Hey my loyal and probably weary readers, I want to thank you for your support and beg you to forgive my sporadically written posts. This is my new story based on Style Savvy. Any brand names and Style Savvy don't belong to me even though I wish they did. Along with my Harvest Moon fanfic, I will be writing these chapters randomly when I have time and I will not be grammatically correct all the time because these stories are my creative outlets and it becomes less fun writing when hunting for grammatical errors. I know this is not an excuse but I'm almost done being a junior in high school and hopefully be done with my SATs; this means that I can focus on writing more hopefully. I again, I humbly thank all of my readers and hope that you will all give me some helpful reviews.
Okay, I'm in control of this little situation. Not this snooty Valley girl with her shiny Cartier watch and glossy black hair. Oh God, I really shouldn't come to work today; I should have said that my aunt died, I mean Tooth Decay Derry doesn't know how many aunts I have. Oh joy, now she's calling him over although how she manages this while screeching like a banshee is beyond me. All the while, her boyfriend just sits there so still like a statue contemplating suicide. Well I have five seconds to come up with an excuse because what Tooth Decay Derry lacks in dental hygiene he makes up for in speed. Except, that electric blue Burberry coat is too gorgeous for words! Even at this moment, my eyes still catch a glimpse of the sartorial beauty. Can I help not being pulled in by its sumptuous cherry red lining and the detail in the quilted fabric? It's been in Nuances for Pete's sake! But, now, that beautiful coat is soiled by the cappuccino I spilled on it, accidentally, and it's banshee of an owner.
"Derry! I demand to know why you hired this idiot and why she spilled cappuccino all over my five-hundred dollar Calvin Klein dress and my new Burberry coat!" The banshee pokes Derry in his chest forcefully, which startles him.
"Oh darling Sasha, I am so sorry!" Furious, Derry wheels around and bowls me over with his eggy breath. "Corrine, what is the meaning of this? Miss de Bonne is a valued patron and I hoped you would have treated her as such! Sasha, dear, what can I do for you? Would you like for me to send everything to dry cleaning?"
"No, I'm an adult. I can do that by myself. What I want is to return to this restaurant free of her!" Pouting her plump lips, Sasha's rail-thin arm points dramatically towards me.
"What! It was only an accident and I offered to have it cleaned! There really is no need to be so drastic Mr. Derry. Please, I need this job. I have no other options." Since I'm going to be fired, I have nothing to lose which is why I'm begging on my knees. Despite the fact that Miss de Bonne (what does "de Bonne" mean anyway, consumer of bon bons?) is smirking, I can't care because I need this job. Badly. Half of the people in this restuarnt feel bad for me while the other half thinks that I should be lit on fire; so I have a fifty/fifty chance. Mr. Derry gives me a pitying stare and for a moment I feel hope. Until he opened his mouth.
"You're fired."
The instant the word "fired" hit me, the room and everything else fell into slow motion. All I can hear is Derry's voice sluggishly telling me, "My decision is final, Miss Flynn. You can call Maggie to send you your last check but right now I want you out of this restaurant right now!"
My lips trembled as I pick myself up from Tooth Decay Derry's feet and defiantly I say, "Fine, I'm leaving. But the next time I call this dinky little restaurant it will be to make a reservation!"
Without a word more, I turn on my heels and push through the front door in the smoothest manner I can manage. Humph I don't need him or that crappy restaurant that charges twenty dollars for a can of Chef Boyardee. Oh wait, I duck my head in the door for one last time to say, "By the way, Miss Sasha, that cream sauce you enjoyed so much on your salmon wasn't cream sauce at all. Do the math."
Brilliant, I manage to get myself fired from my fifth job this year. I'm contemplating on what jobs I haven't failed this year and consider being a mall elf, however, I'm so close to breaking out; all I need is more money and time. My collection is almost completed it's just missing that special something and a few days ago I discovered what it was. So, a few days ago I visited my favorite fabric store, Spire, (only for fun because it's perfectly fine to window shop) to find the loveliest fabric in the world. It's pale champagne pink that shines in the light as you move the silky fabric with small blue butterflies dotted all over it. It's perfect except that it costs twenty-four dollars per yard of fabric and I need quite a bit. You see that last missing something was a knee-length kimono styled dress. The inspiration for my collection was a Far East meets party girl look, which I think is a great. However, most buyers I met up with don't share my vision and find it too grand, telling me to put it on the back burner and make something safe like prom dresses (only in hell, ruled by orange orangutans that call themselves Jersey girls, will I even dare).
My cell phone rings and brings me out of my self-pitying stupor. The caller id says Myra and I feel tempted to turn off my phone. Myra is my adopted sister from South Korea, younger to be exact, who is a successful interior designer heading the famous Malaise design firm. The instant she moved to New York, Myra and I became roomies which meant we would split the rent half-and-half. This was a great arrangement until she became famous, got more money, and moved into an expensive modern penthouse. For the first few months I did fine by myself until I got fired from my first job and dropped out of law school, which meant that my parents would excommunicate me and cut off my monthly allowance, and eventually, Myra, who got wind of this, forced me to move in with her. Two years later and I'm still paying rent to my younger sister. Sad I know; pathetic I acknowledge. I could just hear Myra saying, "I told you so. Go back to law school." in a fake Asian accent.
Sighing in defeat, I turn off my cell phone and walk down the block into the shopping district. Shoving my frozen hands into the soft, downy pockets of my cream colored Marc Jacobs cocoon coat which I managed to practically steal in a sample sale, miles and miles of boutiques show off pin thin mannequins garbed in bright beautiful outfits to instill further jealously and lust within me. Abruptly my calfskin boots stop in their tracks and my eyes brighten in disbelief. Furiously, I scrub my eyes to make sure they're clean as I read the gigantic sign that seems to be heaven sent. Strata is having a sale, REPEAT STRATA IS HAVING A SALE! Strata never has a sale. Ever. Fifty percent off on everything in store and what just happens to be in the window display out front? Those Sonata mules I've been begging Santa for (I know it's a bit immature but I have an inner child I need to satiate once in a while). Sea foam green satin topped off with a satiny bow in the same color and trimmed in lace. Its kitten heels are the perfect height and the soles give the impression of walking on a cloud; I know this because I've tried these shoes on ten times. Each time I had to turn away and make the hardest decision in my life (at the moment I mean). And now… I have a chance. A chance at happiness… even if that happiness costs eighty dollars.
"Excuse me… miss?" A hand gently touches my shoulder and I realize that I've been drooling in a stupor. Turning around, my face meets a warm but nervous smile. It's the boy toy that sat so complacently while Sasha de Banshee screamed shrilly (I dare you to say "Sasha screamed shrilly" three times fast).
Putting on my most hostile expression, I growled, "What do you want? An arm or a leg along with my job?"
"Miss, I'm really sorry for Sasha's actions. I had no idea that she could be that irrational and petty." Nervously, he runs his fingers through his coffee-colored hair. His face is red with embarrassment and his demeanor seems so genuine that I decide to soften my dagger-filled glare.
"Whatever. I sucked at waitressing anyway: could never keep track of the tables, always late. She only did everyone a favor." Shrugging noncommittally, I stare back into the window and proceed to ignore him.
"Miss… May I know your name?"
"Corrine Flynn and yours?" I ask out of political correctness.
"Dominic Strata." It takes a few seconds for me to process this and when it does my jaw drops. He sees my expression and chuckles. Like a clairvoyant angel, he points into the window. "Yes, that Strata. Do you see anything that interests you?"
Shaking my head, I reject his offer in spite of how much I wanted this. I can't take advantage of his kindness, my mom raised me better than that. "Oh no, I couldn't do that to you. Really, unless it's a job." I joke. His face turns red in embarrassment and I immediately apologize. "That's not what I meant. It's not your fault I lost my job." Maybe your girlfriend's.
"Look, I'm really sorry that I didn't stop Sasha. And I would like to repay you. Please allow me to have that honor." He sees my reluctant face and starts to shuffle around his pockets. "Look, if you really need a job I have a proposition."
Excuse me? If he's going to say what I'm thinking he's going to say, then he'll be walking home with a limp. "You said you need a job, right? We have an opening at Strata; the position is an assistant-stylist. What I mean is that you have to be interviewed first. You will need to call this number and tell them that Dominic told you to call about the job. Miss Flynn, I cannot tell you enough how sorry I am about Sasha. Hopefully, I will see you later." He takes my hand and puts a card in it and closes my hand gently.
He starts to walk away while snow begins to fall and I stare in a shocked response. There are miracles. Suddenly, my feet burst with renewed energy and I run after him. Knowing that I'll never catch up to him, I yell, "Thank you!"
Dominic's head peers over his shoulder and his warm green eyes crinkle amusedly. Before walking away, his lips form a small smile that tells me that this can only be the beginning.