Chapter Nineteen
By the time Thursday rolls around I am beyond exhausted with squeezing all of my new clients in and catching up with those who wanted make-up sessions after the days I was out with the lurgy. I told one of my clients – a stylish and bubbly young woman called Jennifer who I am hopeful might turn into a real life friend - about the UK Influencers Networking Event and asked where I might find a black tie dress at a reasonable price. She recommended a couple of vintage shops on Portobello Road which, while I’ve passed time and again, have never actually stepped foot in. I must have looked completely out of my depth because she offered to come shopping with me over lunch and help me to pick something out.
That’s where I am right now – in a surprisingly bustling vintage shop feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the amount of different styles and colours there are to choose from. Jennifer, looking perfectly at ease in her own vintage mechanic style jumpsuit is calmly rifling through the racks. She pulls out a long black strapless sparkly number and gasps as she holds it up to me.
‘That’s… a lot,’ I say, my usual sartorial style pretty much limited to items with plenty of stretch and ease of movement. This dress looks like it has zero stretch and ease of movement.
‘You are one of the few people I’ve met who has the body to pull this off,’ Jennifer says.
‘Really? Do you think? Isn’t it a bit flashy?’
‘It’s black tie at The Oxo Tower, girl! If there’s ever a time to go flashy it’s that. Try it on!’
I tentatively take the dress from Jennifer and shuffle into the changing room. It gets slightly stuck over my hips. Gah. I call out into the shop.
‘Jennifer! Help! It’s too small!’
Jennifer peeks her head around the curtain. ‘It’s not too small. You just have to wiggle a bit.’
‘Wiggle?’
‘Yes, like you make me do in our warm up. Here. You turn around and wiggle and I’ll slide the dress up.’
Jennifer, a literary agent, has the calm demeanour of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing and so I follow her instructions and wiggle. Within moments the dress is in place and Jennifer has zipped it up.
‘Woah,’ she says when she gets a look at me. I step out of the cubicle to peek in the full length mirror.
‘Woah,’ I say. The dress is super flashy and tight. But it shows off my strong arms and makes my hips look a little more round than they actually are.
‘You have to get that. You have to. Henry Byron will go nuts when he sees you in it.’
I feel my face go hot, as all at once I realise that it wasn’t Henry’s face I was picturing seeing me in this dress. It’s Auguste’s.
It’s only after I’ve done my hair and makeup that I realise I have no Jennifer to help me zip this dress up. Henry wanted to meet with Elissa before the party, so Auguste and I are meeting him there. That is if I can manage to zip my dress up. I bounce around my bedroom, trying every which way to reach my arms around my back, but without any luck. Maaaaaan. I can’t ask Auguste to help me zip up the dress. That would be totally inappropriate. I mean, he’s seen pretty much all of my body because we live in the same house and my workout gear can sometimes verge on skimpy, but zipping up someone’s dress? I’ve seen the movies. I know that’s an erotically charged thing to ask a man to do. Especially a man you suddenly find yourself having inconvenient thoughts about.
I sigh, wishing I could at least plonk down on the bed while I figure out what to do, but I can’t even do that because the dress is so tight. I waddle over to the bathroom mirror, reaching my arms behind me in a bid to reach the zipper. I’m a Pilates master. My arms can stretch, surely!
‘Come on, arms!’ I groan as I try to pull the zipper up. ‘Urgggh!’
There’s a knock on the door. ‘Bess? Are you ready?’
It’s Auguste. ‘Yeah, nearly!’ I yell back in a strangled voice as I try to reach my arms into positions arms do not want to be in.
‘Are you alright in there?’ I can hear the amusement in his voice.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My face is red and angry. My make-up is starting to sweat off. Ugh. I can’t do it. I have no choice.
‘I need your help!’ I yell, taking teeny tiny steps back into my room.
Auguste opens the door and upon seeing me, takes a short, sharp breath. He looks as if he’s going to say something but decides against it. He stares at me stony faced.
‘Do I look ridiculous?’ I say, pulling a face and blowing my hair out of my face.
Auguste shakes his head slowly. ‘No,’ he says simply, offering no other complimentary adjective
I grimace. ‘I need you to zip me up. Sorry.’
‘Of course,’ Auguste heads over to me. It’s only then that I notice that he’s dressed in a sharply cut black tux and, well, it really, really suits him.
