She’d been hired to do one job and then had been dragged on stage to do another but she knew very well that she had no say in the matter. If she wanted to get paid she’d better fit in wherever they threw her. And so, calling on all the muses of runway models and all the gods of fashion shows, she breathed a prayer and strutted onto the stage.
But on top of the fact that she had no idea what the heck she was doing Golden had one other little problem. Actually, not so little if you considered it literally. The golden slippers that the dresser had slipped onto her feet were huge, at least three or more sizes bigger than her feet.
In their haste to get her on stage no-one had bothered to check that the shoes actually fit...or maybe they didn’t even care. They probably just wanted her dressed and out of there so they could move on to their next victim.
And so it was that Golden found herself in the middle of three huge dilemmas – not a model, no experience on stage, and wearing shoes that threatened to throw her flat on her face if she wasn’t careful. All she could do was mumble under her breath and keep moving.
So she moved, swinging her arms like the girl in front of her was doing, her back straight, her head high...even though behind the smile plastered across her face she was whispering, “Please, God, don’t let me fall. Please, God.” Blinded by the bright lights and deafened by the music all she could do was step and smile and pray.
Before she realized they’d gone that far Golden found herself at the front of the stage, right in front of the clapping audience. The girls who’d been ahead of her, her shield, had all turned and were heading back toward the curtains, leaving her startled and stupefied in the middle of the stage. Good Lord, what should she do now? Do a pretty little pirouette like the girl who’d been ahead of her or just turn and hurry back the way she’d come?
Golden chose the latter. Just as the MC called for a round of applause for the Davidoff Fall Collection she turned, intent on escaping the limelight. To her horror the wretched slipper on her left foot caught in the hem of the sleek golden gown and she stumbled and began to pitch forward, arms flailing, a shriek ripping from her throat. There was a universal gasp as Golden tumbled to the platform and she felt like she would die from the shame of it all. For all she knew, the show was being televised. Hopping up from her knees, she snatched the slipper from her other foot and made an undignified dash toward the curtains, the offending slipper forgotten in the middle of the runway.
To her utter mortification the audience began to clap, whether in sympathy or to mock, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she needed to get out of there and, pay or no pay, she would not be returning to that cursed stage.
The MC took the stage again, his rich bass voice booming as he invited the models back on stage for the grand finale. The girls filed past her as she ducked her head and ran in the opposite direction. To their credit, she didn’t hear a single snicker or jeer as she dashed by but she didn’t turn to look nor did she wait for what would come next.
Before any of the managers could grab her and chew her out for the mess she’d made of their show she would be out of there. She wasted no time in stripping off the elegant gown and throwing her clothes back on.
Then, dressed in her discount store garb she slipped out the back door, leaving the haute-couture show behind, a major production she had just succeeded in ruining. ***
Who in the blue blazes is that? From his seat at the head of the runway Reed Davidoff stared at the girl as, head down and eyes averted, she walked onto the stage, trailing behind the line of tall, willowy models. She stood out like a wild Marigold among a bevy of hothouse flowers. Well-trained and confident, they strode down the catwalk, heads high, all except for one – the girl he’d never seen before.
She was trying her best to look composed but behind the overly bright smile and the perfectly made-up face he could clearly see that inside she was pure panic. The quick rise and fall of her br**sts from her rapid breathing and the deer-in-the-headlights quality of her wide-eyed gaze said it all. Who was she, anyway? Clearly not model material.
And then the unthinkable happened. The girl got to the front of the stage, turned and tumbled onto her knees, right there in front of the audience. Reed felt his body jerk, an involuntary response to seeing her fall, but then she got up and ran for the curtains, moving so fast that all he could see was a flash of gold dress and a swathe of red-gold hair disappearing behind the curtains.
Johnny O, his master of ceremonies and ever the professional, immediately re-entered the stage and waved for music and lights and then he brought the models back to the runway to close the show with the pomp and panache that always brought the house down. And tonight more than ever Reed was grateful he had such a showman on his team because, after the way that girl almost brought the show to a halt, right now what the audience needed was a major distraction. What better way than with a finale that would put all others to shame.
And the Davidoff fashion team did not disappoint. Whatever mishap had just taken place was soon forgotten in the swirl of colors that hit the stage when the entire crew of models floated down the runway in all the glory of the Davidoff Fall Collection. And if the whoops and cheers from the audience was anything to go by, the crowd loved it. Hopefully, so would the media and the reviewers.
And maybe, if he was really lucky, no-one would remember the lone butterfly that had fumbled and fallen on stage.
But, to Reed’s chagrin, there was one person in the audience who could not just dismiss the accident and move on like it never happened. That person was Reed himself.
Amidst the applause, whistles and cheers what Reed wanted to do was head for the dressing rooms to find the mystery girl who had almost turned his launch into a disaster. The only thing stopping him was that, at that very moment, he was being called on stage to stand beside his chief designer. From the way Frank Santana was grinning ear to ear it was clear that he felt they’d done it again – a successful launch and hopefully a season of superb sales to follow.
It was another fifteen minutes before Reed was able to escape to the back. He pushed through the crowd of models, some changing in the hallways, all in various stages of undress, none of them seeming the least bit perturbed that a man was striding past.
His eyes skimmed the crowd but there was no sign of the petite waif with the copper-gold hair. Frowning, he headed for the show director’s office. “Where is she?”