Chapter 5 Dressed For The Illusion

An hour and a half later, I'd self-exiled to a changing room. I literally wondered what I had gotten myself into.

I liked wearing nice clothes. I enjoyed wearing them as much as any female who wasn't either deceiving herself or on an existential cleanse.

What about this...? This had elevated that sentiment to a whole new degree.

I appeared to have been painted skin-to-skin in glittering metallic lace.

Sophia called it silver, but I immediately labeled it gunmetal after hearing one of the salespeople say the phrase as I passed past. It was slightly darker than the normal winter snowflake, with deeper, stormy colors that added a little of edge. It adhered to my body like a second skin and was in no way unattractive. In fact, its reflected swirling colors caused my skin to virtually gleam translucent white. It curled around my neck like an exquisite halter before plunging down to the lowest neckline I'd ever seen. It was exquisitely beaded over a small empire waist, but instead of flaring out in a loose skirt like most dresses I possessed, it clung around my tiny hips before falling straight to the floor.

Enchanted, I took a picture and texted it to my mother before exiting the waiting room mirrors.

"Oh my gosh!" Sophia gushed in one breath. "You look quite different! "You look stunning!"

I hesitated, frowning, as I considered her assertion. "Thanks...? I am not going to lie. I really love it! I've already emailed a picture to my mother."

Sophia's eyes shone as she prepared to try on her own gown. "What did Margaret say?"

Right on cue, I glanced down at my phone, which beeped in response. "She told me that grand larceny is a crime, so I'd better put it right back on the hanger," I said with a crooked grin.

Sophia giggled and went into a changing room. A minute later, I could hear her rustling around.

"Okay," she said, opening the door with a flourish. "What do you think?"

My hands shot up to my lips, and I gave her a round of girlie applause. "You look amazing. "That green is perfect for your eyes." I took another picture with my phone, knowing she'd want her "changing room reaction" preserved for all time. When I was finished, I gave her another once-over, and my expression softened into a thoughtful smile. "Really, Mandi, you look great. Gosh, it seems like only yesterday that we were playing dress-up in our mothers' closets, and look at us today. "I don't know what to say."

She shot me a long look. For a second, I believed she was imagining our childhood days. But then she gestured impatiently at herself.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, recalling my scripted lines. "And it makes your boobs look amazing!"

"Yeah, it does." She smiled, tweaking her sweetheart neckline to highlight her cleavage. "I think this is definitely what Tony had in mind when he said to make a good impression."

I approached the mirror and stood beside her, boldly gazing at our reflections. "Two good impressions."

"Yes, two good impressions," she replied, keeping her gaze fixed on her breasts. "You're right, Shay, I shouldn't play favorites."

I rolled my eyes and hauled her up to the counter to pay.

We arrived in a Volvo borrowed from a buddy who owed us a favor, which may have hampered our arrival just a little. But we parked just inside the gate so we could walk the rest of the way across the grounds to the front entrance, where the socialites and paparazzi were having a great time pretending not to care about each other. On second thought, "walking the grounds" to the house could have also been a mistake.

"How much farther could it possibly be?" I demanded as we walked through the nicely groomed grass toward the lights ahead. "It didn't look this far."

"Yeeps!" Sophia screamed and flew to my side as a peacock emerged from the dark underbrush, surveying us warily with its beady eyes. "Sharon, get it!" She took off her lethal-looking stilettos and held them up like a knife. "Back, you beast, back!"

"Mandi! "Stop," I said. "It's not a pit bull."

"Yes, you're correct. It's worse! "It can peck me to death."

"We're not hurting the poor peacock," I assured him. "Now put your shoe back on."

The peacock curled its head back with a languid caw, and I swear I saw pity in its eyes as it shuffled slowly away toward the valets at the main door. We followed it from a safe distance and swiftly abandoned it amid the parked cars as we made our way through to the bouncer at the gate.

"Hi," Sophia murmured pleasantly, turning on the charm. "I'm Sophia Dawson, and this is my friend, Sharon Gordon."

The man read down his list, seemingly untouched by her surefire charms. It must be all the lovely women here tonight, I reasoned as I adjusted my dress and waited.

It wasn't until then that I began to fully appreciate the house. I'd been too focused on the rogue peacock to notice it until now. House wasn't the proper word. It was more like a complex. Headquarters. Lair. Something like that.

It appeared to be the epitome of absurd, excessive luxury in a setting like the Hollywood Hills. Sculpted lawns, glistening fountains, and exotic dangerous species. You name it, this guy had it. And much more.

"Here you are." The bouncer finally located us and crossed our names off the list. "You with Harrison Langley's Talent Agency?"

"That would be us." Sophia smiled as he lifted the velvet rope for her. "Thanks. You have a nice evening."

The man appeared astonished, as if he hadn't received many thank yous or well wishes in his field of work. Looking around at the individuals getting out of their foreign sports vehicles, I could easily believe it. The crowd here seems to have been purchased to match the home. There's not a single calorie or polyester thread among them. PETA might have a field day...

I followed Sophia inside, feeling slightly nervous for the first time. It was everything I could do to keep my jaw from falling open like an idiot.

And I thought it looked enormous from the outside...

It was like traveling back in time to the setting for fairy tales and fanciful balls. Ten diamond chandeliers sparkled like ethereal spheres from the ceiling, bouncing off the white marble floors in watery golden pools. A large winding staircase led to an upper level that appeared to be off-limits, but even if I had the full night, I doubt I would have had time to visit every area downstairs. A grand foyer led to a sitting room, a parlor (is there a distinction?), another sitting room, a dining room, a dancing room, and so on. The walls were adorned with what even an art indifferent like me could recognize as expensive items, providing the only splashes of color in an otherwise lavish but sterile environment.

Caterers arrived out of nowhere and vanished back into the walls, balancing silver platters with bubbling champagne while Stravinsky played from invisible speakers. Um, scratch that-it was a full orchestra playing on the terrace.

I nearly chuckled as I pictured myself in a situation that forced my mental narrative to use the word "terrace." We were definitely a long way from East Hollywood.

"Well...it's smaller than I imagined." Sophia looked to me with hatred.

I shrugged an indifferent shoulder. "What? No coat rack? That's rude." We grinned but stayed close together, little off balance by our statuesque surroundings. "But seriously, I bet this guy loved to play with Legos when he was a kid."

She snorted. "All right, we got our marching orders. "Interact with as many people as possible."

"Check."

"Drop the Colson Agency's name as many times as possible."

"Check."

"And don't get too drunk."

I hesitated, and we turned to face each other. "Let's...just see how the night plays out."

She nodded, relieved. "Agreed. "But no drunkenly swinging from the chandeliers." With a quick smile, she began weaving through the crowd. "Call if you need anything."

"Yeah, I'll just flicker the chandelier-" But she was gone. With a worried glance around the ballroom, I grabbed the nearest champagne flute and drank it in three big gulps. Swapping it for another, I sipped more discreetly, floating between the masses like the caterers, hoping to strike up a conversation or two.

"...that is the same every year. We arrange this massive gathering-everyone and their mother wants to attend-and he never arrives on time. Honestly, why not simply wait until you get home to host a party?"

A melodious buzz of polite laughing followed the comment, and I moved closer, merging into the rear of the crowd. A woman stood in the center-one of those snake-like women who men found appealing but I found terrifying. She was lapping up all the attention, wrapping her manicured nails around her champagne flute and practically bursting out of her frock. I looked at her with a little smile. She was what my mother would call a trollop.

She raised her glass of wine. "And seriously...the service?"

The smile disappeared from my face as I removed my champagne-tinted spectacles and saw the tittering lemming mob for what they truly were.

"So, where does he discover these people? I've had steadier hands while having a bikini wax.

"Would you like some cheese with that whine?" I interrupted, unwittingly drawing the crowd's attention to me. The woman's expression turned nasty as she examined every inch of me. Her waxing analogy was clearly intended to be avant-garde and edgy, but I turned it into a classless one-liner with my joke. "I mean, I did see this huge platter loaded with various cheeses."

"And who might you be?" she asked, her face painted.

A small voice in my head warned me to be cautious-that this woman would gladly eat me for breakfast if it weren't for the carbs-but I pushed on. My victory in the coffee shop must have helped to boost my spirits.

"Sharon Gordon," I said with a pearly smile, which made the individuals next to me smile as well. "I merely felt it was a nice gesture to organize such a grand celebration for a room full of strangers. I believe the least we can do is be appreciative to our host and avoid picking on his staff."

She rolled her eyes at me. "I understand why you are so furious. You're also helpful."

Yes, I suppose I was. Kind of. Maybe the agency was getting paid, but I certainly wasn't.

"Yeah, I saw her driving some piece of junk," the redhead explained. "We couldn't stop laughing. We were dying. I nearly peed my pants.

She must have been in the limo that drove by us before we parked. "There is no reason to be mean," I told myself.

"You may be dressed like one of us, but you are not like us. You stand out like a sore thumb. You are obviously one of the hired models. Your automobile shouts that you're from the wrong side of town. But the agency certainly polished you up with nice clothes, makeup, and hairstyles. Did you come here to become a millionaire? Because no one at this gathering would touch you with a 10-foot stick. How much do they pay you anyway? What is your hourly salary for working with us?"

"What is the hourly wage? Nothing."

"That's even more pitiful," another woman added sarcastically.

"She's working on a commission," the blonde stated, wearing the silver dress. "She gets a thousand dollars for every client she brings to the agency."

"That's even sadder."

There was a quiet murmur of agreement, and all eyes returned to snake-woman like a tennis match. Her jaw was crunching, but she maintained her Rembrandt smile.

"She's not out there pounding her buttocks to get a commission. "She's obviously here to find a wealthy man," the brunette added. Her pleasant tone couldn't hide the anger in her comments, and to be honest, I didn't blame her. I was the one who started this, so she had every right to be angry.

It's merely a jab at the caterers. The shocked bouncer at the door? Even the condescending peacock on his way in. It all culminated in one tragic comment. A remark that would haunt me for longer than I could have anticipated.

"I've already landed a rich guy, so I assure you that's not why I'm here."

Her eyes sharpened at me. "You are a liar." Why don't you scram? "Get back in your piece of shit car and drive off."

"Lukas is really my boyfriend. And I believe he would want me to attend his celebration with him. I might not have much. But Lucas adores me for who I am. And what girl wouldn't want that?

Just kidding, just kidding. Fucking say it, Sharon!

But I did not. I just kept my gaze fixed on ol' siren, who appeared to have swallowed a bug.

"You're Lucas Sterling's girlfriend?" Her stenciled brows were about to melt totally into her hair, so I rushed to defend my job.

"Yes, I am," I said, surprising the audience. "Lucas," I added for good measure, as if pronouncing the word would somehow strengthen my claim. A dozen pairs of wide eyes locked on me-far too exposed in my stupid lace. I felt the warmth of a telltale blush creeping up and decided it was best if I made a hurried escape. "Excuse me."

"There's no way Lucas would date that trash," the woman remarked. "I know that for a fact."

"Oh, honey. She's gorgeous. Perhaps he found her irresistible? "I bet she's the flavor of the week."

"No chance. She is lying, and I am going to prove it. I am going to make her the laughingstock of the party."

Without further ado, I dashed through the masses to find Sophia. Simply make a good impression. Sure. Not an issue. I will simply claim to be sleeping with the host. Honestly, I didn't think it could have gotten any worse if Sophia had stabbed that peacock with her stiletto.

Sophia was in the middle of a bunch of men, laughing and talking as if she had just awoken at the mansion and happened downstairs. I lightly threaded my fingers through the crook of her arm to get her attention.

"Could I talk to you for a minute?" I inquired with a scratchy whisper and a large smile.

She sensed peril and her facial muscles froze. "Sure," she said just as happily.

We carefully removed ourselves from the mob, and she drew me away a few feet, ready to truly let me have it, but I beat her to the punch.

"We need to leave. Now."

"Sharon," she added angrily, "I forced myself into Spanx." So, what happened?

I threw up my hands, pretending innocence. "Let me tell you, there was nothing that could have been stopped! It all began with a female mimicking a Python, and-"

A strong tap on my shoulder ended my story, and I looked around with a sinking sense of dread. Sure enough, it was my Siren. Smiling, ready for Round Two.

"What is it again?" she inquired with a sharp grin. "Becky?"

I narrowed my eyes, feeling brave with Sophia by my side. "It's Sharon, actually."

"Well, Sharon, you're in luck."

The fear was back, chewing at my stomach like an ulcer.

"And why is that?" I asked.

The girl gave me another nasty smile.

"Your boyfriend just arrived."