Some Girls
It was day two and I was already exhausted. Gambling night was a success, and more people were trying to get in the party. We couldn't accept any more, but we told them their donations were greatly appreciated.
They didn't answer back.
It didn't matter if they responded back or not because we were getting so much money anyway. Today, Kiran got a couple of designers to help us out with the auction. Noelle, Taylor, Kiran and I were waiting for a couple of them to show up.
"So, who is exactly supposed to come?" I asked. I wasn't familiar with designers, considering my upbringing. Even though I spent time with rich classmates, I had yet to grasp the names of all them.
"I told you already; there's Zac Posen and Donatella Versace. It took a lot of persuasion on my part, but let's hope they enjoy this. And the people who spent money to come here," explained Kiran. She was dressed in a lovely pink LBD, her hair tumbling past her shoulders.
Taylor snorted. "A lot of persuasion on your part? I'm sure the only thing you had to do was whine and complain," she said, smirking.
Kiran rolled her eyes and for once, did not respond back. Her eyes suddenly lit up and she exclaimed, "Here they come!"
The four of us lined up, our arms at our sides. I saw a man with dark hair, dressed in a silver suit, helping an overly tan lady with bleach blonde hair out of the limousine. I immediately felt out of place, seeing how Kiran gracefully welcomed the two, and how Noelle and Taylor were able to fit in also.
The bleach blonde lady was Donatella Versace, a fashionable woman who took over the company after her brother died. Her makeup was caked on, trying to hide the wrinkles the Botox couldn't fix. She had a deep, manly voice of an average Italian, and she was beyond skinny. The skimpy orange dress left little to imagine; it made me wonder why she was wearing anything at all.
Zac Posen, I came to find out, thought I was exceptionally beautiful, although my legs were a bit beefy. (I played soccer, after all). He kept twirling my hair, exclaiming how lovely the shade was and told Noelle to get rid of her gothic look.
She wasn't too happy. According to her, black was a sophisticated color which embodied elegance and class.
After a few minutes of chatting, the Palace doors opened, and in came fifteen slender, gorgeous girls. "Who are they?" I asked Noelle. I didn't remember inviting more people to come.
"They're the models for the show, Reed Unobservant Brennen. Kiran's going to model also," Noelle explained. I noticed that she had gotten rid of her black Chanel leather gloves, something Zac told her to take off. This fashion show reminded me of when Kiran held one in St. Barth's.
"Oh," I said, feeling stupid.
Noelle scoffed. "Come on. We have to get the show ready." She linked an arm around mine and dragged me along.
The show, also a silent auction, was being held in the same hall where gambling night was at. Most of the ladies were piled in the room, each chatting excitedly. Half of it was cut off for the models to get ready backstage. There were sixteen clothes for all of the models, including Kiran, from each designer. Zac Posen was going first and then Versace; the people were going to write the price of the dress they wanted on a sheet of paper, and after the show, whoever had the highest bid, they were going to get the dress.
Some of the interns who were working under Pat McGrath, the legendary makeup artist, were backstage helping the models look pretty. Pat was a friend of Posen's, and he asked her to tag along, which she gladly did. All of the Billings girls were backstage, since apparently the real fashion drama happened behind the curtains. Everyone was doting on the models, putting on globs of foundation while the designers tried to make the outfits look even tighter.
Currently, I was sitting in a foldable chair, watching the spectacle in front of me. I didn't know what to do as the rest of the Billings girls participated with the hair and makeup. I never had fun talking about makeup and dresses, but my time in Billings taught me how to deal with it.
"How's it going, Reed? Liking the world of fashion and drama?" asked London. She came over and plopped down next to me, a bottle of champagne in her hand. Where she got these bottles from, I had no idea.
"Sure," I replied back. "I'm clearly not used–"
A loud shout came from the other side of the room, and glass shattering afterwards. London and I frowned, wondering what was going on. Suddenly, there was more shouting and a tall brunette came out from behind a curtain, her face red with rage.
"Fuck you Posen! You promised me I would wear that dress, but instead you give me this!" The girl went over to a chair and knocked it down, spinning around and facing Posen.
"I want it now!"
"Oh, please," Zac began, his silver suit rippling in the light. "Stop being a whiny bitch and get it over with. This isn't even New York fashion week; what's the big deal?"
The girl scoffed and dangerously stepped closer. "You want to know what my problem is? It's you – you fucking lie to me all the time! Back in the fall show, you said I could wear your signature, but instead you gave it to some no-name! And you're still doing the same thing! I quit!"
Everyone in the room was quiet, watching the fight. London was about ready to laugh, her skinny frame shaking. My eyes darted back and forth between Zac and the model; Zac was calm as ever, while the girl was fuming.
"You're just wasting my time, sweetheart," Zac ended up replying.
"Good," said the model as she took of the futuresque black dress off. She was completely naked, save for a pair of panties, but she unashamedly walked across the room and went off, lifting the horrible finger and pointing it at everyone.
London and the rest of the Billings girls weren't lying about drama behind the curtains. A blow dryer was on, something the owner had yet to realize, for he was fixated on the show in front of him. I was too shocked.
"Ragazza stupida. Chi pensa che è? La femmina grassa. Giuro, uno di questi giorni . . ." said Donatella, shaking her head and applying more lipstick.
Immediately after she said whatever it was in Italian, people began bustling about and the shouts got louder. I sat still, having no clue what to do. I quickly realized that Zac and Versace were one model down since they were sharing the models.
"Wait! Wait! We are one model down!" Zac screamed out. "We only have thirty minutes left! Shit," he exclaimed. It was high time someone realized that problem.
"This stuff happens all the time," London told me as she stretched her arms. "Models are so snotty and bratty. I mean, I'm not even like that–"
"Hey, you!"
London stopped talking and I froze on the spot. I was trying to see who said that when the person called again, "Reed!"
It was Zac who was calling me. He was motioning me to come over while holding the dress the model took off. Oh no, he wanted me to model for him.
I simply could not do it.
Zac jumped over to my side and dragged me to the nearest makeup chair. I barely had any time to think as he began to tell the makeup artist what to do, and to do it fast. Donatella came over and also gave instructions. I had to stop him before anything else happened right now.
"Stop," I said. I looked around for some help, but all of my friends were watching and doing nothing. Noelle kept staring at me as she languidly rested her arm on a chair.
"Stop it!" I yelled out.
The hairstylist, the makeup artist and the two designers halted their actions, curiously eyeing me. "I can't do this," I said weakly. "I've never modeled before, and I would ruin your show. Maybe you should pick someone else."
"She's right," I heard Noelle say. She came over to my makeup section and crossed her arms. "She doesn't even know how to walk. Give it to someone who probably knows how to do it," Noelle said.
I frowned, upset at what Noelle had just said. Obviously, I wasn't part of the world of the wealthy, but the way that she had said it sounded . . . mean. Like she thought of me as a nobody. Being a very close friend of mine, she should have encouraged me instead of degrading me.
I was hurt.
Now that she had said something like that, I wanted to go up on the stage and take over the show. I was capable of doing anything. I was capable of wearing a two thousand dollar dress and walking like a pro. I wanted to prove Noelle wrong.
"Oh no – this girl is mine," said Zac. He bent over and brought his face down to mine, smiling hugely. "You'll do great."
And great I did. At least before the show.
Mountains of makeup were dumped on me and Zac's cool looking dress was fitted to my measurements. Donatella ended up choosing Tiffany to model one of her dresses; she was also uncomfortable, for she was always behind the camera and she didn't like being in the spotlight. By the time the people began to push the models out one by one, I was shaking with fear.
"I can't do this! I simply can't," I muttered, pacing back and forth. We, the models, we lined up, and Zach and Pat were fixing us before we left. All of a sudden, I had the urge to go to the washroom. Oh no, this was getting out of hand.
"Yes you can, Reed," said Kiran in an effort to clam me down. "Just pretend everyone is sitting in their underwear."
That was not a good thought.
"Oh, I guess it's time for me to go!" Kiran lithely turned around and put a thin hand on my shoulder, her gorgeous eyes staring me down. "Own them."
Breathe in, breathe out.
I could do this. If I could survive attempted murders, I could survive walking down a goddamn runway.
It turned out, I couldn't.
When I got on the actual runway, I almost froze before I realized I needed to get my ass moving. And when I began to walk, it was the most painful thing to do, all thanks to the ridiculous five inch heels I was forced to wear. By the time I got to the end, I thought fuck it, smiled and acted like an idiot.
Everyone said I did a great job, but I was thoroughly humiliated. Right now, I was sitting in the many tables as I watched professional burlesque dancers, London, Vienna and Kiran try to look sultry. I was currently drowning my second glass of wine and I felt the need to drink more.
A dancer who had shocking red hair with a gold mask brought her hands down to her knees and luxuriously brought them up, running her fingers over her lacy maroon corset, smiling and blowing kisses. Her fingertips seemed to barely touch her body, but I found myself enamored by the sight in front of me, my eyes following each thumb, each forefinger. There was something deeply erotic and seducing about it. At least I wasn't thinking about my horrible runway walk.
I continued to be led astray by my naughty thoughts even when Sawyer sat down next to me. I was tipsy, and remembering my first incident from drinking, I pushed the glass aside.
"Hey, Sawyer. What's up?"
It was kind of hard to see Sawyer. The only source of light came from around the stage and the bar area, but even without the light, he looked handsome. His eyes were twinkling and he leaned in closer, his cologne wafting up my nose. It smelled divine.
"I'm good. You seemed a little down, so I thought I should come over here. You don't mind, do you?" Sawyer asked.
"Oh no! Of course not. Liking the dancers?" I drawled out, drunk and pissed at myself.
Sawyer clicked his tongue. "Nope, I never did and I never will. It's one thing if you and your significant other are alone, but to be in a room with a hundred other men thinking about . . . whatever they're thinking about, well, let's just say it's not my forte," Sawyer explained. "It's repulsive. Women deserve to be respected and loved – at least, not like this," he finished, tilting his head towards the stage.
"Wow, I'm surprised. I didn't know you thought like that," I said. I really was. It showed me he didn't enjoy a one night stand or any casual hookup; if he was in it, he was going to do his best.
He shrugged and leaned back, giving his signature vulnerable smile. "Solo per lei, la mia regina," Sawyer whispered in Italian.
I blushed. "What does that mean?"
"Ah-ah," he chided. "It's a secret you can't know." He then frowned and looked away, contemplating something. "Actually . . . I'm not sure exactly what it means . . . ."
I couldn't help but smile. I sighed and leaned back also, slowly resting my head on Sawyer's shoulder. Glancing up, I saw him smile back and I snuggled in deeper, inhaling his wonderful scent.
We both watched the show, neither of us saying a word. He didn't wrap his arm around me (probably because he was shy), but it was comfortable, the way we sat. My drunken eyes darted around, looking at the dancers, the people, and the awesome decorations.
Out of nowhere, I saw two people – a boy and a girl – walk stealthy out of the room, the boy looking behind for any followers. With a jolt, I realized the two people were Daniel and Paige Ryan.
My insides froze. What were they doing here? Of course, they went to Easton and Paige was a Billings legend, but for some reason, the sight of them made me sick. There was something oddly familiar, watching the two go by in such a hurried manner . . .
"Uh Sawyer, I'm going to go and check up on the girls. You don't mind?" I politely asked. In reality, I was itching to run and follow the twins.
He shook his head and said, "No, not at all."
Without delay, I took off, not wanting to waste time. The darkened room seemed to get darker, and I fought hard not to trip along the way. A black flap, which looked like a suit jacket, whipped off into a hallway, so I followed. My heart was thumping faster and faster, remembering my incident at the rave club, which almost led to my death. I shuddered at the thought and moved on.
I turned a sharp corner since I saw two shadows going there also. Immediately, their scent drifted up to my nose. The scent . . . Where exactly was it from? It was on the tip of my tongue, bugging the hell out of me. Where did I smell it from?
"Dan, stop being such a scared ass. I told you everything was going to work out, so please, quit bothering me!" Paige hissed out. I skidded in my tracks, not realizing they stopped walking. I hid around the corner, my ear sticking out as far as it could go.
"How am I supposed to believe you? That's what you said last time!" A loud bang was heard after; I had a feeling he hit the wall beside him.
"Last time was last time! Trust me on this, it will work. Both you and I, not to mention–"
"Shut the fuck up, Paige. You know she won't be happy, and I'm not happy." There was a shuffling of feet indicating someone was moving closer. "For once, try to make me happy."
A moment of silence passed before there was more movement of feet. I stood still, scared senseless, afraid that they were coming out. If they did, where would I run?
But then, another noise caught me off guard.
Reacting to instinct, I poked my head inside the hallway. I fought hard not to vomit from sheer shock. I was shaking – not from fear, but from finding this new revelation.
Incest.
They were kissing. Daniel and Paige Ryan – brother and sister – were kissing. It wasn't a little peck on the lips. It was a full blown French kiss, their hands traveling down to the other's side. Daniel was making a grab for Paige's breasts in soft, careful actions. I could've sworn I heard Paige moan.
I simply had enough.
Carefully, I turned around and walked back to the oblivious people. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe that Paige and Daniel, who were family, were having sexual relations. They were able to hide it from everyone – their close friends in St. Barth's, even from the people at home. It was disgusting. The Ryan family was weird.
But another thing was bothering me. What were the Ryan twins talking about? What were they going to do this time? Why hadn't it worked last time? What was so secretive about it?
Crazy rich people. I could never get used to them.
A/N: Many thanks to my reviewers. Sorry about the wait; I was busy. This chapter has not been fixed, so please forgive for any mistakes. Just two more chapters to go! Bear with me.
Donatella's Italian translation: "Stupid girl. Who does she think she is? Fat bitch. I swear, one of these days . . ."
Sawyer's Italian translation: "Only for you, my queen."
Playlist for this party will be up soon, in case if you're interested.
