CHAPTER 1
"I can't believe you are going through with this. I think I might cry."My best friend Abigail shrieked, clutching her chest with both arms as she watched me looking into the full-length mirror admiring the dress she lent me.
She had spent the last five days trying to convince me to come with her to her father's birthday party. The first time she mentioned it, I immediately declined.
I wouldn't be caught dead in a fancy rich party with consequential people I don't know. Besides, I'll be too self-conscious. I had thought. The second time, my response was the same as the first.
What do they say about the third time being a Charm?"
The third time she asked I had to give in because my best friend was relentlessly stubborn and wouldn't take no for an answer. She went as far as making a PowerPoint presentation on how the party was going to be fun and I wouldn't be alone because she'd be with me most of the time.
We met last summer at the coffee shop I used to work in. Marcel, my boss, was the grumpiest French man I'd ever met in my life. He was fond of calling me names and lashing out at me at any slight inconvenience.
Marcel was throwing his usual tantrums when Abigail stood up to him and defended me. We hit it off right away thereafter. She made me quit my job with Marcel and offered me another job at a place she claimed to be owned by a colleague of hers.
"Hmmm" I breathed out an unintentional sigh of relief
I glanced earnestly at myself in the mirror. The maroon velvet dress sits upon my skin elegantly adding color to my pale skin. My fingers trailed through the silver cord necklace. The shimmering brought light into my brown eyes.
The figure that stared back at me in the mirror was different, beautiful _and had the look of something that belonged to the world she was about to enter. Looking like this was novel to me.
"Promise me you won't leave me brooding by myself because I'll be brooding" I mumbled, peering at her through the mirror, her eyes meeting mine.
"I promise" she reassured as she crossed her heart with her index finger.
"You look exquisite" she babbled and gave me a once-over glance wearing a satisfactory look on her face.
" You should be a model. Ugh! Why wouldn't you audition? Just one time." She whined, holding out her index finger signifying one.
Abigail always had this delusion that I was capable of being a model because of my skinny frame. Being skinny doesn't mean I wanted to venture into a career path that would leave me judging myself all the time. Not everyone can be a model.
"Abigaiiiillll" her name came out like a slur, I glanced at her with pleading eyes. Before she could say a word to chip in I rushed on. "I don't have the height for it. And I would probably have a panic attack at the thought of strutting on the runway or posing in front of a camera"
It may be the way I related with her but she sometimes forgets that the person she is encouraging to be a model isn't cut out for it.
It was a back-and-forth thing with us, a never-ending cycle. Some days, it was a career change, other times, a potential love interest, and now this party. She never failed to send a challenge which has me second-guessing my potential down my path.
"Alright, alright I hear you. Let's go touch up your face and style your hair" she said as she looped her hand into mine, pulling me towards the vanity mirror at the other side of her room.
The first time she brought me to her room, we were drenched in the rain because she had spontaneously wanted us to go for a walk in her backyard. It started pouring instantly and we were so far gone that it took what seemed like a lifetime to get into the house.
She led us straight to her room to get changed into fresh clothes.
Forgetting the reaction that forced itself out of me seemed impossible because I was in awe of her room. I stood at the center of the room, mouth agape.
Growing up in a foster home had not availed me the opportunity to come across a girl like her. Heck! Living in the hellhole with that monster hadn't, not to talk of seeing a room that looked like the one that came out of an interior design magazine.
The room was thrice the size of my studio apartment I call a cubicle. An alien scent of vanilla filled the air and the fluorescent bulbs shone brightly. A queen-sized bed placed on a thick fabric woven of wool having an oblong shape with a border design and luxury furniture with gold leaf detailing took a large portion in the middle of it. There was a floor-length mirror at the far end of the room and also a vanity mirror at the other end.
She had called me into another room. Following the sound of her voice, my eyes came in contact with a closet that reminded me of Hannah Montana's.
"Your room is a dream" I had said to her. She replied with a smile and tossed a towel to me.
"Sit" she uttered, motioning to the chair.
She ran her fingers through my hair. "Your hair is luscious and silky" she observed as she glanced at me through the vanity mirror and gave me a heartwarming smile.
"Really?" the word rushed out of my mouth like a squeak
"Yeah, is it surprising I said that?"
"It is."
What she noticed about my hair definitely took me by surprise.
The vague memory of when my mum used to style my hair played in my mind. She was the only one who materialized in my mind as the one who cared for my hair.
Paying attention to my hair was not my cup of tea. Not at the foster home and not now.
My hair had never received an ounce of care from me. I was either too tired, too hurt, or too busy. A thing or two would come up which impedes me from making efforts to take care of it.
The only time I tried treating my hair was when it was infested with dandruff because of the constant pulling of it. It itched so bad I had no choice but to seek the immediate attention of a Salonist.
"Hold on" she blurted as she proceeded to pull out a drawer, revealing different equipment of which I don't know what most of them are called.
"Close your eyes '' she muttered. The tingling sensation of my hair being parted into two like the Red Sea was comforting.
"Ouch" rolled out of my tongue pitched when the heat of an object burned my scalp.
"Sorry," she paused. She placed a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me. It worked.
The heat sensations trailed down to the length of my hair which was my waist. She resorted to the process numerous times.
"Open your eyes"
I slowly opened my eyes, trying to prevent the light shining brightly in the room from blurring my eyesight.
"Tadaaaaaaa" making a squeal as she dazzlingly waves both hands.
" I love it." My dark hair was pinned straight down to my waist making me look like one of those celebrities on the red carpet.
" We are running late. I should dress up now" she babbled as she fastened her pace into her closet disappearing from my sight.
10 minutes had gone by when Britney Spears's "Baby One More Time" suddenly started blasting in my ears.
My neck turned to the direction of where the sound of the music was coming from. It was from the closet.
In less than a few seconds, Abigail's dancing frame darted into view. She was wearing a white, silk straight,below-the-knee dress. She swung her hips left and right, mouthing the lyrics of the song.
She flashes a smile "Come on! Join me" she said as she twirled and beckoned upon me.
"I don't dance" Her smile turned into a scowl.
"You are such a killjoy. I know you don't but you should at least try," she stated as she furiously tapped the screen of her phone bringing the music to an abrupt halt.
"The driver should be here any moment now"
She glanced at her wristwatch, following her gaze on the dainty stainless steel watch, I couldn't tell what the time was.
The sound of her ringtone broke the silence. She darted her eyes toward her phone screen and tapped on it. She brought it to her ear, gesturing for me to pack up what we needed.
"We'll be down shortly," she said and immediately hung up.
"Well, that's our cue to leave"
I trailed behind her, carefully placing my legs above each other. Walking in high heels was like a different form of locomotion. Abigail had made it a necessity for me to wear a pair of four-inch heels. "Are you crazy? It's a party. Who wears flats to a party?" She had bellowed when I suggested wearing flats. It was one of those things I could not come up with a good enough excuse for her to let go. The straps of the heels hung tightly on my ankles, building up a bruise making it uncomfortable to walk.
My eyes fell on her legs. Her feet were well balanced in the heels. Even with shortened strides, she had acquired the ability to strut gracefully.
Walking in heels is a skill you learn to perfect. It's probably too late for me to learn it now.
***
The ride to the venue was quiet. I spent most of the time peering out of the heavily tinted car window at the glistening lights of the city, trying to distract myself from what was to meet me at my destination.
Abigail mentioned the name of the event center in one of the coffee sessions that we do on Saturdays. " Villa Barone Manor" she had expressly pointed out for me to note.
Why couldn't they hold the event at their mansion? It has enough space to host 1000 people" I had thought
" why don't you just host the birthday party at your place"? I had inquired
" Daddy takes his privacy seriously and can't bear to host over a thousand people. It'll kill him" she had answered.
Abigail's father was one of those rich people who wouldn't compromise their privacy for the sake of a birthday party. A birthday party that was more of a business connection party.
In no time, the driver pulled up to the parking lot and put the car to a halt in front of the reservation sign board showcasing " Reserved For Abigail Berlette" on it.
The thought of mingling with wealthy strangers sends a fresh wave of panic through me.
It's going to be alright. It's just a party. Even if you've never been to a party, what's the worst that could happen?
Hopefully, I won't throw up or anything as soon as I enter.
My palms were starting to get sticky with sweat and my voice was a little shaky as I let out a nervous chuckle.
Abigail glanced at me and narrowed her eyes into slits.
" Are you okay?"
"Not really"
" Come here," she said, drawing me into a warm embrace, the smell of Jasmine hitting my nostrils in the process. "I'll be glued to you throughout the night"
She clasped her hand in mine and walked me inside the venue.
As we stepped into the building, the cold air that seeped through the vents sent chills down my spine making me shiver.
Villa Barone Manor exuded a whimsical ambiance. It offered a blend of European elegance and American sophistication. The decor was magnificent and the smell of freshly made cuisine fondled my nostrils.
The place was clustered with ladies with regained taste in fashion and gentlemen in tuxedos.
Taking it all in my eyes landed on the celebrant. Richard Berlette, the CEO of SimpleBuy, America's largest corporation by revenue as well as the biggest private employer. For a man celebrating his 45th birthday, he looked just as good as the eligible bachelors featured in York's Most Eligible Bachelor magazine.
He seemed to be in a meaningful conversation with the few guests gathered around him.
His gaze clashed with mine as if he sensed I was watching him. The universe stopped. Everything in it stood still. My heart raced wildly against my chest. And then, he grinned. A hush, quieter than the last sigh of a mild flame slowly burning out in frozen winter, fell over my soul. Silence inundated me.
Why is he looking at me that way? And what exactly am I feeling right now?
Hoping to escape the thought which clouded my mind. I tore my gaze away from him and turned towards where Abigail was previously standing which was beside me. It was empty.
My eyes captured her moving frame weaving through the crowd. Leaving me in the cold hands of loneliness.
Liar!
Why does she have to be so confident?
Just look at her. She is everything you are not.
" you are everything you need to be"
I jolted in surprise and swung my head towards the sound of the masculine voice.