Page 19 of Fifth Avenue Devil

I sigh and check the time. After this, I am due to work a few weekend hours at the office. I'm determined to make it through my dad's mountain of personal papers by the end of the week.

My mother waits for me beside an empty chair, poised and smiling. "Hello, Annalise."

"Hey, Mom. Do you know where the person in charge is? I'd like to find out how I can help for the next—" I check the slim gold watch on my wrist. "Three hours. Maybe I can check names as people come in the door? Or organize the gift bags?"

"Actually, darling... one of the girls dropped out at the last moment." My mom shakes her head. "It was tragic, really. But I told the woman in charge not to worry, because you’d be happy to fill in."

"What?" I ask, alarmed. "I don't want to be auctioned off! How embarrassing!" One of the ladies having her hair done looks at me sourly. I'm quick to add on, "For me! Only for me, I mean,"

Mrs. V comes up behind me, pulling my coat off. "Don't be ridiculous. What reason do you have for not wanting to fill in as a bachelorette?"

"Stage fright, for one?" I supply. "I can think of half a dozen other reasons just off the top of my head."

My mother purses her lips and looks down at what I'm wearing. It’s just a simple beige bodycon dress with three quarter length sleeves that ends just above my knee. Not exactly a demure dress, but it should meet her standards for modesty.

"Annalise Rebecca, you really need some help with choosing your clothing. What on Earth are you wearing?"

Smoothing my hands down the front of my dress, I smile despite the anger flooding my veins. I'm not taking advice from Jackie Kennedy Barbie, I remind myself. I lift my head and give her a little spin. "I'm enjoying myself, Mom. I've moved out, I've taken over as CEO, and now I'm even picking out my own outfits. If you don't like it, you can just deal with it."

"Christ, Annalise," my mom sniffs.

Mrs. V intervenes. "Girls, please don't bicker." She turns to me. "You need to head into the wardrobe room at the end of the hall."

"I'm not going onstage. Period." I try to glare at both of the women.

My mom sniffs. "Darling, don't be ridiculous. It's for charity. Quit being a petulant little girl about this. If you're as grown up as you claim, you'll do this without complaint."

My mom knows what buttons to push, because she herself installed them. I scowl at her. "Fine," I grit out.

"Annalise, don't frown!" She touches the skin just to the right of my mouth. "You'll give yourself wrinkles."

I move toward the wardrobe door that Mrs. V had indicated. My mouth is full of bitter words for my witch of a mother. But I don’t let them out. I just strut past her, lifting my head up and putting my shoulders back.

"That's the walk you should use on stage," I hear Mrs. V hoot as I vanish through the wardrobe doorway.

An hour later, I'm transformed. I'm wearing a tight white minidress. My hair has been straightened and piled on my head so I appear to have gained a few inches of height. I'm wearing six-inch, see-through plastic heels. And I have so much makeup on that I feel like a circus clown.

"You!" the organizer barks at me. "Come here." I take very careful steps toward her. She puts out her hand. "Give me your information card."

I slip the index card crammed with my vital details and facts about myself against her palm. She peers at it for a second, then snaps her fingers and points to the two women already lined up for their turn to walk down the runway. I totter over to stand behind them.

The girl in front of me gives me a sympathetic expression. It would be comforting, if she weren't wearing the most distracting pink print midi-dress I'd ever seen. It looks like a print of scorpions about to sting. But I'm not sure if I should ask.

"You don't look comfortable in those shoes," she says.

"That's because they are two sizes too small and four inches taller than I'm used to."

She waves a hand. Her fingers are green and glittery. This girl seems otherworldly. "Two minutes," she says.

I feel like I'm in a stress dream. Like I'm going to walk out on that stage and the people sitting in the audience will slowly morph into my elementary school classmates and they'll laugh uproariously at me.

Gulp.

God, what if nobody bids on me? I'm not intrinsically valuable without being CEO of Gellar Industries, after all.

The girl in front of me goes out. I can hear the crowd now and it sounds bigger than I had imagined.

My heart races as she finishes, coming off the stage with a big grin. "Hon?" She touches my shoulder with her glittery fingers and I startle. She flashes me a sympathetic expression. "You're on. Go knock 'em dead." She practically pushes me out onto the stage.

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