Page 56 of Crossing the Line
“Think Simon will like it?” Kate asked. Simon Shipley was the host of an entertainment news show. He’d been flirting with Kate for the past year whenever their paths crossed on red carpets.
“You’ll have him drooling after you like a dental patient,” Waverly predicted.
Kate looked satisfied. “Speaking of drool, how do you think X-Man’s going to feel about this little number?” she asked, eyeing up Waverly’s dress. They’d scrapped the red gown Ganim had photographed her in and worked feverishly with the designer to come up with a new concept for the event. The dress was a two-piece in sinful black. The top was a fitted satin crop with cap sleeves, while the skirt fell away into airy layers of tulle. The pieces were separated by two inches of bare torso. She looked glamorous and edgy in it. And with hair and make-up she’d be fierce, at least on the outside.
“I showed him the dress on a hanger and he approved it,” Waverly told Kate. “I think he was relieved to see so much material.”
“But you are no clothes hanger,” Marisol reminded her, tucking another pin into place.
“That’s why I’m staying up here until the last possible second so there won’t be time to change,” she smirked.
“There,” Marisol said, smoothing down the seam. “Now it is perfect. Just don’t breathe too much.”
“Thanks, Mari. Your talents know no bounds,” Waverly told the woman.
Marisol paused while gathering up her sewing tools. “Be careful tonight, okay? Don’t ruin my hard work, and do what Mr. Saint tells you.”
Waverly patted her on the arm. “Don’t worry about me, Mari. I’ll be good.”
Marisol pointed a finger at Kate. “I’m counting on you to keep her out of trouble.”
“Yes, Mari,” Kate promised.
Waverly’s phone signaled. “That’s Mom. Hair and makeup are ready for me.”
“Take off the dress and I’ll finish the stitches. It will be ready in half an hour,” Mari ordered.
Kate excused herself to load her supplies in the car and flip-flopped her way downstairs. Waverly handed over the dress and changed into a short satin robe. She headed across the hallway to the skinny room her mother had dubbed the glam room.
One long wall was dominated by a twelve-foot slab of marble counter divided into three vanities with professional lighting and outlets galore. Sylvia was perched in the first chair while Chase, her long-time make-up artist, finished her eyeliner.
“There you are, darling,” Sylvia greeted Waverly with a pucker of her freshly painted lips. “Am I gorgeous, yet?”
“You’re always gorgeous, Mom,” Waverly said indulgently and winked at Jenni, the hairstylist who was a pixie-sized version of Halle Berry.
Sylvia Sinner lived for premieres, and the only thing as good as one of her own was her daughter’s. She would plan her look for weeks out, and on the big day, not a drop of alcohol passed her lips. It wasn’t that she wanted to be sober. It was because she didn’t want to carry an extra ounce of water weight in front of the cameras.
Yes, there was nothing that made Sylvia happier than a red carpet with her husband and daughter by her side. “We are other people’s dream come true,” she often said.
Sometimes Waverly wondered how her mother could see their lives as anything but a nightmare. But today, Sylvia glowed.
Chase had performed his special kind of magic to hide the circles under her eyes and fill out her sunken cheeks with subtle contouring. The bronzer and blush brought a dewy freshness to Sylvia’s face. It made Waverly think of days when Sylvia had been naturally vibrant and full of life. But alcohol had slowly robbed her of that, and now she could only enjoy a temporary facsimile of that effervescence through the miracle of paints and lotions.
“Ready for me, Jenni?” Waverly asked.
Jenni spun her chair around and patted it. “I know your dress changed. Are we still going for a wild, jungle chic?” the stylist asked, plucking gently at Waverly’s tresses.
“You changed your dress?” Sylvia swiveled so suddenly that Chase almost lined her forehead.
“Mmm-hmm,” Waverly said mildly.
“But I planned my entire look around the red!” What she meant was that she had planned her gown to outshine Waverly’s original pick. Sylvia may have been bursting with pride over her daughter’s accomplishments, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be overshadowed on the red carpet.
Waverly tried to rally herself to comfort her mother. The tension she always felt before big events was already blooming in her belly. But she couldn’t have her mother melting down now.
“You’re wearing the gold Marchesa, aren’t you?” she asked while Jenni deftly stabbed pins into her hair.
“Well, Iwas,” Sylvia wailed. “This is so inconsiderate of you, Waverly. You know how much work and planning went into this outfit. And now it’s all ruined.” Chase began a frantic search for tissues and Q-tips to minimize the damage if Sylvia turned on the waterworks.
