The Lucky Dress Page 8

  “I have,” I nod. Every year dozens of local channels churn out Christmas commercials wishing the city a magical Christmas.

  “Can we turn this Christmas party into one of those? We’ve got just over three weeks until Christmas so you should have some time to get everything lined up. What do you think?”

  “I think that’s a great idea, Aron. I’ll get started on everything right now and arrange for our film guy to be there tonight. Leave it to me and it’ll be great.”

  “One thing, though…” Aron stands away from my desk, pacing. “I want Greta to be the host of the show. Maybe she could walk around and ask questions of our employees.”

  “I’m not sure what kind of show it will be?” I ask, thinking he was talking a less than one minute commercial here. “Really the ad can’t be more than about sixty seconds at most.”

  “I know, I know, but Greta gets so much attention everywhere she goes and she wants to become the face of the company. I’m thinking what better way to start than with the Christmas and New Year ad?”

  “OK, maybe we can have her ask clients and employees about their New Year’s resolutions and just do a Happy Holidays ad, as opposed to a specific Christmas Ad? That would give us more time to run it.”

  “Perfect! I’ll let her know. What time should she be there tonight to get started?”

  Shoot. I didn’t want to come to this party at all, and now I have to work it. So much for arriving with Jack. I guess we’ll just meet up there.

  “Maybe have her meet me at five, that will give us an hour to work through her questions and get ready.”

  In all reality, five minutes would be more than long enough to get ready for this tiny ad but I have a feeling this is going to be a much bigger process than I’m hoping for. I’ve never met Greta but for her to suddenly make her way into my life via an ad centered around her can’t be a blessing.

  “I knew I could count on you, Em. You’re a star!” Aron says as he walks across the room.

  *

  I’ve been at the venue for the party for an hour making sure everything goes off without a hitch. Morgan arrived about fifteen minutes ago and is in the process of getting his gear ready to film. “You do know who Greta Mayfair is, right?” Morgan, my favorite camera guy, flips open a magazine he’s pulled from his messenger bag. A tall, thin, half-naked blonde woman stares back at me.

  “Whoa.” I stare down at the picture even though I suddenly feel a little more than dirty. This girl has no shame and apparently not a lot of morals either from the looks of it. “Disgusting.”

  “That’s just the pic I felt comfortable showing you. She’s done full out nude.”

  “Then, why come work for her dad’s furniture store, if she’s basically a Playboy bunny? Why is she not canoodling up to dirty old Hugh Hefner himself in the Playboy mansion?”

  “They fired her. Not the Playboy mansion, but everyone else she’s ever worked with. I guess she’s a real bitch. No one wants to work with her anymore. Even E! the same channel that airs the Kardashians pulled a contract from her recently, she’s that vile. So, her daddy is saving her.”

  I stare over at Morgan, the same guy who I offended when we first met by asking if he was the assistant to the adult camera guy. I swallow away my nerves. She can’t be that bad. Can she?

  “How do you know so much about this?” I ask him as he sets up his camera and technical supplies.

  “You saw that picture. Every man knows about her.”

  “Gross. Well, let’s just make sure she’s fully clothed tonight and everything should go fine.”

  “I hope so.” Morgan nods towards the front doorway.

  If this was a costume party she’d have just won an award. She’s channeling Jessica Rabbit, with a slit up to her hip and her cleavage falling out of her barely there top, demanding the attention of every man in the room. If I didn’t know any better I’d think I was seeing a hint of a gold colored flask tucked into the garter belt she’s wearing on her one visible leg.

  She looks exactly like her picture, just wearing a tiny bit more fabric. Clearly, no one told her there would be children at this party. She’s got to be almost six feet tall, probably something like a size double zero, her long blonde hair is perfectly curled into beachy waves, with not a strand out of place and her skin could make a porcelain doll jealous.

  “Are you Esmeralda?” she asks as she finally makes her way to me across the room. She walks incredibly slowly, as if she is expecting the flash of paparazzi cameras all around her. I’ll be honest and say I’ve been stunned silent, staring at her making her way across the room in the heels I couldn’t imagine wearing.

  “No…” I reach out and shake her outstretched hand. “I mean yes, but I don’t go by Esmeralda, you may call me Emi.”

  “Emi, great. So, what kind of show are we going for here? Daddy didn’t really elaborate so I’m not sure what my character is?” She flips her hair behind her shoulder, dropping her hands to her hips to wait for my answer.

  I’m standing stunned, eyebrows raised, jaw agape, unable to speak. Morgan pokes me and wakes me from my trance. She’s a grown woman calling her father, Daddy. I might be sick by the end of the evening if it continues.

  “Character?” I ask more than confused. “It’s not really a show per se; but more of a one minute commercial slot. We’re going to have you work the room and ask people about their New Year’s resolutions before getting a group shot of everyone shouting Happy Holidays.”

  Greta rolls her eyes so hard it makes my own eyeballs hurt. “So… You’re telling me that I’m doing a commercial?”

  “Yes?” I ask it as a question, unsure of what her father told her. I glance back at Morgan for help but he’s staring at her, stunned as well. His stare bores through her barely there dress, though, as if he’s trying to use X-ray vision. Although what he just showed me in the magazine, I’m not sure there is a lot more to envision.

  “Ridiculous. I told Daddy that I could do so much more than this. I should not have ruined that contact with E! for my own show. I’m so much more than a silly commercial.” She stomps a single heeled foot to the ground, clearly ready to throw a fit for all who will watch. There has to be a way to defuse this.

  Morgan and I exchange glances, wondering just what planet this girl thinks she’s on. Not that I have any doubt, what-so-ever, that she’d be perfect for the E! channel. She could really give those Kardashian’s a run for their money.

  “This will be fun,” I reassure her with a forced smile, hoping that the diva in her stays away long enough for us to shoot this commercial.

  “Whatever,” she rolls her eyes and waves me away. “Where is the dressing room? I need to touch up my makeup.”

  A laugh suddenly escapes my throat, causing Morgan to start coughing behind me to cover it up.

  “We don’t have an actual dressing room, but the bathroom is down the hall and to the right and it’s really nice I’m told.”

  Greta’s face stays stone still, her eyes never leaving my own.

  “Can I show you the way?” I ask. “But in all honesty, you already look amazing.” That brings a small smile to her face.

  “I’ll take your word for it.” She flashes an obviously fake smile as she looks around the room. “Who decorated this?” she asks, only looking half impressed.

  The decorators, caterers, and employees are still here, tirelessly working at getting the place ready for the party that starts in less than an hour. I’m far from a decorator so I contracted everything out to only the best of the best. It looks amazing.

  I made sure it looked Christmassy since we are also shooting a commercial tonight. There are six eight foot tall Christmas trees around the room, fully decorated, loaded with fake presents. Garlands and twinkle lights hanging from the ceiling, and the tables have center pieces that I’m sure would make a Christmas bride jealous. It’s truly gorgeous and cost far more than I would ever, ever pay myself.

  “We hired a company,” I
say, grabbing the list of questions I made up for her from the table beside me.

  “They did an OK job,” she shrugs her shoulders. “Is that an open bar?” she asks noticing the bartender on the opposite side of the room. “I’m just going to grab a drink.”

  “Great,” I rush to her side, hoping that getting trashed is not on her agenda. “I actually have a list of questions I need you to look over.”

  “I already know what I’m going to ask,” she waves my paper away and bee-lines it to the bar.

  Five minutes ago, she asked what character she needed to play and yet suddenly she’s prepared with questions she didn’t even know she had to ask? I find that more than hard to believe.

  “This is gonna be a nightmare.” Morgan stands at my side watching her sashay her tiny ass to the bar and immediately flirt with the bartender who seems mesmerized by the spell that is Greta Mayfair.

  *

  “Hi, babe.” Jack leans in and kisses my cheek.

  He’s here right on time, but since I’m a tad pre-occupied with not bringing out the evil from within Greta I don’t even have a minute to spend with him like I’d planned.

  “I’m so sorry I have to work during this. She’s proving to be a bit of a nightmare.”

  “It’s no problem,” Jack says with a smile. “Did you get something to eat?” He asks, being the great boyfriend that he is, he’s always concerned with my wellbeing and happiness.

  “I haven’t,” I shake my head. “You should, though. I’ve heard the food is fantastic.” I’m starving, so knowing that I might not have time to eat, from the menu that I worked so hard to get perfect, is irritating, to say the least.

  “I’ll bring you a plate. How about you?” he asks Morgan, who shrugs his shoulders before glancing at me for permission.

  I nod with a roll of my eyes. Like I’d say no.

  Morgan grins, “I can always eat.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Jack heads in the direction of the buffet while I turn back to Greta who is now giggling at anything said at the bar she’s still parked at.

  “Greta?” I approach her carefully, as to not startle her from her buzz. “We just need to get started. Maybe you could just work the room and start asking partygoers questions about their New Year’s resolutions? Is that something you can do right now?”

  Her eyes narrow, “What’sh your name again?” she slurs, almost knocking me over with the smell of liquor on her breath. I’d say she’s drunk as much as possible, as quickly as possible in the last thirty minutes and is now the most flammable thing in the entire room.

  “Oh my God, she’s drunk,” I say in a whisper to myself. I force a deep breath and a smile. “Emi is my name. Do you think you can still do the commercial?”

  “Of course I can. I’m a professional actress and model. Why would you even ask me that? You obviously didn’t see me in that L’Oréal commercial a few years back.” She stands, staggering a bit on her stripper heels. “How about you worry about the camera and I’ll do the rest?” she breathes it in my face, making me wish I could request that she brushes her teeth before doing the same to another partygoer.

  “Perfect,” I say, hoping she’s too drunk to notice the condescending tone in my voice. I turn to Morgan who starts filming, a grin on his face. “Just start following her around I guess.”

  “This is gonna be epic.”

  I glare at him. “Stop it. It’s going to be fine.” I hope. If nothing else, at least we’ll have a potentially viral video on our hands that she can submit to the next Big Brother Auditions or maybe Celebrity Rehab.

  Morgan and I follow Greta halfway around the room and film her asking a few people some questions that she doesn’t slur through. She’s obviously had experience of keeping her cool on camera when wasted. I’m sure she’d make any reality TV station a fortune. The tabloids would eat her up.

  “OH!” She suddenly yells and turns towards me. “I found a co-shtar.” She points towards the table where Jack is setting up plates of food for him, Morgan, and me. “He ish… delishish.”

  There are a few too many shs in her words for me to deny the fact that she’s completely lit. And now she’s after my delicious (I can’t deny it) boyfriend.

  “What? No, he’s actually my fiancé. He doesn’t want to be in the commercial.”

  “That’sh your fianshe? No way?!” Her emphasis on your makes my skin crawl. Why would she be so surprised that Jack is with me?

  “Come on,” She loops her arm through mine, prancing us both across the room, hardly even wobbling on her platform heels. Her drunken strut is nowhere near as clumsy as mine would be.

  Morgan follows us closely behind, which seems to be at the speed of a moderate jog. I motion for him to stop filming and he wastes no time setting the camera on the table and tucking into the plate of food Jack brought for him.

  “Hey, Ems.” Jack smiles as he pats the empty chair next to him.

  “You. Are. Beautiful.” Greta collapses into the chair obviously meant for me and breathes into his ear.

  “I, uh…” Jack looks to me, eyes wide, and obviously stunned at the drunk woman now hanging off him.

  “I’m so sorry, Jack, this is Aron’s daughter, Greta. She’s supposed to be my host for the commercial we’re trying to shoot.”

  “Oh.” He kindly reaches into his lap and removes her hand from his upper thigh, then scoots his chair further away from her. “Nice to meet you, Greta.”

  I bite my bottom lip hard to keep from completely losing it at his disgusted face. From the looks of it, you’d think Greta has some kind of infectious disease that Jack is trying to keep away from. I’m sure there’s an STD or three floating around areas I’d rather not picture.

  “Yhou are perfect,” Greta slurs. “We should do thish together.” Her drunkenness is really starting to show now. The extra sounds within her words are becoming more exaggerated.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Aron heading in our direction. Shit.

  “Greta, your dad is coming.” Why can’t he mingle instead of choosing now to check on how his star of a daughter is coming along in her so called performance?

  She immediately straightens up and loops her arm through Jack’s, holding onto his elbow as if he was walking her down the aisle. Or maybe she’s just using him as a stabilizer in case she loses her balance and starts to fall from her chair.

  “Daddy, have you met my date?”

  “I haven’t,” Aron shakes his head as he makes his way to Jack, hand extended. “It’s great to meet you, son. What do you do for a living?” Leave it to Aron to immediately quiz a potential suitor of his daughter’s on what he does for a living.

  “Um… I’m a lawyer at Morgan, Steller & Cabot?” Jack says it like he’s not even sure, and glances at me for assistance.

  “A lawyer—”

  I cut Aron off. “Actually, Aron, this is my fiancé, Jack Cabot.” I get a confused look from both Greta and Aron. “You actually met him last summer at the company picnic?” I stare at his shaking head and scrunched face. He obviously doesn’t remember.

  “He belongs wifth me.” Greta glares over at me. “Daddy, tell himm.”

  “Greta is a fine young woman. But if Jack belongs to Emi, I respect that.” It’s as if we’re talking about an object, which I can tell by looking at Jack is not something he’s very impressed with.

  “WHAT?!” Greta yells, gaining the attention of the people near us. “No. Look at him? He’sh gorgeoush, he’sh well off and she is jusht… ugh!”

  The disgusted noise coming from her makes me want to crawl into a hole and die. If only she would hiccup randomly through her sentences she’d be the archetypal obnoxious drunk.

  “Shhe should be wifth hims,” Greta points at Morgan, who has a steak halfway to his mouth without using a fork. “He’sh like, ew, and she’sh like, ew. Jusht trusht me… I’ll take good care of him.” She pulls Jack to standing, patting his ass with one hand and attempting to plant a kiss on his lips
, but stumbles over her own feet, tightening her grip on Jack’s arm that is now outstretched to keep her away.

  “I don’t think so,” Jack somehow manages to sit her in an empty chair and escape her grip. She slumps forward as he makes his way quickly around the table to me, pulling me as close to him as possible before clearing his throat and loosening his tie with his free hand. “I’m with Emi and I’m perfectly happy with that. But I’ve no doubt, any man would be lucky to have you.” He politely smiles at Aron but avoids direct eye contact with crazy Greta. Likely for fear that she’ll take it as some kind of marriage proposal.

  My Jack. Always the gentleman, in even the strangest of situations.

  Greta suddenly starts wailing some kind of snorting cry or distress signal, and Aron kneels down by her chair. A few sniffs of the air around her and I’ve no doubt he’s discovered she’s had more than just one drink.

  “What did you do to her?” Aron asks me, pointing at a now slurring, sobbing, slumped over Greta.

  “Nothing. We were trying to prep her for the commercial—”

  “SHHOW!” Greta yells the word at me.

  “And she was only interested in the bar so we uh—”

  “So, you just let her get wasted?” Aron stands so that we are again at eye level, Jack directly behind me should I need him.

  “No.” I shake my head. “No, sir. We didn’t let her, she’s an adult. I just… She’s quite a handful and—”

  “So, let me get this straight, I’m paying for a film crew,” He glances at Morgan, who is hardly an entire crew. “And the host is slurring, crying, and being humiliated by your fiancé.”

  “I didn’t humiliate anyone, actually,” Jack takes a step forward fully ready to defend my honor.

  Aron lets out a frustrated sigh. “Emi… I thought you were right for this job. But with Greta coming into the picture, I can see that jealousy has taken over, as it always does when women are around my Greta.”

  “WHAT?!” Jack, Morgan, and I say in unison. He has got to be kidding me. Jealous? Of Greta? I don’t think so. Maybe I’m a little envious that I can’t pull off the dress she’s wearing, but that’s it.