If I was going to go to some lame party, I figured I might as well look my best. I took off the dress and accessories and placed them in my bag.
I called down to the hair salon and told them it was an emergency.
It was 8:55 when the stylist finished my hair and makeup. I threw on my clothes in the salon’s back office and rushed outside to meet the town car.
I asked the driver to drop me off a couple feet past the front entrance so I could slip past the red carpet and paparazzi. I was sure no one knew who the hell I was, but I didn’t want to be background matter in any celebrity’s photos.
The doorman looked me up and down as I approached.
“G-G-Good evening,” he stuttered. “Forgive me for asking but what’s your name Miss?”
“Melody Carter,” I handed him my invitation.
“I’m so sorry for asking. I’m new. I didn’t get a chance to memorize all the pictures yet. Enjoy your night, Miss Carter.”
Why is he apologizing to me like I’m a celebrity?
“Thank you,” I gave him a fake smile and walked inside to a packed hallway. Stars from every entertainment realm were standing around and posing for pictures—a reminder of why I never came out to these types of things.
I pushed past Rihanna and Mila Kunis and made my way to the ladies room. While I stood in line waiting to check myself in a mirror, I noticed nearly every passerby was giving me the once over.
What is it? Why do these people keep staring at me?
When I finally got my chance to stand in front of the mirror, I saw why: I did look like a celebrity. The stylist had done my hair and make-up to absolute perfection. I barely recognized myself.
My cheeks were blushed pink and my lips were painted in a vibrant red. My hair was styled in a sleek and detailed French bun with glittering hair pins. I closed one of my eyes to see where she’d placed dark dramatic eye shadow and thick faux lashes.
Wow…Too bad I’m leaving in thirty minutes…
I pushed past more celebrities and made my way into the ballroom. I couldn’t help but to be in awe as I wandered around.
Everything was bathed in white: long airy drapes fell from the ceiling to the floor, tables sat in silk with ornate crystal centerpieces, and several marble fountains spouted sparkling water.
Waiters wearing black tuxedos held platters of wine and h’ordeuvres high above their shoulders. Silver framed photographs of Selena’s Forever Young perfume stood on tall platforms, shiny chandeliers shimmered against the bare ceiling, and waist high candles illuminated the stage near the back of the room.
I stood by one of the fountains, running my fingertips across the cool marble, and felt someone watching me. I slowly turned around.
Matt Sterling? Matt Sterling is staring at me!
I moved across the room and found my coworkers. As I approached them, they mumbled variations of “Hey” and “How are you?” They were too involved in their own conversation to ask me much else.
I tried saying “Oh really?” and “Yeah” every few seconds to seem like I was a part of their group, but it was no use. I was invisible to them.
Though none of them ever admitted it, they weren’t too fond of me. According to what Sophie had once overheard, they felt that even though I was good writer, I was too young to be such a lauded critic.
“Having trouble finding someone talented to talk to?” a deep voice said from behind.
“Clearly,” I turned around and was face to face with Matt Sterling.
He smiled his infectious smile and I nearly melted. The top buttons of his white shirt were undone, his hair was combed away from his face, and he was wearing a light stubble.
Definitely the “I would sleep with you in a heartbeat sexy” character…
“What brings you out tonight, Miss Carter?”
“I was forced,” I felt myself staring at him and looked away.
“Well, I’m glad you were forced. Can I get you a drink?”
Did he just say he was “glad” I was here?
“Cranberry juice.”
“Just cranberry juice? No wine?”
“I’m not much of a drinker,” I lied.
He nodded and walked away.
Okay, time to go!
I pushed my way through the crowd, stopping every ten seconds to wait for someone to have a picture taken, and headed for the exit.
“Melody?” Mr. Maxwell grabbed my shoulder. “Wow! You look beyond exceptional tonight! Don’t you feel better being out of the house?”
Ecstatic.
“Sure,” I forced a smile. “I’m having the time of my life.”
“Come, take a picture with the rest of your friends.” He led me over to a group of my coworkers, the same group that ignored me minutes ago.
I stood off to the side of the group, but he pushed me to the front.
“Everyone smile!” the photographer yelled.
I put on my best smile and held it for ten blinding snaps.
“I’m running to the ladies room, Mr. Maxwell. I’ll be right back.”
“We’ll be on the dance floor!” he shouted. “I’ll save you one!”
I continued to stroll towards the exit, becoming increasingly irritated at the tipsy celebrities who were moving at a glacial pace.
“Here’s your cranberry juice,” Matt Sterling stepped in front of me.
“Thank you,” I took a sip. “This isn’t cranberry juice, Mr. Sterling.”
“Call me Matt please. The waiter left to get more. I thought I saw you leaving so I figured I’d get you grape juice for now.”