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“Into what?”
“I left a dress on your bed.”
“I know, I saw it. I chose to ignore it.”
She frowns. “Why?”
“Because I literally walk through the door, past the bouncer, and into the changing rooms. It’s silly.” What I don’t say is how awkward I’d feel being dressed upjustto walk past Don. I don’t want him thinking I got dressed up for his benefit. Ew. Can you imagine how embarrassing it would be when I already accused him of basically treating me like a prostitute?
Unsurprisingly, I lose that battle too, and within ten minutes, I’m wearing the slinky little black number Elle left out for me, with matching skyscraper heels.
“Okay, what’s the secret?” I demand, slipping my feet into the shoes and not immediately wincing. “Why do these death-traps feel like I’m wearing fuzzy slippers?”
Elle giggles. “Money. Obscene amounts of money. If you throw enough at the designer, they’ll make you whatever you want.”
“Well, Mr. Choo is missing out on a goldmine,” I tell her.
“Oh he is, is he?” she replies with a smirk.
“Yes. He should be making shoes like these for dancers and performers and sex workers. Lord knows they spend enough time on their feet to deserve something this comfortable.”
“I’m not sure he needs the money, but I’ll be sure to mention it to him on Christmas Day,” she says with a laugh that makes my jaw drop.
“TheJimmy Choo is going to be at your Christmas dinner?”
“With all the family? Yep. He’s my godfather. Didn’t I ever mention it?”
“You said Elton freaking John was your godfather.”
“I have, like, nine godfathers. And I think…fourteen godmothers. I never remember them all. And I guess it never came up before now.”
Whenever I start to feel normal around Elle, she’ll casually drop something like this into the conversation and remind me that we will never belong to the same world – even though I have a guest’s pass to hers.
I give her a tight smile. “Can I see the finished effect now?”
“Now that your attire does justice to my hard work, yes. Come to my room. The mirror’s full length and the lighting’s much better. That reminds me I need to book Peter to come and re-do this room. It’s so dated.”
I don’t ask who Peter is as I wordlessly follow Elle back to her palatial bedroom. I highly doubt he’s the painter and decorator who lives down the hallway and will give the room a quick splash of paint for a crate of beer and a blowjob.
Elle positions me in front of her bedroom mirror in the dark, and then flicks the lights on with a flourish. I’m momentarily blinded but then I take myself in. Elle’s done an amazing job. I look and feel amazing. She’s given me a light smokey eye and dark red lips and wrestled my curls into submission. With the figure-hugging dress and stilettos, I look almost unrecognisable.
“What do you think?” she asks, her voice bursting with excitement and pride.
“I look…amazing.”
“You look so freaking hot, you’ll start a riot at the bar.” I laugh at her enthusiasm. Elle is hands down the most loyal person I know. She’s convinced that I could walk into a room full of tens and be the only fifteen. I love her unwavering belief in me.
“I love you,” I quickly murmur, pulling her in for a quick hug. I don’t usually do big PDAs, but I try to pour a lifetime of gratitude into that. Embrace.
“Come on, don’t spoil your makeup, you sap,” she sniffs. If anyone’s in danger of crying, it’s her, not me. “Let’s get you to work on time before your boss decides to make a public example of you,” she jokes.
DASH
You’ve got to help me bro.
This is serious.
They’re not messing around.
