25.
It's November now in the city, and the neighborhood streets are strewn with beautiful, multi-colored leaves. The air is chilly and brisk, with a hint of mystery and uncertainty—enough for many to put away their windbreakers and button-up their heavier coats. The cold weather causes many residents, and visitors alike, to seek shelter inside warm stores, theatres, and entertainment facilities. This of course, is beneficial to certain Broadway producers and even runway models...
Presently, Deborah can be found carousing backstage at a fashion show. She had just modeled a gorgeous periwinkle evening gown from a collection put together by one of the finest haute couture icons of the present time. Agents and designers were swarming and embracing her, delighted by her short moment of success.
"God Debbie, I'm so jealous. You look breathtakingly elegant in that dress," pointed out a fellow model as she let down her hair.
"Aw, thanks Denise!" replied Deborah, still gazing at herself in a beautiful, full-length mirror and turning a few times with her hands on her hips. "You're too kind."
"I'm so glad we get to keep everything! You know, you should wear yours to the benefit ball next Saturday… I'm wearing mine," suggested Denise, a sparkle in her eye.
That was when it dawned on her—the perfect opportunity to obtain that hunky Broadway producer she had her eyes on for a long time now. That event was key! All she had to do was keep Fran busy with some other man and she, herself, could seduce Maxwell… It was genius! Absolutely fool-proof! Fran wouldn't know and Maxwell would be so hurt once he saw Fran with someone else that he would immediately cling to Deborah… The only problem was getting that certain someone for Fran to show up.
"You know Denise… that is a most marvelous idea! Excuse me for a moment."
"Of course."
Deborah rushed off to the ladies room (lounge, really) and as soon as she got there she flipped open her mobile phone and immediately navigated to the designated area—her contacts. Scrolling through the long list with haste, she eventually came upon the name she was searching for and selected it. The number was immediately dialed and she waited for someone to pick up.
"Drake Wilder's publicist, speaking," greeted the voice on the other end. "State your name and purpose."
All she had to do was talk one word and the lady was already apologizing.
"Oh, Deborah Blackwood, pardon me! Of course you may speak to him. I'll go get him right away…"
"'Ello?" spoke the sexy male voice finally. "Deborah? Deborah Harry?! Deborah Harry from Blondie?! Gosh, wow, I…"
Debbie rolled her eyes.
"No silly, Deborah Blackwood! Don't you remember me Drakie?" said Deborah in an enticing sort of tone.
For a few seconds, he desperately racked his brain, trying to remember exactly who the woman was. And then it came to him.
"Ah, yes… Deborah… we met up in France last year, correct? I was with my band and you were modeling in Paris? It was a pleasure meeting up again. A pleasure, indeed."
"Oh yes!" replied Deborah, glad that he recalled their last get-together. "So I hear you're back in New York?"
"Yes, I am actually."
"Good, good. Hey, I have a favor to ask of you."
"Yes? Ask away."
"Well, the Benefit Ball is next Saturday and…"
Drake audibly sighed.
"Deborah, Deborah, Deborah… we've been over this before. I really don't—" he began, but he was soon interrupted.
"Save it Drake, I know you have no interest in me that way. You see, there's this woman I'd love for you to meet," explained Deborah.
"Er, I don't know… "
"Please come. I promise you won't be disappointed," she genuinely pleaded with a smile in her voice.
On the other side of the phone, a robe-clad Drake leaned back in his Italian leather chair with a glass of Bourbon perched at his lips.
"What makes you so sure?" he lightheartedly persisted, taking of sip of the deep copper liquid.
"Everything about her. You won't be able to resist—"
"Alright… I suppose I can at least stop by to check out this dame. You know how much I hate these sorts of fancy functions… but it is raising money for those poor, hungry children. Ah, what the hell. Just tell me when."
She happily relayed him all the information about the event night—parking, times, and where to be.
"There's just one thing I'd like to ask Deborah," he said, a hint of curiosity evident in his voice.
"Hm?"
"What's in it for you?"
"Oh Drake, absolutely nothing! Nothing at all. Nothing more than the feeling of helping out a dear friend. Goodbye now!"
Drake new that Deborah never did anything just for the good of another person. Somehow, he knew she would be getting something out it, even if she wasn't about to tell him what exactly that something was.
Deborah ended the conversation and closed her phone. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and reapplied glittery pink lip-gloss on her lips. As soon as she was done, she broke out into a wide, devilish smirk. She was just too proud of herself.
I can't help it if helping out a dear friend will help me out as well…
"I'm so good!" she arrogantly stated aloud and then walked out in a poised strut.