before her hands started to run through my hair, the tips of her fingers gently rolling along my scalp. That, mixed with the slight lavender smell of the products, made all the stress of tonight roll right off my body.
“Your hair sure is frizzy,” she said, right after turning off the blow dryer.
“I’m cursed, aren’t I?” I asked.
“No, but I think I’m going to lightly straighten it and then just add some loose curls in. With your hair type it will work better and will be less likely to get messed up,” she said.
“Sounds good,” I replied.
She heated up her flat iron, a hot pink one with cheetah spots on it, and started to section off my hair before straightening each chunk. She didn’t do it all the way, forgoing some of the areas, so it wouldn’t be stick-straight and would instead have some volume and texture.
She then plugged in her curling wand and sat on her phone while it heated up and the little light turned off. She took parts of my hair, just like she did with the flat iron, and wrapped them loosely around the wand for a few seconds before letting go and letting them fall forward. She only did the top layer, letting the bottom add more bulk so I didn’t look like Shirley Temple walking around with a super curly style.
She ran a little product through my hair again, and at this point I was beginning to wonder how much she could put in there before I just looked ridiculous. I was mostly a blow-dry-and-go type of girl, and I didn’t really bother with product in black bottles with gold lettering that’s extracted from the tears of crocodiles or whatever ridiculous thing she had now.
“Your hair is complete,” she said, after almost forty-five minutes seemed to have passed.
I got up, looked in the mirror, and liked what I saw. My hair was elegant, beachy, and fun without being juvenile. She did a good job.
“Now for the makeup. This will take a little bit longer,” she said.
“Why, cause I need a lot of it?” I asked jokingly.
“No, because I want to make sure it’s perfect,” she said, grabbing her makeup bag.
If there was one thing Nicolette was known for, it was makeup. She had loads of it, and always looked for samples and deals online so she could add to her collection. She claimed she wanted to be ready for any event or social situation, but I just thought she had an addiction and wanted to justify it somehow. She did get a lot of it for cheap, though, so at least she was thrifty about it.
She put cream after cream on me before dousing me with powders and colors and poking me with pencils and mascara wands. It felt like forever; my ass was starting to fall asleep from the hard toilet lid, and I was pretty sure I’d have a heart attack if she came near my eyes with one more pointy object.
“Done,” she finally said, what felt like an eternity later.
I got up, looked in the mirror, and was floored by what I saw. I might have been in an old T-shirt and sweats, but I looked hot. My makeup was tastefully done, enough to tell you I was wearing it, but not enough to look like Blake’s high-priced hooker. I couldn’t believe it took this long and this much makeup to look this natural.
“So, did I do good?” she asked.
“You did amazing,” I said, as I leaned in for a better look.
“We should get to your nails so they have enough time to dry and everything,” she said.
She pulled out a nude polish she said she just got the other day and was dying to try out. I had already stripped off the polish from my makeover the other day and was totally clean, which was a good thing I thought of doing it.
We sat on the couch and watched one of her taped shows, a murder mystery. She was obsessed with those—especially the ones about rich wives who murdered their husbands. It made me a little nervous sometimes.
She painted my nails and wanted to do my toes too, but I said no since my shoes were closed toe and it wouldn’t really matter. I’d never been too huge on fiddling with my feet.
Nicolette made me sit there with my hands flat on my thighs as they dried. I had her scratch my nose, which she was happy to do if it meant keeping my fingers pristine. After about an hour, and her approval that they were fully dry, I saw that it was almost six and I should start thinking about getting changed into my dress. I knew Blake would show up at seven on the dot, so I didn’t want to mess around and risk not being ready when he came. I knew that would only stress him out, and in turn, stress me out right before my first gala event.
The dress was black, fairly tight, though still very elegant. It went to about mid-thigh, a respectable length to me, and featured what Katie called a plunging neckline in the shape of a V, the straps a bit thicker.
I slipped on my shoes, shuffled all my important possessions into my clutch, and walked out of my room to a waiting Nicolette, who looked at me with her mouth wide open and her jaw a
bout to unhinge.
“Holy shit,” she said, crossing her arms.
“What?” I asked.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.
“What? Is it bad?” I asked, before looking in the mirror.
“Bad? Shut the hell up. You look hot as hell, Penny. If he doesn’t fuck you tonight I will,” she said.
I rolled my eyes with my mouth a little open before looking at the clock and seeing I had ten minutes until seven.
“No, seriously. You’re staying there tonight, right?” she asked.
“Yes, why?” I asked.
“Because you’re totally going to get laid. Shit, I wouldn’t be surprised if he took you into the bathroom at the gala and did you right there,” she said.
“I don’t think that will be happening anytime soon, but thank you for the kind words,” I said.
“I hope you two do have a fun time, though, in all seriousness. I know you’re probably still nervous, so remember to just smile and give a faint laugh if anybody says anything remotely funny. Nod a lot and maybe you can get out of there with a good impression while never actually saying anything. I did that at my last family reunion,” Nicolette said.
My phone buzzed and Blake said he and Gustav were a few minutes away and they’d be early. Nicolette gave me one of her jackets, which was a black, tight-fitting trench coat that stopped just below my hemline.
“Here,” she said, before running into the bathroom and coming back with something.
“What?” I asked, as she walked towards me, her arm extended.
“Lipstick, just in case you need a touch-up. You never know,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said, sticking it into my clutch.
“Well, have a fun time. Text me if anything wild goes on. You know I want to hear about it,” she said.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, before she opened the door for me.
I was careful to hold onto the railing tightly as I walked slowly down the slippery steps. I wasn’t used to wearing heels, especially ones this height, and I could see myself slipping and falling—especially when I had five flights to go down. I got to the lobby, where I waited for about thirty seconds before Blake and Gustav pulled up out front.
I walked outside and instead of Gustav coming out, Blake opened the door and exited the car, giving me a quick kiss and letting me in.
“You look incredible,” he said, as we sat in the back and he looked me up and down.
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I said, with a girlish smile.
“No seriously, Penny. You look…wow,” he said.
“That’s the first time you’ve called me Penny,” I said, as I looked into his eyes with a smile.
“Yeah, I guess it is. Maybe things are changing,” he said.
“Maybe,” I replied, before grabbing his hand and holding it.
Traffic at this time of night was always a little horrendous, especially on the weekends. It didn’t matter that it was Sunday and people had work and school in the morning. If anything, it made them come out in even larger droves so they could party it up before starting another five days of hell. Gustav navigated the traffic like a pro, before we pulled up to the gala event.
There were a few cars in front of us, and from what I saw peeking out of the window, there was a roped off red carpet. It had a backdrop with a bunch of logos on it, none of which I really knew, and camera bulbs were flashing left and right. It was almost as if the people being photographed were directly under stadium lights.
I felt a few butterflies in my stomach as a car in front of us drove away and we were one step closer to hitting the entrance and getting out together.
“So, am I in the pictures with you?” I asked nervously.
“Why wouldn’t you be?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Doesn’t that send a signal to people, like if it ends up in a magazine or on the Internet? I just don’t want to do anything wrong tonight,” I said.
“You couldn’t do anything wrong, Penny. I want you there with me. Just let me take the lead, we’ll take a few pictures, and then go inside and get some food,” Blake said.
“Okay,” I said, smiling, as I held his hand even tighter.
“It’s our turn,” Gustav said, as the car in front of him drove away.
Gustav pulled up, stopping right in front of the carpet, and a man next to the car opened the door for us like he did for all the other cars.
“Here we go,” Blake said.
Still holding my hand, he got out of the car, then stood in front of the door and helped me out. Every single photographer started to call Blake’s name, and he politely waved at them as we walked to the center of the carpet. We both stood there smiling, me more so than Blake, as I continued to hold his hand like a lost child.
“Can we get one of just you, Blake?” a photographer yelled.
“I’d prefer not to leave my date. Sorry, fellas,” Blake replied, before waving again and taking me with him.
“You didn’t have to do that. I don’t mind if you get a picture alone,” I said as we walked down the carpet.
“I came here with you, not alone. If any pictures are taken, I want you in them,” he said.
“Okay,” I replied, smiling, as I gripped his hand a little tighter.
“May I take your jackets?” a man right inside the building asked.
“Yes, please,” I said, untying the waistband of my jacket and slipping it off.
“You look stunning,” Blake said.
My cheeks warmed up a little as I felt myself blushing. I handed my jacket to the man and Blake did the same. He handed us our tickets and I slipped mine into my clutch for safekeeping.
“Blake Hunter, you sneaky bastard. Where have you been hiding?” an older man asked as he came up to us.
He had a white beard and white hair that was parted on the side and slicked. His face was a little red, and he held champagne in his hand. His wife, or who I was assuming was his wife, looked around his age and walked beside him with a fur shawl around her shoulders, wearing a red dress that went past her knees.
“Burt, how are you?” Blake asked with a smile.
“You know, Helen, I met this guy when he was first starting out. He was a real keeper—still is,” Burt said to his wife.
“He sure is a handsome man,” Helen said.
“Hey, don’t get any ideas,” Burt said, pointing at her with a smile.
“Oh, Burt, I don’t think I could. I don’t think I could keep up with her,” Blake said, nudging him a little.
Burt laughed so hard he choked before taking a sip of his champagne to calm himself down. I stood there awkwardly, as neither one of them even gave me any attention. I wasn’t sure if I liked it or if I wanted some kind of acknowledgement.
“Who’s the pretty gal with you tonight, Blake?” Burt asked.
“This is Penelope. Penelope, this is Burt and Helen. Burt is the head of an investment firm I first used when I was starting out. He saw the potential in the company and me when nobody else did. I owe this old man a lot,” Blake said.
“Hey, who are you calling old?” Burt asked.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Penelope. You look lovely,” Helen said, shaking my hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. I hope this isn’t our last encounter,” I said, smiling.
“How long have you two been seeing one another?” Burt asked.
“Long enough to know she’s a great girl,” Blake said.
“Champagne, sir?” a busboy asked, as he came up with a tray of champagne flutes.
“Yes, please,” Blake said, grabbing two and handing one to me.
I took a sip, and as I felt the bubbles tingle against my tongue somebody caught Burt’s attention and he and Helen ran over to say hello. Blake looked around the room, sizing everyone up, like he was trying to avoid someone.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“I just want to avoid a couple people toni
ght, if possible. I’m not positive they’ll be here, though,” he said.
“Oh? Like who?” I asked.
“Just some guys who tried to do a shady business deal with us. I think they’re still a little sour that we found out about their plans, and I just don’t want some kind of unnecessary confrontation—especially in front of all these people. It wouldn’t be very professional,” he said.
“You said something about food earlier, right?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah, how did I forget? I guess I got caught up with Burt and Helen. I think they have some hors d’oeuvres in the next room. Would you like to go get some?” Blake asked.
“If it’s okay,” I said.
“Of course,” he said, grabbing my hand and holding it as we walked.
A few people looked at us as we walked, and I couldn’t have been happier. He had been sweet with me lately, and hinted towards something more than just what we were, but I wasn’t expecting this kind of treatment in public. In private, sure, because it was just us, but everyone here could see us. You wouldn’t hold hands with just a random date, so by doing this he was effectively showing everyone here, all these powerful people that I wasn’t just some random chick who came with him. I was important—at least to him.
There was a long table laid out with dozens of silver trays and even some warmers that were covered up. A few workers were behind the tables to man the stations and serve the hungry guests. Blake and I walked down the rows, grabbing a few things that looked good, though I didn’t take too much because I didn’t want to eat anything too salty and look bloated in my dress.
There were large round tables set up with pristine white tablecloths and chairs all over the room. We walked up to an empty one and sat down before starting to eat our snacks. I had taken a few deviled eggs that had bacon and some green garnish on them. The bacon was the perfect crispiness and almost seemed as if they had spent days perfecting the right cooking temperature and time so it wouldn’t be soggy or burnt.
Blake had a couple mini-sandwiches and some cake rolls that were filled with a warm, gooey frosting inside. He gave me one and I thought I was being whisked away to paradise once the sugar hit my taste buds. Was this how the rich and powerful lived? If so, I might want to live like them if it meant this kind of stuff daily.