Warmest of Regards,
- Janine Weavers
I fight the urge to whine like a toddler. You’ve got to be kidding me. Of course, fate would force me onto a trip with my hot as hell co-star that I want to bang but also want to punch. The universe works in mysterious ways and all that.
“This would literally be the day after tomorrow, though?” I enter panic mode thinking of how few outfits I have that are suitable for vineyards and lounging around in Napa, where I may or may not be photographed by the paparazzi.
“Yeah, and I’ll pick you up at ten.” Roman stands, offering a hand to pull me up.
As we make our way back to Warehouse B, my head is swimming. A trip? With Roman? I mean, I’ve always wanted to go to Napa Valley, but I’d always imagined it would be a girls’ trip. Too bad I’ve had a hard time finding inroads with any women out here. The closest thing I have to a friend right now is Maren, which is depressing. A realization hits me as we enter the building, and I send out a quick text hoping that it’ll work out.
Chapter Thirty-Three
CLOVER
“I’m so glad you messaged me,” Jill says as she leans over the middle console of her car to give me a quick squeeze. She smells as if she’s been baking, or maybe that’s just how she smells. Like vanilla and something else, cardamom perhaps?
“Thanks for doing this,” I say sheepishly as I do up the seatbelt. “I wasn’t sure who else I could call for this kind of thing.”
“Are you kidding me? I love to shop, we’ll get the perfect outfits and make a day of it.” She smiles as she puts on some oversized sunglasses and pulls out onto the road.
Thankfully, I have the day off filming today before our Napa trip, so I have an opportunity to actually grab some things before Roman and I head north.
I took a chance by texting Jill to see if she was available to help me pick out some outfits. Next thing I knew, she’d planned a whole day for us.
Normally, clothes shopping is something I don’t enjoy. It’s always hard to find clothing that’s as flattering as I want it to be, and then when you think you’ve found a piece that’s finally okay, you look in the changing room mirror and you’reframed by the most horrific overhead lighting known to man.
“You okay?” Jill asks. I shake my head and try to return to the present.
“Yeah, I’m good. Shopping hasn’t always been my favorite, that’s all.”
Instead of pressing for details, she remains quiet, eyes focused on the road, letting me decide if I want to share more or keep it to myself.
“Well, we’ll make sure today’s lots of fun to make up for it then,” she smiles and smooths over the subject, a huge relief for me since I don’t really feel like it’s appropriate for me to trauma dump onto her about my struggles lately with body image. I’m not sure someone who looks like she does would even understand anyway.
“I’m not leaving the fitting room,” I shout.
“Why not?”
Because I look like Jabba the fucking hut in this monstrosity of an outfit.I settle for a more diplomatic answer: “I just don’t think it’s for me.” The dress, if one can call it that, is a beast of straps and cutouts, and it looks like it belongs in a bondage club or a hostage situation. I don’t even know how I got all my limbs in the right spot in the first place.
“Come on, at least let me have a look! I thought that color would be so pretty on you.” Jill calls back.
As I begin to remove the offending piece, I realize taking it off won’t be quite as easy as putting it on. It feels like my body temperature jumps up a handful of degrees as I delicately wrestle with the garment, trying my best not to rip a stitch or do any damage. My heart thunders as I try to maneuver out of this thing like a bank robber avoiding lasers.
After a few more seconds of wiggling the tiniest bit here and there, I’m hopelessly stuck.
Before I can ask, Jill’s whispering through the door. “Are you good in there?”
“Um... no?”
She giggles. “Do you want a hand?”
“Yes, please.” There’s no time to save my dignity before Jill comes in.
She looks down as she enters, closing the door tightly behind her before looking up at me and slapping her hand over her mouth to contain the laugh bubbling out of her. The dress is halfway up my torso, my arms are stuck above my head, and I can’t move the dress up or down. The cursed garment also covers my mouth now.
“Oh my God.” Jill tries her best to maintain her composure, but she’s failing miserably.
