Justin

Sometimes I’m really psyched to go to these big events. It’s a cool opportunity that a lot of people don’t get.

Sometimes I’d prefer to be in a bar with a beer and a basket of hot wings.

Tonight I wish I was in a t-shirt not a tuxedo but that’s the breaks. I think the problem is that right now I don’t have a lot to promote. I never feel like there’s a point in me being at this kind of thing when I don’t need the exposure. It’s not related to any of my side projects - William Rast isn’t the kind of label this shindig celebrates. That wouldn’t matter if I was in the party mood but tonight I’m not.

That isn’t the point though. I’m not here to party; I owe people favours. I promised I would be here and show off this Tom Ford tuxedo so here I am like a good little boy. I guess it’s not so bad. There are plenty of people I know hanging around. Most of them are in the same hotel if we feel like a drink later… it’s always possible I could get more into the spirit if the night goes well. That happens sometimes, you start out not into it but events surprise you. Think positive, right?

I took a moment’s breather from the mingling to wander around a couple of the open exhibits. There are other people around but they’re too busy looking at whatever to bother me. That’s an upside to these events right there - everybody else is famous too. You don’t get gawped at so much, got to appreciate that. It makes it easier to float around and not be interrupted. Sometimes you need those five minutes to yourself. I’m a social guy and I like being around people, but too much small talk leaves me needing a quick break. (It’s really not so terrible as I like to make out but a breather’s not a bad thing.)

And hey, it could always be worse. I could be Millie. She looks like she wants somebody to take her out back and put her out of her misery.

I turned a corner into the next room of the exhibit and there she is. Sitting ramrod straight on a bench and staring at a bust of somebody’s head - I have no idea whose. Her arms are jutting out straight at either side, her fingers pressed into the bench like she’s stopping herself from toppling sideways.

As stances go it’s uncomfortable but would make an incredible picture. Also makes her seem unapproachable, like you’d live to regret disturbing her (not that I’ll let that stop me). Though the expression is grim she looks regal and fierce.

Fierce, but spectacular. Her hair is slicked back and pinned up, leaving her all cheekbones. The dress is a blue so dark it’s almost black, and it makes her already intense eyes jump out of her face. The skirt is ball gown huge and her torso almost lost in the folds of material. I don’t know what texture it’s supposed to be but the way it gleams and ripples is like feathers.

In fact, that’s exactly what she looks like – a bird. A raven poised to take flight.

“Hey. What you looking at?”

“Oh, hey.” She starts, hadn’t seen me. I didn’t exactly sneak up on her, the entrance I’m standing in is really obvious from where she sits, but I guess she was concentrating. “Didn’t spot you there.”

“Looked like you were focused on whoever that is.” I nod towards the marble head.

“Oh, umm… Athena, I think? I don’t know. Was staring off into space.”

“You okay?”

“Oh yeah.” There goes that hand wave again. The one she does every time I ask her something she wants to divert me from. “This dress is just killing me. So effing heavy.”

“Well you look amazing, if it helps.”

Look, hey, she can smile. Who knew? “Thanks. I’m just desperate to relax my back but the corset’s got me locked upright. Came out here so I could take off my game face for a second and express my anguish.”

So that explains her strange pose, she’s trying to relieve the pressure on her back… huh. I thought she was being all uptight as usual.

I’ve talked to her a lot over text in the weeks since the video shoot so I feel like I can say what’s usual. I like her a lot, but she would benefit from chilling the fuck out. It’s not that she’s hysterical or always making a big deal about stuff. It’s actually the opposite; she pretends she’s fine in this breezy way.

If you’re paying attention though you can tell she’s not. Millie’s your classic avoider. Any time you get near something difficult she hides it by being more interested in you and what you’re doing. Most people probably don’t notice… but most people don’t spend as much time being interviewed as I do so they’re less bored of yammering about themselves. They aren’t as nosy or expecting it like I am.

I am fucking nosy. Those are the exact two words Felicity used yesterday after we said goodbye to Lizzie (nice kid, looks a lot like her sister). I couldn’t resist asking about it, especially after Millie fled the scene so fast, but she wasn’t biting. I knew from our texts that we’d be in the same hotel but wasn’t expecting them to be in the opposite room.

On the bright side, at least I know where to find a drinking buddy if I need it later. She looks like she could use one.

“Anguish? Drama queen,” I say with a tease.

“Hey, I defy you to wear this shit for longer than an hour without bitching and I’ve been in it for five so far. Marines would break before I have.”

“I’ll recommend you for the medal.” I might’ve been a tiny bit sarcastic when I said that. Though five hours is a lot and it’s still early.

“Stoicism in the line of fire. We Brits are masters of the stiff upper lip.”  

That’s the part of her I do like. Whatever you dish out to her she’ll dish right back. Even though I complain about her evasiveness, it’s easy to keep a conversation going with her.  You can trade jokes or even a few insults; you can talk business or pontificate on random crap. It doesn’t matter where the talk goes she’s got a response. So far we’ve only been able to meet in person at work stuff (the video, the William Rast shoot she did, tonight) but I’d love to see her in a totally casual setting. I bet she’d really loosen up.

I ease myself onto the bench next to her, looking at Athena. No, I wouldn’t be staring at that either if I was her. It’s this old white marble thing with funny lips and what looks like a few yellowed cracks running along the surface. Nothing to write home about.

“So besides the dress of pain are you having fun?”

She shrugs. “It’s been alright.”

“Huh. Figured you model types would be in your element,” I say. “We lowly rock stars have to stand at the side pretending to know jack about designers.”

“Says the man who co-owns a fashion label.”

There it is again - deflection. At least this time there was the condescending glint back in her eye and her sardonic voice. Usually I don’t enjoy being made fun of unless I’m the one doing it (Trace is always giving me shit about it, says I take myself too seriously) but her sense of humour’s different than I’m used to. In a way I think it’s her seal of approval – like she trusts you to be cool.

“Touché.” I tug at my bow tie. She’s not the only one being tortured by clothing tonight.

“Is it bad that I would rather be out at some bar with my sister having cocktails?”

“Only if it’s bad that I’d rather be out at some bar with a beer and the game.”

She smiles, leaning sideways into me to nudge with her shoulder. She wasn’t kidding about that corset though; her upper body remains solid and unbending the entire time.

“Look at us. Posh frocks, fancy food and the glitterati and we’d rather be in a pub somewhere. Ungrateful gits we are.”

“I don’t know what a git is but I prefer bastard, thanks.”

“Nah. You’re not a bastard.”

I raise my arms in triumph, pumping my fists to the ceiling. “Yes! Finally I get her to admit not all men are bastards! I feel like I should make a victory speech or something.”

Her blue eyes flick up and down my torso, lips pulled sideways into an unimpressed smirk. “You’re still full of it though. But speaking of being out at more enjoyable events, how is Felicity out with my sister rather than here with you?”

Now that’s interesting. Those words came out spiky.

“You mean you’d rather be hanging with them than me?” I press my fist to my mouth and try to look choked up, straining my voice. “I’m so hurt.”

“And again, full of shit.” That one got an actual laugh. A high pitched, ringing laugh that bounces off the walls and the high ceiling.

“Hey, not like I blame you. Awesome as I am, wherever they are the food’s probably better and the clothes way more comfortable.”

“I’m just surprised; Felicity usually lives for this sort of thing.”

Now it’s my turn to shrug. “Guess she should have scored herself an invite then.”

“Wow.” There’s another laugh. She’s slapped my arm and rocked backwards with the force of it. “Some boyfriend you are.”

“Oh, we’re not…” Why am I going red? This shouldn’t be embarrassing. “Yesterday was a hang out as friends; we’re not back on or anything. She’s still hung up on that French douche.”

“Oh.” If I had expected her to look affected by that news I’d be disappointed. “Well, I wouldn’t take it personally. That man's had some kind of supernatural hold on her since we were thirteen. Even she admits it.”

Well. Good to know… though I’m not actually as pissed as I maybe made it sound. After she ditched me it only took two or three days to stop holding any grudge (which is probably a hint that I’m not so into her. Normally I’m a serious grudge holder). When Felicity heard I was in New York and called me to catch up I didn’t hesitate.

I wondered if we were about to start round number five hundred and ten, but the vibe was different this time. I don’t know what’s going on with her but I’m not sure she'll be back for another. That’s cool. I always predicted it’d happen at some point.

I was surprised though at how friendly she was with Millie’s sister. It was abnormally sweet for her; she genuinely seems fond of the kid. They exchanged a couple of brief sentences about their dad (told me nothing new, just further confirmation he’s an asshole) and I could almost swear she growled at one point. There was protectiveness there. Then again, I guess Millie did say they spent a lot of time together when they were growing up. And at that age I bet she would idolise her big sister’s friends as much as the sister.

“You’re not alone though,” I say. “I kind of wish we were hanging with them instead of here.”

“Trust me you do not wish that. Felicity and me in a room would be painful, she’d probably melt me with her heat vision.”

Oh… does that mean the tone earlier was resenting them being out together? That surprises me. I didn’t think she let Felicity’s sniping get to her that much.

“Then I guess it’s good you’re here after all.”

“I just…” Her clasped hands drop to her lap. There’s a dazzling sapphire and diamond cocktail ring on one, must cost a bomb. “I know it ought to be me taking her out and it’s now come to my sworn enemy picking up my slack. And for what, so I can sit here moaning about my haute couture? It’s sort of silly, really.”

Or maybe it’s not about Felicity. I… don’t have an answer to that. I pick up her hand and give it a squeeze because I don’t know what I could say. She doesn’t squeeze back but doesn’t stop me either.

“We should probably get back; they’ll call us to dinner soon. Want to go find the bar and I’ll buy you a drink?”

She rolls her eyes at me, but at least there’s a little hint of a smile. “It’s a free bar.”

“I like to splash out.”

“I’m actually keener to find my bag. Think I left it on my seat and I stashed some M&M’s in there.”

“That should have been the first thing you told me, woman, don’t hold out on me like that.” I stand and then offer my hands to her. She takes them so I can help pull her up. It looks like a strain – she really is locked into the dress.

“I’m sorry to have withheld such crucial info. If it’s important I also have lip gloss, TicTacs and a tampon you can share.”

I narrow my eyes at her for a second before deciding that she’s only trying to embarrass me. Nice try, lady, but you don’t kid a kidder. Instead of reacting I just thread her arm through my elbow and start to escort her out. It’s probably risking a few gossip column pieces but what the hell.